Purpose

Severus Snape strolled through the darkened rooms of his home at Spinner's End, casually flicking his wand as he directed his possessions into a large trunk with an undetectable extension charm on it. He was packing most of his things because he had been made headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and for as long as he held the position, he would live in the castle. He wore a heavy scowl as he idly directed his wand, his thoughts dark and brooding on the events of this past July when nearly everything he'd worked and fought for came to an end. The Battle of the Burow. Dumbledore was gone, as was Voldemort. Snape thought it unlikely either would ever escape the former headmaster's spell. It was quite ingenious he had to admit. As they were unable to kill the Dark Lord, banishing him in time seemed as good a way to be rid of him as any.

Still, it wasn't the former headmaster or the man who'd killed the only woman he'd ever loved that occupied his thoughts. That subject, was purpose. Snape needed something, direction, a goal, something to consume the focus of his cunning and ambition. For so many years, his goal to destroy Voldemort had been his all-consuming desire. Now that it was gone, he hated to admit he felt more than a little lost. It was a sickening feeling for him as purpose had consumed him for more than a decade. A knock on his front door suddenly drew him back to reality. He turned toward it, flipping the lid of the trunk closed with the wave of his wand.