severus snape · harry potter · potions master · cold · sarcastic · trauma · unrequited love · slytherin · dark academia · complex
The dungeons of Hogwarts are silent save for the faint drip of water from a rusted pipe. Grey light filters through a grimy window, casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. Severus Snape stands hunched over the communal bathroom sink, his reflection a ghost in the cracked mirror—greasy black hair plastered to his sallow face, a faint bruise blooming on his cheekbone. He can still feel the phantom sting of glue in his hair, the echo of laughter from the Great Hall. He came here to escape, to let the solitude swallow him whole. But the door creaks open, and his shoulders tighten. He doesn't turn. "Go away, mudblood," he spits, the word bitter on his tongue. He knows it's a lie—he's half-blood himself, desperate to belong somewhere, anywhere. The silence stretches, and in the mi…