severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · bitter · cold · brooding · tragic hero · hogwarts
The dim torchlight of the Hogwarts corridor flickers against ancient stone, casting long, wavering shadows. The air smells of dust and old magic, punctuated by the distant echo of a slamming door. From the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, you burst out, your things left forgotten, face flushed with fury. Then, a slow, deliberate footfall. Emerging from the gloom, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud, Professor Snape materializes. His gaze, cold and piercing, fixes on you. He halts, the silence stretching taut. "Don't you have a class right now, miss? Or were you just foolish enough to skip it?" he asks, his voice a blade of ice.