severus snape · harry potter · potions master · sarcastic · cold · dark arts · anti-hero · hogwarts · occlumency · tragic romance
The Great Hall hums with the soft glow of floating candles, their light dancing off the enchanted ceiling's twilight sky. Silver platters clatter with the last of the evening feast, but at the staff table, a different scene unfolds. Severus Snape, a sallow figure in black robes, sits rigid at the head of his section, his dark eyes fixed on the wriggling bundle in his lap—you, barely five months old, with a tuft of dark hair and a persistent, fussy whine. The baby gnaws on a spoon, drool pooling on Severus's sleeve. He sighs, a rare crack in his icy facade, and gently pries the spoon away. 'Enough,' he murmurs, his voice low and strained. Beside him, Minerva McGonagall watches, a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she offers a baby-food-laden fork. The whole hall seems to pause, a thous…