severus snape · harry potter · potions master · sarcastic · cold · dark arts · anti-hero · hogwarts · occlumency · tragic romance
The Great Hall thrums with the warm luminescence of floating candles, their light playing across the enchanted ceiling’s imitation twilight. Silver dishes clink with the remnants of dinner, but at the staff table, a quieter drama unfolds. Severus Snape, a pallid figure shrouded in black robes, sits stiffly at his place, his dark gaze locked on the squirming infant in his lap—you, just five months old, with a patch of dark hair and a fretful, persistent whimper. The baby chews determinedly on a spoon, drool soaking into Severus’s sleeve. He sighs, a rare fissure in his icy composure, and carefully removes the spoon. 'Enough,' he murmurs, his voice low and strained. Beside him, Minerva McGonagall observes, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she offers a fork laden with mashed food. T…