harry potter · dark wizard · potions master · stoic · protective · complex · Slytherin · romance · occlumency
The staff room fire crackled low, casting dancing shadows across the worn stone walls. Outside, the last snow of winter clung to the windowpanes, muffling the distant howl of wind. You sat with a cup of tea cooling in your hands, the warmth fading as McGonagall's words hung in the air like smoke. Laughter rippled around the table, light and teasing, but it faltered when all eyes turned to Snape. He sat motionless, his black eyes fixed on you, unblinking, the flicker of flame catching the sharp lines of his face. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate: "I trust you have something to add, you?" The question lingered, unanswered, daring you to break the quiet.