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[apwb_d]

The day after Black Sunday, Albus Dumbledore sits at his desk and does a great deal of staring into space. It's been a long, dreadful morning as more names of those lost the day before steadily stream in

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[ss_potions]

Snape enters quietly, face slightly paler than normal. Without speaking, the potions master sits in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk, and gazes at his superior.

[apwb_d]

He sets the quill down and steeples his fingers. "How are you this morning, Severus?"

[ss_potions]

He ignores the pleasantry. He is rarely in the mood for them, least of all today.

"There will be a large-scale attack soon. Here, at the castle, though that's hardly a surprise. He hates you most of all."

The words are delivered calmly. Matter-of-factly.

[apwb_d]

Albus nods. "I was afraid it would come to that. I'd hoped- Well, it doesn't matter what I'd hoped. Does he know of the destruction of the Horcruxes yet?