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Who: Severus Snape + Rodolphus Lestrange
When: Nighttime. >>;
Where: Spinner's End.
Few things bear the stamp of one's personality the way a house does, and Snape's was looking as dismal and dreary as ever. Although the atmosphere was unchanged, the house had undergone some small alterations, changes that only the house's most frequent occupant would notice. The tall bookshelves were punctured by dark holes where books had been removed but never returned; the shelves now stood clear of muggle authors. The empty and half-empty firewhiskey bottles that had become the house's most prominent decor in the past months were now absent, if only from sight. Chairs and tables that had been shifted and shoved and sometimes flung across the rooms had been rearranged, if not carefully, than at least consciously.
The house at Spinner's End had seldom suffered from prolonged states of filth by Snape's hand, but it had never boasted any sort of meticulous cleanliness, either. But there was good reason for the house's prepared state tonight. Rodolphus was coming. Maybe not in the next hour, or week, or month, but soon. It had been a blow to Snape's dignity to resort to rumors- the spreading of and the listening to- to get in touch with Rodolphus, but he had let a few choice words slip to the right people, and he was certain that his messages must have gotten through to Rodolphus by now. He would show up. He had to.
Regardless of what Dumbledore thought, being Severus Snape still stood for something. Something that Rodolphus wouldn't dare ignore.
He hoped.
When: Nighttime. >>;
Where: Spinner's End.
Few things bear the stamp of one's personality the way a house does, and Snape's was looking as dismal and dreary as ever. Although the atmosphere was unchanged, the house had undergone some small alterations, changes that only the house's most frequent occupant would notice. The tall bookshelves were punctured by dark holes where books had been removed but never returned; the shelves now stood clear of muggle authors. The empty and half-empty firewhiskey bottles that had become the house's most prominent decor in the past months were now absent, if only from sight. Chairs and tables that had been shifted and shoved and sometimes flung across the rooms had been rearranged, if not carefully, than at least consciously.
The house at Spinner's End had seldom suffered from prolonged states of filth by Snape's hand, but it had never boasted any sort of meticulous cleanliness, either. But there was good reason for the house's prepared state tonight. Rodolphus was coming. Maybe not in the next hour, or week, or month, but soon. It had been a blow to Snape's dignity to resort to rumors- the spreading of and the listening to- to get in touch with Rodolphus, but he had let a few choice words slip to the right people, and he was certain that his messages must have gotten through to Rodolphus by now. He would show up. He had to.
Regardless of what Dumbledore thought, being Severus Snape still stood for something. Something that Rodolphus wouldn't dare ignore.
He hoped.