H/D recs
Before I forget, there's an interesting article in New York Magazine about the latest scientific research on sexual identification: The Science of Gaydar.
A long spell without H/D recs from me has just come to an end. (Don't imagine I don't hear you thinking, "Thank God it's not another rant!") Many of these come from the current hd_holidays fest going on. I love the fact that it's happening in June, when I actually have time to read. Not that I'm even caught up - there may be more recs to come.
Stung - by anonymous (for now, but I think I might know who this is) is a pitch-perfect recasting of Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew." Brilliantly written. Cleverly parallels the source, but with enough deviation to make it more than a parroting with the name Kate search/replaced with Draco. And the language and craft of writing it displays, is what grabs me and won't let go. The characterizations aren't just parodies but have real depth to them, so that I was really rooting for them to get together. Obviously, Harry's got a bit more of a stretch to become Petruchio than Draco does to become Kate, but the lovely mystery author's done a great job at making their dynamic work. Here's are some descriptions in all their beauty and a healthy dose of wit:
Shacklebolt, whose constitution never revealed any symptoms of drunkenness until the moment he flowed from chair to floor like an upended cauldron full of marshmallow, glared at him.
~~~
Potter lounged against the hallway wall, as if daring Snape to point out that he was wearing nothing but a threadbare black tee shirt that ended at about the point where decency would have required it to begin.
~~~
Draco had a gift for rage. On some days he gave it the cold, crushing force of a glacier; on others he could hurl out words and sharp objects like a geyser. He could do the sort of uncontrolled fury that most people didn't even dream of - the Gringotts' incident was really more recreation than any real attempt at anger. Draco had a master chef's intuition for the different aromas and textures and tastes of wrath. He thought he had perfected every possible state of anger, from indignation to rancour to full-blown apoplexy.
But being incapacitated by Harry Potter in his own house put him right off the scale.
~~~
…The doorbell sounded. Narcissa opened it.
"Ah!" she said, in what co-incidentally was exactly the tone used by Abraham Peasegood's wife just after he had illustrated his new idea of Quodpot on her best linen tablecloth and in the process annihilated her saltshaker, her favourite Toby jug, and both of her eyebrows. "Ah."
______________________________________________________
Next up is a dark and fascinating tale that could have been taken from the front pages these days. The Good Guys by frayach is a true gem of a mindfuck, where the H/D relationship is a side order to the plot. In fact, I'd recommend this one to all of you who don't really like H/D and who can take their stories dark and harsh. It left me thinking about all those shades of gray days later. Definitely one of those you wish you could show to JKR herself and say, "See? If you didn't insist on these being children's books, this is what could come of your world!"
Jennings chuckled softly and turned to Harry.
“Did you hear that, Harry? This chap here says he has rights. What rights do you think he has?”
Harry frowned, trying to remember back to his rushed and truncated Auror training.
“Er, well . . . I think they have the right to a hearing before a neutral tribunal, the right to speak to a Processes and Procedures Advocate . . .” He paused, counting unconsciously on his fingers. “Uhm . . . They have the right to put on a defense and confront the witnesses against them . . .”
Jennings laughed a long, low laugh.
“Perhaps they had those rights,” he said. “Back in the days when the worst the Aurors had to deal with was trafficking in illegal artefacts and love potions and the occasional random murder. But now that there’s a war on - which, I might add, is no fault of our side - such rights are luxuries we cannot afford. Besides, these pieces of shite have made it the whole point of their campaign to undermine and destroy the values and principles those rights are based on. Do you think, if they were winning this war and took you and me prisoner, that they’d afford us any rights? Fuck no! They’d torture us to death and ask questions later. Trust me Harry, I know.”
_________________________________________________
Room with a View - anonymous has a unique original POV character - the portrait of Arcturus Black. There are two things about this story that caught my attention - the first was the creative way that the author characterized Arcturus, how being a portrait isn't at all like being alive although he still has that Black arrogance. The second is how nearly all the action is focused on Draco's bedroom where Arcturus hangs, which leaves him and us in the dark about some of the events that occur outside this room. Portrait fic isn't something I've seen much of, so I was fascinated by the perspective. I especially like where the story ends - I have a tendency to overexplain my endings and this author takes us exactly to the point where we can fill in the rest ourselves.
His head cocked to one side, Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the lump on the bed across the room. A pale, bony arm protruded from under the blanket, dangling over the edge, and strands of light hair was spread over the pillow, capturing the still dim sunlight.
This was- he leaned his head back, biting back a scream of frustration. Images of people old and young, family and strangers, from both days and decades ago, flashed through his mind, and he felt panic rise inside him when he realised that he couldn't for the love of Merlin pick the right one. Were his ancestors right, was there really no escaping from being lost in time? Concentrating on how it had felt to breathe deep and slow, he fixed his eyes onto the brilliantly blond hair, and then tried to remember the sound of the person's voice.
Something important had happened yesterday, and he was unable to -
"Malfoy!" The rough wake-up call, combined with hammering on the door, caused the person to bolt up straight, and Arcturus's memories came back with a rush.
_______________________________________________
Bad Company - anon is another dark tale, this time a hate!fuck fic. Forced to meet Draco as Snape's emissary from his spying missions, Harry lets his anger out on the one person willing to give it back in spades.
Harry had him by the throat, pushing him backwards against the nearest wall. "There's more where that came from, Malfoy. Don't fuck with me. This isn't Hogwarts; we're not playing Quidditch any more. This is war; life or death. So make your own fucking tea and tell me what you know." He was shaking. He didn't know whom he hated more at that moment: Malfoy or Voldemort.
"Fuck you," spluttered Malfoy. "You maimed me! I'm not telling you anything, you--"
Harry eased up on his throat a little, and used his knee to keep Malfoy pressed firmly against the wall. "Then go back to Snape and tell him that, and be sure to mention the circumstances."
_________________________________________________
The World of the Living by Anon uses Luna's POV to tell this story of two broken men. This Luna isn't the stereotypical ditzy blonde we see too many times in fic, if she's used at all. She's still Loony but with a sense of cosmic justice and a strange, perceptive side.
Luna once saw two Kneazle toms facing each other at the boundary between their respective territories. She remembers how they moved in circles around each other, bodies taut and ears flattened, their eyes never leaving their opponent's. They were roughly the same size, and it was obvious that neither was eager to attack, so they kept moving slowly and carefully, without hissing or spitting at each other, always keeping a safe distance, but determined not to back off either.
Harry and Draco are beginning to remind her of them.
As Christmas draws nearer, it happens more and more often that the three of them find themselves gathered around the fireplace in the evening, Luna and Draco curled up in the armchairs, Harry sprawled on the sofa. Both of them talk to Luna, but they hardly ever address each other, although they always appear to be watching each other out of the corner of their eyes. Luna does her best to divide her attention equally between the two of them until it's becoming too tiresome; then she will eventually start humming another carol.
She sometimes wishes that she'd stayed long enough to see how things had turned out for the two Kneazles.
__________________________________________________
From the Brink of Twilight by furiosity. Draco's an Obliviator, Harry's an Auror, and the UST permeates the air. This is such a nice balance of plot, characterization, emotion, humor, uncertainty, hope…Furiosity keeps getting better and better with each story.
He tasted blood seeping onto his tongue, felt his face stinging from Potter's casual blow. "And that," he said thickly, "is the other reason I don't want your friendship." He had talked himself right into that one, but at least it confirmed everything he'd ever told himself regarding Potter. Spending time with him made Draco forget himself, forget who they were, the different worlds they lived in, though only for a very short time.
"So it is personal, then," said Potter, as though he hadn't just punched Draco in the mouth.
"It is now." Draco stepped closer, took Potter's chin in his hand and forced his mouth open, then kissed him deep as he dared, for the first time and last. He wanted more, he always would, but from now on Potter would stay away from him, and Draco would go on living as before.
He left Potter standing in the corridor and went to find some lunch.
A long spell without H/D recs from me has just come to an end. (Don't imagine I don't hear you thinking, "Thank God it's not another rant!") Many of these come from the current hd_holidays fest going on. I love the fact that it's happening in June, when I actually have time to read. Not that I'm even caught up - there may be more recs to come.
Stung - by anonymous (for now, but I think I might know who this is) is a pitch-perfect recasting of Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew." Brilliantly written. Cleverly parallels the source, but with enough deviation to make it more than a parroting with the name Kate search/replaced with Draco. And the language and craft of writing it displays, is what grabs me and won't let go. The characterizations aren't just parodies but have real depth to them, so that I was really rooting for them to get together. Obviously, Harry's got a bit more of a stretch to become Petruchio than Draco does to become Kate, but the lovely mystery author's done a great job at making their dynamic work. Here's are some descriptions in all their beauty and a healthy dose of wit:
Shacklebolt, whose constitution never revealed any symptoms of drunkenness until the moment he flowed from chair to floor like an upended cauldron full of marshmallow, glared at him.
~~~
Potter lounged against the hallway wall, as if daring Snape to point out that he was wearing nothing but a threadbare black tee shirt that ended at about the point where decency would have required it to begin.
~~~
Draco had a gift for rage. On some days he gave it the cold, crushing force of a glacier; on others he could hurl out words and sharp objects like a geyser. He could do the sort of uncontrolled fury that most people didn't even dream of - the Gringotts' incident was really more recreation than any real attempt at anger. Draco had a master chef's intuition for the different aromas and textures and tastes of wrath. He thought he had perfected every possible state of anger, from indignation to rancour to full-blown apoplexy.
But being incapacitated by Harry Potter in his own house put him right off the scale.
~~~
…The doorbell sounded. Narcissa opened it.
"Ah!" she said, in what co-incidentally was exactly the tone used by Abraham Peasegood's wife just after he had illustrated his new idea of Quodpot on her best linen tablecloth and in the process annihilated her saltshaker, her favourite Toby jug, and both of her eyebrows. "Ah."
______________________________________________________
Next up is a dark and fascinating tale that could have been taken from the front pages these days. The Good Guys by frayach is a true gem of a mindfuck, where the H/D relationship is a side order to the plot. In fact, I'd recommend this one to all of you who don't really like H/D and who can take their stories dark and harsh. It left me thinking about all those shades of gray days later. Definitely one of those you wish you could show to JKR herself and say, "See? If you didn't insist on these being children's books, this is what could come of your world!"
Jennings chuckled softly and turned to Harry.
“Did you hear that, Harry? This chap here says he has rights. What rights do you think he has?”
Harry frowned, trying to remember back to his rushed and truncated Auror training.
“Er, well . . . I think they have the right to a hearing before a neutral tribunal, the right to speak to a Processes and Procedures Advocate . . .” He paused, counting unconsciously on his fingers. “Uhm . . . They have the right to put on a defense and confront the witnesses against them . . .”
Jennings laughed a long, low laugh.
“Perhaps they had those rights,” he said. “Back in the days when the worst the Aurors had to deal with was trafficking in illegal artefacts and love potions and the occasional random murder. But now that there’s a war on - which, I might add, is no fault of our side - such rights are luxuries we cannot afford. Besides, these pieces of shite have made it the whole point of their campaign to undermine and destroy the values and principles those rights are based on. Do you think, if they were winning this war and took you and me prisoner, that they’d afford us any rights? Fuck no! They’d torture us to death and ask questions later. Trust me Harry, I know.”
_________________________________________________
Room with a View - anonymous has a unique original POV character - the portrait of Arcturus Black. There are two things about this story that caught my attention - the first was the creative way that the author characterized Arcturus, how being a portrait isn't at all like being alive although he still has that Black arrogance. The second is how nearly all the action is focused on Draco's bedroom where Arcturus hangs, which leaves him and us in the dark about some of the events that occur outside this room. Portrait fic isn't something I've seen much of, so I was fascinated by the perspective. I especially like where the story ends - I have a tendency to overexplain my endings and this author takes us exactly to the point where we can fill in the rest ourselves.
His head cocked to one side, Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the lump on the bed across the room. A pale, bony arm protruded from under the blanket, dangling over the edge, and strands of light hair was spread over the pillow, capturing the still dim sunlight.
This was- he leaned his head back, biting back a scream of frustration. Images of people old and young, family and strangers, from both days and decades ago, flashed through his mind, and he felt panic rise inside him when he realised that he couldn't for the love of Merlin pick the right one. Were his ancestors right, was there really no escaping from being lost in time? Concentrating on how it had felt to breathe deep and slow, he fixed his eyes onto the brilliantly blond hair, and then tried to remember the sound of the person's voice.
Something important had happened yesterday, and he was unable to -
"Malfoy!" The rough wake-up call, combined with hammering on the door, caused the person to bolt up straight, and Arcturus's memories came back with a rush.
_______________________________________________
Bad Company - anon is another dark tale, this time a hate!fuck fic. Forced to meet Draco as Snape's emissary from his spying missions, Harry lets his anger out on the one person willing to give it back in spades.
Harry had him by the throat, pushing him backwards against the nearest wall. "There's more where that came from, Malfoy. Don't fuck with me. This isn't Hogwarts; we're not playing Quidditch any more. This is war; life or death. So make your own fucking tea and tell me what you know." He was shaking. He didn't know whom he hated more at that moment: Malfoy or Voldemort.
"Fuck you," spluttered Malfoy. "You maimed me! I'm not telling you anything, you--"
Harry eased up on his throat a little, and used his knee to keep Malfoy pressed firmly against the wall. "Then go back to Snape and tell him that, and be sure to mention the circumstances."
_________________________________________________
The World of the Living by Anon uses Luna's POV to tell this story of two broken men. This Luna isn't the stereotypical ditzy blonde we see too many times in fic, if she's used at all. She's still Loony but with a sense of cosmic justice and a strange, perceptive side.
Luna once saw two Kneazle toms facing each other at the boundary between their respective territories. She remembers how they moved in circles around each other, bodies taut and ears flattened, their eyes never leaving their opponent's. They were roughly the same size, and it was obvious that neither was eager to attack, so they kept moving slowly and carefully, without hissing or spitting at each other, always keeping a safe distance, but determined not to back off either.
Harry and Draco are beginning to remind her of them.
As Christmas draws nearer, it happens more and more often that the three of them find themselves gathered around the fireplace in the evening, Luna and Draco curled up in the armchairs, Harry sprawled on the sofa. Both of them talk to Luna, but they hardly ever address each other, although they always appear to be watching each other out of the corner of their eyes. Luna does her best to divide her attention equally between the two of them until it's becoming too tiresome; then she will eventually start humming another carol.
She sometimes wishes that she'd stayed long enough to see how things had turned out for the two Kneazles.
__________________________________________________
From the Brink of Twilight by furiosity. Draco's an Obliviator, Harry's an Auror, and the UST permeates the air. This is such a nice balance of plot, characterization, emotion, humor, uncertainty, hope…Furiosity keeps getting better and better with each story.
He tasted blood seeping onto his tongue, felt his face stinging from Potter's casual blow. "And that," he said thickly, "is the other reason I don't want your friendship." He had talked himself right into that one, but at least it confirmed everything he'd ever told himself regarding Potter. Spending time with him made Draco forget himself, forget who they were, the different worlds they lived in, though only for a very short time.
"So it is personal, then," said Potter, as though he hadn't just punched Draco in the mouth.
"It is now." Draco stepped closer, took Potter's chin in his hand and forced his mouth open, then kissed him deep as he dared, for the first time and last. He wanted more, he always would, but from now on Potter would stay away from him, and Draco would go on living as before.
He left Potter standing in the corridor and went to find some lunch.