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operatingroomHarry 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:
by eleusis_walks
by superkappaby
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!
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Re: Sirius Black/Lily Evans(/James Potter) - always cry at weddings
Date: 2010-11-27 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-27 11:00 pm (UTC)“Have you seen the thestrals?” He looked up at her with a little jump, apparently having not noticed her sudden appearance beside him.
“Luna, you know I can see them,” Harry said, not too patiently, but she took no notice and sat down beside him. He looked anywhere but at her face and settled his grim gaze on the stone on the ground before them. “I imagine we all can now.”
“They’re in the clouds today,” she said pointing up at the brilliant blue sky. His gaze followed her finger up, up and up, and he said her name as a question before the words that were to follow caught in his throat. She looked over and found his whole face shining in a smile that was slowly spreading outward from his eyes and mouth.
“They are the clouds today, Luna.” She reached over and put a reassuring hand on his arm, because it looked to her like his eyes were starting to sparkle with unshed tears. His hand immediately covered hers, and they sat there watching the clouds move, the two of them swaying together for a few minutes.
“I’m glad you’ve found your way again.” She said it like an afterthought and felt him stiffen as he turned toward her.
“What do you mean?”
“Your scheme with Griphook. It’s made you you again.” The smile she gave him radiated pride, but his face only returned a look of bewilderment. But only for a moment. He quickly smiled like he was amused.
“It would be better if we didn’t need him.”
“You don’t like him much.” Harry’s mouth opened as if to reply, but he apparently thought better of it and instead took a deep breath. “The goblin is a wonderful storyteller. You should ask him about the Sniggleberry King one day. He tells it better than Daddy does. Oh, and he makes a delicious cup of tea.”
“You know Luna, I should really stop being surprised when you see the good in someone,” he said, beaming at her proudly.
“Oh, but Harry, you see it too. I know you do. Otherwise the hinglyglops wouldn’t be so attracted to you.” His eyebrows dipped a bit towards his nose and he looked like, Luna thought, that he was going to ask a question, but he sort of half chuckled, half coughed prior to simply saying thanks.
An owl streaked across the sky above them after a moment, and Luna got to her feet to watch the bird land at one of the cottage’s windows. “That’ll be my new wand. Mr. Ollivander really is a dear man.” Harry stood as well and simply nodded his agreement. “I think you’ll be leaving us soon,” Luna stated as she turned back to him. “Good luck, and remember that water-born porlakindinks sprayed in the face of an attacker will render them speechless for up to five minutes.”
Harry tired for a small, unconfused smile and mostly succeeded.
“They are hard to find though,” she said thoughtfully. “Will you be visiting the underground fog lakes of Bulgaria on your journeys?”
“It’s a definite possibility.”
Her smile was warm and her thoughts a little bit distracted as she turned from her slightly less lonely friend and made her way back to the cottage and all the wonder of her new wand.
Re: harry/hermione; please, stay the night - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-27 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-27 11:19 pm (UTC)Re: harry/hermione; please, stay the night - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-27 11:20 pm (UTC)"I would have pretended I didn't know."
He swallows her words.
(She pretends.)
sadfkj;l this paaaart! But also all of it.
Re: harry/hermione - my heart is holding onto you
Date: 2010-11-27 11:23 pm (UTC)Re: harry/hermione - my heart is holding onto you
Date: 2010-11-27 11:27 pm (UTC)Re: harry/hermione - my heart is holding onto you
Date: 2010-11-27 11:32 pm (UTC)an addiction to hands and feet (1/2) - ginny/neville - r
Date: 2010-11-27 11:45 pm (UTC)Luna's not been about for a week, and they've both been stepping around her absence: treading more lightly as if maybe they could draw her bare-stockinged footsteps into the absence of sound they leave behind. Ginny feels herself skittish in her bones, twitchy and sharp and quick to look behind her, and Neville—Neville, gallingly, is even more silent than usual; when they're in proximity he keeps a foot of space between them, like if he won't touch her Luna will pop up into the unused space.
It doesn't help. It doesn't do a bloody thing, and Ginny feels it acutely: that nothing that they're doing. Her hands sit uselessly at her sides for days on end, and the work stills around them. The DA, in its fragments, are shocked silent for a week, and it's on the eighth day that Ginny finds herself staring shamefacedly at a plate of radishes for fifteen minutes—radishes, honestly, she thinks, and then oh bugger no, there are tears in her eyes.
Neville looks up. She hasn't made a sound and Neville looks up anyway from his fixed place next to her. "Hey," he says, barely audible in the air between them, and she shakes her head hard. His hand raises above his plate and teeters awkwardly in the air between them. Caught still in the space.
It's that hovering she despises, that feeling that catches in the air around them as if they're being hoisted and stalled on marionette strings. She reaches out, Seeker swift, and catches his hand, grips it hard in hers.
"I'm full," she says, gulping hard over the catch in her throat, "come with me?"
He gets up without comment, follows her through the tables to the end of the Hall without shaking out of her hand. His fingers, broad and slightly soft, are intertwined with hers when they reach the entryway. Nott's on duty, that awful rangy Slytherin with the sneer on his face some foot above her own. "You got a pass, Weasley?"
She freezes. It's Neville who speaks, then. "Of course we do." When she looks back at him, he's flashing a bit of parchment. "Professor Sprout's expecting us."
Nott tosses a contemptuous hand, and they pass. She'd give anything to hex him, but her wand's in her room now—they need Carrow license to carry wands to meals now. "Thanks," she says when they've come to the nearest staircase, which wags toward them, "sorry."
"Course."
an addiction to hands and feet (2/2) - ginny/neville - r
Date: 2010-11-27 11:46 pm (UTC)The portrait swings shut behind him and now he asks: "What's wrong?"
"All of it," she says, and steps in to kiss him.
It's been weeks now since their scattered patterns of touching fell to a standstill, and she kisses him with the week's fury, the week's stillness breaking between their mouths. She bites his lower lip and his hands clasp her waist, his mouth open against hers. "What is this, Gin?" he whispers harsh into spaces that don't exist between them.
"A promise."
"What of?" His hands coil tight, push her back, his forehead aligning with hers and his eyes staring dead-on into her own.
"Here on out we're going to work." She presses a palm into his cheek, skin warming skin. She's not going to mention names, but he's nodding. "We're going to do things. Big things, all right?"
"Yeah," he says, and he clasps her face in her hands, lips to eyelids that aren't wet any longer (she swears—), limning along her cheek, her nose, until they match back up to her mouth. Voices to voices. Breath to breath.
Crooking one elbow around the back of his neck, she presses against him harder and harder. So much space to fill in, so much time, the ghosts of motion lost still lingering on her skin. His hips jut against hers, his stomach under her hand, the quick gasp he makes against her mouth. One thigh trapped between his. She knots with him—him and the claustrophobic walls around them, hands and joints and breath warming the air.
He pants, "I'm not—"
She stops. "Not what?"
"Not going to go," he says, and then she can't pretend to not be crying, but she thinks if they can just move fast enough, full enough, make each other sweat, that they'll be able to look past the breaking. This is a consummation—she abandons her robe crumpled on the floor, her sweater inching up above her trousers—first.
Sometimes she's afraid she'll go up in flames this year, but (as Neville kneels, pressing his lips to the slice of skin next to her navel, fingers moving in broad strokes) she knows at least there's someone solid (he touches her without any thought that she'll break or burn) who'll live it out no matter what. No matter what, as his arms lace around her waist and her fingers knot hard in his hair.
You're my bloody hero, she thinks with her thigh against his cheek.
Re: harry/hermione; please, stay the night - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-28 12:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 12:37 am (UTC)We'll move forward,
And know where we went wrong,
But you can't go home again
Re: Charity Burbage/Severus Snape -- Thinking Of You
Date: 2010-11-28 12:40 am (UTC)paint's peeling - narcissa/bellatrix/lucius - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-28 12:41 am (UTC)It was a thick lily-white and now it's fading and flecked with red; they bring bodies here (if they don't come in bodies, they end up that way). They. The guests, Narcissa thinks, wry, and presses a steady hand to the frame of the door.
Their house is being ransacked by ghosts in the making and there is nothing she can say about it. Nothing she has to say: every cause takes sacrifices, she thinks, watching the paper peel from the wall like skin from bone. The litany is old; it is less reassuring day by day.
An arm—bone-thin and wrapped in black—snakes around her waist and she nearly starts. Bellatrix presses up against her side.
"Your heart's racing, Cissy," she purrs. "Exhilarating times, aren't they?"
"Can't someone clean this mess up?" Narcissa replies, voice cold. "Wormtail ought to be up here."
"I'll fetch our vermin when next I see him." Bella laughs, sound cracking in the air, and presses a kiss to Narcissa's cheek, wet and too close to her mouth.
Narcissa does not move until her sister is gone.
-
"I can't take much more of this," she whispers cheek to cheek with her husband beneath the black canopy over their bed.
"Shh." He strokes her cheek, one finger stopping her polished mouth. His eyes are tired, face stark in its hollows, but he won't let on when he speaks, and his voice still carries the same surety, resonating through her bones where they line up with his. "You won't have to. It's just a matter of time."
"But the things they—"
A noise scrabbles through the halls outside and she checks her words as soon as she thinks them, killing them on her tongue. Scuttling dance of footsteps, snatches of hummed songs, near and then far—and then near once more. The doorknob twists and the door flies open, tracing Bellatrix in the frame.
"Hello, sister," she says with a smile stretching her dark lips. "Brother."
"Bella, what is it—"
"My lord dismissed me from the guard," she says and laughs, sound skittering high and sharp. Beneath the sheets, Lucius's fingers weave over Narcissa's, squeeze. "He sent me away."
She steps into the room, toward the bed, circling in and around it. "What are you doing here?" Narcissa asks sharply. "Go to bed, Bellatrix."
"How could anyone sleep on nights like this?" Bellatrix's eyes are lit as she moves in, kneeling over the sheets and sitting by Narcissa's side—too close, always too close, a hand sliding onto Narcissa's thigh. "Not when the Dark Lord is so close, so near dominion." Her back arches, throwing breasts and white throat into stark silhouetted relief. "The house is alive with it, Cissy, can't you feel it? You, Lucius," she says, leaning forward, "you must be so grateful—"
Her fingers lash out, wrap a lock of his silver-blonde hair around her hand, and Narcissa recoils as her husband tries to swallow his reaction. "Get out of here, Bella," she says, and Bellatrix laughs again—she is always laughing—her hand tightening and her body sliding snakelike across the sheets, face near Lucius's own.
"You're so lucky. You, Lucius—" Bellatrix darts a quick look at Narcissa and presses her lips—just briefly—to the column of Lucius's suddenly paralyzed throat. Narcissa's hand lashes forward and Bellatrix catches it. Fingers intertwining and grinding bone against bone. She pulls the hand toward her, kisses Narcissa's knuckles; Narcissa is breathing shallow and sharp in her throat and Bellatrix smiles at her almost brightly, teeth to her lips and love suffusing her eyes, bright and mad and dark and foreign; Narcissa feels no trace of her in her blood, for all that her heart is beating warm and fast and her fingers wear the wet print of her sister's lips.
"He brought in someone new, someone from the school—Muggle sympathizer," she says with a grotesque twist of her mouth, tongue between twisted lips, touching the column of Lucius's neck with the tip of it. "They put her in the spare room. For now."
harry/hermione - tell me nothing will ruin us (1/2)
Date: 2010-11-28 01:00 am (UTC)"Honestly, Harry," Hermione is saying from her seat across the table from him. "We don't even know if it's a girl or a boy yet."
Harry grins, and hopes it looks more genuine than it feels. "I've got a hunch," he says.
"Well, thank you," Hermione says, and politely takes the blanket from Harry and rests it at the bottom of the stairs to be carried up later. In her absence, Harry looks around the kitchen and down the hall to the living room, trying to imagine the extraordinary baby proofing that Hermione will inevitably cast over the house—force fields around kitchen appliances and the like. In seven months, there will be a screaming child in these halls. Harry, he must admit, has never really thought of Hermione as a mother. There are still some days he thinks of her at seventeen years old. It seems, somehow, off to home, like the final punctuation mark on their childhoods, like the loss of something that once was and can now never be again.
“Something wrong?” Hermione asks, reentering the kitchen, her barefoot feet pattering almost silently against the floor.
“No,” Harry says with a half-swallowed grin. “Nothing at all.”
“You wouldn’t believe the gifts we’ve been getting,” Hermione continues, sitting down. “We’ve been getting things from people I’ve never ever heard of, let alone met. It’s good to know the wizarding world is just as prone to gossip as ever, I suppose.”
Somewhere in the back of his chest, Harry feels a sting as subtle and violent as a wasp’s bite. He didn’t find out through the Daily Prophet, no, but he might as well have. Rita Skeeter published the announcement by the afternoon. Nearly 60 and the woman still manages to catch everything. It’s not Ron or Hermione’s fault, of course, but Harry can’t help but feel it, like a burn, like the fact that he didn’t know sooner signifies all the changes in them since the end of the war. On some level, he thinks, he has always been afraid of this, of them becoming something he can’t touch. He knows how selfish that is—the guilt of even thinking it creeps over him like ivy on the side of an old home. And, yet, he cannot help but feel the childish, snapping thought.
“So,” Harry coughs. “What are you going to name her?”
Hermione rolls her eyes, smiling a little. “I told you, we don’t know—”
“I told you, I have a feeling about this,” Harry insists. Off her look, he says, “If it’s a girl, what will you name her?”
Hermione narrows her eyes in a look Harry can’t quite read. It does make him feel like an old, creaking book, the kind she used to spend hours in the library dissecting. But that was lifetimes ago, really.
But then the look fades. “I’ve always liked the name Rose,” Hermione says. “We’ve only talked about it a bit, I just — it was my mother’s favorite flower. She used to give a dozen to me every year on my birthday.”
She scoops a spoonful of sugar into her tea and stares into the bottom of the cup. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think her intense stare was an attempt to read the leaves. He reaches over to her and grabs onto her fingertips.
“I think Rose is a lovely name,” he says.
She smiles softly, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Thanks,” she says. “I mean, it’s not James Sirius, but—”
“Hey,” Harry laughs. “Those are noble names.”
Hermione laughs — giggles, almost, and for a moment looks so young. Then, she sobers, and her smile becomes quiet again. “Noble indeed,” she whispers, remembering. “Noble indeed.”
Harry remembers too. Harry remembers everything: the smell of the forest, the blankness of death, the taste of blood on the wind. But he pushes it aside. It does not do to dwell in the past and forget to live.
Re: you’re not where you belong (inside my arms), harry/hermione
Date: 2010-11-28 01:00 am (UTC)My favorite is the second to last paragraph. <3
no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 01:01 am (UTC)Re: harry/hermione; please, stay the night - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-28 01:02 am (UTC)Re: harry/hermione -- just writing to reach you
Date: 2010-11-28 01:04 am (UTC)Lovely.
Re: Charity Burbage/Severus Snape -- Thinking Of You
Date: 2010-11-28 01:12 am (UTC)Re: harry/hermione; please, stay the night - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-28 01:17 am (UTC)no, honestly, why and how?
idc. idc. i just know that whatever it is that makes you produce such beautiful things, just keep doing them, drinking them, idk, etc.
there were many parts i would have liked to point out as things that stood out more. i'm having trouble doing that right now. but there's something about I never. that really did it to me.
this is fantastic.
Re: harry/hermione -- this bird has flown
Date: 2010-11-28 01:19 am (UTC)INCREDIBLE. I love that last line. The saying 'damned if I do damned if I don't' replayed continuously as I read this.