“You know they’re writing poetry about you,” said Harry. “I didn’t know there was wizarding poetry.”

“You would have studied it in History of Magic at N.E.W.T. level.” Snape’s mouth twitched. “They’re writing books about you.”

“It’s not like I authorized them,” Harry protested.

A minute later, Harry said, “You know what this means. In fifty years’ time, we’re going to be someone’s homework.”

Snape relaxed fractionally into his chair and gazed out through the window at the sunset.

“An immortality,” he murmured, “the likes of which Voldemort never dared dream.”

Harry looked, but Snape was not smiling.