It was a frosty day in November when Dumbledore felt something amiss. The portraits still slept peacefully in his office, forever providing a certain tranquil feeling for whoever entered the room. The Gargoyles, eternally on guard duty, were still ugly and motionless, unless triggered into movement by a peculiar password. The Hogwarts gates were still bound tightly shut, one of the few things on the school's grounds that was not covered by the continuous snow due to carefully placed magic, and kept the students safe inside their dorms. The dungeons were locked, the staircases were moving, and the prefects were currently running their rounds. Fawkes was sleeping silently in his cage nearby, and of course, the lemon drops were still delicious.
However, all of these comforting thoughts did not stop the unusual shiver that ran down the old man's spine, nor the sudden wave of nausea that he hadn't felt since his first earwax flavor bean.
Despite the strange omen, Dumbledore was still every bit surprised when Severus Snape came bursting through the door, wheezing heavily and greasy hair disheveled. He did not even acknowledge himself, but instead started to talk very rapidly, causing the portraits to wake and complain.
But Dumbledore did not hear them, because the more the Professor spoke, the greater the Headmaster's eyes widened, and by the time Severus had finished, Dumbledore's mouth was agape, and the office was consumed in silence. The witches and wizards on the wall did not say a word.
And Albus Dumbledore, who had always presented himself with the utmost grace since the death of his sister, was speechless.
With a jerky, curt nod, Severus turned and left
