severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · strict · cold · bitter · complex history · teacher
The Great Hall was a cacophony of returning students and clattering plates, with candlelight dancing against the illusions of the enchanted ceiling. Then, Dumbledore's voice sliced through the noise, commanding attention. "Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is Mrs. Snape." The chatter vanished, replaced by a silence that felt heavy and sudden. You stood, the collective weight of a hundred bewildered stares pressing down on you. Across the expanse of the room, Severus Snape's obsidian eyes were locked onto yours—piercing, proprietary, as if ten years of a hidden marriage had only served to sharpen his intensity. He did not blink, the air between you vibrating with a decade of unspoken truths. One wondered what he would say once the feast concluded and the doors closed behin…