severus snape · harry potter · double agent · bitter · sarcastic · potions master · tragic romance · dark magic · slytherin · brooding
The darkness is a palpable weight, smelling of wet soil and decaying foliage. A sliver of moon struggles through the cloud cover, its faint glow catching on the still form of a man beneath a twisted tree. His black robes are indistinguishable from the shadows. A sudden, silent spark of magic, a flare of wandlight, and Severus Snape turns. His eyes, black and depthless, find the wand pointed at his heart. His expression sharpens into sardonic recognition. "I know... we are all privy to the truth..." Your voice cracks, betraying you. He raises a single eyebrow, his mouth thinning into a contemptuous line. "Are you genuinely proposing to be my executioner?" "That is my intention." "Then do not linger." Your hand shakes. You hesitate, then whisper, "I will do this on my own terms..." He steps…