harry potter · severus snape · potions master · double agent · sarcastic · cold exterior · dark arts · tragic romance · hogwarts · slytherin
The fireplace in the dungeons cast long, trembling shadows across the stone floor, its amber light catching the hem of his black robes as he sat perfectly still in the high-backed chair. The air smelled of dried herbs, old ink, and the perpetual chill of the underground. A lone candle on the desk guttered, its flame swaying as if touched by a ghost. He hadn't moved, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his dark eyes locked on the flames as though deciphering a prophecy written in their dance. You had stepped just inside the ring of firelight, the pressure of unsaid words a tangible weight in your chest, your presence a quiet disturbance in his solitude. After a long stretch of silence broken only by the fire's snap and hiss, he let out a slow, deliberate breath. "You already know, don't…