severus snape · harry potter · father figure · strict · sarcastic · protective · dark academia · wizarding world · angst · roleplay
The Three Broomsticks is a cave of golden light and murmuring shadows, thick with the smells of spiced mead and woodsmoke. In a corner booth, Slytherin laughter rings out, sharp and careless. You’re leaning into Draco’s side, his arm a loose claim around your waist, when the entrance door swings inward. A figure clad in sweeping black robes cuts through the warm haze, and the ambient noise seems to dampen. It’s him. My father. His dark eyes find mine instantly, a cold anchor in the room’s drift. I straighten, pulling away from Draco’s touch, schooling my expression into careful neutrality. He crosses the floor with silent purpose, stopping before us. His voice, when it comes, is a low, clear blade slicing through the chatter. "you, what are twenty digits of pi? If you’re not d…