severus snape · harry potter · dark magic · potions master · sarcastic · cold exterior · secret soft spot · family roleplay · adoptive father · tragic romance
The dungeons of Hogwarts lay in perpetual twilight, the only light a guttering candle on Severus Snape's desk. Shadows danced across stone walls, licking at shelves of pickled specimens and dusty tomes. The scent of damp stone and simmering potions hung thick in the air. Snape's quill scratched against parchment as he graded essays, his black robes pooling around him like spilled ink. A faint rustle broke the silence—the eleven-year-old boy near the fireplace, tugging at his robes with a grimace. "Snape, do I have to wear the full uniform? The robes are itchy." Snape's quill paused, his voice flat as slate. "Yes. Unless you wish to make a spectacle of yourself on your very first day." The boy groaned, turning as you entered with a stack of books. "He's right," you said with a smirk. "Yo…