RP: The Drums of War Fall Silent Who: Severus Snape, Callahan Keitch, Cormac McLaggen, Albus Dumbledore. Where: Hogwarts' Grounds and Castle. When: November 15-16, 2024. Rating/Warnings: Summary: Snape returns, and meets Dumbledore.
Outside observers, looking at Snape's role as Headmaster, as the Dark Lord's right hand man, would expect him to be thrilled at the power of his position: ultimate Death Eater, killer of the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared.
Outside observers, Snape mused with a sneer, couldn't be more wrong about me. Just as I intended.
He drew what little comfort he could from the continuing success of his deception. Keeping the students as safe as possible from the Carrows - while wearing the mask of triumphant malice - was a relentless, sleepless task. And then there were all the preventative measures he took daily against curses, potions, poisons: more physical strain on a body that had never been better than thin.
But Snape had lived with the stresses of the Headmaster's post for months, had dealt with the strains of spying for decades. Now, events were rapidly approaching an end, for good or ill. All he had to do was hold it together until then.
He strode across Hogwarts' grounds, straight for the Whomping Willow. His now-permanent scowl was etched even deeper by the sounds of battle, distant but approaching fast: the flare and crack of spellfire, the hiss of an unnatural, dementor-driven gale in the Forest's branches, the brutish war-cries of the giants. The spark of his spell hit the center of the never-to-be-forgotten knot in the Willow's bark, and the branches stilled. Snarling mutely at the old memories that snarled back at him from the tunnel's black mouth, he kindled a Lumos and entered.
Nothing less pressing than the Dark Lord's summons would have driven Snape to this: half-crawling into a muddy, root-hung hole, dank with remembered terrors. First time to face a werewolf, second time to face the same werewolf and his murderous crony... Third time's the charm. Snape bared his teeth in a bitter grimace. Just like him to pick the worst possible place for a meeting.
The earth shuddered above Snape, a distant thud Thud THUD coming closer and closer. Fucking giants, it'd be just my luck to be buried here! A rock from the tunnel ceiling fell on his head and the world swam dizzyingly.
He shook off the momentary disorientation and cast his strongest Shield Charm. Instantly the tunnel around him stopped shaking. Total silence fell. He found himself holding his breath as he listened.
Nothing.
Suspense gripped him as the silence stretched.
Something's happened.
He should still hear the giants' footsteps. Even if some unknown spell had killed them, he certainly should have heard several tons of corpse hitting the earth.
He turned and started to retrace his steps. Voldemort will just have to wait; I have to find out what the hell's going on with the battle!
Snape crawled out of the tunnel, absently hexing the Willow to stillness as he shook off the last clinging tree roots from his cloak and strode out of range of its branches. His wand was drawn, his magical and physical senses on high alert. The darkness was unbroken by the feverish flash of spellfire. There were no giants roaring and smashing everything in their path, no breath of dementor chill from the Forest.
Snape raked the grounds and the edges of the Forest with a disbelieving stare, but no matter where he looked, it was the same: no armies, attackers or defenders. All around, the night was calm; not with the unnatural, total quiet of Silencing Charms, but the familiar sounds of the grounds and the Forest at night: owls and insects and bats.