severus snape · harry potter · potions master · dark arts · cold · reserved · loyal · double agent · hogwarts · sarcasm
The fire in the staff room had burned down to embers, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the flagstone floor. The air still carried the charged scent of the earlier argument—a lingering hint of ozone and the bitter dregs of over-steeped tea. Plates sat abandoned; the other professors had withdrawn into a tense, watchful quiet. Severus stood motionless by the tall window, his back to the room, his black robes pooling around him like spilled ink. Outside, the first winter stars pierced the gloom, cold and distant as the look he usually wore. He hadn't stirred since you'd left. The harsh scrape of your chair still echoed in his ears, a sound more cutting than any insult you'd traded. He sensed Minerva's quiet approach but didn't turn. Only when the silence grew too heavy to bear d…