Snape Apparates somewhere near Hogsmeade. It is a quiet night, there's evidently no one about, which is a point in his favor. He stands stock still for a moment, just long enough to focus himself. Once that is achieved, he breathes deeply, filling his lungs, then breaks into a dead run. His travelling cloak and robe whips behind him, and as he exhales his mind flexes, and he feels the rippling change course through his body. And then, he's airborne.
He is a raven, as black as the night he flies through.
He laughs to himself as he soars over Hogsmeade, over the pathway and then the castle; everyone thinks he'd be a bat if he were an Animagus. While he will admit that he sometimes feels a pull toward that form, he finds something in the raven's form...deeply fulfulling. He caught something in Elsbet's mind once that amused him to no end, and he's thought about it quite a lot lately; as a bat, he could hang from the eaves outside her bedroom window and watch over her all night. Not that he couldn't watch over her while lying beside her in bed...it's just that as a bat, he can't touch, and a single touch leads to a very difficult morning, difficult because he has to leave her, and it's always easier to leave her before than it is after.
Because after, he just wants more.
As he comes in for his landing, a thought occurs to him that nearly makes him miss the railing. Will it be the same with Lucius? He grips the railing with his razor-sharp talons, puffs out his ebony feathers, then caws to himself. He hops down and exhales, and feels that flex again, and the ripple effect, then he's kneeling and human again. As he straightens, he thinks of them both, of having them both, and he asks himself if his appetite is really that great, if he is really that greedy...but he knows the answer to both questions is yes. He smirks at himself because he can't help it and shakes out his hair. As he smooths out his cloak he leaves the lightning-struck tower, and only Mrs. Norris is there to notice the passage of a slightly more determined Severus Snape.
As he approaches the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office he thinks the password, and is inside before any of the portraits realize he is there. With practiced calculation he closes off certain parts of his mind and calms his lingering desires, easing his racing heart. He will think of them no more this night, he resolves, or at least for the time being. "Severus, you are in late," Dumbledore says, then smiles. "What news do you bring?" Snape's sigh is so soft it's almost inaudible. "You did not get Johnny Cash again, I hope," Dumbledore says, and Snape gives a slight shake of his head.
The last time that happened, an Auror and two Muggles had been murdered.
"There has been an increase in Dark activity in and around the Muggle village," says Snape. "Friday night, three werewolves were sighted in the Old Quarter, two of which may be associates of Fenrir Greyback." There is a hiss from Phineas Nigellus Black, and Snape sees several of the Headmasters' portraits either close their eyes or shake their heads. "Also," he leans forward on the desk in front of him, "Saturday night two Death Eaters attempted to enter the village, but were prevented from doing so by..." he pauses and looks at Dumbledore, "friends of Mr. Everest." The Elder wizard's face lights up and he chuckles. "Well, that is news indeed, good news."
Snape straightens and folds his arms. "Sir," he hesitates, "I find I am at a loss, which you well know I do not like." Dumbledore chuckles again, his eyes twinkling. "The phrase 'friends of Mr. Everest' could only mean that the Order of the Silver Night is openly active once again." Phineas Nigellus nods and interjects, "I was beginning to think they had lost their nerve!" Snape is still puzzled; as if Dumbledore senses his growing irritation, he explains, "the Order of the Silver Night was the complement, for want of a better term, to the Order of the Golden Dawn, of which one Aleister Crowley was a member. He was the founder of the OSN." Phineas Nigellus adds, "the difference between them is that the Silver Night was comprised entirely of Magicals, while the Golden Dawn were mostly Muggles with odd interests."
Odd interests indeed, Snape thinks. And though he knows considerably more about the wizard in question than he wishes to let on, he asks, "what is the connection between the mountain and Crowley?" Dumbledore smiles faintly. "He was quite a mountaineer; he and Oscar Eckenstein made the first serious attempt to climb K2 in 1902, and in 1905 the team he headed made the first serious attempt to climb Kangchenjunga. But he never attempted Everest." Dumbledore sighs. "I could not resist the urge to rib him about it; I'm afraid I gave him the name." Suddenly, Snape gets it. K2 and Kangchenjunga are the second and third highest mountains in the world, Everest of course, being the first.
Such a failure would sting any Muggle mountaineer; how badly would it sting a Magical?
"You must have been very close friends, Dumbledore," Phineas Nigellus says with just a touch of cheek, and the Elder wizard gives a wry smile. "Ah, not so much friends, Phineas, but rather, he respected that I was much more powerful than him. And it was meant in jest; he recognized that." There is a long silence in which Snape grapples with things better left unsaid. "Is there any other news?" Snape nods and gives him the additional information, then stretches and thinks about sleep. Ah, sleep...
Perchance to dream?
Softly, Dumbledore asks him, "is there anything you would like to tell me, Severus?" The Headmaster looks up at the portrait of the Elder wizard poignantly. Just that I wish you were here, and that...Lucius knows, Snape thinks, then shakes his head. "No, sir," he says, his need for rest begining to tax him, "nothing that can not wait." Dumbledore nods, knowing it's not true, then folds his hands on his lap. He looks out at Snape over his specticles and says, "I trust you will pass the information regarding Fenrir's packmates along to our mutual acquaintance." Snape nods and turns to leave. There is more he wants to say, about Elsbet, about Harry, about the Dark Lord, about a dozen other things, but he just can't see the point.
As he passes out of the office (and out of earshot), says a voice seldom heard in the Headmaster's office, "that is a deeply troubled young man." All the headmasters still awake look up at the portrait of the wizened White wizard in the frame above the door, seemingly clad only in smoke. "Indeed he is, Grey Pilgrim," replies Dumbledore with a sigh, "indeed he is."
He is a raven, as black as the night he flies through.
He laughs to himself as he soars over Hogsmeade, over the pathway and then the castle; everyone thinks he'd be a bat if he were an Animagus. While he will admit that he sometimes feels a pull toward that form, he finds something in the raven's form...deeply fulfulling. He caught something in Elsbet's mind once that amused him to no end, and he's thought about it quite a lot lately; as a bat, he could hang from the eaves outside her bedroom window and watch over her all night. Not that he couldn't watch over her while lying beside her in bed...it's just that as a bat, he can't touch, and a single touch leads to a very difficult morning, difficult because he has to leave her, and it's always easier to leave her before than it is after.
Because after, he just wants more.
As he comes in for his landing, a thought occurs to him that nearly makes him miss the railing. Will it be the same with Lucius? He grips the railing with his razor-sharp talons, puffs out his ebony feathers, then caws to himself. He hops down and exhales, and feels that flex again, and the ripple effect, then he's kneeling and human again. As he straightens, he thinks of them both, of having them both, and he asks himself if his appetite is really that great, if he is really that greedy...but he knows the answer to both questions is yes. He smirks at himself because he can't help it and shakes out his hair. As he smooths out his cloak he leaves the lightning-struck tower, and only Mrs. Norris is there to notice the passage of a slightly more determined Severus Snape.
As he approaches the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office he thinks the password, and is inside before any of the portraits realize he is there. With practiced calculation he closes off certain parts of his mind and calms his lingering desires, easing his racing heart. He will think of them no more this night, he resolves, or at least for the time being. "Severus, you are in late," Dumbledore says, then smiles. "What news do you bring?" Snape's sigh is so soft it's almost inaudible. "You did not get Johnny Cash again, I hope," Dumbledore says, and Snape gives a slight shake of his head.
The last time that happened, an Auror and two Muggles had been murdered.
"There has been an increase in Dark activity in and around the Muggle village," says Snape. "Friday night, three werewolves were sighted in the Old Quarter, two of which may be associates of Fenrir Greyback." There is a hiss from Phineas Nigellus Black, and Snape sees several of the Headmasters' portraits either close their eyes or shake their heads. "Also," he leans forward on the desk in front of him, "Saturday night two Death Eaters attempted to enter the village, but were prevented from doing so by..." he pauses and looks at Dumbledore, "friends of Mr. Everest." The Elder wizard's face lights up and he chuckles. "Well, that is news indeed, good news."
Snape straightens and folds his arms. "Sir," he hesitates, "I find I am at a loss, which you well know I do not like." Dumbledore chuckles again, his eyes twinkling. "The phrase 'friends of Mr. Everest' could only mean that the Order of the Silver Night is openly active once again." Phineas Nigellus nods and interjects, "I was beginning to think they had lost their nerve!" Snape is still puzzled; as if Dumbledore senses his growing irritation, he explains, "the Order of the Silver Night was the complement, for want of a better term, to the Order of the Golden Dawn, of which one Aleister Crowley was a member. He was the founder of the OSN." Phineas Nigellus adds, "the difference between them is that the Silver Night was comprised entirely of Magicals, while the Golden Dawn were mostly Muggles with odd interests."
Odd interests indeed, Snape thinks. And though he knows considerably more about the wizard in question than he wishes to let on, he asks, "what is the connection between the mountain and Crowley?" Dumbledore smiles faintly. "He was quite a mountaineer; he and Oscar Eckenstein made the first serious attempt to climb K2 in 1902, and in 1905 the team he headed made the first serious attempt to climb Kangchenjunga. But he never attempted Everest." Dumbledore sighs. "I could not resist the urge to rib him about it; I'm afraid I gave him the name." Suddenly, Snape gets it. K2 and Kangchenjunga are the second and third highest mountains in the world, Everest of course, being the first.
Such a failure would sting any Muggle mountaineer; how badly would it sting a Magical?
"You must have been very close friends, Dumbledore," Phineas Nigellus says with just a touch of cheek, and the Elder wizard gives a wry smile. "Ah, not so much friends, Phineas, but rather, he respected that I was much more powerful than him. And it was meant in jest; he recognized that." There is a long silence in which Snape grapples with things better left unsaid. "Is there any other news?" Snape nods and gives him the additional information, then stretches and thinks about sleep. Ah, sleep...
Perchance to dream?
Softly, Dumbledore asks him, "is there anything you would like to tell me, Severus?" The Headmaster looks up at the portrait of the Elder wizard poignantly. Just that I wish you were here, and that...Lucius knows, Snape thinks, then shakes his head. "No, sir," he says, his need for rest begining to tax him, "nothing that can not wait." Dumbledore nods, knowing it's not true, then folds his hands on his lap. He looks out at Snape over his specticles and says, "I trust you will pass the information regarding Fenrir's packmates along to our mutual acquaintance." Snape nods and turns to leave. There is more he wants to say, about Elsbet, about Harry, about the Dark Lord, about a dozen other things, but he just can't see the point.
As he passes out of the office (and out of earshot), says a voice seldom heard in the Headmaster's office, "that is a deeply troubled young man." All the headmasters still awake look up at the portrait of the wizened White wizard in the frame above the door, seemingly clad only in smoke. "Indeed he is, Grey Pilgrim," replies Dumbledore with a sigh, "indeed he is."
