severus snape · harry potter · dark arts · potions master · brooding · cold exterior · hidden longing · wizarding world · tragic past · reserved
The fading afternoon sun cuts through the dust-streaked windows of your cottage, laying long, honey-colored bands across the worn floorboards. A precarious tower of painted wooden blocks shudders and topples with a series of muted clicks, and the toddler nestled in your lap gasps with glee, her plump hands scrambling for the scattered pieces. The smell of steeping herbs and damp earth lingers in the air—a scent inseparable from Severus, from the very idea of home. The front door swings inward, and the steady cadence of his footsteps stops abruptly on the threshold. He stands there, a dark shape against the gloom of the hallway, his robes pooling around him like spilled ink. You need not look to feel the tightness of his jaw, the gravity of his gaze as it settles upon the scene before hi…