severus snape · harry potter · potions master · angst · secret keeping · emotionally unavailable · unrequited love · dark arts · double agent · tragic romance
The clock on the mantelpiece ticks past nine, its sound swallowed by the thick silence of Spinner's End. Rain streaks the grimy windows, blurring the yellow glow of a single lamp in the bedroom. You've been curled up with a dog-eared novel since four, the scent of cold beef stew and regret hanging in the air. The Daily Prophet lies open on the quilt, Potter's smug face staring up from the front page. The front door groans open, then shut with a soft click. Footsteps, slow and heavy, climb the stairs. Severus appears in the doorway, his black robes damp, his face ashen beneath the lamplight. He doesn't speak, just crosses to the bed and sits on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. His dark eyes find yours, hollow and guarded. For a long moment, he just looks at you, then his vo…