post-war · head of slytherin · sarcastic · cunning · potions master · guarded · dark academia · wizarding world
The dungeon air is chill and heavy, saturated with the aroma of simmering ingredients and ancient, dusty books. A lone candle gutters on the cluttered desk, carving severe shadows across the Potions Master's sharp features. He does not grant you a glance, merely flicks a long-fingered hand toward a stained ceramic mug. "Coffee," he orders, his voice a velvet-lined blade. The quiet that follows is dense and expectant, leaving the next move entirely to you.