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Severus Snape had not bothered to leave a will behind, in the event of his untimely demise. He would claim that this was because he did not have much to bequeath - but this was a lie.
He would then claim that he did not love anyone enough to bequeath his mortal belongings to - this was partially a lie. Severus certainly had liked some people enough, but only ever in small doses.
Still, the truth of the matter was that Severus Snape was dead, and that he had a lot of mortal belongings to give away.
It was for this that there was a small group gathered in front of his scowling portrait in the Headmistress’ office. For her part, Minerva - the awful skink - looked to be enjoying Snape’s displeasure at having to speak to people from the afterlife.
“Let us get this over with,” Snape grumbled from his portrait frame. “First there is the matter of my personal library. This I give to Hogwarts, to join the ranks of the respectable collection that we have here. Pince,” he addressed the beaky woman in the group, “go wild.”
Snape cleared his throat and looked around at the group. “Potter.”
“Er,” Harry said eloquently.
“In the drawer of my desk in my rooms, you will find a photo album of my childhood. There are some photos of your mother mixed in amongst them. You may have those. Burn the others.”
Harry nodded gratefully and took the little victory where he could.
“I have in my personal cupboard a revised recipe for wolfsbane - I wish for this to be published, with a foreword that simply says ‘fuck you’, dedicated to the Society of Potioneers. The rights of the potion can go to Lupin, for all I care-”
“Er,” Harry interrupted. “Sir, Remus died.”
“Is that so,” Snape said flatly.
“Yeah,” Harry said, and pulled out another painting from behind him, where Sirius and Remus shared a frame forevermore. “Say hello, guys.”
“Hello Severus,” Remus said mildly, while Sirius pulled a face.
“I do not deign to return your bland greetings,” Snape said. “As I do not know any other werewolf, the rights of the recipe shall go to Lupin’s squishy spawn, who while not a true wolf, will definitely have fangs.”
“My personal wealth,” Snape continued, “I bequeath to George Fabian Weasley-”
“WHAT,” was the general outcry at this.
“-for being one part of the pair of the most ingenious potioneers I have had the displeasure to teach. Continue using your powers for evil, or at least, for mild inconvenience.”
George shed a tear and vowed to do no-good with his new money.
Snape took a pause, and then looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Granger.”
Hermione came forward, looking fairly surprised at being called upon. After all, there was no great love lost between her and Snape. “Yes, professor?”
Snape looked genuinely hesitant. “In my chambers, you will find an incredibly ugly kneazle. He answers to the name of Socks.”
Hermione nodded, doing a valiant job of not laughing like her awful comrades, why were they laughing, this was a somber occasion. “Go on, sir.”
“Silence, fools!” Snape hissed. “I bequeath you, Granger, with the continued care of my not-cat, on account of your having experience caring for ugly things, see: your own ugly cat, and Weasley.”
“Hey!” Ron cried.
Harry looked despairingly at Ron. “Y’know, he didn’t actually specify which Weasley,” he said. “He could’ve meant Percy. You just outed yourself, mate.”
“Sure, sir,” Hermione said. “But, er, why...Socks?”
“Kneazles live for a very long time,” Snape said venomously. “The creature was gifted to me as a child by Potter’s mother, who christened it thusly. It never responded to anything else, because it is a spiteful creature.”
His terrible secret unveiled, Snape continued. “The contents of my kitchen cabinet, I bequeath to Minerva McGonagall. The contents of which are - three bottles of Ogden’s Firewhiskey, one bottle of elf made wine, two bottles of sauvignon blanc, one bottle of aged malt-” Minerva looked incredibly happy at her latest treasure, foreseeing great use for her new items.
“My house, Number 349 upon Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, I bequeath to Draco Malfoy, because I think he will have a conniption at owning something that is distinctly lower middle class.” Snape stopped and looked around.
“The contents of my personal potions stores, I bequeath to Hogwarts school,” Snape said with finality. “The distribution of my estate is resolved, I bid you all - with the exception of Black - a good day.” Snape paused. “No, that was a lie. I wish you mild inconvenience at irregular intervals.”
The group dispersed, with the exception of Minerva, who smiled softly at her old friend. “If I didn’t know better, Severus, I would say that you were a kind man.”
Snape’s nose twitched irritably.
Minerva continued to smile. “But I do know better, Severus Snape, which is why I know that you may not be a kind man, but you are most certainly a good man.”
Snape, for once, could not find a fitting reply. And really, there were worse things to be called than a good man.
He could live with that.