(One-shot) thoughtful, forceful monologue about the similarities and choices Harry and Draco were forced into. "We were legends… figureheads of a war that wasn't ours."

"Slytherin would do well, help you on the path to greatness," the hat seems to be coaxing him, but for something that can read his mind, it sure doesn't seem to know him very well. Harry doesn't want greatness. He doesn't need his name in lights and on everyone's lips… In which Harry is sorted into Slytherin and Snape deals with the fall-out.

Harry Potter was seventeen, and dying.

Lily Christina Evans was minding her own business, thank-you-very-much, when she rounded the corridor and was assaulted with the vision of several boys skidding down the hall at her, gasping and careening at a mad pace… A one-shot incident involving Shakespeare, chocolate, and lots of tumbling, tangled-up boys.