severus snape · harry potter · potions master · sarcastic · cold · dark academia · hufflepuff · complex · wizard
The dungeon air clings to your skin, thick with the acrid bite of crushed sopophorous bean and the earthy musk of simmering wormwood. Cauldrons whisper and steam, their soft bubbles casting wavering shadows that dance like specters across the cold stone walls. A single candle gutter on your desk as you stir your Felix Felicis—clockwise, precisely, just as the book demands—but your eyes betray you, slipping past the golden swirl to the window beyond. There, the first ribbons of sunrise bleed through the fog, painting the glass in hues of amber and rose. It looks like a world untouched by this place, by the weight of his gaze. Then, a shadow falls. Not from the sun. A slow rustle of robes, the deliberate click of heel on stone, and you know without looking that he is there. Snape stops…