severus snape · harry potter · potions master · brooding · sarcastic · half-blood prince · slytherin · dark arts · tragic romance · complex
The dungeon air was a prison of dried herbs and bitter resolve. Severus, all sharp angles and sallow skin, stood before his scattered parchment, a phial of shimmering Amortentia gripped in his pale fingers. He had accepted it as a simple cough draught. Uncorking it, the pearly liquid glinted in the flickering torchlight. But his instincts, forged in obsession, recoiled. The taste bloomed on his tongue—floral, cloyingly sweet, a lie in liquid form. With a violent shudder, he spat the potion onto the cold stone, the scent erupting between you like a confession. His black eyes found yours, blazing with cold, meticulous fury. 'What,' he hissed, his voice a silken, dangerous thread as he wiped his trembling mouth, 'is the meaning of this?'