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Apparently I wrote drabbles for Deathly Hallows a year ago, but never posted them. Better late than never!

My Turn


When he met Gellert, he felt things he knew he wasn't supposed to. The muggle world was much worse about it - he knew what had become of one of his favourite Muggle playwriters, Oscar Wilde. But wizards and witches fell in love; wizards did not fall in love with other wizards, and witches did not fall in love with other witches. It was, at the time, akin to being a Squib - you wouldn't get arrested for it, but people looked at you differently. Considered you less than them.

Albus was already different. So was his brother, and his sister, thanks to muggles. Albus held no ill will towards them; but he knew what they did, and felt they should be even more separate from wizards. It would be better for them, too - no more wizards would need to hurt them, would they?

So Albus kept his love for Gellert a secret; and love him, he did. Gellert didn't want to hide his sister, but be able to bring her into the light, truly create a plan to stop muggle interference - and vice versa - once and for all. Albus did not realize that Gellert not only hated Muggles, but that his talk of the "greater good" was simply a desire to sway Albus into joining him. He would wonder whether Gellert had even really loved him at all, or if it had all been part of his plan.

Ariana died; Gellert showed no remorse. Albus and Gellert went their separate ways, but it was far too late - everything was destroyed. And it was again, over and over, through two wars with people Albus knew he'd led into battle not wholly prepared. He didn't want to tell them too much - and yet, each time, he knew he'd told them too little.

When Albus told Severus to kill him, he did not tell him what he was thinking:

My turn.

Minerva Screamed

(Gen - Minerva McGonagall)

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as well every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before him, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Minerva had never felt this much fear before. But she couldn't let it get to her. She walked to the doors and turned to face everyone in the castle.

Kingsley was saying something quietly to Arthur; Molly was pulling Ginny into a hug, her eyes closed with dread; Neville Longbottom was staring at the door as though daring anyone to come bursting through.

"It's a scare tactic," Minerva told them. "That is all."

"Of - of course," Hermione said.

Ron put his arm around her. "You-Know-Who just wants us to give in. I reckon Harry hasn't even locked eyes with him."

"Remember what I said before," Kingsley added as he strode forward. "We keep fighting, even if there's any truth to this."

"There isn't, Shackebolt!" Minerva insisted.

"Minerva," Kingsley said quietly, "I understand how much you dread this, believe me, but we can't lie to them. We both know it might be true."

Kingsley didn't understand, Minerva thought as they waited. It wasn't just about winning the war. It wasn't even about saving Albus's favourite student. No; it was about the fact that Minerva remembered the night she left Potter on a doorstep when he was one year old. It was the fact that Minerva had taught him from the time he was still a boy until he was nearly a man. It was the same reason all the deaths of her students, past and former, broke her heart. To them, she was a tough, relentless teacher. To Minerva, they were her children for seven years, and losing them -

The door opened.

Minerva screamed
Beyond Words


Hermione hadn't brought up the fact that they'd snogged to Ron; the time hadn't seemed right, and they hadn't been alone long enough to talk about it even if the timing had been better.

But a small measure of time had passed, and they were standing alone in the kitchen. Hermione could tell Ron wanted to talk, but didn't know how. She didn't either, really.

"So... House Elves," she began.


"Erm - I mean - fourth year."

What is wrong with you, Granger?

"That's when you started SPEW," Ron recalled with a knowing nod.

"S.P.E.W. And yes. You were such a prat about it, honestly. Then a week and a half ago, you weren't."

"I never wanted House Elves to die, Hermione."

"My point is... you were never like anyone else, really. You were always... you. Ron."

"Why is it that you never hesitate to correct people when you think they're wrong, but have so much trouble putting two words together when it really counts?" Ron asked.

"Then you give it a go," Hermione retorted.

"Fine. I... erm..." Ron's ears were growing red. "I needed you... oh, I give up, we're rubbish at this."


Ron pulled Hermione in close, and kissed her.

Apparently, what they had was beyond words.
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