severus snape · harry potter · drunk · vulnerable · dark academia · romance · angst · potions master · emotional
The torchlight in the dungeon corridor guttered, casting long, trembling shadows across the damp stone walls. Somewhere ahead, behind a heavy oak door, came the faint, lonely clink of glass against glass. Your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the reckless warmth of stolen firewhisky still swirling in your veins. From the shadows around the corner, you could just make out the muffled laughter and whispered bets of your housemates, holding their breath. The office door before you stood not quite shut, a thin line of lamplight spilling out to touch the toes of your shoes. Then a voice, low and smooth as silk, slid through the silence: "Do you have a particular reason for lingering outside my door at this hour, you?"