Arrival (Open)
As soon as the Dark Lord mentioned the Deathstick, Severus knew two things: the first was that he was as good as dead, but that part was unsurprising. He had resigned himself to death many years before. Ever since Lily had died, life no longer appealed to him on its own merits. He only stayed alive because of his vow to protect her son. The second thing he knew, however, was that he had failed. He had failed to convince the Dark Lord to allow him to find Potter in time. He had failed to pass along the information that would tell the boy what he had to do.
He had failed, and he would die knowing that he had.
In spite of knowing it was futile, however, Severus still doggedly tried to convince him to allow him to find Potter. Until, that was, the Dark Lord said the wand would not be his whilst Severus lived. For a split second, he was confused, however, when it appeared that the Dark Lord intended to curse him with the wand anyway, but ... that was before Nagini's cage began to float toward him. Of course the Dark Lord couldn't have taken the chance of trying the wand against the one he considered its true master, even if that would still have been Dumbledore.
He need not speak Parseltongue to know the order the snake had been given. His efforts to dislodge the magical sphere from around him were fruitless -- just as fruitless as asking to find Potter had been. And Severus tensed in anticipation of the fangs that ... somehow failed to pierce his neck. He must have closed his eyes, as well, because after an indeterminate amount of time, he peeled them open again, only to find himself no longer in the Shrieking Shack. In fact, he was lying flat on his back, in a ... very nice, very comfortable bed. And in addition, he felt exceedingly well rested, in spite of not having consciously lain down to go to sleep.
Severus sat up and looked around, almost immediately, and then he blinked. This was .... most certainly not his quarters at Hogwarts. He'd already suspected that from the amount of light in the room alone, but he could have been at St. Mungo's. Still, this was quite distinctly a hotel room, and a posh one, at that. While that might have been a desirable turn of events at any other time in his life, this was certainly not the time to be lounging about in luxury. He may very well have dodged a bullet -- or snake fangs, to be more precise -- but he still had a job to do. The only trouble was, how was he supposed to find Potter now?
His wand, he noticed, had been laid out on the bedside table, next to some sort of electrical device that he didn't recognize immediately. If it had had a stylus, he might have thought it was one of those personal digital assistants that he'd seen a few Muggles raving about, but he saw nothing that remotely resembled one of those, so he must have been mistaken. After all, the device looked too new for cord for the stylus to have broken. Since he didn't know what it was, he simply left it where it sat, picking up his wand before heading toward the door, in order to investigate his new surroundings.
And speaking of Muggles ... he couldn't be seen doing magic in front of them, and yet, he was in an unknown location, with no idea of how he'd gotten there. It wouldn't do not to have his wand at the ready, in case something happened. In the end he compromised, slipping his wand up the sleeve of his robes. That would afford him quick enough access if he needed it, without being too conspicuous if he didn't. The first order of business was to find out where he was, because he hadn't the slightest hope of getting home, otherwise. After that ... well, it was probably best to take things one step at a time.
Not having a details plan of action was something that happened to him exceptionally rarely. Severus scowled as he opened the door to his room, and his eyes gave the corridor a quick sweep before he bothered to step out of the room at all. The thought vaguely registered that there might have been a key for the room, as well, but he wasn't terribly bothered about getting back inside the room, just now. He needed to get back to Hogwarts; that was the important thing. Though his steps faltered, and his blood ran cold, when he realized that he hadn't the faintest idea of how much time had passed.
For all he knew, Potter might already be dead. Especially if he'd sought the Dark Lord out, as the latter seemed to think he would. Well, his death was probably inevitable at this point, especially with Severus here -- wherever here was -- but he had hoped, at least, that the boy would not have had to go into it blind. His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled in defeat, when he realized that there probably wasn't anything he could do. Not in time, anyway. He didn't even know where he was, much less how to get home. Even if he wasn't dead, Potter was as good as, and this time ... there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. So he really had failed, after all.