Epilogue: Nineteen Minutes Later
From the Headmaster's Office, Harry went directly to the Shrieking Shack. Someone was already there - a familiar, blond head. He started.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here? And how do you know where this happened at all?!" he demanded.
"Shh. Granger's told me. Now, are you going to continue blabbering about the power of his love for your mother, or will you actually help me, Potter?" he heard spoken in a familiar drawl. Draco, like life, was quickly returning to normal, it seemed.
Harry sighed. "Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say... It's the Draught of Living Death, isn't it?"
"Combined with a bezoar and the essence of dittany, of course," the former Slytherin replied. "I'll brew the antidote, since you're useless at it. You make the Portkey to ship him out of the country. There will be questioning."
Harry nodded. "And when Skeeter learns he's alive--" He could just imagine the title of the journalist's next book: The Shadows of Severus Snape. Or Severus Snape: The Man in Black. Or--
"Where do you think the Portkey should take him to?"
For a moment, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor looked at each other. Then, "Tahiti," they said in unison.