Signs and Portents (27th July)
Snape knew that a spy's life (like a soldier's), usually involved long stretches of boredom; broken by intervals of terror which were rare and (perhaps terminally) brief.
Life at Voldemort's current lair had fallen into something Snape hesitated to call by any word so humdrum and innocuous as 'routine'. He was given a free hand to continue his Dark Arts and Potions researches, and as it was expected of him, he did so. As much as he dared without drawing attention (and, inevitably, suspicion), he also tried to monitor the Dark Lord's every move.
Recently, though, the Dark Lord had shown much less interest than usual in holding court, basking in the grovelling obeisances of his followers. Apart from meeting this or that Death Eater returning from the outside world with news, Voldemort had deserted the Audience Hall, retreating to his own suite of rooms. As a result, it had become much more difficult to know anything about what Voldemort was doing.
Nothing about Snape hinted at it, not even a direct Legilimantic probe by Voldemort himself would have uncovered it; but somewhere in the labyrinth Snape had by way of a mind, he was worried.
This seclusion had to mean that Voldemort was planning something. And one glance at the calendar reminded Snape that those plans could mean nothing good for the Wizarding World.
But so far he had nothing; not a single scrap of intelligence to report.
Not yet, he consoled himself, as he spent the nervous energy of frustration in labouring over grimoire and cauldron.
Not. Just. Yet.
Life at Voldemort's current lair had fallen into something Snape hesitated to call by any word so humdrum and innocuous as 'routine'. He was given a free hand to continue his Dark Arts and Potions researches, and as it was expected of him, he did so. As much as he dared without drawing attention (and, inevitably, suspicion), he also tried to monitor the Dark Lord's every move.
Recently, though, the Dark Lord had shown much less interest than usual in holding court, basking in the grovelling obeisances of his followers. Apart from meeting this or that Death Eater returning from the outside world with news, Voldemort had deserted the Audience Hall, retreating to his own suite of rooms. As a result, it had become much more difficult to know anything about what Voldemort was doing.
Nothing about Snape hinted at it, not even a direct Legilimantic probe by Voldemort himself would have uncovered it; but somewhere in the labyrinth Snape had by way of a mind, he was worried.
This seclusion had to mean that Voldemort was planning something. And one glance at the calendar reminded Snape that those plans could mean nothing good for the Wizarding World.
But so far he had nothing; not a single scrap of intelligence to report.
Not yet, he consoled himself, as he spent the nervous energy of frustration in labouring over grimoire and cauldron.
Not. Just. Yet.