Three days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Severus was officially no longer the headmaster. He was surprisingly relieved. He'd expected to miss the feel of the wards, that tingle across his skin when he passed through the front gate.

He'd felt strangely adrift for half an hour following his official hand-over to Minerva. It was the first time in decades that he hadn't had some sort of connection—as a teacher, as a Head of House, as the headmaster—to the castle.

I'm free.

The thought filled him up, buoyed him.

"I won't even be thinking of moving my chambers until the castle has been fixed up a bit," Minerva said, distracting him from his thoughts. He couldn't even feel guilty about how happy it made him to take the weight of the castle off his shoulders. "Will you stay for awhile? You know we could use the help."

Severus frowned thoughtfully. He and Hermione had had a long conversation the night before about what they'd do in the next weeks. There were things to do—the debriefing, for instance—and things they'd talked about before the war. A proper house for the children with a potions lab and lots of book shelves—and not in Australia this time.

The house didn't have to happen immediately, though. They could stay—there was plenty of space, after all. They could help out while they took care of things with the Ministry. They could take their time finding just the right place to live, and sorting out that damned nuisance of an inheritance. The children could have all of the castle and grounds to keep them occupied, and the dutiful house elves would keep "the babies" out of harm while giving them the illusion of the run of the castle.

"I'll think about it," he said. He didn't want to promise her anything; he didn't know what he wanted yet, let alone what Hermione wanted. "I'll talk to Hermione."

Minerva smiled at him, that fond, knowing smile that had become so obnoxious of late. It was a smile that said, "It's adorable that you're so domesticated," and it annoyed the hell out of him.

"If there's nothing else, Minerva, I think I'll go for a walk before I turn in." He had half a mind to stop by Hagrid's hut and see how the repairs were going. A giant had keeled over dead not far from the hut and its club had taken out one corner of the roof and the exterior wall opposite the door.

"Good-night, Severus."

"Good-night."

The grounds were quiet. It was a lovely spring night, almost summer. The grass was green, the path pavers were rough underfoot. In the twilight, it was easy to imagine that nothing bad could ever happen. The great gouges in the earth sporadically spaced throughout the grounds just looked like shadows in the half-light. He was walking away from the castle with its obvious chunks missing, and he was too far from the collapsed sections of the surrounding wall to see that damage.

A loud sniff interrupted his musing. His wand was in his hand in an instant, blood racing through his veins. There was no further noise, though. No attacker with a head cold leaping from behind a tree, no sign of life at all.

"Hominum revelio," he muttered. One light danced in front of him, faint but growing stronger. Whatever had made the noise was coming closer, slowly but surely.

Severus Disillusioned himself and crouched next to the stoop of Hagrid's hut, watchful. After a long minute, the sound came again, closer but also quieter. Then he could hear large feet shushing through the long grass that was the path into the Forbidden Forest.

"Hagrid?" Severus called, removing the charm and holding his illuminated wand aloft. The blue-white wand light was harsh in the fading twilight.

"Oh. 'Ello, there, Perfesser Snape."

"You could call me Severus, you know."

Hagrid didn't respond, just sniffed wetly again. He was carrying something large and limp out of the forest.

"I'm officially no longer a professor of Hogwarts, anyway."

"Ye'll always be a perfesser in my min', Per—er. Snape. Sev'rus."

Severus smiled, but then Hagrid stepped full into the light and Severus could see that he'd been crying hard enough recently that his eyes were rimmed red. "What's happened? What have you got there?"

"It's Fang," Hagrid said, looking down at the heavy form of his dog in his arms. "I jus' found 'im in the Forest."

"Is he hurt? I'll get Hermione. I don't know if she's worked with animals much, but—"

"He's dead."

"Oh, Hagrid."

The half-giant's shoulders were shaking again, and fresh tears glistened on his face.

"I should—I was gonna—" Hagrid paused to take a long, deep breath and sniff again. "I'll bury 'im by the pumpkin patch. Righ' by the gate where 'e liked ter lie in the sun."

"That will be perfect, Hagrid," Severus said, at a loss. Hagrid had had that dog for years, since just after Severus had begun teaching. It hadn't been a young dog, but it had had a bit of magic in it, like all familiars. There should have been years before that dog had died. "He was a good, loyal dog."

"'e was!" Hagrid wailed, holding the dog's body closer. He'd come close enough now that Severus could smell it; poor Fang had certainly died the night of the Battle. "'e was a good dog."

"Here, Hagrid. Come on," Severus said gently, reaching up to put hand on the other man's shaking shoulder. They made their way around the hut, Severus patting and murmuring soothing nothings while Hagrid blubbered a bit.

Hagrid set the dog down by a bit of rock that had once been part of the hut's chimney stack, then pulled out a large ugly handkerchief and honked his nose, wiped his eyes.

"Righ'," Hagrid said, mostly to himself. "Righ'."

Hagrid took off his long coat, then rolled up his sleeves. He headed for the shed a few paces away and came out with the shovel. He walked around the yard area between the hut and the pumpkin patch, looked out at the treeline, then stuck the shovel in the ground. It was slow going. Hagrid stopped every other shovel-full to wipe his nose or his eyes.

"May I help, Hagrid?" Severus asked.

"I don' wan ter use magic," Hagrid said without looking up.

"That's fine," Severus said. He undid the clasps across the front of his teaching robes and hung them over the top rung of the fence around the pumpkin patch, then unbuttoned his frock coat and laid it over the teaching robes. "May I help?"

Hagrid nodded as Severus rolled up his own sleeves. He switched his wand to his pocket and put the sheath with his robes so that it wouldn't chafe (it wasn't meant to be worn during repetitive movement like shoveling). He conjured himself a shovel since there wasn't another in the shed, and then he stepped up next to Hagrid and set to work. It was almost soothing to have something physical to do; it was a long time since he'd done something the Muggle way. It had probably been when he'd put in the gardens at the house in Australia, actually; magical plants faired better in hand-turned soil.

It didn't take much time with the two of them. When they'd finished the hole, Hagrid gently lowered the dog's body down, and then the two of them shoveled the dirt back in. When they were done, there was a small mound of darker soil next to the gate of the pumpkin patch. Severus Summoned a loose paver from the path and used his wand to carve FANG into it, settling the paver at the head of the grave. Hagrid nodded at him again, burying his face in his saturated handkerchief.

Severus stood with him for awhile, not saying anything. Hagrid cried himself out and mopped himself up.

"'e was a good dog. A very good dog." There was a long pause; Severus looked up to see his lip trembling dangerously. "Like ye said. 'e was good an' 'e was loyal. 'e weren't very brave, but 'e stayed with me that nigh' anyway. I think 'e came after me when the acrermantulas took me inter the Forest. I think 'e died tryin' to—tryin' to find me—" Hagrid broke off in tears again, and Severus put his hand back on his shoulder. There was nothing to say.

After another span of time, Hagrid mopped his face one last time and nodded, standing up to his full, impressive, height and looking down at the grave.

"Good boy, Fang."

Severus had a sad smile on his face as he watched Hagrid turn away and walk over to the gate where his coat was. He made slow work of rolling his sleeves back down into place and buttoning the cuffs. Severus joined him at the gate, doing similarly.

They were quiet for a very long time. Severus buttoned his shirt sleeves, then his coat sleeves, then settled his robes on his shoulders. It had all been like putting on a costume, or a suit of armor—before. He'd inhabited the character of Professor Snape, the Bat of the Dungeons in unrelieved black with long black hair and dark, glaring eyes. Putting the coat and robes on had been a method of getting himself into the proper mindset, Death Eater Headmaster. Strange how it didn't feel like he was reassembling that persona in Hagrid's yard; he was just putting his robes on so that he didn't have to carry them back up to the castle.

"The Mark's gone," Hagrid observed, startling Severus out of his silent reverie.

"Yes." Severus turned his left arm out, rolling the sleeve back a bit so the pale, unblemished skin shone in the moonlight. They were days away from the full moon; he should brew Wolfsbane—but Lupin was dead, too, and didn't need the potion. Severus sighed. "Last time, it just faded. There was still a bit of gray just there." He trailed the line of it with his finger; he could still recall the position of it perfectly, recall the way it had felt when it was branded into him, when it had faded, when it had come back. He hadn't felt it at all when it truly disappeared; Hermione had noticed it before he had.

"So 'e won' be back now."

"No. He won't be back."