EPILOGUE

30th June 2007

McGonagall touched a lower corner of the frame to straighten it, then stood back next to Snape so that they could share the view. "The medal really stands out against that background," she observed.

"I believe it is an improvement on the portrait," said Snape.

"Well…I can understand you'd be proud of an Order of Merlin. The portrait -,"

" – should never have happened -,"

"- and this is your office now, Severus, so you must decorate it to inspire you. Merlin knows, you need all the inspiration you can get when you become Head."

"Another week Ma'am. It's still yours for another week, or year or decade if you prefer," said Snape, turning to her with a gentle smile.

"Och, get away, I can't wait to shut that damn door behind me. Look out there, Severus – a beautiful summer, I can hear the children playing – it's my time to enjoy it before it's too late."

And as was McGonagall's preference – a habit Snape intended to continue – she had opened the tower windows to invite in the June zephyrs, carrying their fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine, and on them the sound of students in the courtyards and lawns below, laughing and shouting.

She touched the frame infinitesimally to the right. "I must say, your speech when you received this was quite remarkable. When I wasn't uplifted, I was humbled. I know the Prime Minister was moved. Did I tell you he got out a hanky?"

Snape frowned hard at her. "Ma'am? Is the new potion still working?"

"Perfectly! Why?" she looked alarmed.

"Well you've told me this already…"

She smiled and snorted dismissively. "Let an old lady reminisce, Severus! Maybe…maybe I'm getting a touch sentimental now, with endings all so near." Her eyes wandered to her gramophone and lingered for a moment. "If it were not for your potion, I might have lost all these beautiful memories forever."

"It's important, Ma'am," he said with a touch of urgency, "wherever you take it, the potion must be kept in a cool place out of direct light -,"

"I'm going to the Isle of White, Severus, not Majorca," she said, but smiled. Then gathered herself and placed a sincere expression on her face. "Thank you. Thank you for brewing it. It's a miracle."

Snape smiled again in return, clasping his hands behind his back. "Your current batch is courtesy of seventh year Potions. St Mungo's took the entire lot, but, having spoken to each of the students personally, I regret only three have any interest in becoming potioneers. Fortunately, they are the three that I would have commended to the profession. Still, they all have their NEWTs."

McGonagall laughed. "You made your point. I hope I made my point about teaching: they didn't fail. Perhaps that's something Servius has taught you. Potential, brilliance, is sometimes in the last place you expect it."

Snape's mind was cast to Diaphne, sitting at the back of his class with her little spectacles. He'd never truly known, never appreciated the talent she had.

"And when does your portrait arrive, Minerva?" asked Dumbledore from within his gilt frame where he'd been listening and watching.

"Soon enough," she replied airily. "Severus has said that if he wants or needs any guidance from me, he'll do it in person. I'm in no hurry to get stuck up on a wall with you lot. Anyway, don't you have to be dead first?"

Dumbledore chortled and the other portraits muttered disapprovingly, Nigellus sniping: "I suppose, Snape, you won't be in need of our collective wisdom. Too used to being stuck down in that dungeon alone. And what will your first order of business be, once you're running the place?"

Snape arched a brow. "Aside from adding football to the Clubs and Societies? Fixing the roof."

Heated murmuring around the room, and Dumbledore laughed outright. "Football? Having your way on that one! Maybe we should just put Master Snape in charge!"

"Albus," said Minerva, "the children are playing it anyway. I agree with Severus – it gives the Muggleborns and raised something to share with the purebloods." She then turned to Snape with a sceptical expression. "I've received the final quote on those roof repairs from the Fetherington fellow, and I'm afraid you're going to have to work your magic on Sir Byron again…"

"Ah – have you checked the Trust Fund recently?"

"Merlin, not if I can help it," she answered, with a quizzical frown, and at The Desk, rummaged around in the file drawers. She found the unopened letter with the Gringotts seal on it. "Earkras' reports are so…well, I am often just too busy –,"

She quickly opened the letter and read the statement, her eyebrows quirking up high when she read the figures. "How on earth -?"

"A donation. While you may not approve of the donor, his money is nonetheless quite functional and will be happily accepted by the Goblins."

"Lucius Malfoy," she surmised, looking guarded. "What is he after? He'll never get back on the Board -,"

"Draco. He never acquired his NEWTs and would like to repeat seventh year."

McGonagall and Dumbledore looked at each other, mystified. "But the Department run an adult education -,"

Snape was nodding. "I know, they're aware of that. Lucius Malfoy is firmly of the belief that returning to a classroom environment will be character building for Draco. Personally, I'd be surprised if Draco lasts a term, but the roof repairs will still be done."

There was a moment of silence in the office while this news was digested, and then McGonagall said, "Well, I for one would say why not? A good, strong dose of humility will do that boy a world of good. And if the money's already sitting there…"

"He's a man now," said Snape. "A husband and father. Much changed. But if he wants an occupation, then having his advanced certificate will widen his options considerably. He'll be on the roll for September."

McGonagall smile a little crookedly and looked at Dumbledore again. "Goodness, Severus, you're adapting to leadership extremely well. Well, since you're writing up your to-do list already, I have another item for you next week. The House Elves have provided notice of their intention to strike unless their pay and conditions are equal to the Kitchen Elves."

Snape groaned audibly and massaged his brow.

"You'll need them working before term starts. There's three hundred and fifteen on the roll if all the first-years accept their letters."

"I need a Deputy," said Snape, his shoulders slumping.

McGonagall's eyes twinkled. "Anyone in mind? I would have recommended Aurora but I've just signed her maternity leave application."

"That will take some thought," admitted Snape, his mind scanning through the staff.

"I've always thought Neville showed the right kind of potential," added McGonagall subtly. "You two seem to be getting along reasonably well these days. It was good to see you shaking hands at that Quidditch semi-final."

"And Potions?" inquired Dumbledore. "Any chance of coaxing Horace out of retirement again?"

"He's best served where he is," muttered Snape, his mind on his beloved chair in his dungeon office. Who would sit in it next?

"Horace is finally started his treatise," McGonagall informed Dumbledore. "He's decided to base it on the Beginning and the Three Mages. Wants to separate out the fact from the fiction. He thinks it might be helpful for Servius."

"Undoubtedly," said Dumbledore. "I'm sure whatever Servius' task turns out to be, he'll be better for being forewarned about this legacy he carries. How's the Warlock training going, Severus?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "That boy has the attention span of a murtlap and combines it with a cocky arrogance so that he is virtually impermeable as a student of anything. Hellmann is being exceedingly patient. The boy's mother was a scholar – I'm at a loss to explain it."

"I think you'll find its hormones," said McGonagall.

"Fortunately Hellmann seems to have a far better rein on his daughter. She's the only one who can teach Servius anything," said Snape. "She's bright. Another Granger but not as self-disciplined. Trying to keep them separate is beyond futile."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Sounds like a normal pre-teen to me. And of his task? When will you start that hunt for the Faerie Call?"

"I'm still waiting to hear from the Ministry. Between seventh years, Rabastan's trial, Aurora and getting Servius through exams, I confess, I haven't followed up. I'll get onto it."

McGonagall straightened a few items on her desk, glanced at Snape and said, "Right then, shall we go? We need to be back in time for the feast."

"Feast?" echoed Dumbledore. "What day is it? It's never the end of term?"

"It is," confirmed McGonagall. "I said I would see through the school year. And that reminds me: happy Death Day, Albus. Tenth year anniversary, no less. I put some fresh flowers at your tomb. There's a lot down there."

"Oh! Uh, thank you…" he exclaim-muttered, glancing at Snape who was examining the pattern on the rug. "Then tell me, who won the House Cup? Gryffindor at last?"

"Hufflepuff again, Albus. Fortunately with the best players on their Quidditch team finishing up today, Gryffindor stands a better chance next year."

"Gryffindor came second?"

"Third. Slytherin second. Not bad considering they were coming last for a while. Now! We must be off. We have to get to Hogsmeade."

The walk into the village at this time of year was always pleasant, particularly if the day was fine, and June thirtieth proved to be such. The sky was a deep blue, with a good stretch of it cloud free so that in sections clear of the Forest, the space seemed almost compressed, as though a short jump would break free of gravity. Snape and McGonagall walked apace, chatting all the way.

They entered Hogsmeade and McGonagall led them through the village towards the other side of it, where the houses became sparser and the land more open. Finally she turned into a short, overgrown lane and at the end was a wide wooden gate.

"It used to be a farmhouse," she explained, unlatching it and making entry. A nameplate on the gate read 'Cauld Burn Farm'. "Originally the owner was a farmer of peas, barley and turnip. There's an old pigpen. There's the barn – very useful for storage, the burn runs beside it. And there's the house."

Opening up behind an overgrown thicket of miniature climbing rose was McGonagall's place in Hogsmeade, recently vacated due to the renters moving into Diaphne's more centrally-placed house. It was a two-story, large thatched cottage, with half-timbering and dormer windows. It was beautiful. Without another step, Snape gazed at it and nodded. "Let me bring Aurora."

He found her at Dumbledore's tomb, placing her posy at its foot that was now a metre deep in flowers and candles and small paper bags of his favourite sweets. She couldn't bend over, her bump was far too large, and she was trying to keep her balance as she bobbed down at her knees. "Here, let me," said Snape, coming up behind her, and he helped her upright before positioning her little gathering of moor wildflowers.

"Oh, thank you," she said, smiling. "Where did you come from? I thought you said you were busy today."

"I have been," he said. "Becoming Headmaster takes quite the handover. But I had a different errand today, and I need your opinion."

Her brows rose with interest. "I see. But if this is about my replacement, I really don't think -,"

"No. Not about that. Come with me. It's in Hogsmeade."

A little while later he was leading her up the same narrow path, drowsy with bees on the clover and dandelions, through the gate and into the yard before the cottage. He watched her face as she absorbed it, wide-eyed, then she lifted her hand to her open mouth before turning to Snape. Tears stood in her eyes and made them shine. "For us?"

"Baby needs a home," he said simply. "So does Servius. We need to be a family."

She searched his face, the one she knew, the one she thought she knew. "Can we, Severus? Can we be a family? We're so muddled…do you think it could work?"

He knew what she meant and muddled was a forgiving word. He still woke at night from vivid dreams of Charity; he still fought furiously with Servius, and the appointments with the curse-breaker had given Sinistra no peace of mind at all. While the baby continued to grow, her entire pregnancy had been shadowed with neo-natal depression; a dreadful, angry fear that the curse was ticking, ticking, ticking. She obsessed over every foetal movement, hung onto every word from the midwife, read endless books about pregnancy, Muggle and Wizarding. She refused to discuss names, refused to buy even the most basic of provisions but most of all, she refused to let Snape have any involvement whatsoever. They had lived almost separate lives, and it was only on his insistence that she shared with him reports on the baby's development.

It had all been watched discreetly by McGonagall, and when Sinistra's bump became too obvious to ignore, she took Snape delicately aside and shared her honest opinion: the baby needed a home. She then offered him her Hogsmeade residence, which required several weeks of cogitating on his part before he grudgingly agreed to at least look at it.

Could they be a family? Snape returned her gaze and saw there a look she'd given him before, on those rare occasions he was permitted entry into the mysterious and profound world of his pre-born child with her data-like reports about the infant's size – invariably compared to a vegetable or fruit – the features or functions that would have developed since the last update (baby will now have eyelashes! Can you believe it, Severus, eyelashes!) and, later, a cautious hand on her bump to feel it moving. And when he'd looked up at her, his hand sensing through her gown, through the tight skin of her stomach, the flutters and rolls and kicks, she would be waiting with her eyes and she would be communicating: will you ask me now?

And he would be mute.

He took her hand now, not speaking, not answering her, but urged her up the paving stones to the front door. "Let's look inside it," he suggested, and she hung her head and followed.

For Snape, he is a complex man, neither good nor bad. And if during the unfolding of his story – and this he knows from long experience with these small moments in time and fate - a present twist brings joy, then tomorrow: tomorrow he should prepare himself because the turn that will inevitably follow would likely not be in his favour, whatever Ollivander said.

But today, as he invited Sinistra across the threshold of their new home together, today he felt joy.

PART THREE OF THE SEVERITY SERIES

COME TO LIFE

Life finds a way…or makes one.

Wait for William is a boy brought to life by design and ulterior motive. His father, Tao Huan, the rogue but brilliant Muggle geneticist sacked and ostracised by the Human Genome Project, was once the assistant to Doctor Ditton, the lurking scientist racing Charity Burbage to discover the keys to the M Chromosome. Huan has much to prove, much to gain and much at stake by exposing the Wizarding World for profit, if only he could find the answer to that peculiarity in wizard genetics, an answer that may be hidden in the research done by Charity before she died. Research given to Severus Snape.

For optimistic William, his world turns upside down when he discovers that perhaps he was less a son, and more of an experiment; a tool, a triumph of engineering and a means to infiltrate the Statute of Secrecy. But he's driven to uncover the shocking facts behind his parentage, and where his magic gene originated.

Severus Snape, in his first term as Headmaster at Hogwarts, is barely coping as he takes the helm, and his usual crutches are becoming dangerous problems in their own right. When Auror Harry Potter shows up, hot on the case of Huan and needing Snape's help, he realises that it may be that he needs Potter's help just as much. Once, these two hated each other – now they'll need to hope that age and parenthood has seasoned them enough to be able to work as a team.

Aurora Sinistra thought her dreams were about to come true, but events have gone dramatically, tragically wrong and her happy ending is slipping away. Her efforts to help William open her eyes to a possible, drastic means to an end that could fix everything – or ruin it all forever. Can her love for Snape survive it? Is her desperation enough to justify a woman's hardest choice?

Servius may be in Hogwarts custody, but he's having a lot of trouble accepting his new status and responsibility, not helped by a budding friendship with a bored Draco Malfoy and a blossoming Amelie Hellmann. It seems there's far too much fun to be had being an errant Slytherin than discovering his duty as the descendent of the Worthy Mage. So when he and Draco are sent to find the missing Faerie Call that contains his mystery letter of instruction, they both have to learn what obligation and commitment really mean, especially when Draco bumps into a past temptation in the corridors of the MoM.

Why did Rabastan Lestrange need the Resurrection Stone? All Potter's theories were felled in an instant, and the mystery of Rabastan's pursuit of the Stone was never explained. With the other Death Eaters about to be freed from Azkaban and converging on Malfoy Manor, what fresh flavours of hell are about to be unleashed, especially when Rabastan learns he cannot die…

2021 /

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