Disclaimer: I do not own or make a profit from Stargate in any of its incarnations or Harry Potter.

Characters: Elizabeth Weir, Hermione Granger

Pairings: None

Summary: Once a year Elizabeth allows herself to remember what was.

Author's Note: I know this isn't my usual style. It's an experiment of sorts. I hope you like it.

Part of her would always regret that oh-so-impulsive choice. The first but not last truly impulsive choice she'd ever made.

She rarely let herself think about the past and refused to fall into the inescapable trap of might-have-been's. But this day-this one day a year, the day she despised above all others-she allowed herself to remember what she had been. What she would never again allow herself to be.

The-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth brushed a lock of hair behind her ear as she took a small wooden box off her make-shift mantle. She'd found over the years that the best place to hide something was in plain sight.

Fingering a strand of her dark curls, the-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth allowed herself to remember the-day-she-had-become-Elizabeth. The smell of the burning flesh and oh so much blood and the pain-hurt-betrayal. The knowledge that the-war-that-should-have-ended-when-she-was-a-toddler, the years she'd spent fighting the-man-They-still-refused-to-name were for naught. The day she'd shorn her hair off in a severe bob, and gave her robes and skirts and oh-so-beloved-books away, she'd all but ceased to be That-Naïve-Little-Girl who had believed in justice. Who had believed that an ordinary person could change what They were, had believed centuries of racism and prejudice and a hopelessly unequal society could be resolved by the defeat of the-man-They-still-refused-to-name.

A drop of blood and a spoken word were required to open the box. The small box the size of her palm opened to reveal an endless shadow. The-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth reached out with a bit of the energy That-Naïve-Little-Girl had used so regularly and pulled. A photo album which contained photos almost entirely taken by that annoying-little-boy-always-with-a-camera-in-hand who had died far too young floated out of the box.

The-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth shut the box and took the album in hand before sitting by her large window. Hands shaking slightly, she opened the album. The first photo was an unmoving image of That-Naïve-Little-Girl on the platform-which-should-not-exist with her-parents-who-had-been-Grangers-and-Wilkins-and-Weirs.

It was fitting, she supposed, that she had become the diplomat and negotiator and pacifist That-Naïve-Little-Girl had tried to be. The part of the-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth which still was and always would be That-Naïve-Little-Girl had steered her onto that path.

She turned the page of the photo album to see an image of three children, laughing around a chess board, one child occasionally taking the place of another as games were won and lost. It was one of the first moving photographs taken of That-Naïve-Little-Girl and the boy who'd eventually become the-man-That-Naïve-Little-Girl-had-loved and the boy who even then had had the weight of the world on his small shoulders. The-boy-who-had-been-Their-savior.

Her work with the SGC and later as the commander of the Atlantis was, the-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth admitted only on the day she despised more than any other, the only things capable of making her feel alive again. The only things which made her feel alive and needed and necessary since she'd been That-Naïve-Little-Girl with so much potential who had amounted to nothing, choosing to return to her parents' people. Who had chosen to all but give up the use of the energy she had practiced so long and so hard to control.

The-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth went through the photo album carefully, knowing it would be another year before she would allow herself to look at these images again. Because no matter how much she regretted becoming Elizabeth, it had been the best decision of her life.

Eventually she returned the photo album to its hiding place and went to get dressed. It would not do for her to avoid the rest of the base on this most despised day.

Later, at the party she had reluctantly permitted, the-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth watched her people enjoy themselves, taking in the rejoicing and dancing. And when John approached her, she fixed a decidedly fake smile upon her face.

"Having fun?" asked the-woman-who-was-now-Elizabeth.

"Yeah. You?"

"Should I call you Mr. Cash?" she said, taking a not-so-wild guess.

"You can call me Johnny. So, what are you supposed to be?" asked John.

"I'm a witch," she said simply.

John grinned at her as the Monster Mash, a childish, if traditional song of the day she despised began to play. "A witch, you? Nah. I don't think you're a witch at all. Do you want to dance?"

And she smiled back, this time her smile real. John didn't know how right he was.