Second Thoughts (PG-13; Snarry; 187 words): Severus allows himself to forget his past so that he may attend to his future.
One memory that Severus hadn't shared with Harry was of his leaving Lily's bedroom through the window one morning—and what he'd been doing there in the first place. That "first" had been his happy memory when needed for years, but, as all memories are wont to do, it had begun to fade, and Severus had longed to replace it. The fact that he'd wanted to replace it with a memory made with Harry troubled him because the prior memory had been made approximately nine months before Harry had been born.
He's Potter's son. He has to be, Severus told himself. I need him to be James' son!
Severus needed Harry to be James' son as much as he needed him to be Lily's; he knew that. He also knew that, in the end, it didn't matter, couldn't matter—he wouldn't allow it to matter—because Harry had already determined to make memories of his own.
Stroking Harry's hair, Severus decided not to dwell on the past any longer.
It's never brought me anything but grief.
And what Harry didn't know of Severus' suspicions of his present couldn't hurt him.
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 streussal.
Not for the Greater Good (PG-13; Grindeldore; 145 words): An examined life isn't living.
Gellert was charming, comely, commanding—so many things for which Albus had yearned. They didn't matter, those other traits he possessed, the frightening ones, did they? Not when Gellert's wand-work was so magnificent.
No one had made Albus feel so . . . special before. No one had listened to his ideas and . . . expanded upon them the way Gellert had. And such expansions! To listen to Gellert was to find the world opened before one; it was intoxicating!
"For the greater good," Gellert had promised him, after their most recent tumble, and, his mind and body humming with the possibilities, Albus found it easy to dismiss any . . . concerns he might have fleetingly entertained about Gellert's expansive nature.
No one can possibly understand our greatness—or our love, Albus thought, and this was enough because it would become everything, wouldn't it?
They couldn't fail, not together, not for the greater good.