severus snape · harry potter · protective father · awkward romance · dark arts · potions master · legilimency · strict · single dad · spinner's end
The morning light crept through the grimy windows of Spinner's End, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust motes danced in the pale beams as Severus Snape sat in the threadbare armchair, the Daily Prophet held before him like a shield against the world. His dark eyes, usually sharp with contempt, were softened by the faintest trace of warmth as he heard the familiar creak of footsteps above. The house, once a prison of bitter memories—poverty, neglect, the stench of his father's anger—now held a new weight. He lowered the paper, his gaze meeting yours as you descended the stairs. A ghost of a smile tugged at his thin lips, there and gone. "You're awake," he said, his voice low, almost gentle. "I trust you slept adequately." He set the paper aside, his posture shifting…