It was a dark and stormy night, the sort of which bad novels are made. Rain lashed the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts, driven almost horizontal by the shrieking wind. The metal door to the roof was blown open and clanged against its frame, making a sound like a cracked bell. This was not an unusual occurrence. Lightening struck the tower. This was also not an unusual occurrence.

In the Great Hall, Minerva McGonagall was having hot chocolate and toast, and reading the eveningProphet. On the third page was an article describing the murder of a witch named Mavis Harris, by means of the Killing Curse. There was no apparent motive for the murder, but the article did mention the fact that Miss Harris had been Muggle-born. Minerva sighed. Apparently pureblood mania was alive and well in the wizarding world. She finished her chocolate, then rose to make her way back to her office, and the bedchamber above it.

She had spent the afternoon going over her list of magical children who had turned eleven in the past year, or would during the summer, and sending owls off with personalized copies of The Letter to those born to wizarding families. Over the next week or so, she and those of her staff who remained at the castle year round would be hand-delivering letters to the Muggle-borns and explaining the situation to their parents. She entered the office, passing the softly snoring portraits of former Hogwarts headmasters. Only Severus Snape's image was awake. He seemed to be shivering slightly, as though he were feeling the chill of the rain outside.

"Something wrong, Severus?" Minerva asked.

"I don't know, Minerva," he replied softly. "I woke up a bit ago feeling… cold."

"I wasn't aware that you portraits were capable of feeling the temperature," she said, somewhat incredulous.

"We're not," said Snape. "At least, we're not supposed to be. Anyway, it's not a physical sensation. More like a premonition."

"A premonition? Of what?" Now Minerva was concerned. In her twenty years as headmistress of Hogwarts, she had never known a portrait to have a premonition.

"I don't know." Snape seemed distant, as though the spirit that informed his portrait was being drawn away.

"Should I send for Professor Carlin?"

Snape thought a moment, and then said, "No, no need."

"You're certain it's nothing serious?" Minerva was still worried.

"Oh, I'm quite certain it's something deadly serious." He seemed to collect himself. "But whatever it is, it will reveal itself soon enough. We can deal with it when the time comes. "He stifled a yawn. He was getting sleepy. "You may as well go off to bed."

Amid the rain and the wind, something like smoke began to rise from the roof. Instead of being blown away, it began to gather in front of the clanging door. It congealed and solidified, taking the form of a naked human male, almost skeletal in form. The form drew itself to its hands and knees and raised its head. Then it opened its mouth and gave forth a cry of anguish that might have come from a damned soul in the depths of hell. The sound was carried away by the wind.

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Argus Filch climbed the stairs that led to the Astronomy tower, Mrs. Norris the Fourth following at his heels. The door to the roof didn't come unhinged after every storm, but it did so often enough that it was worth his while to make the trip up there to check. Sure enough, as he reached the top, he saw the morning sunlight streaming through the doorway.

He set his toolbox on the floor and prepared to start work, when the cat began meowing insistently. He turned to see what was bothering her. The cat was standing in the stairwell, staring at a pale shape. " 'Ere, now, Mrs. Norris, what is it?" He moved in closer, and found something that could barely be called a man, naked, curled in a fetal position, facing the wall. The ribs and vertebrae were clearly visible through the skin, the arms and legs looked like matchsticks. Who, or what, was it, and what the bloody hell was it doing here? He moved toward it, and it pulled away. "Right, then," he said. He seized it by the hair and pulled it to its knees, forcing it to face him. "What are you doing…" then, suddenly he let go as recognition struck him. The face was hardly more than a skull with skin stretched over it, eyes sunk far back into its sockets, but it was a face he knew nonetheless. It was the face of Severus Snape.

Snape said nothing,. He only turned away. Quickly, Filch took his cloak off and covered Snape with it. "How…?" he started to ask, but was not quite sure what the rest of the question was. Snape only shook his head. Finally, Filch said, "Come on, Professor, let's get you to the hospital wing." He helped Snape to his feet and half led, half carried him down the stairs.

Minerva sat behind her desk and listened in disbelief as Filch told her what he had found on the roof of the Astronomy tower. She turned to Snape's portrait for an explanation, but it was apparent from his expression that he was just as bewildered as she was, perhaps more so. From the frame beside Snape's, Dumbledore's portrait mused "This is certainly unexpected," but offered no further comment.

"How can this be?" Minerva asked, addressing Snape.

"I have no idea, Minerva," Snape, or rather his image replied, then added, "Perhaps you should send for Professor Carlin after all."

"Indeed," said Minerva. "I'll send her an owl as soon as I've had a look at you. Or him. Or… whatever!" With that, she stood and followed Filch to the hospital wing.

"He's in a bad way," Madam Pomfrey told Minerva as she led her through the hospital wing to the isolation ward. "Skin and bones, hardly a scrap of flesh on him. I tried to give him a strengthening potion, but he wouldn't drink it. He shouldn't even be alive, but, well, here he is." The school nurse tapped the stone wall with her wand, revealing a door, which she opened. Minerva was appalled at what she saw inside. Severus Snape lay in the bed, eyes closed. His face was barely recognizable. The skin that was stretched over his skull was pale and sickly gray. The skinny neck seemed incapable of supporting his head, should he try to lift it. His hands were folded over his chest, and she could easily make out the bones in them. A goblet full of the pale green potion that Madam Pomfrey had given up trying to feed him sat on the bedside table. Minerva approached the foot of the bed.

"Severus?" she spoke his name softly.

Severus opened his eyes. They were black wells. "Minerva." His voice was weak and thready.

Minerva sat down on a chair beside his bed. "I don't suppose you can tell me what you're doing here."

"I was rather hoping someone could tell me," Severus replied quietly. So much for explanations.

"I suppose we'll have to leave it to Professor Carlin to sort out, then."

"Professor Carlin?"

Minerva was surprised that Severus did not recognize the name, and then remembered that while his portrait had met her, Severus himself had not. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor," she explained. "I'll be sending her an owl telling her that you've rejoined the living, and asking her to come investigate."

"And how long has she been teaching here?"

"Three years." Minerva knew where the question was leading.

"So the curse on that position has been broken."

"Yes."

Severus seemed to relax a bit. He bit his lip. "And the Dark Lord?"

"Gone for good. Harry Potter saw to that. Incidentally, his youngest will be starting at Hogwarts next term."

At this, Severus seemed to brighten a bit. "Potter survived?" He tried to sit up, but the effort was too much for him, and he collapsed back onto his pillow. He took a deep breath and let it out, then turned his head to face the headmistress again. "Minerva, exactly how long have I been gone?"

"Twenty years," she informed him.

"Twenty years," he repeated. "Such a long time, not to feel its passing." He fell silent once more. It became apparent to Minerva that he had run out of conversation, which was understandable, considering the circumstances. Any further questioning would be pointless, and at any rate, he probably had as many questions as she did. Answers, for the time being, were not forthcoming.

Finally, she said, "Well, I 'm going to leave you to get some rest. I have a fair bit of work waiting for me in my office."

Severus nodded slightly in acknowledgement. She stood and walked out of the ward.

Minerva walked slowly back to her office. It was impossible. The dead simply didn't return. There were spells, she knew, dark rituals, that could bring the deceased back to a semblance of life. Had someone used such a ritual to revive Severus? It did not seem likely, after twenty years. Such spells were almost never successful if the person being revived, if that was the proper word, had been dead more than three days, let alone two decades. Yet Severus Snape was alive. She had seen him. She had talked to him. Her mind was barely able to take the fact in.

She was almost certain that dark magic was involved in Severus's return, though she couldn't say how. Severus himself had claimed he did not know how or why he had come back, and she felt inclined to believe him. She hoped she could trust her instincts in the matter. Even if she were wrong, at the moment Severus was in no condition to be able to start making trouble. It would take time for him to regain strength.

As soon as she arrived in her office, Severus's image, which was in Dumbledore's frame, apparently conferring with him about the strange turn of events, turned to her and asked, "Well, Minerva, how am I?"

"You'll live," she replied crisply.

"But will I enjoy it?"

"Now, Severus, there's no need to be pessimistic," Dumbledore chided gently. "If you have returned from beyond, I'm sure there's a reason for it. Granted, what that reason is remains to be seen, but nothing in this world happens without a purpose."

"I fail to see what purpose could be served by my coming back from the dead." Severus's image turned and returned to his own frame. Then he addressed Minerva. "So, what kind of shape am I in?"

"Physically or mentally?"

"Both."

"Not good on either count. You are most pitifully thin and severely depressed, though I must say, you, or perhaps I should say he, seemed pleased to learn that Harry Potter is alive and well."

"That much I could have predicted. Was he able to provide any insight on how or why he has returned?"

"No. He seems as much at a loss on that point as we are."

"I suppose we shall have to wait until Professor Carlin arrives and completes her investigation if we are to discover the reason for Severus' return," interjected Dumbledore. "Anything that we could come up with would be merely idle speculation."

"I agree," said Minerva. "Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I have a letter to write." She picked up her quill, dipped it in ink, and composed the missive, giving as much detail as she could. Then she tied the letter to her owl's leg, opened the window and released the bird. There was nothing she could do now but wait. She watched the owl until it disappeared from sight, and then sighed and turned her attention to the pile of post-term paperwork that lay on her desk.