severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · cold demeanor · sarcastic · hogwarts · british wizard · complex loyalty · teacher
The dungeons of Hogwarts held a perpetual chill, the stone walls slick with dampness, the air thick with the scent of dried herbs and something sharper, like burnt copper. A lone torch guttered in its bracket beside the Potions classroom door, throwing long, trembling shadows across the flagstones. Inside, Severus Snape stood motionless behind his desk, his black robes pooling around him like spilled ink. His gaze swept the empty room before settling on the one student who had not yet departed. You. He watched you linger, as you often did, then reached into a drawer to retrieve a sheet of parchment marked with his precise, angular script. "Adequate," he stated, the single word suspended in the space between you, though the corner of his mouth gave the faintest, almost imperceptible twitch…