2.

Dear Mrs. Snape,

We are pleased to inform you that we have post-humously cleared your son, one Severus Snape (b. 1959 d. 1998), of all charges regarding the slaying of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (b. 1840 d. 1997), high treason against the Orders of Merlin and Ministry of Magic, conspiracy to commit murder, abduction of a minor, and undue influence of a minor. However, his secondary offense of treason against the Ministry of Magic, in the matters of the years 1977 through 1980 are still under review.

We also regret to inform you that, despite your ardent reuqests, we refuse to charge Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, with conspiracy to commit murder and murder in the first degree or crimes of war (re: torture) in regard to your son's untimely death. Our most sincere apologies.

Sincerely,
Rufus Scrimgeour
Minister of Magic
June 18, 2002

*

I apologise for the woe.

Luna had never killed anyone before, at least not if you didn't count her first teacher who she had accidentally electrocuted and the witch didn't. Nor did she count the five bullies she "accidentally" exploded with a surge of uncontrolled magic just before coming to Hogwarts. And the thing with that Hufflepuff in the first year didn't count as no one ever proved he had died, nothing being left.

In fact, when you thought about it, no one could prove that she had been behind any of the mysterious deaths that had occured through the last five years of school. Everyone believing the deaths were connected to Voldemort or normal interhouse pranks going wrong. So, Luna had never killed anyone before, but she would now.

She had planned this one carefully, making sure everything was exactly in place. If she did it just right, everyone would assume that Fang lost control of himself at just the wrong time. Soon she would kill for the first time. Just as soon as she could get close enough to McGonagall's animagus form. And then she would forget having done so, just as she had forgotten all the others. Going back to thinking she had never killed anyone before and feeling the hunger to do so as soon as possible.

(sorry for the evil!luna, but it had to be done)

7. Hagrid pitied Filch. The only thing that voluntarily kept company with the old sod was that raggedy cat, and likely because Filch was the only one who put up with it, too.

The man needed a friend.

Hagrid then and there decided he would be it, the one that convinced the crank to see life as a glass half full, as a . . . a rooftop shingled with the hardiest proofs against any weather type.

On the cusp of his next bout to Diagon Alley, Hagrid casually bumped into Filch in the corridor leading to the dungeons.

"Aye, watch yourself you hairy clunk!"

Hagrid swallowed his retort. "I'm on my way to the Leaky Cauldron. Fancy joining me for a pint?"

"What are you on about?" Filch sounded incredulous, but he just looked . . . grumpy.

"You ought to get out a bit more. The sun'd do miracles for a pallor like yours."

"What's wrong with my pallor?"

"Ah . . . er—"

"I don't like blokes. And even if I did—" Filch harrumphed the rest of his sentence to an indecipherable mumble. He clutched his coat tighter at the collar and flared his nostrils at Hagrid. With one last, lingering death glare, he turned haughtily and walked the opposite way from which he came.

Hagrid stood stock still, staring at Filch's retreating back, his mouth hanging open. Unhatched dragon eggs. For future reference, he decided to stick to taming wild beasts he was familiar with.

My intentions are good, so it doesn't matter if it is a dark spell. Hermione reminded herself as she slowly reached for her wand, just tucked in the loose hem of the left sleeve of her blouse. If my intentions are good, it will all be ok. She eyed the two boys, her best friends since adolescence, sitting across the tea table from her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Oh, Ron! He was a Horcrux. He needed to die," she explained, to a shocked Ron. She refilled his cup of tea. "I know it is a shock, but it needed to happen."

The red head stared at her. "You killed Harry."

"And no one can know, right? We'd both be in trouble then."

He nodded helplessly.

*

I apologise for playing twice and double depression counts.

Draco looked at his father as if he'd never seen him before.

“You are going to Durmstrang.”

“What? But Mother said…”

“Your mother left for France this morning. You leave for Durmstrang in three weeks.”

*

Eight years later, Draco Malfoy returned to England. He stepped out of the Floo center, his blond hair short and his red uniform tidy and soot free. Almost immediately, he bumped into a man with dark hair that flopped in his face.

“You – you must be Harry Potter!” Draco cried, his native tongue now lightly accented. “I read about you in Father’s papers… The Slytherin who killed Slytherin’s Heir!”

Harry smiled at the handsome stranger. He was not used to people being pleased to meet him, unless they were reporters. “I am. Would you like to join me in the Leaky Cauldron for a drink?”

Draco smiled back. What a way to celebrate his return – a drink with a gorgeous, famous stranger.

*

Ok. I promise I'll stop. I just wanted to write something happy.

Aberforth had never seen anything like it, and it gave him ideas.

They were not good ideas. Even he had to admit that. They were, as it were, on par with the goat fiasco of '36. There was one difference in the whole affair. A fairly important one even in Aberforth's unraveling mind.

The singular important difference between then and now was Albus. Or rather, lack thereof.

Albus wasn't with him to point out what bad ideas they were. Aberforth didn't have a reason not test them out. He wasn't particularly good at moralizing. That's what Albus had always been for.

He shuffled the confused notes around, sorting them into an order that didn't really exist. It was a bit difficult with all of the comments scribbled on napkins and stained coasters. He would have to choose a place to start if he was going to try. . .it.

Yet. . . . Albus was not there to pull him out of the fire -- figuratively and literally -- when the test runs inevitably went wrong.

Aberforth set the charred remains of the portkey gently down on his desk, next to the drunk who never left his stool. His desk happened to be the bar in his pub. He stared contemplatively at it then turned to view the floo.

No, He thought. It was best to wait for the return of his brother.

Ok, this is what I actually wrote first, before I saw that it was already selected . . .


3. Luna had never killed anyone before. She'd never even killed a fruit fly; those she bottled with a sprig of mint along with the fireflies.

Luna, however, was not one for never. Just because she'd never done something once didn't mean she wouldn't do it, ever. Circumstances inspired action that before might've been disfavored.

It was automatic, the way her arm raised, in a speed too quick for the eye. And when she flicked her wrist, she didn't think twice, or even at all. Her cloaked adversary was a fourth-year Slytherin she only knew vaguely as Eloise. Though from a snatch of memory, Luna recalled her dark features, the constant sulk and quietly seething rage.

People say things like "never regret".

But Luna's not one for never. And even if such a thing could be considered justifiable under the circumstances, regret was a parallel experience that couldn't cancel the other. Nor could it guarantee a never again.

Another for #2:

"Dear Mrs. Snape, . . . ."

Severus scowled and threw the letter in the rubbish bin.

Staying hidden was less difficult than most realized. The Ministry was looking for a man. He never wore makeup. He didn't use Polyjuice. He just put on his mother's old clothes and "Siobhan" Snape ran his errands.

He had shapely legs and his mother had very little in the way of breasts so it worked; no one noticed.

Plus, it helped him separate the real from the junk mail, although, he thought now, he really should have chosen a name with a different initial.

Ron couldn't help but feel smug. After all he had successfully dated the two most attractive Gryfindoors for over a year without being caught. It helped that Harry believed that Ron was ashamed of his sexuality and that Hermione believed him when he said they had to keep their affair secret from Harry, so he didn't find out.

The whole arrangement was perfect. With him in the drivers seat, getting to shag two incredibly sexy people whenever he wanted too. With only the occasional wish that Hermione was as enthusiastic about going down on him as Harry was. Of course, he would eventually have to make a choice inbetween them. If Harry lived, he'd chose him because he liked the idea of being bonded to a powerful and rich wizard who had no Slytherin tendencies. If Harry died, he'd settle for Hermione. If only because she was a good shag and raring to go anytime he was.

For now though, he could definitely live with having both of them anytime he wanted.

"It's not fair", thought Romilda, as she secretly watched Harry and at the Ministry gala celebrating Voldemort's demise.

First it was that red-headed Weasley tart. Oh, Romilda was so happy to learn that Harry had left the little slut. Then before she had a chance to try for his affections yet again, everyone was herded on to the Express and taken back home.

She had heard the gossip though, seeing as her cousin Frieda was shagging the Longbottom idiot. It seems that Harry broke up with her for her protection. Yeah right... as much as Romilda despised the little ginger freak, she had seen her in action on the Hogwarts Express the previous year and knew for a fact that she was as good at dueling, if not better, than those 2 sidekicks who stuck to Harry like spell-o-tape. No, something else was going on.

And now this... it just wasn't fair. Here was her Harry talking to someone with long black hair. Not just talking but looking up at her and smiling a beautiful brilliant smile. Occasionally touching her arm and laughing with real laughter, not that forced one she had seen him do in the past. What did this person have that she didn't? She had grown quite a bit this past year and was now tall and she also had long black hair. In fact, from the back, this person appeared to look very much like herself. Maybe that was it, maybe Harry didn't know that she was available and had found someone who looked like her instead. Apparently the poor boy had been pining away for her all this time. Well no more! Harry wouldn't have to settle for second best anymore!

With that thought, Romilda marched right over there to take her rightful place by Harry's side. When she arrived there, she grabbed the imposter's arm to pull her away but instead received the shock of her life when Professor Snape looked down at her and asked in his silkiest voice "Is there something I can help with Miss Vane?"

"It's not fair!" Romilda thought yet again as she scurried away as fast as she could, for she now knew exactly why Harry broke up with Ginny and she definitely knew what Professor Snape had that she didn't...

I'm not a writer, but here it is anyway... *blushes and hides behind the bushes*

"He could have died."
"But he lived."
"He was ready for it."
"But he lived."

And that was that. He didn't die, he lived and everyone was happy. Except Harry, it seemed. He didn't find it particularly moving one way or other, but it seemed that everyone around him was celebrating and he felt oddly guilty for not taking part in it. He didn't die, he lived, and all the while he dreamed of what could have happened.

I drabbled a little something, and I don't know if it is 'needed', but here it is. ^.^ I might have another, too.

Dear Mrs. Snape,
Why did you become Mrs. Snape? Was it because you wanted to marry a war hero? Then, why not Lupin? True, he was becoming involved with Tonks, but you are a much better catch. He wouldn't have passed you up.
And, if you wouldn't have minded a younger man, Draco would have loved to marry you. He still would, but I think his half blood wife would talk him out of it. The two of you are so very much a like, you know. I'd have always thought you'd spend more time together. But, I suppose your husbands' schedules don't allow it.
We had such a good thing going, why did we stop it? I know I became a raving drunkard, but only for six months after it was all over. Did you really give up on me? Do you still care for me?
Or have you truly fallen for Snape?
I mean, he hasn't got much in the way of money. I can talk now, since I've made a nice living for myself. He isn't very handsome, at all. I might not be, either, but at least I'm pleasant looking.
I can't think of any reason you'd love him. So, please tell me, Hermione.
I'm sorry for becoming a drunkard. I'm sorry for hurting you, and everyone else, with my pitiful state. I'm better now, and I'll never get worse. Not ever.
Please, Hermione! You don't have to leave him, or marry me, but just please tell me that you still love me. And not Snape. Please?

Yours, as always,
Ron Weasley

Dear Ronald,
I'm sorry to inform you that I never became a Mrs. Snape. I took the name, and I live with him, but I've never married him. I don't love him either. At least, no more than as a friend.
I faked it all, and fooled you and everyone else, I suppose. I wanted you to admit your wrongs, own up to all your qualities, and be your old self again.
My plan worked, as you can plainly see. You've changed back to the good Weasley son I knew and loved, and I barely had to lift a finger.
So, if you still love me as I still love you, then I'll see you soon.

Yours as well,
Hermione soon-to-be Weasley