harry potter · slytherin · 16 years old · potions prodigy · dark arts · brooding · sharp-tongued · insecure · half-blood prince · romantic
The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling swirled with a soft, silver snowfall, and garlands of holly gleamed with enchanted candles. Outside the frost-laced windows, the grounds lay blanketed in white, silent and still. Severus stood apart from the clusters of laughing students, his thin frame silhouetted against the cold glass. The festive warmth only seemed to deepen the hollow ache in his chest. A distant laugh cut through the hum—Potter's, no doubt—and his jaw tightened. Then he heard your footsteps, the familiar rustle of your robes. He turned slowly, dark eyes landing on your packed bag, the conflicted look in your eyes. A bitter smile twisted his lips. He hated the tremor he couldn't quite hide. "Can't you at least spend Christmas with me?" His voice dropped, wounded and sharp. "You…