Happy Fandom Friday! Each week, I highlight an aspect of the various fan communities that have sprung around mostly movies and TV shows, but sometimes books, games, or even just memes, if the level of dedication is awesome enough.
Harry Potter didn't just revolutionize YA fiction by getting young people to read thicker books--it also got thousands of kids writing. The series has currently spawned 484,404 stories on Fanfiction.net, and probably thousands more on LiveJournal. The problem with the latter is that there's no official index, which means you really have to track down communities in order to find the best ones. We at Ology have decided to do you a favor--especially with Deathly Hallows Part 1 out today!--and start you off with The Shoebox Project.
Begun by Potterheads Jaida and Rave in 2004, SBP describes an imaginary shoebox under Remus Lupin's bed; the conceit is that all of the letters, photographs, notes, and memories could conceivably fit into one shoebox. The saga is primarily a Remus/Sirius love story, spanning from the Marauders' time at Hogwarts in the 1970s to James and Lily's death pre-series. This famous fanfiction collection has spawned cult followings and similar projects and is a much-beloved work in the Harry Potter fan community. Although updates slowed around 2008, the authors have not announced the end of SBP and continue to work on it when they can.
For those of you who get agitated at the thought of navigating LiveJournal, you're in luck--Jaida and Rave uploaded all of the files to PDF. I've picked out seven parts that are very indicative of the project (in chronological order, but not in order of preference). Check 'em out--each is like its own gift box, containing diary entries, photographs, and even some sappy cards.
Excerpt:
"No roaches," James repeats. "No roaches. Nothing from Zonko's. Nothing that makes any sounds of certain bodily functions. Nothing resembling owl waste or hairballs or small, dead, fuzzy animals. Nothing which emits the smell of certain bodily functions. That's easier than poetry, Remus. That I remember."
Excerpt:
James is already off, pale legs flashing through the shadows. Sirius lunges after him, one sock on, one sock off, something cutting the sole of his bare foot almost immediately. He bites back a sound of pain and, not even half a minute later, he's too numb to even feel it, the wind too rush to allow him most major thoughts. James in front of him to follow; Willow to get to; Snivellus to catch. It's a three-link chain of action. He feels more confident, blood pumping faster, heart beating out the quickened rhythm of necessity. This is going to be all right. This is going to be fine. This is going to be nothing at all. This is all going to resolve itself easily and without any lasting problems and with no fingers of blame pointing back to him and no one putting Remus down, as if he's some sort of animal. This is just another day in the wild and crazy lives of Sirius Black and James Potter, who mess things up and save the day anyway.
Part Eighteen and a Half: Decembers. Five Christmases, Six Christmas Memories.
Excerpt:
It's the quietest Christmas Remus can remember. All the necessary Christmas accessories are there, the tree and a few winking lights and the ornaments from earlier childhood, and his mother is cooking a goose, and the few presents have drawn close about the scent of pine. He surveys the morning, finding that even the biggest ornaments are somehow dwarfed and chipped by his own perspective, and they no longer hold the mystery of bright colors and globed immodesty.
His parents, standing in the doorway, watch him eagerly. For the first time he is aware of an obligation to perform, a duty, no longer an instinct.
It isn't because he's a werewolf.
Part Nineteen: January 1977. Lessons in Cartography.
Excerpt:
Happy Valentine's Day, Shoeboxers! A bit of a teaser for you all.
Excerpt:
"Sit," he bites out at Sirius, who, crippled by four years of being a dog, does so automatically before leaping upright again, crimson with rage and embarrassment. Snape recovers just enough to wheeze out a "good puppy," which requires Remus to launch himself at Sirius again and employ the Forearms of Iron. In fact he nearly has to employ the Tackle of Iron to stop Sirius' furious flailing, and Snape takes advantage of the temporary lull to Faff Off, though not before treading judiciously on Sirius' fingers. By the time the dust clears, Sirius is slouched against the wall of the hallway, seething with wronged innocence and sucking fiercely at his knuckles, and Remus has even more ink up his nose and is feeling extremely homicidal, perhaps even more so than the time of month requires.
Part Twenty-Four: Four Final Days, Some Socks, One Photograph, Sneezing, a Note and a Map.
Excerpt:
Kissing a boy is not like kissing a girl. It's not like he's never done it before -- a dim memory of tequila and James's nipples comes to mind -- but he's never done it sober, and he's never remembered it significantly enough for the sake of comparison, and he's certainly never done it and meant it. There's something combative about it, like neither one is sure which of them should be pushing and which of them should be yielding, so nobody yields. The sounds Remus makes aren't soft, melting girl sounds. Their elbows are always knocking together. And Sirius's mouth and chin itch afterwards. It's not exactly what Sirius imagined when he imagined certain things necessary for the imagining, during those inevitable times when all he really needed was a good wank. It's not exactly what Sirius ever imagined should feel good. Still, when something feels good Sirius doesn't really see the need -- like Remus always sees the need -- to question it until it gives up on making him feel good because he's just not paying attention and slips out the back way, never to be seen again.
Part Twenty-Six: Five Photographs of Peter Pettigrew.
Excerpt:
"I thought maybe we could all get together," Peter says, all at once. He doesn't know why. What he should be saying is, 'Oh, right, sorry, mate, I didn't realize; guess I'll drop by another day, then.' But here he is, saying something else, his tongue flapping, making noises like a monkey trying to communicate with higher life forms just beyond the bars. Ook, ook, ook, Peter hears. He might as well be saying that, for all James is listening to him. "It's only, we haven't all been together since--well, since before summer, really, and I thought--"
"Look, Pete," James says, his voice changing; he's exasperated, and Peter's only brought it on himself, and here it comes, "this isn't Hogwarts anymore, all right? And some of us are busy."
(But really, it's the photos that make this one. If you don't feel bad for Peter after this, then you're made of stone.)
So there you go--get reading in preparation for Deathly Hallows! Do you think this Marauders fic should be considered canon, or at the least fanon?
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