And then began the process of finding friends and teachers, notifying parents, and identifying those missing, injured, or dead. The stories told the evening after the final battle were retold, with additions and subtractions, taking on a life of their own, as stories do. Friends were mourned, families comforted by tales of heroism and ultimate victory, but with an empty place that would never be filled, little left to do but continue forward, forever changed. Over the next week, students returned home, relieved to be with families again, and to recover from the nightmare of the war. There was no Leaving Banquet for this year, no graduation, only a withdrawal, with quiet slowly taking over, room by room, house by house. Even the Hogwarts ghosts were subdued, wondering if there would be new additions to their number, though they were not in favor of the idea.

Once the students had all exited, the staff began their summer preparations for the portions of the school that remained undamaged. McGonagall, as Deputy Headmistress, led the efforts to assess the school and inventory the damage and recruit any available builder, conjurer, or mason to assist in the repair and rebuilding, though plans were required to be scaled back considerably and slowed once the state of the school's finances became more clear. Chaos had reigned the year before, with exorbitant spending by the Carrows on equipment for teaching the Dark Arts, a refunding of years of tuition to the families of Death Eaters, and a general looting of the school assets by those who hoped to use the school's valuables to support themselves after the presumed victory by Voldemort. Minerva allowed a smirk as she considered how disappointed the thieves would be once the discovered the nearly unbreakable charms placed on the items to become useless outside the grounds of the school. That smirk vanished upon the consideration of the truly dire nature of the school. How would the staff be paid next year, even if they were willing to work for less for a time? How would the repairs be financed to even have a school at which to teach? Her several queries to the Ministry of Magical Education had yet to be returned. The staff there was under some degree of transition in the wake of Dolores Umbrage's removal, as well as many of her staff. The newly-appointed Minister, Paracelsus Winder, had yet to get himself established. It was no certainty that monies would be made available even after he had settled, the Ministry coffers having been robbed during the year of Death Eater influence.

Wincing as a migraine came on, she walked slowly to the hospital wing, less for treatment, as she was capable of taking care of such a minor illness herself, but more for company and companionship. Talking through her concerns with Poppy helped her clear her own mind.

"How is Severus?" she asked, after Poppy had waved away the blinding headache. Standing at the foot of his hospital bed, they observed him sleeping silently and motionless, despite it's being lunchtime.

Poppy consulted her parchment. "He's sleeping less now than the first week, but he's still weak. He eats if offered a meal, but never expresses hunger. He never requests pain potions, but I can tell he's uncomfortable. His pallor is unchanged." She put the parchment down. "I'm keeping close observations. I've never heard if a patient so dead recover. I have no idea what to expect, but I'll be sure to publish the results." She turned away from her patient and towards the Deputy Headmistress. "And how are you doing with the school's business?" she inquired.

McGonagall allowed one of her few public displays of exhaustion, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed. "I'm worried, Poppy," she confessed. "The rebuilding is costing a fortune and we don't have any more money to pay them. I'll have to stop the work tomorrow and I have no idea when I'll be able to restart it. The school is only just barely in condition for the summer. I have no idea how we'll afford to get it ready for students in the fall." She looked at Snape again. "But at least we have some hope now, with the war over." She turned, waving her hand dismissively. "I shouldn't complain. We have a school, and students, and a decent, peaceful future for which to prepare them. And none of that was very certain until recently. If I have to teach in the open air, so be it." Feeling more like herself again, she straightened her hat, smoothed her robes, and bade the Healer a good day.

Snape's protracted recovery continued under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey, who insisted that he reside in the hospital wing until she permitted him to leave, which seemed to possibly be never.

"Poppy, thank you for your care, but I feel fine. If anything should arise of concern, I'll be sure to let you know," Snape repeated yet again.

"Such as receiving deep wounds from hexes and spells? Your history of requesting my assistance when needed is clearly poor, Severus," she snapped.

Snape understood her anger and took it as concern, but still, was more than ready to retreat to his own quarters, despite the stiffness and aches that defined his body. "The circumstances which made my self-treatment necessary are no longer in effect. And as I am still Headmaster of this school, I have work to do, as I am sure you can imagine. Not the least of which is overseeing the repairs."

"Work?" Madame Pomfrey barked. "You will remain here until I release you. And that's my final word on the subject," she added, cutting off Snape's attempt at a further objection. "The builders have been dismissed for now. There's no more money."

Snape thought for a moment, considering the next move in the chess game of winning his freedom from the overprotective Healer. "Might I be … permitted … an assistant, at least, Madam?" he asked with resignation. To this, surely, she could not object.

"Of course, but I can't imagine who would be available. The rest of the staff has returned home, except for me," she said.

Snape looked around. "The house elves have remained, yes? And some of them can write, I presume, as I have seen them helping you here in the hospital wing." She nodded. "Please send me one who can write well. And some clothes in house elf size." The Healer raised her eyebrows and smiled, thinking of how to conjure such an item.

Without delay, a small house elf named Bina arrived with quills, ink and parchment, dressed smartly in what appeared to be a junior Hogwarts school robe, a green and silver tie around her shirt collar. Snape regarded her coolly, silently wishing he had been more specific with Poppy, but continued on.

Bina proved quite able, and recruited several others to join her, each dressed in identical Slytherin robes and scarves or ties. Snape began the business of leading Hogwarts once again, giving nearly constant orders. The first was for the release from servitude of house elves by the provision of clothing. Some elves chose other house colors, but none left the school. Bina and her team of scribes worked in shifts on communications. Staff communications, family notifications, rebuilding planning, financial appeals (endless appeals), responses to the piles of inquiries from the Department of Magical Education, and witch and wizard community updates. The scribe elves were now nearly covered in ink, with callouses on their hands. Snape asked Bina if Dumbledore had a staff before him, but she denied this. "As far as any of us knows, he did his writing himself." "Waste of time," thought Snape, as he appreciated continuing to plan while his previously dictated communications were being prepared. Only his personal communications did he handle himself, and these were few.

As May faded into June, Snape made a request that Madame Pomfrey could not refuse.

She snatched the parchment Snape had handed her on her most recent examination visit (no further weakness, normal appetite, normal color (for Snape), stable, no changes for the worse), expecting yet another request for release to his quarters. She looked at him with a grave concern that she hadn't had since the first days of his remarkable recovery.

"The Ministry is putting you on trial? How can they, Severus?" she fumed.

"How can they not," he replied diffidently. "The Daily Prophet has been filled with nothing but trials for weeks. The Ministry would have gotten to me sometime and it is better now than after the school term begins."

"You are to appear tomorrow at 10:30am. Do you have an advocate? Any witnesses to call? I'll call Bina and you can get your requests sent out right away."

"No need," said Snape, beginning to gather his papers.

"Oh, you've already done this yourself," she said, folding up the parchment and handing it back to him.

"No, I am not bringing anyone with me," he said, taking the parchment back and adding it to the towering pile at his bedside. He stood up and made to leave the hospital wing.

"What?! That's madness, of course you'll need an advocate. We can find any number of witnesses to testify on your behalf," she said urgently. "This is serious, Severus. These trials have been fast and fierce. Ministry justice is swift and binding."

"Thank you for your healing advice and care, Poppy," he said. "All I require now is the proper clothing, thank you. This hospital gown simply won't do."

"All right, then, if you insist. But if there is ANYTHING, and I mean ANYTHING, out of the ordinary, I am ordering you to report it to me immediately. Your recovery is unprecedented in my experience, and I have no idea what to expect. As Headmaster of this school, you have a duty to uphold. DOIMAKEMYSELFCLEAR?" she said, shaking an angry quill in his direction, determination in every word.

"Of course," Snape intoned indifferently, and began gathering what few of his things remained. He observed his hospital gown billowing around him ridiculously, but hoped with no students and few staff at the school, that he might just make it back to his rooms unobserved. He did so, other than by Peeves, who immediately began mocking his pale skinny legs, delighted to have a diversion from the quiet monotony at last. Snape drew out his wand and sent a well-aimed Silencio charm in Peeves' direction, satisfied when the poltergeist was mute. He pondered how long he would allow this to remain and decided that he would ponder for a considerable amount of time.

Arriving at the door to his own rooms, he found a wrapped parcel by the door. After assuring himself that it wasn't cursed or charmed, he tucked it under his arm and began to mutter the countercharms to release the locks on his door. Once inside his chambers, never cheerful but now even more dank after some weeks of disuse, he opened the parcel to find a fresh suit of clothes awaiting him and a note from the house elves, thanking him for their gift of clothing. The clothes were identical in fabric and style to his previous clothes, though without the tattered or bloody conditions that had prevailed most recently. He dressed himself deliberately and gratefully, attempting to recall on what occasion he had purchased new clothing in the past and only being able to recall a new pair of trousers some 10 years before when the previous pair had been hexed beyond repair in a difficult duel. Otherwise, he had simply made small repairs over the years when necessary.

These had tags from Reginald Ragspin's shop in Hogsmead, known for no-nonsense quality. Pulling up trousers, buttoning the pearly buttons of the crisp white linen shirt, tying the silken cravat, buttoning the sleeves and front of the jacket, pulling up boots polished to a brilliant shine, he noted that the fit was extraordinary, clearly custom-made, unlike anything he'd worn before. He wondered how his measurements had been made, then decided to put that out of his mind. Topping it off with a new, clean black robe, muttering a few incantations, he felt more himself that he had since the end of the battle.

But what was "himself" anymore? His over-extended stay in the hospital wing, days filled with orders to the house elves and yet another round of examination from Poppy or her helpers, had still left him the interminable nights with more time to think than a man should have. What mattered any more? He had fulfilled his obligation to Dumbledore, having protected Harry, as well as the students of Hogwarts. The Dark Lord was defeated, never to rise again. He had kept his Unbreakable Vow and protected Draco, as well, though what his and his family's fate would be now was anyone's guess. The few editions of the Daily Prophet that he'd managed to get past Pomfrey read like a scandal sheet, with innumerable Death Eaters being rounded up by the Aurors and tried by the Ministry, their fortunes and property seized. Nearly all of them had renounced the Dark Lord, insisting that they were under the Imperious Curse. With little to prove otherwise, and a newfound policy of mercy and reconciliation, the Ministry offered clemency and service to those who vowed allegiance to the newly re-formed Ministry, the equality of all Wizards and Witches, and the protection of the Muggle community. Few were foolish enough to continue to support a cause whose champion was now thoroughly destroyed and unable to provide any patronage, but there were a few steadfast holdouts who disbelieved the evidence of Voldemort's destruction. They now resided in Azkaban, demonstrating their loyalty there.

Realizing that contemplating an empty, simple, and monotonous future was a waste of his time, Snape hastily wrote two communications, sealed them, then walked a quickly as his legs would carry him up to the Owlery. Selecting the strongest, fastest owls, he sent his communications off into the unnecessarily bright and cheerful noon sun.

By the time he had reached the Headmaster's Office, Bina stood ready beside a small desk set with quills, ink, and parchment, as he had requested. Moments later, a short, round baby-faced young man in a pinstriped robe appeared out of the fireplace with a popping sound and a flash of green fire. Despite the cleanliness of the fireplace in this warm season, he began to charm away any residual ash out of habit. Once convinced his robes were spotless, he turned and greeted the tall man standing beside the oaken desk.

"Severus, Severus, Severus!" he fairly squealed, a clean hand with buffed nails extended. "I had heard the rumors, so pleased to see you up and about, looking so well. Maybe even better than before," he added conspiratorily. "Excellent to see you," he continued, pumping Snape's hand energetically. Once it became clear that Snape was unlikely to offer an explanation of any kind, the short, slightly rounded man released his hand, allowing Snape to gesture for him to sit. Now Bina got her quill ready.

"Thank you for coming, Arboreus, on short notice."

"So," he said, his sleek dragonhide case on his knees, "for what purpose did you summon your advocate so very urgently?"

"I have been scheduled to stand trial…"

"When?" the lawyer asked, getting out a parchment from his case.

"Tomorrow, 10:30am."

"I'll be there and we'll…"

"No. I don't require you to be there. I require you to serve as a witness here tonight. I need to make changes to my estate."

The man stopped jotting down notes and looked up. "Firstly, Severus, you would be ill-advised to represent yourself, but secondly, I think it is doubtful that you'll be sentenced to death, given your role.."

Snape waved away all further entreaties from Arboreus Hobble, despite the young man's forceful objections. Instead, he applied himself to the Headmaster's changes to his estate, aggravated at Snape's lack of trust in him or, worse, hubris in thinking he could defend himself ably in the Byzantine procedure that was Magical court.

As he left, his case now chewing and swallowing the newly drawn up documents, Hobble spoke one last time to the Headmaster. "You know you are entering a pit of snakes there, Severus. You really should have me there."

"It's nothing compared to what I've already faced," Snape said enigmatically. "Those papers must be executed today, so you best be on your way." Hobble shrugged, turned, and vanished in a flash of green flames.

So, what now of him? Snape paced alone in his small chamber as he gathered what few things he needed for tomorrow's unpleasantness. He had spent so many years, first in the service of the Dark Lord, then in renouncing him and acting as a double agent. He could only dimly remember life before this. He had never had the luxury to consider a life beyond the quest to defeat Voldemort, for what lay ahead would surely be like that behind, though of indeterminate length. But the events of that day, there by the lakeside, haunted him. What did it mean, his being sent back, it not yet being his time? And still, he needed to look after Harry, but for how long, to what end?

For now, for today, prepare for the trial. Prepare to face your accusers.

As he fastened the case now containing the required parchments and scrolls, there came a knock on the door. Who would have come all the way down here to invade his private space and at this late hour? He searched his memory to recall the last time he'd had any visitor here and none came to mind. He had chosen these remote and forbidding rooms in the dungeon for a reason. He cursed under his breath at this invasion. He muttered the countercharms yet again and pulled the door open sharply, barking out "I'm fine, Poppy, it's been only hours now…"

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey knocking at his door. Professor Trelawney cowered there in the dark and empty corridor, her hands trembling after his forceful greeting. "So sorry to disturb you, Severus. I've been trying to speak to you for more than a week now, but Madam Pomfrey said you needed rest. And today she said you'd returned here, so…..here I am." She looked around nervously through her thick glasses and anxiously wrung her hands. "It's very important, Severus, I mean Headmaster, or I would never have come down here."

Snape glared at her, the old fool. It was her vision of the prophecy that had started this whole mess, started him down the path of a nightmare that he was only waking up from now. He reminded himself yet again, as Dumbledore would have, had he been there, that her vision alone didn't cause this chaos, but his passing along the information. And Peter Pettigrew's betrayal. Few witches or wizards still living could bring forth such a visceral pain in him, though she never knew this. But as Headmaster, he realized his obligation to his staff and reconsidered. Until such a time as he could find a replacement, she remained Hogwarts' Professor of Divination. Dumbledore had retained her, despite her rather spotty record of late. Deciding to begin his new life on as good a footing as possible, he stood aside and gestured for her to enter the dim rooms.

"Apologies, Professor Trelawney. I had mistaken you for Poppy, who has been far more attentive to me than necessary of late. Come in." He felt more than strange, in his attempts to be reassuring. Unyielding and intimidating had been his style, but Sybil seemed so anxious, so unsure, he felt a small twinge of pity for her, an unfamiliar emotion. With Dumbledore gone, she probably assumed that she would be immediately dismissed. Having no other actual skills, who knew what would become of her? Probably running a store-front fortune-telling salon for Muggles, an utter disgrace. And besides, who else would take her place? It wasn't as though there were a sizable pool of other, more skilled, Seers. And an even smaller group would be willing to teach here for the salary he'd be able to offer. Muggle fortune-telling, for all its shame, at least typically paid well, given how little actual proof of success was required to persuade them to part with their money.

Trelawney sat in the lone chair facing the now idle fireplace while Snape remained standing, there being no other place to sit. He requested some wine and fruit be sent up from the kitchens and it appeared in seconds with a knock on his door. Sybil seemed grateful for this unexpectedly warm reception. Snape poured her a short half-glass of dark red wine, which she downed with alarming speed. With some degree of foreboding, he opted not to offer her more until she said what needed to be said, still as sober as possible. After pouring himself a short glass, he placed the bottle on the mantel and waited for her to begin.

After a few silent moments when it became clear that the offer of an additional glass of wine would not be immediately forthcoming, Trelawney placed her empty glass aside and began.

"The night of the final battle, I was in the Ravenclaw common room, evacuating the younger students who weren't old enough to fight. After all the children were taken to the evacuation point, I returned to the castle to do battle if need be." She paused, and Snape provided a companionable silence, allowing her to continue at her own pace. "I could hear the violence of the battle, but as I tried to get my bearings, a vision overtook me." Here she paused, and turned her magnified eyes up to his. "The vision was of you."

Snape raised his eyebrows, his fingers drumming on his glass, trying to imagine where this was going. He shifted on his feet and struggled to keep his face impassive, rather than showing the growing irritation he was feeling. She had spent years predicting doom and destruction of every imaginable kind, with no tangible results. But she had been correct at least once, he knew. For that, he opted not to interrupt, but to remain silent and allow her to go on.

She knit her fingers together tensely. "It was a vision of the future, clear as day. Now I know not everything I see comes to be, but this was different. The sounds of the battle faded, and it was as though I were really there with you. You were older, though not by much. And there was a little girl with you, too young to be a student, little more than a toddler. She had long dark hair."

Snape's expression softened slightly from frank irritation to skeptical curiosity. "Go on."

Having expected a dismissive sneer at best, a barking dismissal at worst, she blushed slightly, surprised by his reaction and pleased to have his full attention now. Her hands fluttering to her neck and twisting one of her scarves, she continued. "That's how I knew you weren't dead, because you had a future. I needed to find you right away, but I had no idea where you were. I had to wait until the battle was over and it was quiet again, then try to find you. At first, I had no idea where to begin to look for you, but the vision continued, the little girl running ahead to show me the way. She led me right to you, saying…."

Snape was now rapt. "What did she say?" he said urgently, setting aside his glass. "Who was the girl?"

Trelawney was whispering now, pulling at the fringe of her shawl, looking at some point well beyond Snape's shoulder. "She said, 'There's my daddy, please wake him up.'" At this, she stopped and looked into his eyes. "Everyone was around you there, you were lying dead on the ground, but I knew you weren't dead; you had a future. I insisted that they continue to try to revive you, though they had already tried everything they could. I think I became quite hysterical, because I knew that little girl needed you. At that point, I think I collapsed, because the next thing I knew, I awoke and they had taken you back to Madame Pomfrey, only the Longbottom boy was still with me. I didn't know you were actually alive or dead for some time, but the little girl was still there beside me. She held my hand and said 'He'll be ok now. Thanks for waking him up.'"

Snape gazed intently into the fireplace, though it was dormant. He was torn between being thankful that Trelawney had insisted on his not being dead and aggravated by this vision. He had no intention of sharing his own experiences during that time, especially not the little mermaid girl. The little mermaid girl with pale skin, dark hair, and feet instead of fins. Turning back to her, he said "Sybil, thank you for encouraging the others to continue their efforts on my behalf." He extended her his hand, which she took, her other hand still pulling on the fringe, which was now coming loose from its edge. She rose to stand. "I am forever in your debt."

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape withdrew his hand and stood back, knowing there was more coming. Sybil never simply said all that she knew.

"But you've taken a long time to tell me. That was more than a month ago. Why wait until now?"

"I tried to visit you almost every day, but Poppy said you weren't to have visitors," she said haltingly, looking away, down at the floor.

Snape recalled the near constant parade of students and staff visiting before their departures, some parents who'd come to get their children from the school, rather than waiting for the train, then McGonagall and the house elves, and smiled to himself. Poppy was probably wise.

"And now I've been released, so here you are."

"It's probably just as well, because it has given me time to think about what the vision means."

"Other than I was still living?"

"The girl, she called you daddy." At this, Trelawney paused, blushing deeply. She nearly grabbed his arm, but thought the better of it at the last minute and withdrew it once again, instead tugging at another of her scarves. "Is it possible that you have a child, Headmaster? She was maybe 4 or 5 years old."

Snape snapped up rigidly to his full height, looked coldly down his long nose and barked at her. "No, it is certainly not possible. Merlin's beard, Sybil, what are you suggesting?"

Trelawney looked terrified, already-magnified eyes now even wider, but continued undissuaded, the look of fear merging with the smile breaking across her face. "Nothing, Headmaster, nothing. But this must mean she is in your future, which is what I was thinking. But I had to see you, to be sure." Despite the affront clear on Snape's face, Trelawney took his hand. "You'll have a child, sometime soon, Severus, a girl. How wonderful!" She dropped his hand and put her hand to her mouth. "But the vision didn't show me who her mother will be."

At this, Snape choked slightly. "Sybil, have you told anyone else about the rest of your vision, other than my still being alive?"

"No, Headmaster, of course not. I wanted to speak with you first, to verify that it was a vision of the future."

He looked squarely into her eyes, distorted by her thick glasses. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, Sybil. I'm sure you can understand my desire to avoid being the object of any further speculation." Here he paused, not breaking his glare, then said deliberately "I can't think of a reason anyone else would take an interest." He drained what little remained in his glass, barely tasting it, and put it on the mantel next to the bottle. "Thank you for letting me know." It became clear to Sybil that the visit was now at an end, and there would be no offer for a second glass of wine. He took her not entirely gently by the elbow and moved her towards the door.

"Of course, Headmaster. As you wish."

After Trelawney had taken her leave and the locking charms replaced, Snape sat down heavily, elbows on his knees. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and gazed at the empty fireplace out of long-standing habit. He put no stock in anything Sybil Trelawney had said in years, but the association of a true vision, his being still alive, with the child, gave him pause. The description sounded uncomfortably like the mermaid girl. Adoption, fostering, a first-year student who seemed younger than she was? Perhaps this was Harry's child, with a godfather being mixed up with a father? Because the idea of his having a child, a daughter no less, was absurd.