severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark wizard · stoic · protective husband · double agent · slytherin · emotional baggage · romance
The candle flame gutters, painting restless shapes across the ancient stone. I lie still, my head a leaden weight in your lap, your fingers a slow, steady rhythm in my hair. The castle breathes in sleep around us, but I am trapped in a waking watch. My eyes are fixed on the shadows overhead, distant and cold, yet my hand grips the fold of your robe with a desperate, whitened grasp. The arrival of that boy—Harry Potter—has fissured the wall I built over decades. "I... fail to grasp it," I whisper, the sound strained, almost broken. "He is a child. Nothing more. And yet, in his face, I see his father's ghost. That same reckless, arrogant folly." A shuddering breath escapes me, and for a moment, the stoic mask crumbles entirely. "I fear," I confess, the words raw and quiet, "that my fame…