Minerva shuddered as she sat behind her desk in the Headmaster's office. The war was over. They had won. She should be happy, shouldn't she? Why did their victory seem so hollow?
She felt numb. It was due to shock, she knew. At some point she will need to experience her pain in order to process it, but not yet. It was still too early for her. A scant few days had passed since the final battle. Her calendar was filled with funerals. The Wizarding world was wildly celebrating their victory, but she was not exactly in a festive mood.
The door slammed. She jumped, startled. That was strange. Usually one of the instruments would alert her if someone was approaching the office. The window wasn't open, so there wasn't any breeze. She watched in amazement as the door swung open, only to slam again.
She rubbed her temples. The noise threatened to touch off a splitting headache. Poppy was quite efficient, but no one could brew a Headache Remedy like Severus….
Oh god! Severus!
A chill ran down her back. Severus' body had not been recovered. The aftermath of the battle had been absolute bedlam, so there hadn't been much time to mourn the dead. They had been forced to gather the fallen into a central area, but they hadn't done a head count. To think that he was still out there somewhere, moldering and forgotten… oh, it made her sick. She jumped out of her chair, racing to the Floo. She had to summon Harry. Hopefully Harry would know where to find Severus' corpse so he could be laid to rest with dignity.
Severus' will and final requests were amazingly simple. He asked that his remains be cremated so that his body could not be desecrated or abused in Dark rituals. Other than that, he had absolutely no preference for how they were to be disposed. Minerva was tempted to have his urn buried alongside his mother, but they had been estranged for many years. She finally decided to have him placed in the mausoleum of the Headmasters. It was a controversial decision, and she had a long row with the Governors. They refused to recognize Snape as a Headmaster and unequivocally denied him any honor associated with that station.
She finally came up with an alternative option. They may deny Severus interment with the other Headmasters, but she was determined to have Hogwarts be his final resting place. His urn was buried at the foot of a massive tree on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The funeral had not been publicized, so only a select few were present to pay their respects. Afterward, the name of Severus Snape was toasted liberally at the Hog's Head. (The patrons were careful to bring their own glasses.)
Minerva was overwhelmed at the many tasks that needed to be done. She fairly collapsed into bed at night, oblivious to the world around her. But gradually she began to notice odd happenings. Papers and items were rearranged on her desk when she knew for certain that no one had entered the room. She occasionally encountered a pocket of cold air during her walks around the castle. She chalked it up to fatigue.
The next two years were difficult but rewarding. She and the other professors, along with generous benefactors, helped to rebuild the school and hire some new and talented professors. Once the school seemed to be back on its feet, she announced her resignation. Professor Sinistra would succeed her has Headmistress. Slughorn had worked very hard to unite Slytherin House and foster better inter-house relations, but he too was looking forward to retirement. Bonhomme was taking his place as Head of House and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a bit of a pushover, and the Slytherins would walk all over him, but perhaps his genial nature would do the House good. Minerva was having a devil of a time finding a replacement Potions master. And she thought digging up a good Defense professor would be hard! Hopefully Arsenius Jigger's nephew would agree to take the post.
The transfer of command went relatively smoothly. Sinistra handled her new position well, keeping the students in line and helping the new professors get acclimated. Life went on as usual. Almost.
Sinistra barely noticed the little disturbances at first. She had many tasks to handle, and she did not have time for distractions. But when things began to calm down, she noticed many of the odd happenings that Minerva had first noted. The contents of one drawer would shift to another, or the objects on her desk would be arranged in odd geometric patters. Once, Albus' portrait had been hung upside down, which the old man seemed to find uproarious. Another time, she returned from a long meeting to find that dusty sherbet lemons had been dug out of some forgotten crevice and had been flung around her office. One was stuck squarely to Dumbledore's forehead. She questioned the portrait, who claimed ignorance of the perpetrator.
The Astronomy Tower had always been a favorite place of the new Headmistress. She occasionally enjoyed just sitting outside and enjoying the stars. Unfortunately, students from time immemorial had decided that it was the perfect trysting place, and they managed to find a way in, despite her best locking charms. But the problem suddenly seemed to resolve itself. She heard the older children complaining about uncomfortable pokes and pinches when they were trying to find alone time with their paramour. After examining several injured students, Madame Pomfrey confirmed that the perpetrator had a grip strong enough to bruise. And yet the person remained unseen. Sinistra noticed that the tower was freezing even on a balmy day. As winter approached, she could hear low moaning sounds, which eventually worked up to a painful howl, as if the wind was raging at the tower. The students now counted the tower as one of the eeriest places in the castle. The Shrieking Shack also renewed its reputation as the one of the most haunted houses in the Wizarding world, for it also had odd flashes of light, loud thuds and bangs, and the occasional scream or moan.
Neville came on board a few years later as Herbology professor and Head of Gryffindor House. Sinistra was sad to see another old face go, but Madame Sprout had certainly earned her retirement. Neville was a breath of fresh air. Once he got over his initial nervousness, he was a competent teacher and great nurturer of his students. Even the Slytherins had to admit that he treated them fairly.
Neville was passing by a small group of upperclassmen Gryffindors. "I can't believe they didn't disband Slytherin house after the war!" one complained. "Nothing good has ever come from that house."
"They should get the Dementor's Kiss, every one," a girl agreed.
The group screamed as the large picture window behind them exploded in a shower of glass. Most of the shards were propelled outwards, so no one was hurt, but they were very badly frightened.
"PEEVES!" Flich roared, charging up the staircase. "I've got you now, you good-for-nothing! Destroying school property and placing students in danger! I'll see you exorcised!"
Peeves floated in the air, blowing raspberries, sporting his trademark bow tie and bell hat. "Don't call Peevesie, he just might come!" he laughed. He stopped short, seeing the broken glass.
"You won't get away with it!" Filch gloated, rubbing his hands in savage glee. "You'll get the boot for sure!"
"It wasn't me!" he wailed piteously, yanking on his bow tie. "I swear it! I wouldn't do that; it's just not funny enough!"
"Doubt the Baron will think it's funny either!" Filch snarled.
"No, Argus, it really wasn't Peeves," Neville explained. The poltergeist looked absurdly grateful. Neville hoped this would mean an end to the dungbombs in his greenhouses.
"Then what did it, eh? It wasn't something natural!"
"I wish I knew."
Neville was mystified by the bizarre occurrence, so he resolved to speak to Nearly Headless Nick. His busy schedule didn't take him by the ghost's usual haunts, so he didn't his quary until nearly a week later. Nick confirmed, "We ghosts have been noticing a lot of odd goings-on these past few years. We suspect that there is another ghost or poltergeist on the grounds, but they will not show their face, no matter how many times we ask. Whoever it is does not wish to make themselves known."
Neville continued on with his day-to-day teaching, but the mystery never quite left his mind. Strange events continued to occur as the years went by. Rita Skeeter came out with a tell-all book, Snape: Scoundrel or Saint? The staff was eager to read what tripe the vampy reporter would have come out with this time, but any copy that was left in the staffroom would spontaneously combust. At the start of term, there was the usual handful of Firsties that would get lost in the corridors. Slytherin First-Years reported that the wall-mounted torches would go out except for those in their immediate vicinity, until the lit path led them back to the entrance to the dormitory.
"Do you think it's Professor Snape?" Neville blurted one day during a meeting with the Headmistress.
Sinistra hesitated, a biscuit halfway to her lips. "I don't know," she said slowly, "but it's certainly possible. Perhaps he has some unfinished business that is keeping his soul from resting. Let me think about this for awhile."
Later that night, she Floo-called Minerva. Although McGonagall quite enjoyed the peacefulness of retirement, she liked to be kept in the loop, especially with Hogwarts events. She also provided counsel to the current Headmistress. Minerva was visibly upset by the thought that the spirit of their fellow teacher was not at peace. After all the man had sacrificed for them, he deserved to at least find rest in the afterlife. Albus had once remarked that death was the next great adventure. Severus had sneered and replied that, for him, he certainly hoped that death was the end. It now seemed that the end had not yet come for the dour former Potions master.
"The portrait!" McGonagall exclaimed. "That must be it. Poor lad, he never got a Headmaster portrait on the wall. But because he was never officially recognized by the Governors as Headmaster, they refused to grant him one. They also claimed that he deserted his post, although Severus had actually remained on the grounds, only departing to visit the Shrieking Shack, which was technically connected to the school. Their arguments were rubbish, but the governors were a bastion of the old regime, which cared more about appearances than celebrating or rewarding true bravery and service to the school and the Wizarding World as a whole.
Minerva tried to put the disturbing idea of Severus' hauntings from her mind, but she simply could not forget about him. He had been maligned during life. Even his death and subsequent burial had been ignominious. Surely he deserved better, even if it was posthumous. While her hands were tied, she had an 'in' with the Minister, and with his favorite up-and-coming Auror.
Though Harry was a bit weary by this point from the rigors of fatherhood, he was more than willing to champion Snape's cause. Fortunately, though Kingsley had never had a liking for Snape, he had seen the evidence of the man's loyalty and also wanted to help his soul find peace. Through a bit of lobbying, Harry was able to obtain permission to have a portrait of Snape created, in exchange for attending a Hogwarts fundraiser hosted by the Governors. Harry didn't mind, since the money would go toward scholarships for the impoverished. Harry picked the best artist he could find, and soon a portrait of the most recently deceased Headmster hung in the office.
The fits of rage by the invisible poltergeist decreased considerably, but its presence did not entirely disappear. The professors threw up their hands in frustration. They couldn't imagine what bound the sour man to the grounds, but he had become as much of a fixture as the other ghosts, and he was welcome to stay if he liked. By this point, there were very few on the staff that had known Severus. Moaning Myrtle was captivated by the thought of another ghost (male, dark, brooding, and mysterious!), but she often pouted because he would not reveal himself to her.
One night, Bonhomme awoke from a deep sleep to feel a crushing weight on his chest. He swatted at his body but could feel nothing. His face began to turn red as he struggled to breathe. Suddenly the weight disappeared, and he rubbed his sore chest, gasping for breath. To his amazement, the door to his bedroom creaked open. He could hear the fire in the hearth of the sitting room burst into flame. His heart pounding with mixed curiosity and fear, he poked his head outside the bedroom. He walked gingerly toward the fire, clutching his wand. He was ready for any sort of Dark manifestation. He was startled as the fire abruptly went out, but the front door to his quarters (which had been soundly locked and warded) abruptly slid open. An ice-cold finger poked him in the back. He whirled, but no one was there.
He got the feeling that he was being herded somewhere. He stepped outside his quarters. Then he heard the screams. He took off for the Slytherin dormitory at a dead run. The portrait burst open, emitting a crowd of panicky students. "Fire!" one of them screamed. Bonhomme ordered the Slytherin prefect to gather his Hose mates and to gather in the Great Hall. He sprinted through the dorm, casting liberal fireproofing charms on the unburned surroundings, and an extinguishing spell on anything that was burning. Water cascaded from the ceiling, a preventative spell that was apparently cast by a previous Head of House. The puddles dried as soon as they reached the floor, preventing any more serious damage.
He systematically searched each room, urging any stray students out of the dorm. The fire was concentrated in the Fourth Year wing. The heat was so bad that he could not enter, and even the automated Aguamenti spell was making no headway. His heart clenched in fear, for he could hear screams within.
To his astonishment, a student emerged from the choking smoke, floating in the air and surrounded by an wispy cloud. At first Bonhomme thought it was a cloud of smoke, but the smoke did not touch the girl, nor did she have trouble breathing. Once she was clear of the fire, she was gently set on her feet and the cloud disappeared. The process was repeated until all four trapped students were safe. The fire then diminished in intensity, as if something was trying to smother the flames. Bonhomme did not have a chance to dwell on the odd occurrence until much later. The four students had to spend a few days in the Hospital Wing, receiving treatment for smoke inhalation and minor burns. Each one described a sensation of being carried through the flames to safety. To whomever or whatever had saved them, Bonhomme was grateful.
McGonagall made a point of staying in contact with Harry. Despite whatever distractions were in his life, Harry always enjoyed chatting with his former Head of House. He was bursting with pride, since children of his own were now attending Hogwarts. It was no surprise that young James was immediately sorted into Gryffindor, but the sorting of Albus Severus into Slytherin had been a bombshell. Harry didn't seem to mind terribly, even though an unlikely friendship had sprung up between Al and Scorpius.
Harry had some disturbing news. He had received an emergency owl from Lucius Malfoy. The Malfoy progenitor had been approached by several Death Eaters who had either evaded capture or decided that eating Death was attractive after the downfall of the Dark Lord. Voldemort had done no favors for his family, so Lucius told the neo-Death Eaters where to go, in no uncertain terms. He would do anything to prevent the Death Eaters from rising again, even if it meant tipping off someone who he still regarded with suspicion. Harry had helped keep the Malfoys out of Azkaban due to Narcissa's lie to Voldemort to save Harry's life. The concept ranked Lucius, but he understood the debt that was owed. He also doted on his young grandson, and he supposed he could live with Scorpius making friends with the Potter boy, since Albus Severus was also a Slytherin. (The poor boy's name also amused him to no end.)
Minerva was dismayed to learn of a possible Death Eater uprising. Harry didn't seem to be overly concerned, though he certainly wanted to stamp out any threat in the making. From Malfoy's description, it sounded like their number was few and they were desperate for recruits.
Unfortunately, the Auror team failed to realize that desperation plus fanaticism had made these Death Eaters unusually bold and reckless. While Voldemort was willing to bide his time and move his followers into strategic position, much less pawns on a chess board, these neo-Death Eaters had no centralized leadership and thus were impatient to make their mark and seize power. The how's and why's of the following events kept the Aurors investigating for months afterward. What was blatantly clear was that a few Death Eaters had somehow managed the seemingly-impossible task of breaching Hogwarts. Students screamed as masked men in black robes appeared in the middle of the dungeons. "Where's Potter?" one of them roared.
"Which one?" a bewildered Hufflepuff asked.
"Any of them!" another snarled.
"We'll never tell!" a defiant Gryffindor screamed.
There was utter pandemonium as the Death Eaters charged the students, who scattered. Some tried to fight, some hurled objects, while others tried to hide or escape. Unfortunately, two first-year Slytherins rounded the corner, right into the waiting arms of the dark wizards.
"Got 'im!" one yelled. The boy bellowed and kicked his feet. The Death Eater howled in pain and tightened his grip painfully. The boy's identity was unmistakable – he had the same messy hair and green eyes as his father.
"Leave him alone!" the boy's platinum-haired companion yelled, launching himself at his friend's attacker. Another masked man flung a spell his way, and the blond boy crumpled to the ground, wrenching an agonized scream from the captive student.
"Wasn't that a Malfoy?" one of the black-garbed men asked.
"So what if it was?" another sneered. "The Malfoy family is dead to us. They've sold out, and they deserve what they get."
"All right, we've got what we came for! Let's go, before the Aurors arrive!"
"You won't get far!" Professor Longbottom yelled. "We're sealing the exits right now, and the Aurors have already been called. They'll arrive at any minute."
The mask concealed the Death Eater's ugly grin, but it still came through in his tone. "Guess we'll just have to kill him instead of ransoming him." Neville looked sick. It simply didn't seem possible that this batch of neo-Death Eaters was even more savage and disrespectful of life than their predecessors. What was their goal? What did they want?! They seemed to be working on a mixture of brute force and luck. "Avada Kedavra!"
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Neville charged the Death Eater, knocking him over, but not before the spell was cast. The other Death Eater let the boy go but fixed him with a full-body bind so he could not escape. Students and professors alike screamed in horror, but the sound seemed muted to a dull roar. The streak of green bore down on its target with deadly accuracy. The boy's father was the only one to have ever survived such a curse. None wanted to test the resiliency of the son.
The onlookers were overwhelmed with a sense of helpless frustration. It simply didn't seem possible that a young student, whose biggest worries had been the night's homework just a minute ago, would die before their eyes. It took them a few minutes to realize that something else was happening. Cloudy wisps began to form in front of the student, quickly coalescing into a thick grey mass. The spell entered the cloud and simply… disappeared. It was as if the cloud ate it.
The cloud didn't stop there. It continued to swirl and rearrange itself until it had assumed human form. It had legs, arms, long hair, a long nose, and thin, elegant fingers. It was dressed in a long frock coat with dozens of buttons down the front, covered with flowing professor's robes. "Professor Snape!" Neville exclaimed.
Everyone – student, professor and Death Eater alike – turned to stare. The apparition (no one was sure if it was ghost or poltergeist) turned its menacing glare on the masked invaders. One seemed stupid enough to think that Snape might be on their side. That notion was quickly disabused as Snape bore down him with silent fury. Taking it as a sign, the man's compatriots quickly tried to scatter. Thundering footsteps sounded on the stairs ahead as the Aurors rushed down into the dungeon, having been admitted through the Headmistress' Floo. Then the real fireworks began. The professors and staff busied themselves with herding the students away from the battle and sending the injured to the Hospital Wing. Albus Severus was whisked away and surrounded by a knot of Aurors.
After a brief but violent skirmish, all Death Eaters were apprehended but one, who had escaped into the Forbidden Forest. The Aurors gave chase, only to find later on that the fugitive had been eaten by an acromantula. And thus ended (or so they hoped) the short-lived resurrection of the Death Eaters. The Aurors were determined to not be caught off guard a second time.
Once the rogue Death Eaters had been taken away by the Aurors, a red-robed figure with a prominent blue stripe hurried over. "Al!" he exclaimed, gathering the boy in a crushing hug.
"Dad!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Dad, look who saved me!"
Harry looked over his shoulder and froze. "I don't believe it," he whispered. "Professor Snape!" The ghost glanced at him warily. "I don't think you've been properly introduced to my son. This is Albus Severus Potter. Al, meet Professor Snape, or perhaps I should say Headmaster Snape. This is the man who saved my ungrateful skin so many times."
Al stepped closer to the apparition. The ghostly figure floated backwards slightly, looking like he was seriously considering disappearing once more. "Wow, are you really Professor Snape? You're the neatest Headmaster ever!" Harry hid a smirk behind his hand. Clearly Al had perked up a bit since their chat at King's Cross. "I was worried about being in Slytherin House, but it's really cool! Scorpius is my best mate; he says you were friends with his granddad and that I can visit Malfoy Manor any time I want!" He paused and took a deep breath. "But I need to say thank you most of all. What you did was amazing!"
Harry smiled. "Yes, professor. Thanks, from both of us."
The ghost looked startled. He looked from Albus Severus to Harry and back again. They both smiled at him in gratitude. With a soft sound like the heavens sighing, the ghost faded away to faint wisps, which were swept away by an invisible breeze. The air immediately felt empty.
"Wow," Headmistress Sinistra whispered. "He's really gone, isn't he?"
"I wonder what kept him here all this time?" Neville mused.
Harry smiled. "Maybe he just needed a thank-you. Or he knew that a Potter would need saving one last time."
A/N: JK Rowling jokingly mentioned in an interview that Rita Skeeter could write a book Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?, so credit goes to her for that one.