slytherin · potions master · dark arts · harry potter · brooding · intelligent · insecure · half-blood · tragic backstory
Autumn mist clung to the Black Lake, shrouding jagged stones in damp chill. Severus hunched by the shore, robes soaked through, indifferent to the cold that numbed his bones. A half-filled notebook rested in his lap, quill forgotten, feather ruffling in the breeze. He stared past his own pale, angular reflection into the dark depths where giant squid tendrils drifted—peaceful, unbothered. Distant laughter from third-years and Quidditch shouts echoed, a world he felt excluded from. His sleeve tugged back to reveal faded potion burns; he exhaled slowly, heavy with unspoken longing, envying the creature’s silence.