"Mm."
Glenn had no objections to Snape's arrangement.
Under current circumstances, this was indeed the most prudent approach—one person advancing to capture, another remaining in an open position as backup should escape be attempted, sealing all routes of ingress and egress.
Turning his left palm upward, Glenn channeled magic to retrieve a sniper rifle from his black ring.
The brown-green weapon body was already fitted with a thick, elongated black 4-14x scope. What materialized in Glenn's hands was unmistakably a SCAR20 precision marksman rifle.
As a semi-automatic sniper rifle, the SCAR20 boasted a twenty-round magazine capacity, utilized 7.62mm ammunition, possessed high firing rate and low recoil—exceptionally suited for stationary shooting. These factors granted this firearm an extraordinarily high margin for error when engaging enemies.
However, for Glenn, the weapon's error tolerance made no difference whatsoever—it would be identical with any other firearm.
So long as it was a gun, and within that weapon's maximum effective range, Glenn could employ it to place bullets precisely where they belonged.
This had been true in his previous life, let alone this one blessed with magical power.
Left hand extending forward, he withdrew the magazine, inserted it into the weapon, then lifted upward, supporting the rifle. Right hand advancing, he pulled the bolt, drew it back, disengaged the safety, adjusted the scope, and finally pressed the stock against his right shoulder, right index finger finding the trigger.
At this moment, what appeared within the scope's crosshairs and Glenn's line of sight was solely the Shrieking Shack two hundred meters distant.
Glenn spoke no further. Beyond employing enhanced senses to continuously gather intelligence within a three-hundred-meter spherical radius centered upon himself—preventing ambush whilst monitoring air humidity, wind velocity, and sundry environmental factors—he devoted all concentration to aiming and marksmanship.
Observing this, Snape immediately pivoted and leapt from the building, racing silently toward the Shrieking Shack.
Black robes appeared even more mysterious beneath night's shroud. Snape's frigid expression lay concealed by shadows cast from his hood, invisible to all. The two-hundred-meter distance collapsed to negative numbers instantly under his rapid approach.
Snape arrived before the Shrieking Shack. Gazing upward at this dilapidated structure—doorless, with only windows sealed by wooden boards—his expression grew more glacial still.
Even wrathful.
Excited emotions couldn't compromise Snape's calculating mind presently. Entering this dwelling without alerting Sirius Black would require finesse.
He drew his wand, waving it rapidly. His mouth remained closed—he was performing nonverbal spellcasting.
Within darkness, dim green and red illumination flickered continuously. The black-robed figure beneath the Shrieking Shack's wall extended his wand, tip touching the rough wooden surface and sliding slowly without producing even the faintest sound.
Where the wand passed, weak emerald light glimmered.
Snape controlled his wand to trace a closed aperture upon the wall—large enough for passage—then raised his wand.
The next instant, wall sections surrounded by green luminescence fractured where the wand had traced, crumbling into obsidian dust that dissipated upon evening breezes.
"Featherweight."
Snape thought silently, pointing his wand at himself. White light flashed briefly as the charm took effect, and Snape felt his body grow considerably lighter. He stepped forward onto the Shrieking Shack's wooden flooring.
Beneath his black cloak, Snape's mouth split into a grin as he began ascending the staircase from first to second floor.
Up the stairs—first step, second step...
His footfalls never hesitated. Within moments, Snape had climbed the final step, standing at the second-floor room's threshold.
Beyond the wooden door, faint breathing had already reached Snape's ears, deepening his cruel smile.
Behold—ignorant prey still slumbers, unaware its doom approaches.
But merely capturing him through ordinary magic wouldn't suffice to express the profound emotions I've harbored these many years, Black.
Snape dispelled the Featherweight Charm and returned his wand to his robes, right hand lingering within without emerging.
Instantly, his body grew heavy as gravity resumed its natural effect upon Snape.
The wooden floor beneath Snape's feet immediately sagged, emitting a momentary groan of strain.
Yet even a single moment sufficed to rouse prey whose nerves had been stretched taut through prolonged flight.
Within the Shrieking Shack's second-floor chamber, Sirius Black—who'd been lying upon the large bed—snapped his eyes wide the instant he heard creaking beyond the door. He rolled from the bed, immediately raising his right hand to aim at the wooden door from beneath the bed frame.
Having escaped Azkaban, he possessed no wand, but his natural talent made wandless magic sufficient for most situations.
Yet he cast no spell nor uttered a single word—merely held his right hand aloft, targeting the wooden door.
Sirius Black with raised hand inside the wooden door, Snape with hand concealed within black robes outside—a delicate equilibrium formed between them.
They remained locked in standoff.
Time crawled by minute after minute. Sirius Black's nerves had stretched to breaking point. Unable to maintain composure longer, he parted his lips slightly, speaking in low, hoarse, gravelly tones:
"...Who's there?"
Only deathly silence answered him, accompanied by wind whistling through the structure.
"Did I imagine it?"
Without response—as though the disturbance he'd perceived was mere illusion—Sirius Black's heart, nerves strained so long, began wavering slightly.
Perhaps the sound he'd heard truly was hallucination?
Even if illusory, Sirius Black had no intention of simply dismissing it and returning to bed for continued rest.
Therefore, he maintained his spell-ready posture whilst slowly approaching the wooden door, preparing to open it and investigate.
One step, two steps, three steps...
Advance and pause, advance and pause. Perspiration beads had formed upon Sirius Black's forehead, slowly trickling down his face as he moved.
"Sirius Black continues holding his right hand up, steadily approaching you. Distance to wooden door: four meters, three-point-seven meters, three-point-four meters..."
Synchronized with Sirius Black's movements came Glenn's voice through the earpiece Snape wore in his left ear. Via enhanced perception, Sirius Black's every action remained completely visible from his vantage point.
He could have employed high-powered weaponry to carpet-bomb the Shrieking Shack directly, but given Dumbledore's instructions and Snape's requests, he would entrust this matter to Snape.
Sirius Black drew ever closer. Finally, at one meter's distance from the wooden door, he halted.
Beyond the wooden door, Snape's expression had likewise reached maximum ferocity.
"I've missed you so terribly, Black."
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