Oh, How Severus Snape Hated the Woods. He was of a firm mind that Hagrid and the beasts out here deserved each other.
It wasn't that he didn't know finding spells, or that he was anything but certain of finding the two miscreants.
But, Severus Snape hated stepping in small puddles of water, of feeling his feet sink slightly into the soil.
He hated the sounds, the neverending sounds of the forest.
It was as if the universe itself was conspiring against him to set his nerves on edge.
You couldn't bellow at the forest for silence, not if you disliked looking like a fool, after all.
And Severus Snape refused to sit on a broom and miss any clues that he might find.
Of course, that had been hours ago, and he'd failed to get so much as a footprint.
He was reluctantly ready to conclude that perhaps Dumbledore had had a point.
Not that Snape was going to admit it.
There! Snape paused, finding... was that a horseshoe? Who could...
Oh.
That was why he hadn't found any bootprints.
Severus Snape abruptly looked around himself, piercing eyes and cutting tongue at the ready.
There was no one there, of course, but Snape hated looking the fool, even in private. In public was far worse.
In a far better mood, Snape continued on. Horses meant a relatively fast pace... Snape's lips pursed. I hope there were only two horses. This whole thing could get a lot worse than two runaways.
[a/n: Snape, everyone. More suited to be a spy than a ranger. Leave a review.]
