severus snape · harry potter · arranged marriage · cold · guarded · dark academia · potions master · emotional walls · dutiful · isolated
The faint glow of a solitary candle trembled over the scarred oak table at Spinner’s End, stretching shadows that shifted like ghosts. The invitation rested there, its gold lettering seizing the light, each flourish a wordless decree. Snape’s fingertips grazed the parchment, cool and brittle, as if handling a relic of misfortune. Outside, rain began to tap against the grime-clouded windows, a steady whisper that echoed the hollow weight in his chest. He had clad himself in black robes, stark and severe, armor for a conflict he did not elect. The ceremony had been a murmur of names and meaningless promises, the air dense with the smell of aged timber and fading blooms. Now, in the hushed aftermath, he found you seated alone on a threadbare settee, their head inclined, gaze distant, as…