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Harry Potter Recommendations

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[20 Jul 2004|06:23pm]
The Literal Game
R; Remus/James
by Sam Vimes

Remus grinned. "You're not ready to play Literal Game, James."

"Literal Game?"

"It is to animal betting what chess is to flipping a coin," Remus answered. "You make up a story by assembling quotations and proverbs and literary quotes, history, fairy tales. There was a Chinese poet named Bai Juyi who thought that it was more elegant and interesting than music."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Well, it's easy to do it, once you get the hang of it. Easy to do it badly, certainly. Doing it well is the challenge, especially after maotai. Though there's an ancient belief that alcohol improves art and poetry," Remus continued, deftly transferring a prawn covered in sauce to his mouth. "The way dad and I played it, the first time you say 'um', you have to pour a shot; the second time you have to pick it up; the third time you have to drink it."

"Anyone ever told you, your dad's a bit weird?" James asked.

"That's the maotai talking," Remus said, with a smile.

"All right then, Moony, lay some literal game on me," James challenged. Remus chewed his rice, thoughtfully.

"Euclid drew a circle on a sand beach long ago, and bounded and enclosed it with angles thus and so. His set of solemn greybeards nodded and argued much -- of arc and of circumference, diameter, and such. A silent child stood by them from morning until noon, because they drew such charming, round pictures of the moon," he began. "There once was a child who walked the beaches of the country in which he lived, an island you understand, best beloved..."

James laughed, recognizing an element of the Just So Stories, one of Remus' favourite books.

"...and in this country lived a man named Euclid, it was true, but this Euclid was the town fool, and um -- bugger." Remus picked up the jar and poured it. James saw him thinking quickly as he did so.


Sam Vimes: copperbadge ... Pretty Little Oojahs ... Skyehawke.com
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[11 Dec 2003|07:58pm]
Playing With Fire
PG-13; Harry/Ron
by Aidan Lynch

Quite regularly they dropped into sleep on the same bed from having simply talked too far into the night, and twice more between Christmas and Easter in their first year Harry had woken to find Ron dead to the world beside him on a night when they had definitely at least started the night in separate beds. These times were more special. They were a little piece of private evidence that attested to the strength and trust of their growing bond. And twice more Harry had felt blessed that a friend should need him in this way, and not just need him, but act upon on the need that could so easily be misinterpreted by others. But others didn't know. And Harry liked it that way. He didn't want to explain it. And he didn't want to share it.

Then there was the night Harry had woken in a cold sweat, his mind disturbed by the fading visions of a nightmare, and he had felt more alone than he had ever felt at Hogwarts. There wasn't even any thought involved. As Harry thought later, he was eleven, he was scared, he was alone. What else was there to do? Before he had even questioned his actions he had got out of bed, gently shoved Ron a little aside and climbed in to bathe himself in the warmth of Ron's lanky loyalty. You OK? Ron had murmured, not really waking. Yes, Harry had replied. I am now. Ron had thrown a sleepy arm around him, and they had cuddled, instantly, innocently, intimately.

They were quits. They'd both done it now. Both felt the need, and both acted on it. They were best friends.

Ron moved slightly again, and, like he had done all those years before, threw an arm over Harry's stomach. Ron never lost his warmth. He was like a hot water bottle on a winter night. He radiated comfort and familiarity as much as he did heat. When had it changed? wondered Harry. How did we get from there to here? Harry thought he knew. Or at least he thought he could still remember some of the important moments, but really he was just picking points from a continuum, as there had been no one turning point. It had grown, it had been a natural evolution from dependence to need, from comfort to pleasure, from one sort of love to another. But still certain moments shone in Harry's recall of the previous years.


Aidan Lynch: Schnoogle ... AstronomyTower
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[06 Jul 2003|02:05am]
The Party
PG-13; Harry/Draco
by Unravels

Pansy squealed with delight when she saw the Firewhisky, and insisted they drink from conjured martini glasses because she thought they looked elegant. Malfoy had of course been horrified, but his heart didn't seem to be into fighting this evening. After a heated argument of about 15 seconds in the tower doorway, he had wearily given in, but now held his glass as far out of sight as possible, as if convinced that Emily Post could apparate into Gryffindor Tower at any moment and reduce him to a pile of cinders.

Harry realized he was staring again, and deliberately turned his back so that he was facing the opposite way. This unfortunately put him directly in view of the Quidditch thugs, and far from seeking inter-house reconciliation, they seemed to be spoiling for a rematch of the afternoon's school-wide battle.

No one was entirely sure how the brawl had started, though it was generally assumed that the first blows had been dealt by the usual suspects: Malfoy, Potter, Crabbe, Weasley, and Goyle. Hermione had her own strong Gryffindor loyalties, of course, but she had earned a reputation among the teachers as the sole peacemaker between two violently opposed factions of students. However, the teachers were largely ignorant of the sheer elemental power of Hermione's rage when she was called upon to defend her friends. In fact, it was Hermione's defense of Harry to Malfoy which led to the biggest inter-house conflict in 15 years, with students assigned detention in numbers not seen since the Ravenclaw Incident of 1981, when three quarters of the house-elves were put on involuntary layoff because there was hardly any work left for them to do.


Unravels aka Holly: unravels
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[02 Jul 2003|09:15am]
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
R; Harry/Draco
by November Snowflake

Warning: This story is a work in progress. I don't normally rec works in progress, but this one is an exception because I've been enjoying it so bloody much.

"What is your name?" Malfoy asks suddenly.

The Auror looks up in surprise. "Oh. Of course. It's Potter. Harry Potter."

It seems right somehow. It has a rhythm to it. Malfoy's mouth forms the words, lips shaping themselves around them. It fits. He considers. "I think I'm pleased to meet you, then, Potter." He extends his hand.

A small line forms between Potter's eyebrows, and he looks as if he is mentally flipping back through the pages of a book, and perhaps not a pleasant one. His hand reaches to clasp Malfoy's, and their palms meet. Potter's is warm and dry, well-creased and larger than one might expect of someone of his lean build. His grip is firm, and Malfoy narrowly resists the inexplicable urge to turn the handshake into a gripping contest, to squeeze in an attempt to wound the man before him. A vain attempt, he muses, as Potter's fingers are thicker than his, marked with calluses and small burn scars. His are the hands of a man inured to hard work and danger, Malfoy realizes. The countenance is calm, the eyes shadowed, and the hands tell yet another story. Harry Potter is a man of contradictions. Malfoy's interest is piqued and it is only reluctantly that he allows Potter's hand to slide from his. The room seems somehow cooler without that contact.

They look at each other for a few seemingly interminable seconds, then Potter says abruptly, "I have to go."

"So soon?" Malfoy mentally kicks himself for letting slip that note of disappointment. Potter's eyes are intent on his. "I just... well, I don’t get many visitors here. Of the unofficial sort, anyhow."

The other man's gaze shifts away, and his expression is distant. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He looks up again to meet Malfoy's eyes. "I'll come back," he says, and seems surprised at himself for saying it.

Before he can catch himself, Malfoy responds, "Is that a promise?"

Potter stills, a curious expression flitting across his features, and his tone is almost defiant as he says, "Yeah, I guess it is."


November Snowflake: novembersnow ... Skyehawke.com Archives
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[02 Jul 2003|07:38am]
Irresistible Poison
PG-13; Harry/Draco
by Rhysenn

"Ron, you know very well Malfoy's just saying things to wind you up all the time!" Hermione shot Ron a disapproving glance as she rolled up her homework, finally finished. "Just leave him alone and don't get all bothered by him."

"Yeah, take it easy, Ron." Harry agreed, and added, "Malfoy's not worth all that trouble, you know."

Harry looked away, and suddenly saw Draco watching him, from across the classroom, and he reflexively paused, tensing slightly as eyes of grey rested evenly on him, calmly piercing.

Draco wore an inscrutable expression on his face, like a slate wiped clean, and he regarded Harry with eyes that were filled with an ambiguity which could be read in half a dozen different ways. Simmering tension and gathering storm clouds edged Draco's gaze as their eyes held for a split second and a dash of eternity, before Draco lowered his eyes and turned away.

Harry frowned; he felt annoyed at letting himself get drawn into the natural magnetism of Draco's eyes, for even entertaining that lingering look when he should be offering nothing but staunch refusal, both for Draco's sake and his own.

Harry felt... confused. Malfoy was behaving very strangely indeed, and for the life of him Harry just couldn't decipher the mixed signals he was getting, which seemed to contradict one another — a spectrum of anger and haughtiness and hate and indifference and pain woven in swirling undercurrents, unfathomable and altogether very perplexing.

Harry's eyes narrowed, continuing to watch Draco, whose blond head was now dutifully bowed over a textbook. For some amorphous reason, Draco appeared a lot bolder and more composed than he should rightfully be — casting glances that came across as coy and not just furtive, looking away just when he'd captured Harry's full attention... Harry got the impression that Draco was leading him on, which was a rather contrary state of affairs given that the reins were presumably in his own hands, if the love potion story was true.

How ironic, Harry reflected thoughtfully, that the word potion slices 'love story' down in the middle.


Rhysenn: iscaris ... Magical Intrigue
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[02 Jul 2003|07:38am]
Time and Eternity
PG-13; Harry/Draco
by Rhysenn

"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" Draco will yell.

"Shut up and let me show you," Harry will snap.

At this point, Draco can say no. He can take a few more steps backwards, towards the door that isn’t closed.

"You’re so fucked up, Potter," he can hiss, five years of animosity distilled into a low, dangerous tone of pure hatred. "Just when I think you can’t make me feel sicker, you prove me wrong."

Harry can take that, because he can sense that the fury choking Draco’s voice isn’t entirely directed at him; there are two people in the shed. Harry can even find the resolve to take one step forward, and another, bringing him closer to Draco again.

"For a moment there," he can answer, softly, "you forgot to hate me."

Draco can move away, back out through the door and sprint away from the plain truth that they both know.


Rhysenn: iscaris ... Magical Intrigue
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