Epilogue

Minerva McGonagall watched, entranced, the awe-inspiring sight of an eagle from the Headmaster's high office window. She watched as it soared and plummeted, by turns, against the soft, shadowy back-drop of the early evening, and she suppressed the strange urge to shiver.

Turning away, she realised that her hands were shaking slightly, so she increased her already tight grip on the empty teacup and saucer which she still held. Placing both pieces of delicate china carefully on a nearby table, she then found herself facing the piercing blue eyes of her long-standing friend and colleague across from her.

For his part, Albus Dumbledore sighed, picking up on his Deputy Headmistress' mood.

'What I don't understand,' she said, her broad Scottish brogue emphasised in the stillness of the near-silent dusk, 'is why a talented young woman like her should choose to end her own life. Surely she had so much to live for?'

'My dear Minerva, you are going to drive yourself to the brink of madness if you keep asking these same questions over and over. There simply appears to be no answer. Perhaps we just have to accept that we shall never know,' came the practical, but not unsympathetic, response from the Headmaster.

Professor McGonagall turned again towards the window, and saw that the eagle still remained sky-borne and silhouetted against the rapidly fading, distant light. She was about to continue her train of thought when both professors were interrupted by a knock on the door.

'Come in!' shouted Dumbledore, knowing full well who was on the other side.

The door opened smoothly, despite it being old and heavy, and the tall, dark wizard outside stooped slightly in order to enter the room, obsidian eyes avoiding direct contact with the two occupants already there.

'Ah, Severus!' exclaimed the Headmaster, completely unfazed. 'I take it you've heard the tragic news about Miss Faraday?'

'Yes, indeed,' said Snape. 'I still can't quite believe it. It just doesn't make sense.'

'Minerva and I were just discussing how to handle things, as a matter of fact. What with your "death" and now this, the school will be in constant mourning,' the elderly Headmaster stated simply.

'I hardly think that anyone is mourning my loss, Albus. In fact, for most students, I suspect rejoicing would be a more appropriate choice of word, by far!' came the response from across the room.

The dryness of the younger wizard's humour was not lost on the recipient's ears, despite the seriousness of the situation.

'Now, now, dear boy--that's nonsense and you know it. You were--are--like a father figure to most of those students, whether they like to acknowledge it or not,' came Albus' quick retort.

'A strict father admittedly, but a remarkable, responsible and deeply caring one nonetheless,' he added for good measure.

Snape snorted resolutely at the Headmaster's comments and turned his own attention to the window, where the eagle still circled, almost expectantly.

He walked over and looked out, a serious expression adding to the hard planes of his distinguished, not-quite-handsome face. Minerva McGonagall moved, slightly hesitantly, to stand by his side. She reached out slowly and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder in a caring, motherly gesture.

'I hate doing this to the students, and my colleagues of course. I don't like lying, as well you know, Albus. Even though I always seem to have to do nothing but these days.'

'I know. It's not easy on any of us. But it's for their own good. It is best that everyone thinks you are dead for the time being. Once Tom is defeated and this ridiculous war won, all will be revealed. Believe me, I don't like this any more than you, and the second the truth can be revealed, and your part in the plan made clear, it will be. You can rest assured on that. Trust me, dear Severus. Trust me.'

The elderly wizard looked up quizzically at the younger and their eyes met in the understanding of a former mentor and student, and as colleagues, friends and comrades of old, though neither said any more on the subject in hand.

Instead, after a short discussion on other less pressing and less serious matters, Severus Snape took his leave.

Just before departing the Headmaster's office though, he transfigured back into the bearded and hunched-over appearance he had been disguised in before coming in.

He closed the door quietly behind him, and slowly, and as silently as was possible, made his way back down the spiral staircase separating the main corridor from the Headmaster's quarters.

He prayed that no one would spot him or deem it necessary to speak to him, lest he should have to reply and run the risk of suspicion or, worse still, recognition. Not that the latter was possible, he felt sure. He was a spy after all. In many ways this was just 'child's play' for a man like him. Nevertheless, he hated having to work 'under cover' for the Ministry like this, and he loathed having to fake his own death and have others believe him murdered. But he also knew it was absolutely necessary in order to avert the growing curiosity over the increasing hours he would have to spend on preparing the deadly poisons and antidotes, in equal measure, required for the on-coming onslaught against the Dark Lord.

The girl's death had left him saddened and in great shock, and not just because he had been relying on her help with the Ministry's covert potion making, although he could not deny that her loss from this was a devastating and forceful blow. He did not know who he could trust now to take her place. She had come highly recommended by Dumbledore, with his assurance of her ability to be trusted, her reliability, and her loyalty. Not to mention her potion making skills and experience of course--the real reason she had been recruited as 'School Secretarial Assistant' by Dumbledore in the first place.

Her death was such a waste, so seemingly pointless. He simply did not know what he was going to do but, equally, he did not doubt that there would be answers. With Albus Dumbledore at the helm there were always answers, he reasoned.

He hurried through a side door and out into the cold, crisp air of the increasingly darkening early evening. Keeping his head bowed, and grasping his cloak tightly around him, he tried to allow his thoughts to steer away from the suicide of Sara Faraday. He knew so little about her, and his only viewpoint was that she had been an excellent student in her time, and an attractive, polite--if a little nervous--young woman on her recent return to the school. He had no time to consider her much and, although her death was strange and, without doubt, sad, he could not afford to ponder on its motivation. He had much greater things on his mind and continued at speed in order to pursue them.

Overhead, the eagle he'd spotted earlier from the Headmaster's window continued its seemingly relentless, spiralling circuit of the school grounds, appearing to fly closer to the ancient castle with each turn.

Suddenly, it swooped low, extremely low, and startled him with its sharp, piercing cry, narrowly missing clipping him on his left shoulder as it dived.

In slight shock, he stepped back quickly into the lee of the castle building. He then watched it as it glided gracefully up into a nearby elm tree, shaking its impressive wing span briefly before settling there.

For a few short seconds their gaze met across the limited distance separating them. The image of the majestic wizard--masquerading as a weary, dishevelled, old man--was mirrored by that of the regal, sharp-eyed, hook-beaked bird.

Although only regarding each other for the briefest of time spans, the professor could have sworn, at that moment, that he caught sight of the flash of blonde and the glimpse of blue-grey eyes. Surely eagles had black eyes? But he concluded that he must have been mistaken. No doubt the fading light and his own tiredness were playing tricks with his mind. So he pushed the thought away as quickly as it came and scurried away to escape from the school grounds in order to enable the safe Apparation to his secret destination.

Meanwhile, the eagle soared once more into the now almost black sky, a perfect silhouette against the retreating brightness of the setting sun. It cut a smooth, dark swathe as it glided gracefully and confidently. It was almost as if it were intentionally in pursuit of the light ... the beautiful all-encompassing, forgiving, rejuvenating, loving, ever-lasting light.

A/N: I would just like to thank the lovely ladies at TPP admin for their help in getting this story posted. Most especially, I would like to thank Sempra for her patience with my constant struggle with compound sentences. I may actually write a story one of these days and get those pesky commas in their right places first time!

I would also like to offer sincere thanks to morgaine_dulac and star_girl (collectively known as sevs_starsisters of course) for their constant support and encouragement. Their work has brought me both inspiration and aspiration. And a special thank you must go to morgaine for introducing me to this fabulous site. Despite being away on holiday at the moment, she has still found time to review my work and keep in touch. I really do appreciate her 'friendship' and the positive vibes both 'sisters' regularly send my way ... thank you. :-)