For the first time in almost two decades, he was uncertain as to what action to take. As one who rarely left things unplanned, or to chance, it was a feeling that was most disconcerting. Severus Snape let his coal black eyes take in the sight before him with a shiver of apprehension. He had not anticipated this eventuality, had not fathomed in his wildest imaginings that the Dark Lord would have had the bollocks to do something such as this. By rights, he should have. The bizarre mix of omnipresent war general and impulsive guerrilla was a major part of the attraction the side of He Who Must Not Be Named had once held for him.
Severus grasped his wand tightly in his hand. From his hiding place in the shadowed thicket of trees near the Shrieking Shack, he was for the moment unseen. This attack on Hogsmeade was unlike anything the Dark Lord had attempted previously. Snape's sallow features morphed in a humourless, ugly looking smile. It would seem that there was nothing He would stop at now to gain the victory he desired.
Snape watched as the people of the village tried to defend the near helpless students against the Death Eaters. Again and again he saw the villagers make the mistake of not using the killing curse. He bowed his head as they fell. It would be the last mistake they would ever make. With Death Eaters, morals were more a hindrance than a help, whether you were fighting them or were one yourself. There was but one curse that would stop them every time.
His eyes narrowed as he pondered why he had not been informed of this attack. Perhaps that crazy harpy had finally convinced the Dark Lord of his treachery. Snape was shocked to feel a glimmer of relief instead of the expected paralysing fear. One way or another, this wretched life would be over. If that were indeed the case, he would take the greatest pleasure in hexing Bellatrix LeStrange from this plain of existence. If he was going to die today, he was taking her with him and then he was going to torture her for the entirety of his afterlife. On the other hand, he would rather survive this day, this war. The only way to achieve that was through Potter.
Decision made, Snape cast a disillusionment charm on himself and made his way carefully into the fray. The repulsive stench of scorched flesh made him want to gag. Debris littered the ground along side the bodies of those fallen. Death Eaters and villagers lay beside each other, some bloody, some with not a mark upon them. Death had a way of making everyone equal in the way life never could. Were he not in danger of joining them at any moment he would have rolled his eyes at his morbid thoughts. Snape was well aware of his dour outlook on life; he had scare little to be cheery about. But this was bad even for him. He shook his head.
Focus on the situation at hand Severus!
He prayed that someone managed to escape the village and raise the alarm with the Order. There was no way a few dozen children could defeat the deadliest of the Dark Lord's followers. Hopefully they would get here in time. Snape dodged stray curses and flailing bodies. Thankfully years of evading attacks from his fellow Death Eaters had honed his reflexes quite well. When one expects to be stabbed in the back at every turn, one puts great effort into learning how to avoid that very thing. He blocked out the screams of pain as much as possible, of friend and foe alike. There was no way he could help anyone without being killed himself. He had only one purpose in entering this hellish battle and that was to get Potter and his friends out alive. Getting killed would do nothing to achieve that goal.
With the suddenness of a lightening strike, everything fell silent. The air around him became heavy and thick. Movement grew harder as the seconds ticked by, as though his limbs were being transformed into lead. Every wand in the hands of fighters Dark and Light ceased to function. Every curse and hex dissipated without a trace, including his disillusionment charm. Snape froze recognizing the effects of a magical dampening field.
Somewhere in the mute crowd Bellatrix let out an insane cackle. "They're here!" she screeched.
Snape's eyes widened in horror, he didn't bother trying to control his reaction. This could only mean one thing, something he still had nightmares about. He needed to find Potter, now! Within a moment he spurred his now cumbersome legs into action. His awkward limbs carried him onwards through the throng of people frozen in fear and rightly so. As he ran, Snape spared a moment of regret for the students lying on the ground like discarded rag dolls and the ones fated to join them. Death was not a thing they deserved.
Sweat trickled down his back as he wove his way around person after person. He had to reach those idiot Gryffindors before the Angels arrived or Bellatrix noticed his mad dash. Otherwise Potter's bloody entrails would be decorating the cobbled streets and Bellatrix would gain a pair of new playthings.
Snape halted as he heard Granger's voice. "Harry we need to go, we have to get to Dumbledore."
The chit had a modicum of common sense; he had to give her that, even if her association with a Weasley, of all people, made him doubt that fact.
"The Mudblood will not stay to witness the Storm of Angels? How very rude. But what can you expect of such filth?"
Snape tensed instantly when he heard Karkaroff's voice. He followed the sound of it to the entrance of a dank alleyway beside a long abandoned shop.
"You take one step towards her and I swear you'll regret it."
Snape raised a brow at Potter's belligerent tone. The boy was fearless when it those irritating friends of his were concerned. As much as he wished, he could not fault the boy for his loyalty or his courage.
He turned to check he was not being watched and to make sure Bellatrix was nowhere in the vicinity. Bellatrix LeStrange had left sanity behind many years before, but as a warrior there were few that would survive in a fight against her. A dagger in her hand was just as deadly as a wand.
Snape pressed himself against the wall of the shop and leant forward just far enough to glimpse into the alleyway. It was filled with old wooden crates and vile smelling rubbish. Weasley lay on his back in a pool of dirty water at the end of the alley, with Potter and Granger standing protectively in front of him. The two were pale and their eyes were wide with fear. Potter bent down without taking his eyes from Karkaroff and grasped the piece of wood near the unconscious boy. He rose gracefully, holding the piece of chunky wood tightly in his hands.
Snape stepped into the alley without notice. He did not have to rely on spells alone to remain unseen. He ducked down behind a couple of rotting crates. Snape peeked around them carefully.
Karkaroff let out a laugh as he rested against the wall. "It will do you no good, nor your friend." He gestured to Granger with a long, curved sword, "You, I will fillet and feed the pieces of your useless flesh to the pets of My Lord. The pain will be unlike anything you can imagine Mudblood."
Snape almost snorted in derision. Igor always did have a love of his own voice. He also does not realise that Potter will take his chance to strike when his friends are in danger.
Karkaroff ran a finger over the smooth metal of his sword. "Unfortunately Potter, My Lord wishes you to die at his feet. Perhaps he will give me the honour of performing that task."
As Karkaroff advanced slowly on the pair of teenagers, Snape ran through his options quickly and quickly acted on the only viable one. He placed his wand onto the grubby cobble stones and carefully removed his small dagger from the sheath strapped to his ankle. He would only get one chance. With an ease born of years of practice, Snape rose, aimed and sent the dagger flying.