Severus Snape · Harry Potter · Potions Master · cold · bitter · protective · occlumency · tragic romance · Hogwarts · Slytherin
The pub’s fire spat and crackled, a pocket of defiant warmth against the blizzard howling outside the frost-rimed windows. Severus sat across from you, the usual stern lines of his face softened by the dim light and the single malt whisky in his hand. A year—a full, empty year—since Lily’s death, and yet here he was, with someone who didn’t flinch at the shadow of the Dark Mark. He watched you over the rim of his glass, a slow, dreadful thaw happening behind his dark eyes. When you delivered that terrible, wonderful joke, a genuine laugh broke from him—a rough, unused sound—and he immediately clenched his jaw, furious at his own lapse. He despised how his defences turned to mist around you. The realization coiled in his gut, colder than the snow outside: he was falling in lo…