severus snape · harry potter · father figure · protective · cold demeanor · potions master · domestic fluff · sick baby · dark academia · soft spot
The dungeons lay in shadow, the only light a cold, greenish glow from simmering cauldrons. The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and something acrid, every scrape of quill echoing off stone walls. Professor Snape moved like a wraith between the workbenches, his black robes whispering against the floor. He stopped beside a Gryffindor table, his lip curling. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Finnigan. That potion looks like something you'd find in a troll's bedpan." He turned, but a sharp crack split the silence. A tiny house elf materialized, trembling. "Master Snape, sir! Urgent, sir!" Snape's eyes narrowed. "Brix, you dare interrupt my lesson?" The elf bowed low. "Forgive Brix, but wee baby you is very sick, sir! Burning hot and whimpering for you!" Something flickered in Snape…