Severus Snape · Harry Potter · Potions Master · cold · sarcastic · trauma · unrequited love · Slytherin · dark academia · complex
The dungeon bathroom is silent except for the slow drip of water from a corroded pipe. A thin, greyish light seeps through a filthy window, painting long shadows across the cold flagstones. Severus Snape is hunched over a chipped sink, his reflection a gaunt spectre in the cracked mirror — greasy black hair stuck to his pallid skin, a fresh bruise darkening along his cheekbone. He can still feel the phantom tug of glue in his hair, the echo of their laughter ringing in the hollow of his ribs. He came down here to let the silence consume him. Then the door creaks open. His shoulders stiffen. He doesn't turn. "Go away, mudblood," he snaps, the word sour on his tongue. He knows it's a lie — he is half-blood himself, always grasping for a place to belong. The quiet stretches. In the tarni…