The afternoon sun shone through the large west-facing windows, when Samara woke up. She blinked, and turned around in bed. How long had she been sleeping? Severus was still lying next to her, his breathing slow and regular. So it had not just been a happy dream, it had all been real.

His features were relaxed and peaceful in his sleep, the frown lines on his forehead smoothed, making him appear a lot younger. She propped herself up on her elbow and watched him, unable to take her eyes off his beloved face, the crooked line of his nose, the dense black lashes, and the pale cheeks, which seemed to have hollowed even more over the last months. Her eyes fell onto the bulging fresh scars disfiguring his neck, and it made her shudder to think how close she had come to losing him forever. She made a mental note to put some Dittany on them later. Of greater concern, however, were those scars that remained invisible. She could only hope that time and her love would be able to heal them, too.

A jet black strand of hair had fallen into his face, so she reached out to gently brush it aside. He gave a faint grunt, before his eyes fluttered open. In the direct sunlight, Samara could see that they were actually not black, but a very dark shade of brown.

"What time is it?" he asked, raising up on his elbow, like Samara, and blinking at the sun.

"Half past three."

"Time to get up, I'd say," he muttered, pushing the covers back and climbing out of bed. "I'll take a shower, if you don't mind."

"Can I join you?" Samara asked a little bashful, but at the same time unable to pull her eyes away from his perfectly shaped naked body.

"Certainly," he replied with an impish smile, as he made his way to the bathroom.

Samara followed, and slipped into the shower after him. Letting the warm water run over her face, she pressed herself against him, kissing the never-ending supply of water droplets off his chest. His body felt so foreign, and yet so familiar, it filled her with wonder. His hands skilfully massaged her back, gently kneading the cords of muscles, some of which were still seized up and sore from her fall and the hours of lying on the cold, hard ground by the forest. She sighed, it felt good.

They lathered each other up, and washed each other's hair. She relished in the sensation of his fingers massaging her scalp, his hands caressing her soapy body. Once the foam was rinsed off, she slid down, placing her hands on his narrow hips, and took him into her mouth. Severus drew in a sharp breath and moaned. She could feel him harden and grow, as she slid her lips along his shaft, inhaling his musky scent. His eyes were closed, and his head dropped back with entrancement, when she caressed his sensitive tip with her tongue. After a while, he gently pushed her away her, pulled her up to him, and kissed her with a passion and fervour that turned her insides to mush. She spread her legs for him as he tried to enter her, but their difference in height and the constricted space of the shower made it difficult to find the right position.

"Let's save it for later," he said softly, as he straightened himself.

At that moment Samara's stomach made a rumbling noise.

"Besides, there seem to be more pressing issues to attend to," he smirked.

"Does that mean you are going to spend the night with me again?" she asked hopefully.

"Tonight, and as many more as you want me to," he affirmed.

"I don't want you to ever leave."

"That..." he said with an amused expression, "is not very practical. Since I don't even have a change of clothes here, I shall have to pay Hogwarts another brief visit."

They got out of the shower. Severus performed a drying charm on them, and then they got dressed. Down in the kitchen, Samara reheated the left-overs of last night's dinner, the meal she had missed. They were sitting at the table, eating in silence, when suddenly, with a pop, Melissa and Trixie Apparated in the entrance hall. Samara waved at them to come and join them.

"Voldemort is dead, Harry killed him, but so many people lost their lives," Melissa said plaintively as she sat down.

Samara nodded. "Have you two eaten?"

"Yes, there was a feast."

Melissa's eyes darted back and forth between Samara and Severus, who stared her down with his best classroom scowl. She seemed a little disconcerted by the apparent familiarity between Samara and her former professor, and what it implied.

"Professor," Melissa finally found the courage to address him, "I'm so sorry, I thought you... well... Harry was telling everybody how you were always on Dumbledore's side, even after you killed - And how you protected -"

"Spare me the account of my life from Potter's mouth, Miss Braidings!" he snarled, his eyes shooting daggers at her.

"Yes, Sir." She lowered her eyes sheepishly, but after a moment's hesitation she couldn't stop herself from blurting out. "I just think you should know – they all think you're dead, and well... You didn't allow me to say anything. But... I was sitting next to McGonagall, and she cried! And... I think you should tell them...."

"Miss Braidings, mind your own business," he cut across her, and Melissa fell silent, avoiding his eyes.

Samara wondered if she was the only one to detect a slight conciliatory note in his voice, despite the apparent harshness in his words, as if deep down he was touched by the thought of McGonagall shedding tears over his death.

"I... I should go home. I'll go pack my things," Melissa sighed, getting up from her chair.

"There is no hurry, you're welcome to stay," Samara said.

"I know. But I haven't seen my friends and family in months."

Samara nodded, she was disappointed that she would no longer have Melissa for company, but she did understand. "I'll see you at work on Monday."

Melissa's face lit up when she heard those words.

"Bright and early!" Samara added with a wink.

"Yes, Miss Ravenhood!"

"It's still Samara... You can start by writing up the article for the Potioneer."

"I will do my best," the young witch beamed, before she turned to climb up the stairs to her room with a new spring in her step.

As Trixie cleared away the empty plates, and started to clatter about in the kitchen, Samara took hold of Severus' hand across the table, looking at him sternly.

"You really should go and tell Minerva."

"I suppose I should," he grumbled wearily.

Suddenly, there was a scratch at the window, and when Samara turned, she saw her owl sitting on the window sill outside. She got up to let him in. He deposited a thick wad of paper on the dining table, and then fluttered off toward the kitchen, where Trixie would give him some treats. Samara took a look at her mail.

"Oh, look, an Evening Prophet, special edition..." she told Severus, as she picked up the paper, and started to flick through it.

She rarely bothered reading the Prophet, but this time she was anxious to find out what had happened, and who was amongst the dead. Harry Potter smiled tiredly at her from almost every page. She paused when she got to the list of names of those who had fallen in the battle, her heart thumping apprehensively as she scanned down. She didn't recognise most of the names. There was a Weasley amongst the dead, but fortunately none of the Hogwarts professors. Then her face pulled into an annoyed frown.

"They have you down on the list of dead Death Eaters!"

"Well, I suppose I was a Death Eater," Severus drawled indifferently.

"No, you were not! You risked your life to fight against Voldemort!" she exclaimed with indignation.

Samara turned over the page, exhaling in outrage, when she read the next headline. "Severus Snape – Saint or Scoundrel? by Rita Skeeter"

She hastily read the article, her eyes flickering across the page. Severus watched her with detached curiosity, as she paled, and her eyes filled with tears of anger.

"Severus Snape, most fervent follower of You-Know-Who, and late headmaster of Hogwarts, was reportedly killed by his own master, while his colleagues valiantly battled against the onslaught of Death Eaters. The Golden Trio witnessed the act, hidden in the Shrieking Shack, when You-Know-Who set his snake on his most loyal servant, and watched the man bleeding to death.

One can only wonder at the damage that the sight of such horrors inflicts on the mind of a child. And so it is maybe not surprising that poor Harry, who was always somewhat unstable, was a little confused by the events, trying to convince his friends and teachers that Snape had been trying to protect him all along! Contrary to what Harry is trying to make us believe however, Snape was possibly even more vicious than You-Know-Who himself. Under his leadership of terror, Death Eaters were allowed to teach at Hogwarts, students were tortured and maimed, encouraged to embrace the Dark Arts, and dissident members of staff, such as poor Charity Burbage, were brutally murdered.

Snape himself relished a bit of murder, as became evident when he killed a defenceless and frail Dumbledore on the top of Hogwarts Astronomy tower in the spring of last year. Again, poor Harry had to witness it all, and barely got away with his life. This murder was possibly the most despicable crime in history, considering that not only was the victim an unarmed old man, but also the same person that had always stood behind Snape, whose testimony had kept Snape out of Azkaban all those years, and who gave him a job when nobody else would have touched him with a bargepole.

Oh, yes, there was a time when Snape led the life of a respected Hogwarts teacher, though his students will attest that he always had a sadistic streak. And until he committed this most revolting act of treason, usurping the position of his former mentor and benefactor, few wizards and witches would have believed him capable of such atrocity. This writer, however, was never fooled by Severus Snape. I had the dubious pleasure of meeting him at the Triwizard Tournament in 1994, and I have always known an evil person when I've seen one. So I can't but think that Snape got away too lightly. Personally, I would have liked to see him face justice, and a much more severe punishment."

"What is it?" he asked with mild interest.

"Read that!" she spat bitterly, pushing the newspaper over to him.

His face was completely impassive, as he read, while Samara watched him attentively. When he finally looked up and spoke, his voice was perfectly stoical.

"So?"

"What do you mean – so? It's horrible!" she shrieked, jumping up from her chair, pacing about restlessly.

"It's Rita Skeeter, what did you expect?" he replied, completely unconcerned.

"But many people will believe this crap! And then if they put you on trial, if you're sentenced -," she choked, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"What did you think would happen? I did kill Dumbledore, and even if I could prove that it was on his wishes, it would still be a crime. Did you hope I would just be absolved of all charges, because the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly believes me a saint? Surely, you're not that naive?"

"I won't let them take you," she sobbed, "I won't watch as they send you to Azkaban!"

He got up, and wrapped his arms around her.

"Shhh... I have no intention of going to Azkaban. Everybody believes me dead, remember? I will just have to retreat from the public eye for a while."

"It's not fair," she sniffed, wiping away the tears.

"Nothing is ever fair," he said calmly.

They were interrupted by Melissa, who was levitating her trunk down the stairs. The young witch blushed, embarrassed to have intruded on a private moment. Samara hugged her good-bye, and then Trixie Apparated Melissa and her belongings back to her flat in London.

***

Severus Snape was greeted by a shriek, as stepped out of the fireplace of Hogwarts' headmaster's office in a burst of green flames.

"Merlin, Severus!" a shrill voice shouted, and as he straightened, he saw Minerva McGonagall jumping up from what until yesterday had been his chair, her eyes wide with terror, as if she was looking at a Norwegian Horntail that had just burst into the room.

"Calm yourself, Minerva, I'm just coming to pick up some things. Accept my resignation, and consider me gone," he said in a casual tone, flicking ashes off his long black robes.

"You're alive!" Minerva exclaimed. Her face looked as if she had just been hit by a stunning spell.

"Obviously," he remarked wryly, lifting one eye-brow.

He swept past her towards the door leading up to his chambers. As he magically transferred his belongings into a large trunk, he was overcome by a strange feeling that he could not put into words. Hogwarts had been his home for almost all his life, but now he was leaving for good. Brushing those thoughts aside, he called a house elf, and ordered his things to be moved to Ravencroft.

When he returned, and opened the door to the office, a roar erupted in the room, stopping him dead in his tracks. He stared into the faces of his colleagues, who hurried towards him, and, ignoring his protests, ushered him into their middle.

There was a teary-eyed Sprout, a beaming Slughorn, a sheepish but delighted Flitwick, Hagrid, who gave him a bear-hug that could easily have achieved what Nagini had not, an overjoyed Poppy, and Minerva, whose face was glowing with... could it be pride? And all around them, the headmasters and headmistresses of times long past were cheering. Albus sat in their middle on his painted chair, smiling with deep satisfaction, his eyes twinkling with joy. And then green flames flared up in the fireplace once more, as Kingsley stepped out, and patted him on the back. And Severus was momentarily so stunned by it all that he forgot to scowl.

"I will floo Molly and Arthur at the Burrow!" Minerva exclaimed excitedly.

"No!" Severus shouted, finally regaining his presence of mind. He didn't fancy having to explain to Molly Weasley just why he had hexed her son's ear off, nor did he want to be fed extra helpings of cauldron cake. He really just wanted to be left alone and go back to Samara. But he had to listen to their apologies, their words of thanks, and through all this, he couldn't help but wonder why they suddenly cared so much about his fate.

***

Samara felt the last warm rays of evening sun on her back as she walked down to the orchards. Rowena stood at the far end of the field, her head held high, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She let out a neigh whose shrill sound cut through Samara's heart with painful sorrow. When the mare took sight of her, she came trotting towards her, looking at her with her ears pricked up high. Samara stroked her head, feeling her velvety nose, and the warm breath blowing from her flared nostrils.

"He's not coming back, but you already know that, don't you?" she whispered hoarsely.

The mare looked at her with big sad eyes and snorted softly. Samara's heart felt heavy, thinking that, just as she herself had found her soul mate, Rowena had lost her companion forever. She gave the mare a pat, and made her way back towards the house. When she reached the fresh mound of soil, where Trixie had helped her bury Godric earlier that evening, by the old yew tree where the garden blended into the orchards, she remained there for a little while, her eyes resting on the colourful pansies around a slab of black granite with the words "Here rests Godric the Brave".

'Where was Severus?' He had promised to be back for dinner. Just as she thought this, she heard foot steps creaking on the gravel behind her. Turning her head, she saw him approaching. He had shaved, and was wearing a fresh white shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her wordlessly, sharing the burden of her grief. She leaned back against his chest, enwrapped in his warmth and his love, feeling his breath against her neck as he murmured, "Let's walk."

He took her hand, and they strolled down towards the orchards. She relished the feel of his long slender fingers wrapped around her hand, his dry, calloused palm against hers, the pale skin stretching over his knuckles and prominent veins. They sat down under the same gnarled old apple tree where, more than a year ago, they had shared their first kiss. The evening breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the salty scent of the ocean from afar, mingling it with that of fresh grass and wildflowers.

"Kingsley agrees it is better for me to go into hiding, rather than risk a trial," his deep voice broke into the silence.

"But he's Minister of Magic now! Surely if he believes you..."

"It's not down to him; he has no influence over the verdict of the Wizengamot. And nobody can predict which way that would go, especially not after Skeeter's article. Innocent people have been sent to Azkaban before."

"But how would you hide?"

"It won't be so bad. I have always preferred a private life. I'll change my name..."

"As long as you don't dye your hair..."

"No." He grinned.

"Severus Ravenhood..." Samara thought out loud.

He looked at her quizzically, considering the implication of what she had said. Then his face clouded over.

"I have nothing to offer you, Samara," he said with an undertone of bitter sadness, "I am no more than a criminal on the run."

"You are all I ever wanted, and the only man I would consider, should you ever decide to ask me." She said this with a certitude that left no room for doubt that she meant it.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, as they sat together peacefully, listening to the chirr of the crickets, and watching the last display of colour fade over the black silhouette of the forest, as dusk slowly turned to darkness.

"How would you want to be asked, since you already have the ring?" he suddenly inquired, a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Just kiss me," she said after a moment's consideration.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, when he pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Samara let out a muffled moan, when his tongue entered her mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She ran her hands through his hair, letting the silky strands slip through her fingers, feeling the lean muscles at the nape of his neck. Without breaking their kiss, he flipped her on her back into the grass, and settled between her legs, bracing himself on his elbows. His weight on top of her felt just perfect, and made a delicious ache spread from her groin.

When their mouths finally parted, he held her in his gaze, his black eyes making love to her with their penetrating intensity.

"Yes," she breathed, before he kissed her again.

***

The wedding of Severus Snape and Samara Ravenhood took place at Hogwarts over the summer holidays. It was a small and private affair. The students had all returned home, and the only guests were their closest colleagues and friends.

The Great Hall had been decorated with colourful ribbons and umbrella-sized flowers from Professor Sprout's greenhouses, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored a deep blue sky with tufts of perfectly white clouds.

Professor Flitwick performed the ceremony, as the bride and groom made their vows. And after the kiss, he bound all those present with a Fidelius charm, making Samara the secret keeper of her husband's continued existence.

Hagrid let out a noisy sniff, when Samara and Severus lifted their wands, and two magnificent silvery white horses erupted from their tips, galloping along in perfect unison before erupting into a shower of confetti. And Professor Slughorn, all watery-eyed and choked up, proposed a toast to the couple's future. Poppy's eyes were puffed up from crying. She had got really emotional, giving her god-daughter away to the man, of whom she now whole heartedly approved.

The house elves had cooked up a perfect feast in honour of their former headmaster, and the small group of guests sat at the staff table eating merrily, while engaged in animated conversation. Melissa had been assigned the job of stopping Trixie from jumping up to help in the kitchen, and making sure she did nothing but enjoy herself.

The house tables had been cleared away to create a large area for dancing. And when the Hogwarts waltz resounded once more, the bride and groom floated along, under the benevolent eyes of those rejoicing in their happiness, into a brighter future.

***

The best wedding present however did not arrive until several months later, when Rowena gave birth to a gorgeous little colt foal. They named him Godric.