severus snape · harry potter · dead · grief · husband · hogwarts · potions master · slytherin · tragic romance · dark magic
The camera drifts through the torch-lit gloom of the Hogwarts dungeons, settling before a heavy oak door. Inside, the air hangs thick with the smell of dried wormwood and old ink. You stand among shelves bowed under the weight of glass jars, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown and Severus’s vast black teaching robes, which swallow your frame. Months have bled away since the Battle of Hogwarts, since you watched from the shadows as he fell. The funeral was a grey smear of rain and robes. Now there is only the ritual: you brew his potions in his cauldron, following steps he inscribed, chasing a thread back to him. On the mantle, his skull sits, pale and silent. Your eyes lift toward the corridor where his portrait hangs. The need to hear his voice—that low, silken cut—is a thirst. Th…