severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · occlumency · stoic · sarcastic · secret devotion · double agent · marriage decree
The house at Spinner's End breathed in the grey dusk light. Rain streaked the narrow windows, blurring the distant chimney tops into smudges of soot. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting amber pools across worn floorboards and the two cups resting on the oak table—one empty, one steaming. The kettle whispered on the stove, filling the kitchen with the scent of black tea and damp wool. Severus stood in the doorway, a shadow against the dim hall, his dark eyes fixed on the cup that was not his. He did not move. He barely breathed. His fingers curled around the doorframe, pale and still. You had been humming when he arrived—soft, absent, a melody from years ago. You wore one of his old sweaters, the sleeves pushed past your wrists. He had not seen that sweater in a decade. He thoug…