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essayelBecause everyone’s doing it and if there’s a band wagon I just HAVE to jump on it.
Some of these bits are collaborations but the bits I’ve posted are all me. Also the HPs were all started long before OotP came out. Now HP7 has been published and read and digested I feel justified in AUing again and phooey to the Canon Police.
Apologies for length.
Original fic with Celticangel, working title ‘Applejack’ about the impact of a recording studio on a small rural community
Ian got into the Landrover and looked across the cab at Harry as he started the engine.
“So?” he said. “How’re you doin’ really?”
Harry pulled away from the kerb before he replied. “I don’t know,” he said bleakly. “Oh yeah, I’m okay. Granpa saw that I’d be all right even without what my dad left me and at least I’m still here - in the village where I belong. Couldn’t have stood it if I’d had to go off again like with school. I’ve got my bit of land and the cottage. The farmhouse shouldn’t matter and it didn’t, Ian. It didn’t.” He slowed to take the sharp left into the lane that ran around the back of the village and, eventually, to the bungalow where Ian lived with his parents. “But this past few months,” he continued, “watching them gut the stables and cider mill, watching those lorries coming in and unloading God knows what, I - I’ve got - angry.”
Ian stared at him. “What’re you going to do?” he asked apprehensively. An angry Harry was generally bad news for somebody.
Harry chewed his lip for a moment then shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, “apart from wish Edward bloody Rutherfurd had left well enough alone. Mum and I and Grandpa were fine. Dad didn’t have to go and marry her after all this time, did ‘e? Shit that sounds so ungrateful but seventeen fucking years, Ian! Then his cow of a wife dies and, finally, he marries Mum, then...” He fell silent for a moment, jaw muscles clenching. “If she hadn’t married the bastard, she wouldn’t have been driving him that night and she’d still be alive.
“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “And that let your brother …”
Harry made a very unpleasant sound. “My half-brother,” he growled.
###
HP called The Cursebreaker’s Apprentice started with Irana but continued alone after some major revisions. I probably won't do anything with it but it's fun.
"And anozzer sing ..." Fleur's face in the fire contorted with fury. "Your mozzer, she 'as no sense of style. Zat sweater was a disgrace, and your fazzer is a fool."
"Yes, dear," Bill said, elbow on knee and chin in hand.
This was becoming a regular event. Fleur calling from Paris to give him an extempore dressing down with diversions on the shortcomings of his family. The only reason he put up with it was because she was so gorgeous when she was angry. But, frankly, it, like everything else about her, was getting to be a bit of a bore.
"Fleur," he said, cutting across the tirade during one of her few stops to draw breath. "I'm going to work, you can assassinate the rest of my character later, 'kay."
As he climbed to his feet and spoke the spell to break the connection he heard her shriek take on a sharp bird-like quality and her green-hued features sharpened.
He turned away wondering how much difference there really was between a veela and a harpy then shrugged and reached for his cloak.
###
Original fic, no title, set in 1973
David could see movement behind the reflections in the glass so stepped inside the greenhouse. Sure enough, there was Gwyn, potting out seedlings and singing along to the radio.
David smiled. Gwyn looked ridiculously young in his baggy tee shirt and jeans, especially with the broad smear where he had rubbed his cheek with a muddy hand. But then Gwyn lifted a tray of compost filled pots, heavy with water and new little plants from the staging up to a shelf above his head. Muscle bunched under smooth skin and the tee-shirt rode up, giving David a glimpse of belly, punctuated by the shadowed tuck of a navel. David swallowed. Gwyn wasn’t as young as all that, for all his innocence, and with every day that passed David was finding it harder not to touch him.
You want him he thought. You might as well admit it to yourself and then get on with your life because he’s not for you. Dear God – what a pity, though.
Then Gwyn noticed that David was there and looked around at him, and David was quite shocked. His dream had reminded him of the guarded faces of his friends in the service. But Gwyn’s face was so open that his feelings were laid bare for David to see. Welcome, of course, and concern and hope and fear. For the moment the fear was predominant and that would never do so David strode forward smiling.
“Morning,” he said. “I got your message,” and smiled all over again to see how Gwyn’s face lit with relief as he turned off the radio with a composty finger.
###
Collab spin off from Morningstar Manor RPG written with Celticangel, currently stalled
A junction - a cross roads - if he could last that long. One way neatly paved, the other rough and potholed.
Behind him the engine roared and he jinked aside again. The pickup came up level with him and swerved and he braked but the driver had his measure now and had braked as well, swerving towards the ditch. With his heart in his mouth, he wrenched the little bike aside, bumping dangerously close to the edge, and waited for the final push.
It didn't come. He looked up and saw the flash of white teeth as the driver laughed. So the game wasn't over - there was more fun to be had. Snarling, he flashed ahead again, making for the junction. He braked at the last moment, keeping his wheel straight and might have made the turn only he hit a broken patch at the edge of the road where the asphalt had crumbled. The wheel bucked and the back wheel screamed out from under him, throwing him, rolling, across the asphalt. Arms wrapped around his head, he felt the denim of his jeans give. As he heard a shriek of brakes as the pickup flashed past him, one little part of him wailed with terror while another spat "Hah, missed, loser."
Rolling to his feet, he looked along the road to where the pickup was turning at the apex of a trail of rubber. He ran to the bike and picked it up looking it anxiously over, then got on and tried to kick start it. The engine turned over and stalled. Behind him he heard the pickup's engine rev and he took a deep breath and tried again. Again it stalled, and he looked back to see the pickup accelerating towards him, the driver's face clearly visible. The bastard was laughing again.
It was then that something that had probably always been inside Charlie uncurled, shook its ears and showed its teeth. "Fuck you," he said, quietly. He stepped away from the bike, stooped and scooped up a fist-sized lump of broken asphalt. He threw it with all his strength directly at the laughing face.
The windscreen holed, abruptly opaque as it crazed all over and Charlie flung himself aside as the pickup swerved and slewed. He grabbed the bike, this time it started first time, and he was off again - heading for the hills.
Behind him the pickup slowed and stopped. The driver kicked out the window then wiped the blood from his face and turned his vehicle. No longer laughing, he had decided to make an end.
###
HP fic now AU entitled “Eight Weeks Basic”, sequel to a complete but unpublished AU called “A Very Good Reason”. This bit is set in an Auror Training establishment where the tutors are discussing the new intake. Since HP7 has come out I’ve been looking over it again.
“Right,” Moody slammed his hand down on top of the pile of files and spread them out on the table. “Let’s hear your first impressions. Sissons – what about Timmins?”
“Sweet Cecelia,” she replied. “Timmins by name, timid by nature. Only here because her Dad hasn’t got a son to send. Cecelia knows and always will know that she’s second best. If she can ever overcome that little handicap, she’ll do just fine,” Sissons grinned, “but I’d just like to register my bet in the sweep that she’ll be the first to beg to go home.”
“The sweep!” Tate grinned as well. “Then I’d like to bet that Donohue is the first to bring down a classmate in a friendly fire incident.” There were sombre murmurs of agreement.
“Who’ll be the first to get laid?” Cravich asked.
“Malfoy,” Sissons said.
“Malfoy,” Kemp and Siôn Ddu agreed.
“Boy or girl?” Cravich added.
“Boy,” Kemp replied. “Girl,” Ddu answered in the same breath.
“Both,” Sissons chuckled. “The kid’s a monster.”
“That’s enough of that,” Moody grumbled, bringing them all to order. “I’d remind you that they are in our care and it’s highly inappropriate for you to discuss them in those terms.”
“It’s how they discuss us,” Kemp pointed out, then shrugged. “All right – what about the Golden Boy? Ddu – what about Potter?”
Siôn slowly lowered his forehead to the table and folded his arms protectively over his head. “I’m not going to be popular for saying this,” came the muffled reply, “but – well – he’s fucking useless isn’t he.”
The expected storm broke and Sissons’s voice, higher and lighter, prevailed over the growls of the men. “No,” she protested. “That’s harsh, Siôn. He’s not useless. He’s a high achiever, a natural leader, very competent …”
“Brave, determined, intelligent,” Tate continued.
Cravich took up the theme. “He’s a problem solver, quite analytical.”
“Attractive, energetic, plenty of drive,” Kemp finished.
“But,” Ddu said, raising his head, “he’s incapable of following orders.”
“Well …. Yes,” Sissons agreed reluctantly.
“He’s useless,” Tate confirmed.
“Totally,” Cravich said.
Kemp said nothing but patted Ddu’s shoulder sympathetically and Ddu shrugged.
“We should have expected it,” he said. “James Potter always knew best, always knew the shortcuts. Add to that Harry’s complete and utter contempt for any kind of authority and he’s not just useless but disastrous. I’d sooner not be responsible for training him up to full potential then unleashing him on the public.”
“So – eight weeks basic then we transfer him to MLES and he’s their problem?” Moody asked and everyone nodded. “So,” Moody looked around at them, “how about - Malfoy?”
This time the silence was rather longer.
###
This is the tip of the iceberg.
* Sigh * I should live so long.
Some of these bits are collaborations but the bits I’ve posted are all me. Also the HPs were all started long before OotP came out. Now HP7 has been published and read and digested I feel justified in AUing again and phooey to the Canon Police.
Apologies for length.
Original fic with Celticangel, working title ‘Applejack’ about the impact of a recording studio on a small rural community
Ian got into the Landrover and looked across the cab at Harry as he started the engine.
“So?” he said. “How’re you doin’ really?”
Harry pulled away from the kerb before he replied. “I don’t know,” he said bleakly. “Oh yeah, I’m okay. Granpa saw that I’d be all right even without what my dad left me and at least I’m still here - in the village where I belong. Couldn’t have stood it if I’d had to go off again like with school. I’ve got my bit of land and the cottage. The farmhouse shouldn’t matter and it didn’t, Ian. It didn’t.” He slowed to take the sharp left into the lane that ran around the back of the village and, eventually, to the bungalow where Ian lived with his parents. “But this past few months,” he continued, “watching them gut the stables and cider mill, watching those lorries coming in and unloading God knows what, I - I’ve got - angry.”
Ian stared at him. “What’re you going to do?” he asked apprehensively. An angry Harry was generally bad news for somebody.
Harry chewed his lip for a moment then shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, “apart from wish Edward bloody Rutherfurd had left well enough alone. Mum and I and Grandpa were fine. Dad didn’t have to go and marry her after all this time, did ‘e? Shit that sounds so ungrateful but seventeen fucking years, Ian! Then his cow of a wife dies and, finally, he marries Mum, then...” He fell silent for a moment, jaw muscles clenching. “If she hadn’t married the bastard, she wouldn’t have been driving him that night and she’d still be alive.
“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “And that let your brother …”
Harry made a very unpleasant sound. “My half-brother,” he growled.
###
HP called The Cursebreaker’s Apprentice started with Irana but continued alone after some major revisions. I probably won't do anything with it but it's fun.
"And anozzer sing ..." Fleur's face in the fire contorted with fury. "Your mozzer, she 'as no sense of style. Zat sweater was a disgrace, and your fazzer is a fool."
"Yes, dear," Bill said, elbow on knee and chin in hand.
This was becoming a regular event. Fleur calling from Paris to give him an extempore dressing down with diversions on the shortcomings of his family. The only reason he put up with it was because she was so gorgeous when she was angry. But, frankly, it, like everything else about her, was getting to be a bit of a bore.
"Fleur," he said, cutting across the tirade during one of her few stops to draw breath. "I'm going to work, you can assassinate the rest of my character later, 'kay."
As he climbed to his feet and spoke the spell to break the connection he heard her shriek take on a sharp bird-like quality and her green-hued features sharpened.
He turned away wondering how much difference there really was between a veela and a harpy then shrugged and reached for his cloak.
###
Original fic, no title, set in 1973
David could see movement behind the reflections in the glass so stepped inside the greenhouse. Sure enough, there was Gwyn, potting out seedlings and singing along to the radio.
David smiled. Gwyn looked ridiculously young in his baggy tee shirt and jeans, especially with the broad smear where he had rubbed his cheek with a muddy hand. But then Gwyn lifted a tray of compost filled pots, heavy with water and new little plants from the staging up to a shelf above his head. Muscle bunched under smooth skin and the tee-shirt rode up, giving David a glimpse of belly, punctuated by the shadowed tuck of a navel. David swallowed. Gwyn wasn’t as young as all that, for all his innocence, and with every day that passed David was finding it harder not to touch him.
You want him he thought. You might as well admit it to yourself and then get on with your life because he’s not for you. Dear God – what a pity, though.
Then Gwyn noticed that David was there and looked around at him, and David was quite shocked. His dream had reminded him of the guarded faces of his friends in the service. But Gwyn’s face was so open that his feelings were laid bare for David to see. Welcome, of course, and concern and hope and fear. For the moment the fear was predominant and that would never do so David strode forward smiling.
“Morning,” he said. “I got your message,” and smiled all over again to see how Gwyn’s face lit with relief as he turned off the radio with a composty finger.
###
Collab spin off from Morningstar Manor RPG written with Celticangel, currently stalled
A junction - a cross roads - if he could last that long. One way neatly paved, the other rough and potholed.
Behind him the engine roared and he jinked aside again. The pickup came up level with him and swerved and he braked but the driver had his measure now and had braked as well, swerving towards the ditch. With his heart in his mouth, he wrenched the little bike aside, bumping dangerously close to the edge, and waited for the final push.
It didn't come. He looked up and saw the flash of white teeth as the driver laughed. So the game wasn't over - there was more fun to be had. Snarling, he flashed ahead again, making for the junction. He braked at the last moment, keeping his wheel straight and might have made the turn only he hit a broken patch at the edge of the road where the asphalt had crumbled. The wheel bucked and the back wheel screamed out from under him, throwing him, rolling, across the asphalt. Arms wrapped around his head, he felt the denim of his jeans give. As he heard a shriek of brakes as the pickup flashed past him, one little part of him wailed with terror while another spat "Hah, missed, loser."
Rolling to his feet, he looked along the road to where the pickup was turning at the apex of a trail of rubber. He ran to the bike and picked it up looking it anxiously over, then got on and tried to kick start it. The engine turned over and stalled. Behind him he heard the pickup's engine rev and he took a deep breath and tried again. Again it stalled, and he looked back to see the pickup accelerating towards him, the driver's face clearly visible. The bastard was laughing again.
It was then that something that had probably always been inside Charlie uncurled, shook its ears and showed its teeth. "Fuck you," he said, quietly. He stepped away from the bike, stooped and scooped up a fist-sized lump of broken asphalt. He threw it with all his strength directly at the laughing face.
The windscreen holed, abruptly opaque as it crazed all over and Charlie flung himself aside as the pickup swerved and slewed. He grabbed the bike, this time it started first time, and he was off again - heading for the hills.
Behind him the pickup slowed and stopped. The driver kicked out the window then wiped the blood from his face and turned his vehicle. No longer laughing, he had decided to make an end.
###
HP fic now AU entitled “Eight Weeks Basic”, sequel to a complete but unpublished AU called “A Very Good Reason”. This bit is set in an Auror Training establishment where the tutors are discussing the new intake. Since HP7 has come out I’ve been looking over it again.
“Right,” Moody slammed his hand down on top of the pile of files and spread them out on the table. “Let’s hear your first impressions. Sissons – what about Timmins?”
“Sweet Cecelia,” she replied. “Timmins by name, timid by nature. Only here because her Dad hasn’t got a son to send. Cecelia knows and always will know that she’s second best. If she can ever overcome that little handicap, she’ll do just fine,” Sissons grinned, “but I’d just like to register my bet in the sweep that she’ll be the first to beg to go home.”
“The sweep!” Tate grinned as well. “Then I’d like to bet that Donohue is the first to bring down a classmate in a friendly fire incident.” There were sombre murmurs of agreement.
“Who’ll be the first to get laid?” Cravich asked.
“Malfoy,” Sissons said.
“Malfoy,” Kemp and Siôn Ddu agreed.
“Boy or girl?” Cravich added.
“Boy,” Kemp replied. “Girl,” Ddu answered in the same breath.
“Both,” Sissons chuckled. “The kid’s a monster.”
“That’s enough of that,” Moody grumbled, bringing them all to order. “I’d remind you that they are in our care and it’s highly inappropriate for you to discuss them in those terms.”
“It’s how they discuss us,” Kemp pointed out, then shrugged. “All right – what about the Golden Boy? Ddu – what about Potter?”
Siôn slowly lowered his forehead to the table and folded his arms protectively over his head. “I’m not going to be popular for saying this,” came the muffled reply, “but – well – he’s fucking useless isn’t he.”
The expected storm broke and Sissons’s voice, higher and lighter, prevailed over the growls of the men. “No,” she protested. “That’s harsh, Siôn. He’s not useless. He’s a high achiever, a natural leader, very competent …”
“Brave, determined, intelligent,” Tate continued.
Cravich took up the theme. “He’s a problem solver, quite analytical.”
“Attractive, energetic, plenty of drive,” Kemp finished.
“But,” Ddu said, raising his head, “he’s incapable of following orders.”
“Well …. Yes,” Sissons agreed reluctantly.
“He’s useless,” Tate confirmed.
“Totally,” Cravich said.
Kemp said nothing but patted Ddu’s shoulder sympathetically and Ddu shrugged.
“We should have expected it,” he said. “James Potter always knew best, always knew the shortcuts. Add to that Harry’s complete and utter contempt for any kind of authority and he’s not just useless but disastrous. I’d sooner not be responsible for training him up to full potential then unleashing him on the public.”
“So – eight weeks basic then we transfer him to MLES and he’s their problem?” Moody asked and everyone nodded. “So,” Moody looked around at them, “how about - Malfoy?”
This time the silence was rather longer.
###
This is the tip of the iceberg.
* Sigh * I should live so long.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-08 08:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-08 10:36 pm (UTC)