Ending without Epilogue (PG-13; Snarry; 294 words): Harry knows what he has to do, even if he doesn't quite know why.
Harry, lying in his dormitory bed, suddenly sat straight up and said, "No portrait!" Snape's portrait hadn't been hanging in the Headmaster's office. Perhaps I just missed it. I was tired, he thought, dressing and returning there.
"Ah, I knew you'd be back," Dumbledore's portrait told him, as Harry looked around.
"He isn't dead, is he?"
"Professor Snape wasn't one to give up so easily, I think."
Harry frowned. "That's not an answer, sir."
"Do you know where he is?"
"You, too, aren't one to let anything go—but why, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"I . . . I don't know," he admitted, flushing.
Dumbledore chuckled. "No one will have thought to check Spinner's End, I fear, not with the celebrations taking up their attention.
"That's why!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly furious with everyone, but with himself, especially. "He shouldn't be forgotten. He's . . . ."
Unable to complete his thought, Harry left to office. He knew what he had to do.
"Are you safe to Apparate, dear boy?" Albus asked, turning his attention to the wizard standing in the shadows.
"Come now, Severus. How often do such chances as this occur? You've . . . unfinished business with Harry, I believe."
"I told you, it's Li—"
"You told me a great many things that you wanted to believe, and your restraint with regard to Harry has been admirable, but now—"
Most of the portraits tittered as Snape practically raced from the office, all but Phineas.
"Disgusting! How could you encourage—"
"Do shut up, Phineas," Albus replied, smiling through thoughts of love.
Sometime later, Harry and Severus found themselves standing in Spinner's End's kitchen, staring at each other. They never did speak together that night, but, in the morning, they came to agree that not all stories required expected and tidy epilogues.
I took prompts to celebrate my flist's having reached the 600 friends mark in the wake of Deathly Hallows' release. This ficlet is for txrabbit.
A New Way to Survive (PG-13; Snarry; 193 words): Harry makes Severus listen to him in the most expedient manner.
"That isn't how I survived. It wasn't a Bezoar. Anti-venin didn't play a part. None of what that Skeeter woman has posited in the pages of the Prophet is correct. It could have been, of course, had I answered the Dark Lord's summons—but I didn't."
"Let me explain a little something about Boggarts to you, Potter. They can be trained, and their natural powers suppressed. You and your school friends used to wonder what form my Boggart would take, did you not? Well, I'll tell you. Any form I want it too."
"That's right. How? In a box. In my pocket. With my memories. Shrinking Charms have their multitudinous uses, boy."
"Of course you are. A curious one at that. Why else seek me out?"
"Potter, has the drink affected my eyesight, or are you blushing?"
"You are. Blushing. Fuck. That's not why you're here."
"I am looking at you. What do you think you're do—"
"Idiot. Go back to your pretty li—"
"Po . . . Pot . . . Potter, I . . . this is—would you stop tha—yes, I do want you to—"
"No, perhaps I didn't. . . . What do you mean, you're staying?"
"Well, I suppose I'll survive."