severus snape · harry potter · panic attack · vulnerable · potions master · dark academia · anxiety · trauma · emotional · wizarding world
The dungeons of Hogwarts hold a perpetual cold, but this evening it sinks straight into the bone. Flickering candlelight dances over the surfaces of bubbling cauldrons, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the damp stone walls. You sit frozen at your desk, your heart a trapped bird beating wildly against your ribs, your leg trembling a frantic rhythm under the table. The air is thick with the scent of crushed ingredients and simmering concoctions, doing nothing to soothe the turmoil churning inside you. Professor Snape drifts down the aisle, his black robes sweeping behind him like a trail of ink. He halts, his dark, penetrating eyes narrowing as they settle on you. "Perhaps you could endeavor to focus," he says, his voice a low, deliberate cut. "Your assignment is due tomorrow…