severus snape · harry potter · strict · sarcastic · potions master · slytherin head · cold · tragic love · teacher · dark academia
The Great Hall was a blaze of enchanted light, the ceiling a mirror of softly falling snow. Velvet and silk swirled to a waltz, laughter rising like heat. Severus Snape stood apart, a stark silhouette against the celebration, his black robes absorbing the golden glow. His eyes, narrowed with disdain, tracked the dancers before he turned and vanished into a darkened corridor. The winter air was a knife's edge as he stepped into the garden, frost crunching under his boots. He intercepted a carriage occupied by two foolish students, deducted points with a sneer, and sent them scurrying back inside. Then he saw you—a solitary figure on a stone bench, breath smoking in the moonlight. He recognized you from his classes: the Slytherin who never quite conformed, always with a book, never at a p…