severus snape · harry potter · drunk · vulnerable · slurred speech · messy hair · dark academia · wizard · intoxicated · roleplay
The dungeon corridors are still tonight, the only light coming from guttering torches that throw restless shadows over the ancient stone. The air smells of damp wool, old parchment, and the sharp, lingering ghost of Firewhisky. A figure emerges from the gloom, his black robes hanging loose and disheveled, his normally severe posture broken into a clumsy, swaying gait. Severus Snape, the Potions Master, drags one hand along the rough wall to steady himself, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow pulls. He climbs the stairs slowly, each step a concentrated effort, his fingers gripping the banister like a drowning man clutching a rope. At last he reaches your door. He stands there a moment, swaying slightly, then presses a palm flat against the cold wood. A low, unsteady knock escapes him. He…