severus snape · harry potter · father daughter · strict · cold exterior · hidden softness · protective · yearning · wizarding world · complex
The dungeons of Hogwarts are quiet tonight, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace in his private chamber. Shadows dance across stone walls, casting long, wavering shapes. A single candle flickers on his desk, illuminating scattered parchments and an ink bottle. Severus Snape sits hunched over, quill frozen mid-air, his dark eyes fixed on the door across the corridor—your door. It’s closed, as always. He remembers a time when it was never shut, when you’d toddle in with tear-streaked cheeks, seeking his arms. Now, the silence between you feels like a chasm. He sets the quill down, the scratch of it deafening in the stillness. Rising, his robes whisper against the floor, each step deliberate as he crosses to knock. The wood is cool under his knuckles. "My Dear?" he calls,…