anythingbutgrey | HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

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HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

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Harry Potter Non-Canon Ships Comment Ficathon

THE RULES ARE THUS:

1. WHAT MAKES A NON-CANON SHIP? Anything that is not at least one-sided in the books. This means that Snape/Lily is canon, even if she may (or may not) have ever reciprocated. Bellatrix/Voldemort is canon. Lavendar/Ron is canon. Obviously everyone who's married and/or dates is canon. OBHWF is canon, Harry/Cho is canon. Ships that are not stated as fact in the books are not canon. That means UC ships are good, slash is good, femslash is good. For our purposes, we are not counting JKR's interviews as canon. That means that if you wanted to prompt, say, who knows, Hannah/Neville, you could, because it's not in the text itself.

2. You leave a comment with a pairing and a prompt. You respond to prompts that you like. Your prompt must pertain to a non-canon ship. You may specify a character within that ship if you want the fic written from that characters perspective. You may also specify a timeline if you'd like, or if you want it to take place in the movie!verse.

3. When writing fic, put in your title SHIP - TITLE OF FIC (rating optional). This will help us archive if we later archive things. I don't have time to archive anything right now, but if someone wants to volunteer, we can make that happen.

4. LEAVE FEEDBACK. Comments are the lifeblood of the internet.

5. NO WANK. I'll delete your ass. And we're dealing with ships and I am deletion happy, so watch yourself.

6. There will be spoilers for the movie all over this post, I am sure. You have been warned.

7. Promote this if you please. You can use this code:

For text link:

In the image code box, you can use any of the banners below or the lead banner at the top of the post.

They're all uploaded to tinypic, so you can just copy/paste the source code:

eleusis_walks

superkappa

by

lenina20:

If you want to make your own banner, please post it here.

Have fun!

ETA:

effingeden has graciously offered to archive our prompts and fic here. Thanks so much!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

In the darkness Blaise is beautiful, black skin blending with black night, and Pansy presses slow kisses over the finely-boned contours of his face with studied aplomb. He makes her wonder about beauty - even as a boy, he did; even as a boy he was ethereally handsome - about the smoothness of skin and thickness of lips and symmetry of faces. Draco, poor Draco, has a faintly sneering sort of appeal when he squares his shoulders and looks down at them all with his cool gray eyes, but her boyfriend and Blaise Zabini are leagues apart when it comes to physical beauty. Pansy too, is down further still; whatever attractiveness she has managed to muster for herself resides in mascara charms and carefully chosen fabrics, in skipped meals and hours spent bleary-eyed over the girls' toilet. That Blaise Zabini has chosen to spend his nights with her, then, is something that fills her chest with a rather greedy sort of joy, a simmering self-satisfaction that allows Pansy to purr drunkenly over the curve of his shoulder as he thrusts inside her. She relishes the way the heat travels over her body like a great big shrudder, the way the room briefly evaporates into nothingness and she is left, even for a few seconds - to witness the burning of the sky, before everything comes back into focus again, somehow lesser than before.

"That's three times tonight," Blaise murmurs, after he has finished with his own release, only seconds later.

"Want a trophy or something?"

He laughs against her neck, the warm breath almost ticklish against her exposed skin. "I probably deserve one. But then your boyfriend probably wouldn't be too happy if he saw an 'I Made Pansy Fucking Parkinson Come Three Times And Counting In One Night' award hanging from my neck."

"He's gone now, anyway." Something like guilt twists in her chest; Pansy very adamantly does not think of the last time she saw Draco, or of the sight of the Dark Mark still burnt oh-so-brightly against the tender underbelly of his too-thin forearm, eyes wide and terrified and fifty years too old. He hadn't even said goodbye, and in retrospect, neither had she. "I don't even know if he's coming back.

"What will you do when he does?"

"What will any of us do?"

Blaise shakes his head. "You know that's not what I mean," he says, and untangles his legs from hers. He's right; she does, and yet she doesn't want to acknowledge anything of the sort. She has spent too long thinking of Blaise as a mere object, as the one to-be-looked-at, to-be-possessed. That he might want to genuinely possess her - this is a whole terrifying other matter altogether. Pansy thinks of him, so seemingly haughty and disdainful of just about everything in the daylight, and so unexpectedly candid underneath his robes - is it all a mask, then? Or this all a game, all a ploy, to get into the knickers of the lone Slytherin seventh year the rest of them all thought no-one other than Draco Malfoy could have?

She will have to figure this out later, when she isn't spent and sweaty with her hair an uncombed pillow around her head; there must be a logical way of looking at the facts and making sense of this whole thing so that her heart gets little broken as possible. Instead of responding, Pansy hooks her ankle around Blaise's shin and, sliding her hands down the parallel slopes of his hipbones, presses her mouth first against the dip of his bellybutton before moving down, down, down. His hips buck against the curve of her lips, and Pansy readies herself for the taste of sweat and salt.

*insert sigh of awe and heartbreak here*

She looks like his Mother, except that she doesn't; he looks closer and it's his Mum's eyes staring back at him, but then she twists her long unkempt fingernails into the arch of his back and suddenly she is mad Auntie Bella again, Auntie Bella whose name was always a cautionary tale around the dinner table back when Draco was merely a child.

She looks like his Mother and she looks like him - they have the same jaw, he notes rather absently, the same haughty sharpness around the mouth that makes them look like they are disapproving of something even when they aren't, a useful tick. But her mouth certainly isn't Mother's; she uses the type of filthy swears Narcissa Malfoy would never allow at her civilized tea-parties and charity galas, and her tongue is rough like a cat's when she uses it to lick his face clean.

Mother certainly never did that either; Mother was civilized, Mother had spells for that sort of thing - but Bella, Bella just licks long hot strips of messy saliva against the bones in Draco's cheeks while he quivers underneath, and when she bites (as she always does), he teaches himself to laugh instead of wince. He said ow, once, when she banged her sharp dirty canine teeth against the curve of his lip, and it enraged her - her eyes grew wild, the black popping out of the sockets, and he felt the magic crackling against her fingertips as she clamped his jaw shut and asked him what he'd meant by it.

"Ow is for little boys," she'd said in her sing-song voice, mocking but he could still sense her anger and that made him even more afraid. "Ow is for little boys," she'd said, "but the Dark Lord doesn't choose little boys to serve Him now, does He? The Dark Lord only wants those women and men most devoted to enduring all the pains of the world for His sake, only those who are..." - and she'd let her voice fall to a whisper, "really true."

He'd gulped at that, and quivered further at the sensation of something cold and pointed suddenly propped up against the Adam's Apple; a wand, then, she'd drawn her wand and was holding it against his neck, and he wasn't about to whimper at that, he really wasn't... they were related, weren't they? His blood was as pure as hers; even mad Auntie Bella wouldn't dare to spill a drop of that because it was too rare nowadays, after all their original brethren had mated with mudbloods and muggleborns and sullied their own lineage.

"I assure you," Draco says, and is extremely gratified to hear that his voice does not shake, "my devotion to the Dark Lord is unwavering. As you said, he would not have made me one of you had he not felt me capable of the great honour, and who are we to question the his judgement?"

He watches as she considers this, and tries not to let the bitter knowledge that once upon a time he too, had believed this line of reasoning to be even remotely plausible, consume him.

"You reason well, nephew," Bella says finally. When she withdraws her wand from his neck, he waits until she turns around to let out a sigh of relief. "Perhaps the Dark Lord will have great things in store for you yet," she continues, and smiles a strangely gentle smile. Draco thinks it reminds him of his Mother's, but then he waits - and as the great grandfather clock in the background reaches zero hour, witnesses her mouth grow thin and mocking. Narcissa Malfoy's smile is perfectly even, symmetrical at both corners; Bellatrix Lestrange's jerks up slightly to the left.

Draco remains perfectly still as she leans forward, breath hot and putrid against the shell of his ear. "You reason well, nephew," Bella repeats, except now she pronounces every word with a distinctive hiss - "but you are not yet a man."

As she swirls her tongue inside the recesses of his ear, he wonders what she means.

“I knew you’d come back.”

He said it just as Hermione was raising her fist to knock on the open door. He was sitting by the fireplace, his back to her, profile completely blocked by the high back of his leather armchair. The only clue that he was sitting there was the line of grey smoke that tended to follow him wherever he went, now hovering above the chair.
I really hate men that smoke, Hermione thought to herself. It’s revolting.

“We’re silent today, I see.” He stood up, his almost-white hair resplendent in the firelight, and turned to face her. He wore his standard uniform: a grey hand0tailored vest, a pair of hand-tailored matching grey trousers, a white altered button-down shirt that undoubtedly had cost more than she earned in a year, and hand-made black leather shoes. His priceless robe and signature cane adorned the wooden hatstand, and the glass he held in his left hand made Waterford’s finest look somewhat tacky in comparison. Hell, she was prepared to wager that even the cigarette he held between two long, perfectly manicured fingers was hand-rolled by some ancient and well-respected family in the tobacco industry, and infused with flecks of real gold and phoenix tear, or something.

“We’re not silent, Lucius,” she said, her voice containing all of the acidity that she had developed during the past few months. She had never considered herself a particularly acidic person, but working alongside Lucius Malfoy every day for an extended period of time seemed to have brought out the very worst in her. “We were just always told by our parents that if we couldn’t say anything nice…”

“I’m sure.” Lucius Malfoy took a lazy drag from his cigarette, and then tossed the butt into a crystal ashtray. The smell was all over the room now, and Hermione wondered how he didn’t seem to mind it. When she had first started coming over, the smell had made her eyes water. She was more used to it now, but that certainly didn’t mean that she liked it.

“So,” he said, “if you cannot think of anything nice to say, why don’t we instead talk about the real reason why you’re here?”

“Why don’t we?” Hermione agreed. “You still have my copy of Hogwarts, A History. Since we are no longer working together, I would like it back.”

Lucius raised a pale eyebrow. “Fair enough.” He walked across the room to an enormous bookshelf, pulled a book out and, and approached her. She held out her hand, but he ignored it and stepped closer; close enough for her to smell the tobacco smell that clung to his expensive clothing. Before she was able to open her mouth to tell him to step back, he had taken her offered arm, brought it back between them, and placed the book securely on top.

“There,” he said, in a quiet, husky voice that made her shudder. He spoke in that husky voice often, and it made her shudder every time, probably because when he used that voice she could hear the damage that the cigarettes were starting to leave on his vocal chords. “You can leave now, if you want.”

She intended to do just that. She took a step backwards, meaning to take another, but then as she looked at him, watching how he was watching her, she found herself unable to move. She continued to look at him, and after a few moments the corners of his mouth turned upward, bearing the classic Malfoy smirk.

“Just as I thought,” he said.

This frustrated Hermione to no end. She was normally so much more in control than this. If she had been with any other privileged, obnoxious, arrogant bigot of a human, she would have easily grabbed the book, turned on her heel and headed out the door, possibly giving him a two-fingered salute in the process, if she was feeling particularly immature. But she could never do that with Lucius. He had some sort of hold over her, and it had been driving her to distraction for weeks now.

“And what is it, exactly, that you ‘thought’?” she asked, holding her book to her chest.

“It’s quite simple, really,” he answered. He stepped closer toward her still, making her breath quicken – unfortunate, as the cigarette smell was all-the-more present now, along with the smell of spicy aftershave – and continued to look insufferably pleased with himself as he nudged the door closed behind her.

“You do not like me,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please, Lucius, don’t waste any of your limited, cigarette-laden breath telling me something I already know.”

“Very well.” The next thing Hermione knew, she’d been pushed, quite forcefully, against the door. Lucius rested one open palm on either side of the door, effectively trapping her there.

“You see, Granger,” he said, still refusing to use her first name despite the working relationship they had developed, “you think of me as lazy, self-centred, annoying and indulgent, so your incredibly logical brain is telling you that you hate me. Which is why it troubles you so much to know that you’ve become obsessed with me.”

Hermione’s heartbeat increased ten-fold. He was incorrect, of course. There was no way at all that she was obsessed with Lucius Malfoy. No way at all. But, she had been thinking of him, much more often than she was prepared to admit. Although, since the frequency that she was prepared to admit to was precisely never, that honestly was not saying much.

“Please,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “Only you would be up yourself to such an extent that you would think that.”

“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?” he questioned her. “We all have obsessions, after all. Some of us are just better at accepting them than others. You, for instance, are unwilling to accept that all you ever think about nowadays are naughty, disgusting, sick ideas, all involving me.”

She did not want to listen to this. What he was suggesting was absurd; ridiculous to the nth degree. And yet … no. She refused to acknowledge any possibility that what he said could be true.

“I, on the other hand,” he continued, lifting one slender hand off the door and threading his long fingers though her curly hair, “am perfectly willing to accept that the only things on my mind are naughty, disgusting, sick ideas, centred exclusively around you. I’m proud to admit that all I can think about is you… touching you, tasting you, smelling you, and making you feel things that none of those embryos who’ve had you preciously have made you feel. Indeed, I’m happy to confess that it is taking most of my relatively extensive self-control to stop myself from taking you, right now, on the floor of my several-century-old study.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she said, looking away from him. Difficult, with him being so close, but she managed it.

Lucius smiled. “Prove it.” He stepped away from her, backing up a good three paces before addressing her again. “You have ten seconds to leave this room. If you leave before those ten seconds are up, I will not mention this ever again. If you don’t leave, then I will take you, have you, and make you smell strongly of my cigarettes by the end of the evening. The decision is yours.”

It should have been the easiest decision in the world. Now that he wasn’t so close to her, she found that she could move again. She straightened up, turning to face the door. Her hand grabbed the old-fashioned handle, pulled it, and let the door fall open a fraction.

There was the outer hallway; her path to freedom. Two steps, at most, and she would be free from him – from the sarcasm, the racism, the self-indulgence, and the constant, constant cigarette smell – forever. Two steps were all it would take, and it would all be over.

And yet, she wasn’t taking those two steps, and as much as she wished that she didn’t know why she wasn’t moving, it was obvious. It was obvious, and she’d been denying it for so long. She’d refused to believe, for even a second, that she could have lost control to such an insane extent that she had become obsessed with Lucius Malfoy.

But now it seemed that the time had come for her to stop denying it. At last.

Reaching forward, she grabbed the ancient handle, and pulled the door closed again. Turning around, she saw that the look on his face had become so self-congratulatory that there was nothing Hermione wanted to do more than to punch that look right off his face.

Well, almost nothing, anyway.

Lucius retraced his steps, backing her once again into the door.

“Time’s up,” he murmured, again using that husky voice that made her shudder. Except now she knew exactly why she was shuddering.

“What a pity,” she answered. Or at least, she would have answered, had Lucius not suddenly captured her lips with his, kissing her with an intensity that made her see stars.

Actually, she thought, her hands gripping desperately at his shoulders as she kissed him back, the cigarette smell is actually not too bad.

Sorry - it's a bit long. :)

awwh ♥♥♥

same - recently wrote a fic on them.

oooohh! that was amazing!!!!!
and fanmix HAD to be done :D

Aww, this was great! I love Hermione being so intuitive and knowing exactly what Neville was thinking.

You haven’t read the Daily Prophet since fourth year, when Harry and Hermione were plastered all over the front page.

Gah, Neville! He's so loyal to his friends.

Aww, this was quite sweet, but also a little sad. I love Neville trying to hold it all in, but then his objections bursting out. Harry was a nice touch. I love that he wasn't really mad, but wanted them to work this out.

Desie? *pleading eyes*

Oh that was very very good!
thank you! :D

Thank you internet fairy!

Thank you so much for this! These two have been one of my favorite minor character ships for a while, but I've never seen fic for them. This was brilliant. There's this lovely sort of tentative fondness between the women.

I especially love that Augusta was clumsy too. It puts rather a spin on her relationship with Neville. Like she used to be as silly and bumbling as he was and that's why she's so hard, because she's afraid no one will take him seriously.

I think it made sense! I love Filch's thoughts on the cats =D

It's an interesting look at the divide between squibs. Arabella chose to leave the world of magic and Argus chooses to stay. It's like they don't quite belong in either world.

Okay, I love this prompt too. Totally made me giggle =D

Oh, yay! My ship! Surprisingly, not many people are willing to give this ship a shot. You should feel quite proud =D

Of course, he said he would. He never refuses me, but I always have to stifle a chuckle when he assents. He always looks so terribly serious!

I love this line for being both very Albus and very Severus. It's Snape's endless devotion to the headmaster (no, he would never refuse) and Dumbldore wanting the younger man to lighten up a bit.

A wizard imprints himself upon everything he makes.

This was quite an interesting piece of mythology and sounded just like something Dumbldedore would say.

Everything was blue, the streaming moonlight, the sighing wind, even the mist floating among the trees. Blue, the color of time curling back upon itself, suspended in perfect peace.

Lovely description and very dreamy. The whole dream-sequence was lovely in how serene and fantastic it felt.

And I knew what no one else knew, would ever know: that his sorrow was as constant as his shadow, that he would always be alone.

Oh, Snape *hugs*

The flagstones lurched, and as I fell forward, just before darkness swallowed me, I heard his voice:

'A promise is a promise, Albus...'

Lately, I've been having trouble sleeping…

Such a haunting ending! Really lovely work. Thank you!

Oh, my ship!

Ouch! This was brilliant.

Can I bribe you to write this? =D
*hands cookies*

My mother looks at you like you made her.

She never looks at dad like that.

I should be mad at you; I should want to help my dad take revenge. He doesn’t know what you are doing to our family. He doesn’t even suspect.

Mum’s apologetic that she goes out too often at night; dad just kisses her cheeks and simply tells her it’s alright.

I lay awake at night thinking I should be mad at you but I cannot bring myself to.

My mother looks at you like you made her.

I want you to make me too.

She follows him silently as he leaves Godric’s chambers.

She tries to be silent, she tries not to speak and she tries to be the friend that supports all his decisions, no matter how demented they are, but when he whips back to ask her harshly what she wants from him, she finds it hard to keep quiet.

“Godric’s right. You cannot leave, Salazar,” she says softly to him.

His lips curl up in a sneer and in that moment she isn’t sure she recognizes who he is any more.

“Godric’s right,” he repeats mockingly, “When is he not?”

“Salazar, whatever this is about,” she tries to smooth things out, “I am sure we can work this out.”

He doesn’t reply, just laughs.

Only Rowena isn’t sure it is a laugh.

“If you leave now, Salazar,” she reasons, “You will be forgotten.”

‘I don’t want to forget you’ is left unsaid.

“That’s what Godric said too,” Salazar says almost casually, “But he doesn’t understand. None of you do.” He grabs her chin and forces her eyes to his. “History only forgets what I tell it to.”

Edited 2010-11-26 14:44 (UTC)

Thank you! I felt bad for breaking them like that, but it's what wanted to be done. :)

XD Thank you!

oh yes, I need this fic in my life! ♥

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Page 55 of 116

HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

Pansy/Blaise - The Sky Is Burning (R)

Re: you’re not where you belong (inside my arms), harry/hermione

Draco/Bellatrix, Unhappy Oedipus.

Lucius/Hermione - Hating Men That Smoke

Re: Lucius/Hermione - Hating Men That Smoke

Re: Lucius/Hermione - Hating Men That Smoke

Re: On the Outside, Looking in -- Pansy/Theo PG-13

Re: Bellatrix/Draco - Could you live with this? 1/2

Re: Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley-Keeping Quiet

Re: Neville/Ginny - Speak Now

no subject

Re: Pansy/Blaise - The Sky Is Burning (R)

no subject

Re: To Wish Impossible -- Minerva McGonagall/Augusta Longbottom

Re: The Closed Door -- Filch/Figg PG13

no subject

Re: Snape/Dumbledore - He knows nothing of love

no subject

Re: bellatrix/sirius - fourteen is a bizarre number, pg-13

no subject

Harry/Rose -- Mother Knows Best

Salazar/Rowena -- Slither

Re: Draco/Pansy - When we were young and laughing

Re: Bellatrix/Draco - Could you live with this? 1/2

no subject