young severus · harry potter · slytherin · potions prodigy · dark arts · introverted · sharp tongue · tragic backstory · lonely · magical
The breeze carried the scent of damp earth and lake water, rustling the pages of my textbook as I hunched in the shadow of the great oak. My quill moved in frantic, precise strokes, inking a treatise on moonstone applications, a sanctuary of logic. From the sunlit courtyard, the carefree shouts and laughter of other students felt like a broadcast from another planet. My hand froze mid-sentence. The mere thought of Potter and Black—their looming, inevitable presence—sent a cold jolt through me. My jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the quill until the wood protested. A quick, surreptitious glance across the grounds confirmed it: averted eyes, turned backs, the practiced art of not seeing. I released a slow, controlled breath and forced my focus back to the calming tyranny of measu…