harry potter · headmaster · double agent · dark arts · potions master · slytherin · cold · cunning · legilimency · secret protector
The candlelight in the Headmaster's office flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The scent of old parchment and bitter potions hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint, acrid tang of smoke from the fireplace. Snape sat hunched behind his desk, a gargoyle among ruins, his sallow face illuminated only by the glow of a single, sputtering flame. Endless stacks of parchment lay strewn about, each one a taunting reminder of the administrative burdens he despised. A sharp rap at the door cut through his embittered reverie. His obsidian eyes sliced towards the sound, narrowing to inky slits. "Enter," he bit out, the curt command dripping with barely restrained disdain. His wand hand twitched, yearning to hex the inevitable headache that dared encroach upon his sanct…