Epilogue: In Which Severus is Through With This Sh*t

Disclaimer: I’m several initials and many, many millions away from being the owner of these characters. I’m just messing around with them for (hopefully) your amusement.

Warning: This one is short. Blink and you’ll miss any chance of laughing at it.

Severus cruised cautiously around the perimeter of his property. His Thestrals were browsing peacefully on a dead deer. His willows were swishing softly in no breeze whatsoever rather than whomping. His Devil’s Snare sulked quietly against the wall of the tower. The braid was hanging from the tower window with a strangely limp air that just screamed, ‘Curse over; hair is down but no one’s home.’

For the first time in about ten years, Severus cracked a thin, if genuinely happy, smile. “At last,” he said with satisfaction. He pulled one of the lesser bottles of Firewhisky from his newly acquired stash and treated himself to a celebratory sip. It was more of a slug, really; but since Earls sip, drink, or occasionally quaff, we shall humor Severus by using a verb commensurate with his new station.

He swung by the greenhouse to toss some kibble to his giant Pitcher Plant. He considered trying the front door of the tower, but remembering the sheer amount of detritus he’d allowed to accumulate on the other side, he opted to fly up to the tower window instead. He took another swig on the way for good measure. A swig occupies a sort of middle ground, being more couth than a slug but still not something the average peer would acknowledge. Generally, only viscounts are sufficiently crass to admit to swigging. (We shall have to forgive Severus the occasional swig whilst he adjusts to his change in social status.)

He even felt a little more sanguine about what might await him at Hogwarts. He’d still have to ‘Your Highness’ anyone of actual princely rank, and dukes were still entitled to a ‘Your Grace’ from him, the little rotters. He hoped there weren’t too many Marquesses lying about; he could never remember how they were supposed to be addressed. But there were an entire world of Earls and below he could slap with a surname and have done with. As to what else might be expected of him in return for his title... well, Lady Minerva was pretty spry for her age, and he felt fairly certain that not all of that figure could be accounted for by charms and corsetry. Her hair was even still (mostly) black, and a few white hairs were certainly not a deal breaker. Thanks to his erstwhile charge, he had collected an assortment of his own.

Had he held off imbibing just a minute more, had he been just a little less immersed in his musings, Severus might have registered the curious sounds issuing from the aforementioned tower window. As it was, he rose up high enough to see into the window just as a final “Oh, HARRY!” split the evening air—and found himself face-to-definitely-not-face with the aftermath of something that turned him an even more disturbing shade of deathly pale.

Worst of all, in his surprise, he dropped the bottle.

“I did NOT need to see that!” There was nothing for it. He’d send for Wormy to pack their things later. If he ever returned to that tower, it would not be until the top floor was demolished, rebuilding optional. He sped off in the direction of Hogwarts grumbling, “Once I’ve completed my indentured servitude to that daft old queen, maybe I’ll sell the tower and buy myself a nice, defensible dungeon—WITH NO BLOODY NEIGHBORS!”

And if Prince Harry conquered the evil Snake-Faced douchebag sometimes known as Voldemort, united the island, and lived somewhat unconventionally ever after with his two, shall we say, most beneficial, blond friends; and if Lady Andromeda ‘tsked’ behind their backs while raising the next generation to be more solid citizens; and if Severus finally helped Minerva shove the daft old queen out of the way and she rewarded him with quite a handsome dungeon, among many other perks; and if Severus told Wormy to ‘do as he liked’ with the tower, and Wormy proceeded to establish the most profitable theme park in the land based on the almost entirely fictional story of one mostly imaginary Princess Dracpunzel…

Well... as Lord and Lady Malfoy will tell you between helpings of Firewhisky… that is most certainly none of your affair.

FIN

Eternal love to lux_astraea for creating the Potted Palmquist, the most wonderfully-named magical plant. 

Once again, the use of titles here is gratuitous and not especially accurate.

On the balance, it was a good thing for Wormy that Severus is a mean Piquet player.

Can you tell that, once upon a time, a long time ago, I became sick, sick, SICK of having to read ‘Rapunzel’ to my children?

Fun fact: This story started out as a response to a Friday Truth or Dare challenge in the TPP chat room. When it became obvious that it would not be finished that night (or indeed, that year... or decade...) I quickly wrote 'Platinumlocks and the Three Gryffindors' instead and shoved this one on the back burner. Hopefully you enjoyed the resulting overdone yet paradoxically half-baked mess.

My record on providing promised sequels is only slightly better than the contents of the Cannon's win column, so I make no promises.