Warnings: Slash, femslash, threesome, some incest. Ratings vary from G to R.
disclaimer: Rowling of course owns all characters and created them. I make no profit.
the cloaked hero – draco gen, post-war.
draco has no friends left. no enemies, either.
it's what you get when you win the jackspot. when you take home the grand prize.
it's worth nothing when you're surrounded by the losers.
they slave and they work and what the hell is it worth, anyway.
his father smiles and draco is ticked off.
he takes a walk outside, kicks stones, kicks them more, more, further, further down the hill, away, get the fuck away from me.
pretentious lipstick poetry – padma/pavarti.
the mirror thing is lame, padma decides one morning.
lame, lame, lame.
she doesn't see herself in parvati. she sees parvati in parvati. she sees colours in parvati, shapes, smiles, laughter, sparkles, scenes from a bollywood movie that's too long and too formulaic.
there are seven things they don't do together anymore. sleep. play. decorate. whisper. cook. read. padma forgets the 7th one.
there are seven syllables in the second line of haiku poems.
there are, on average, seven songs in a bollywood film.
it's been seven weeks since padma last saw her sister.
it's been seven days since parvati died.
something between the teeth – luna/millicent/draco
luna kisses like she cares. means it. really means it.
millicent hates it. she turns her head, pushes luna away for a bit, tries to steady her a bit. eaaasy. let's not ride the entire rollercoaster ride.
then her eyes catch draco, his eyes admiring the smooth backside of luna, luna's white thighs under the raises robes.
she looks around, books, books, books everywhere and she never wants to date a ravenclaw again. she's not fit for it. neither is draco, she knows.
but fair game. she tells luna, "no" and gets up, hears draco walk into the room after she's left.
"hello," his voice says and that's when millicent realizes nothing feels like anything with luna because she's been after the wrong blond.
bang bang bang – ron/ginny/luna.
three hearts down.
kind of.
ginny's friends with luna, the kind of friends who curl up together and kiss and get each other off and then discuss boys, brown-haired ones and blond ones and redheaded ones - though the subject's quite fragile with ginny, he doesn't think of fred or george or charlie or bill like that. never could.
ron. well. she had to tell luna. luna was a part of her now.
luna.
when ron found out, he of course lost it. ginny soothed him, always did.
it's what she did best. she knew her brother.
all storms can be tamed.
and she told luna how to.
so when one storm had settled and another one rose, hermione and harry and everything spinning like in the 7th circle of hell, it wasn't surprising that luna was there, calming the storm.
her hands behind ron's neck, looking over his shoulder at ginny.
ginny didn't know what it meant but she knew something was badly broken.
like caged tigers – remus/sirius/sinistra
he's hidden, remus knows.
where he's hidden, only remus knows.
his beard scratches remus' skin, he smells of prison and of death and it's making remus' head spin but he keeps going, doesn't stop, needs this, needs.
she catches them once, doesn't go to dumbledore, keeps quiet. smiles silly little secret smiles to remus over the dinner table, it annoys him, irks him but he smiles back, politely.
turns out she doesn't just want to watch because one day she's with him, his sirius, his and it's wrong but he doesn't do anything. can't. this is sirius. he does what he wants.
she leaves, smiling that vicious, catlike smile of hers and he returns it the best he can and his insides are like a subwoofer.
thumping thumping thumping until he reaches sirius.
needs.
bandaids don't help no more – peter gen.
peter's missing a hand. an arm.
it feels like he's missing a whole lot more. a part of himself. his future. his past.
whatever happened to that boy?
oh yes. corruption. sleeping with the enemy, metaphorically of course. ew.
peter never wanted to be the crook in the story. he liked stories. he wanted to read stories to his kids. he wanted a wife. he wanted to live next door to remus and james and sirius and all their wives and kids and he wanted to live like that, happily and comfortably. forever and ever.
it certainly doesn't make anything right but neither does it do anyone any harm. peter still has them. dreams. even though they're useless. rubbish. garbage.
and he's counting days to the day he dies.
rock my heart out through my chest – draco gen.
Shoulder dislocated.
Ribs broken. One. Two. Three. Four.
Tighter pain in chest. Stinging in both calves.
Fractured. Spinal column.
The nanny picks him up.
"The robes," he sniffles. "I hate them."
"We'll take them off, Mr Malfoy. C'mere."
He's not planning on falling down again.
teach the new caffeine addicts how the old junkie shoots up – theodore nott gen.
Tea was the stupidest drink since the invention of things such as leaves. Trees. Bushes. Anything, really.
But Theodore was keen on details and tea had those. Details. Fragnances, different flavours, countries, tea companies, history history history. Prestige. Tea was everything, tea was class.
The details were everywhere, too.
The spoon just on the right side of rusty. The chipped teacup. Dried leaves on the bottom of it.
Imperfections. Everywhere.
Theodore learned how to deal.
10pm, the hour of awesome at king's cross – neville/luna, rating: R
wizards don't travel far for a good time. luna had never been much further than cornwall.
sussex.
whatever.
neville travelled a lot, mostly just to get away, but this time he was alone. it scared him, excited him.
they stood sixteen feet away from each until luna closed to gap by ten feet. luna keeps count of feet. she currently has two. so does neville. she tells him this.
"i see," neville replies.
"where are you going?" she asks him.
he explains her. it appears they're boarding the same train. sitting right next to each other. neville feels awkward. not because luna is strange but because luna feels smart. different kind of smart than hermione. the kind of smart where you're really not sure what it is they're supposed to know.
she kisses him half-way through their nightly journey, he kisses her back and she kisses him back fiercely, pushing his against his seat, climbing onto his lap, whispering, 'you're a clever boy, neville' and neville doesn't really believe this, he's just trying to count his hands and where to put them.
she twists him, onto the floor, or halfway off the seat, anything weird and aching and this is his first time and he's really not sure but she's definitely, definitely sure and he gasps and shudders and she's making noises he can't even describe.
they collapse on the floor 15 minutes before cornwall. or sussex. whatever.
luna kisses neville goodbye and neville feels dizzy. independent.
sure.
bigger and brighter, and wider than snow – dean/ginny/luna
Dean's really not all that artistic, Ginny knows. He does like to sketch things. Little things. Laugh wrinkles around people's eyes, fingers, necks with morning hair.
Never big things. People. Whole heads, faces with lips and eyes and expressions. Dean doesn't want to portray those. That takes more than skill - it takes character to get another character on paper. Dean's not sure he has that.
Ginny knows one person who could never be on paper. Luna. Impossible to sketch, even when perfectly still. Dean draws Luna sometimes, Ginny's not jealous but it feels strangely intimate, Dean drawing Luna's smile. It never looks like Luna at all.
Ginny tastes Dean's smiles, tastes Luna's. Her perfect circle of letting things run her way.
When she tastes Dean on Luna's lips, the sky falls in.
Suddenly she notices how Dean's pencil really moves. How Luna's already been caught on paper.
check-in. flight. - cho/pansy.
pansy wants to know what it's like, on the broomstick.
she's asked draco, endlessly whined, begged him to tell her. she doesn't want to feel it. she just wants to know.
she's not terribly adventurous. not really. she never wanted to be. adventures mean danger. danger means injury.
cho's got a bruise above her knee, pansy notices. it means exactly what she knows it means.
she meets the ravenclaw girl in the library, not behind books but behind magazines. muggle. she wrinkles her nose but never minds.
and cho tells her. how high, how low, the wind, the air, waxes poetic about eagle wings and when she's done, pansy's left breathless, shocked.
she opens her mouth to ask for more but cho has to go. practise.
in the night, pansy imagines flying. bruising. someone holding onto her, making sure she won't fall down.
save her if she does.
pretty girls in pretty dresses – james/remus.
There's a werewolf in James' dreams where there used to be pretty girls in pretty dresses. It's sick, it's disgusting but it's there and it's a roaring, dangerous beast, an animal and James shudders at the fear and the gradual change as the moon wanes.
James wants to be there. Holding Remus once he's back, animal eyes staring back at James, begging for something, silence, pity, comfort. James gives everything.
untitled – colin gen.
epitaphs are interesting.
not because of the creepy bit, the part about death and afterlife, but because they say so much about people. and people who knew people. people writing about people.
colin would rather his epitaph be a photograph of something that meant a world to him.
no words are needed. no colours should be used.
snapshot of the happiest moment in his life.
that'd be perfect.
he hopes someone will take that snapshot some day.
siriusly (or not) – sirius crack.
"oh shit", thought sirius black as he fell into the veil and vanished forever.
or rather, for 2.4 seconds, until he re-appeared in the jungle of the famous disney musical, the lion king.
the warthog gave him an odd look.
"i have better clothes at home," sirius snapped at him and the warthog wandered off.
sirius sat down.
he could handle eating bugs. maybe he'd even meet good old uncle godric while here at pridelands.
it's too late to take you in – harry/draco.
love is what makes sure you don't feel lonely.
true love is what makes sure you do.
or so harry potter believes. draco leaves him and he leaves draco and they've circled around and played this game so much he forgets where it started or where it's supposed to end.
tonight draco's next to him. it feels good. for now.
morning adds new shades to things.
harry loves the mornings when draco's just beautiful and nothing less.