Harry Potter: I became Snape

"Professor, this isn't Azkaban, is it?"

Severus Snape rubbed his temples, muttering the question under his breath.

He was still recovering from the dizziness and nausea brought on by Apparition, his head spinning like a top.

Before them stretched an endless expanse of sea, waves crashing fiercely against the rocky shore. Behind them lay a vast meadow studded with enormous boulders.

"No, Severus," Dumbledore replied calmly, his silver-white beard and hair fluttering in the sea breeze. "This is the Yorkshire coast. Azkaban doesn't allow direct Apparition."

He pointed toward the sea and continued, "Our destination lies in the heart of the North Sea."

"How do we get there?" Snape asked, squinting against the wind as he looked at Dumbledore. "Are you going to teach me to fly?"

"Ha, not quite yet," Dumbledore chuckled, waving his wand. "We'll take a boat."

With a flick of his wrist, a shimmering curtain of light flashed, and a black wooden sailboat materialized out of thin air, crashing into the sea with a loud thud and sending up a spray of water.

Another wave of Dumbledore's wand sent a thick rope slithering like a nimble python, shooting out with a whoosh to securely tether the boat to the shore.

Dumbledore strolled forward unhurriedly, checking that the boat was firmly anchored before nodding in satisfaction.

"We'll wait here for a bit," he said softly. "Alastor will join us tomorrow to make the journey with us. He knows Azkaban better than most, and his presence will make things smoother."

"Then why leave today?" Snape asked, his brows furrowing into a scowl as the wind whipped at him. He raised his voice. "Was Hogwarts too comfortable? Did you just need some fresh air?"

"Oh, Severus, this is hardly a storm," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. With another wave of his wand, a tent snapped into existence with two sharp pops, standing firm in midair.

The tent's poles and pegs moved as if alive, slotting into place and burrowing into the earth with precision.

"Let's head inside," Dumbledore said, stepping forward to pull open the tent flap.

Snape ducked inside, only to freeze in surprise at the stark simplicity within.

He'd expected Dumbledore's tent to be like the one Harry Potter would later encounter at the Quidditch World Cup—a hidden marvel, perhaps with the equivalent of a three-bedroom flat inside. Instead, this was just a plain tent, empty save for a damp-proof tarp spread across the ground.

"Er…" Snape hesitated, backing out. "Professor, this tent doesn't quite match your… style. Why don't we use mine instead?"

With that, he fished a luxurious two-story tent from his wallet, muttering incantations as he magically directed it to set itself up.

The tent was clearly enchanted, complete with a charming little garden at the entrance, bursting with a dozen varieties of colorful flowers.

"Professor, over here," Snape said, guiding Dumbledore out of the plain tent with a look of concern. "We can't have you roughing it, not at your age."

Though Snape knew the tent offered no real protective enchantments, he also knew that as long as Dumbledore was inside, it was the safest place in the world.

Once Dumbledore settled into a comfortable armchair, Snape pulled a miniature Sneakoscope from his bag and set it on the table.

Then, he produced a bottle of wine, an assortment of delicate pastries and meats, and a set of fine cutlery.

"Professor, allow me," Snape said, forgoing magic to personally pour a glass of wine for Dumbledore and himself.

Raising his glass with a hint of pride, he said, "Thirty-year-old Burgundy vintage."

Dumbledore lifted his glass gracefully, swirling it gently and closing his eyes to inhale the aroma. "Truly excellent," he said, clearly savoring the moment. "A fine wine."

"Of course," Snape grinned, tilting his head back to take a hearty gulp, exhaling with satisfaction. "Sweet, isn't it?"

"Indeed, Severus. It smells… oddly familiar," Dumbledore said, leisurely swirling his glass without drinking, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Do you know which house-elf used their feet to crush the grapes for this one?"

"Pfft—" Snape spat out his wine, eyes wide with horror as he stared at Dumbledore, stammering, "W-what did you say, Professor? House-elves… with their feet?"

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore replied, his expression unruffled and a smile tugging at his lips. "Hogwarts still uses the old medieval method, you know—house-elves treading grapes to make wine. It's a bit primitive, but it does lend a certain… character to the flavor. Don't you think?"

"So, the wine we drink at meals and feasts…?"

Snape's face was a mask of disbelief, his eyes locked on Dumbledore, desperately hoping for a denial.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Under Snape's stunned gaze, he finally took a sip of the wine. "Are you sure you'll never drink it again, Severus?"

Snape gritted his teeth, glaring at Dumbledore with reluctant defiance. "I think water's the healthier choice."

They settled by a warm, crackling fire, enjoying a meal of house-elf-prepared food.

The fullness in his stomach and the cozy warmth lulled Snape into a drowsy haze, his eyelids growing heavier by the second.

His body relaxed, sleep creeping over him like a rising tide.

Suddenly, a series of deafening cracks echoed outside the tent.

A shrill, piercing whistle followed, slicing through the air. The Sneakoscope on the table spun wildly, emitting a dazzling light.

Snape jolted awake, eyes snapping open. He scrambled out of the armchair, pulling his wand from his robes.

Rough, excited voices grew louder outside, closing in. "Drop your wand! Hands up! Come out now!"

"Professor, we've got trouble," Snape said, snapping to attention and glancing at Dumbledore. "What's the plan?"

Catching Snape's gaze, Dumbledore gave a slight nod, still exuding an air of lazy calm.

"Severus, you handle them."

"Me?"

Snape's face twisted in shock, pointing at himself with a finger.

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