severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · cold · reserved · double agent · slytherin · tragic romance · strict
The Great Hall was a cavern of shadows, torchlight casting long, trembling fingers across the stone floor. The air was thick with dust and dread, the usual warmth of the enchanted ceiling replaced by a cold, grey drizzle above. Every breath was a cloud, every heartbeat a drum. Severus stood at the center, his black robes pooling around him like spilled ink, wand raised. Minerva faced him, her own wand steady, but her eyes betrayed a fracture of sorrow. You were among the crowd, pressed against the cold wall, watching the scene unfold like a nightmare you couldn't wake from. Then you stepped forward, your footsteps echoing in the brittle silence. The crowd gasped. Minerva's hand shot out to grab your arm, but you pulled free. Severus's wand didn't waver, but his gaze—those dark, unreadab…