Hogwarts i am snape

"Professor, this isn't Azkaban, is it?" Snape mumbled, rubbing his head. He was just barely recovering from the dizziness and nausea that came with Apparition, his head still swimming.

Before them stretched an endless expanse of sea, waves crashing wildly against the rocky cliffs. Behind them lay a vast grassy field studded with enormous pebbles.

"No, Severus," Dumbledore replied calmly, his silvery hair and beard fluttering in the sea breeze. "This is the coast of Yorkshire. One cannot Apparate directly into Azkaban." He raised a hand, pointing out to sea, and added, "The place we're going is in the middle of the North Sea."

"Then how do we get there?" Snape asked, the wind forcing him to squint at Dumbledore. "Are you going to teach me to fly?"

"Heh, not yet." Dumbledore smiled, waving his wand. "We'll take a boat." With his movement, a strange shimmer of light flashed in an instant, and a black wooden sailing ship appeared out of thin air, splashing into the sea with a *THUMP*. Dumbledore waved his wand again, and a thick rope, like a nimble python, shot out with a *WHOOSH*, firmly connecting the sailboat to the land. He walked forward unhurriedly, nodding with satisfaction only after confirming the sailboat was securely tethered to the shore.

"We'll wait here for a while," Dumbledore said softly. "Alastor will be here tomorrow to join us. He's more familiar with Azkaban; having him along will make our journey smoother."

"Then why did we leave today?" Snape's brow furrowed into a frown from the sea wind. He raised his voice. "Is Hogwarts perhaps too comfortable, and you wished for a breath of fresh air?"

"Oh, Severus, this bit of wind and waves is nothing," Dumbledore chuckled kindly, waving his wand once more. With two *FLAPS*, a tent erected itself in mid-air. The tent poles and pegs seemed to come alive, moving automatically to their designated spots, settling firmly on the ground and rooting themselves into the earth.

"Let's go in," Dumbledore said, stepping forward and pulling open the tent flap. Snape bent low to duck inside, greatly surprised by its simplicity. He had imagined Dumbledore's tent would be like the one Harry saw at the Quidditch World Cup years later, a veritable palace within—at least a three-bedroom affair. Instead, this tent was truly just an ordinary tent, empty save for a damp-proof sheet on the ground.

"Uh..." Snape hesitated, backing out. "Professor, this tent doesn't quite suit your style. Perhaps we should use mine instead." As he spoke, he pulled out a luxurious two-story tent from his bag, muttering a charm, and magically directed it to set itself up. This tent was clearly enchanted; it even boasted a charming little garden at its entrance, blooming with over a dozen varieties of colorful flowers.

"Professor, please come over here," Snape said, pulling Dumbledore out of his tent, his face filled with concern. "We mustn't let the elderly suffer." Though Snape knew this tent offered no reliable protection, he understood that as long as Dumbledore was inside, it was the safest place to be.

Once Dumbledore was settled in a comfortable armchair, Snape pulled a miniature Sneakoscope from his small bag and placed it on the table. Next, he retrieved a bottle of wine, some exquisite pastries and meats, and matching cutlery.

"Professor, here, let me pour you a glass," Snape said, not using magic, but personally picking up the wine bottle and pouring a glass for Dumbledore and himself. He raised his glass, a little proudly. "Thirty-year-old Burgundy vintage."

Dumbledore elegantly picked up his glass, swirled it gently, closed his eyes, inhaled, and exclaimed, looking utterly delighted, "Indeed, excellent. A fine wine."

"Of course it is! It cost a pretty penny," Snape grinned, tilted his head back, and gulped down a large mouthful, exhaling contentedly. "So sweet."

"Yes, Severus, and it smells rather familiar," Dumbledore said slowly, swirling his glass, not in a hurry to drink, a hint of slyness in his eyes. "Do you know which house-elf crushed the grapes for this wine with their feet?"

"*PUFF*—" Snape spluttered his wine out directly, his eyes wide, looking utterly aghast at Dumbledore. He stammered, "You—what did you say, Professor? House-elves—crushed with their feet—?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied unperturbedly, a smile playing on his lips, speaking slowly. "Hogwarts still uses the old medieval method of having house-elves crush grapes with their feet to make wine. While primitive, it certainly has a unique flavor, wouldn't you agree?"

"So, the wine we drink on normal days and at feasts is...?" Snape's face was disbelieving, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore, hoping for a negative answer.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded. Under Snape's stunned gaze, he finally took a sip of the wine. "Are you sure you won't drink any more, Severus?"

Snape gritted his teeth, looking at Dumbledore with a disgruntled expression. "I think drinking water is the healthiest option."

Afterward, they sat by the warm fire, enjoying some of the treats prepared by the house-elves. The feeling of fullness in his stomach and the warm air made Snape drowsy, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until he could barely keep them open. His body slowly relaxed, sleepiness washing over him like a tide.

Suddenly, several loud *CRACKS* echoed from outside the tent. Then, a sharp whistling sound filled the entire tent, and the miniature Sneakoscope on the table spun wildly, emitting a dazzling light.

Snape jolted awake, his eyes snapping open. He quickly scrambled out of the armchair and pulled his wand from his robes. At that moment, more crude and excited voices came from outside, growing closer—"Drop your wands, hands up, and come out!"

"Professor, something's happened," Snape said, regaining his wits and turning to Dumbledore. "What do you suggest we do?"

Noticing Snape's gaze, Dumbledore gave him a slight nod, but still maintained his languid, unhurried demeanor.

"Severus, you go deal with them."

"Me?" Snape asked, pointing to himself with his index finger, a look of surprise on his face.

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