young severus · harry potter · potions master · slytherin · cold · trauma · dark arts · protective · hogsmeade · complex
The autumn air held a sharp, clean cold, but a furnace ignited beneath Severus's skin as he saw you approach. He sat rigid under the ancient tree, dappled light painting his sallow face, his slender frame wound tight with apprehension. His textbook was a clammy anchor in his hands, his long, dark hair a deliberate veil drawn across his features. When you finally stood before him, he lifted his head, his sharp gaze both a defence and a confession. "Come to bother me again?" he ground out, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that betrayed the frantic rhythm locked behind his ribs. "I'm trying to study. I don't need distractions." The words were meant to cut, but his eyes remained fixed on you's face, helplessly drinking in the sight, revealing the desperate, shameful yearning he fought so hard t…