Mea Culpa
Rowling created the child's Harry Potter, but there were oh so many more stories to tell.
Chapter 1: Snape Delivers News
The midday sun beat high overhead, birds called piercingly to one another and the wretched Scottish midges were attacking him from all angles as he stalked up the gravel path. Gods he hated the outdoors. Not that he paid any mind to it today; he had only one destination in mind. The dratted man wouldn't be found anywhere else.
His feet pounded the cool corridors as he continued onwards. Much more at home now in the shadows, he still could not appreciate the echoing silence that represented a lack of students, his thoughts too tumultuous for that. He approached the gargoyle, barking the password and barely pausing for it to lurch aside. He took the stairs two, three at a time; it was simply unbearable to stand still and think upon the news he was charged with delivering.
He had half expected to find Dumbledore at his desk, waiting for him to arrive, already in possession of the facts of the matter. Merlin knew how he came about his information, but it was a rare occasion when someone could tell the Headmaster something he didn't previously have an inkling about. But no, he flung open the door without taking pause to knock, only to find an empty office.
The portraits were suddenly up in arms, bemoaning his appalling lack of manners at disrupting their peace so. Disregarding their empty threats he began to pace, questioning them on the whereabouts of his chief tormentor.
Predictably it was Phineas Nigellus who had the courtesy to answer him, however infuriating his response was.
"Dumbledore is aware he has a visitor. No doubt he will attend to you shortly."
He wasn't sure if Albus had learnt his blasted wearisome ways from the portrait, or whether some of the Headmaster's enigmatic behaviour had now rubbed off on his previous counterpart. Snarling, he wrought tight circles between the desk and empty fireplace, mind whirring. It was not what he had to tell Dumbledore – although troubling didn't begin to cover the situation they now found themselves in – rather how.
Finally after a good eight minutes of prowling the oak floorboards, one of the occupiers of his thoughts appeared in the doorway to his private quarters. Dumbledore surely knew theatre of the mind tricks as well as the Dark Lord, for he stood there humming some godforsaken tune and looking for all the world as eccentric as The Prophet had made him out to be.
He recovered himself quickly from staring at the wizard covered from head to toe in sky blue, and opened his mouth to break the disturbing news. His momentary pause, however, gave Albus licence for one of his ridiculous pleasantries.
"Ah Severus, what a delightful surprise. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long. I was just –"
Snape waved his hand dismissively, interrupting any further superfluous commentary the Headmaster would try to engage him in. Time was of the essence.
"He's got Minerva."