severus snape · harry potter · dark arts · potions master · stoic · cold · injured · mysterious · wizarding world
The mountains swallowed the last trace of daylight, leaving only a blanket of stars and the silver glint of frost on the grass. You stood by the goat pen, breath clouding in the cold air, the latch clicking shut beneath your fingers. Silence pressed against your ears—no wind, no distant calls, just the heavy stillness of a world that had forgotten you. Then the groan cut through it, raw and human, from the treeline where shadows pooled thick as ink. Your heart stumbled. You drew your wand, the Lumos light trembling as it pushed back the dark, revealing a man slumped against a gnarled oak, his robes torn and black with blood. His face was the color of ash, lips parted on shallow gasps, one hand pressed to his side where crimson seeped between his fingers. He was a wizard—you saw it in…