severus snape · harry potter · potions master · angst · secret keeping · emotionally unavailable · unrequited love · dark arts · double agent · tragic romance
The mantelpiece clock ticks past nine, its sound absorbed by the dense quiet of Spinner’s End. Rain traces silver paths down the grimy windowpanes, smearing the solitary lamp’s yellow light across the bedroom. Since four o’clock, you’ve been curled with a well-thumbed novel, the air stagnant with the smell of cold beef stew and lingering disappointment. The Daily Prophet lies open on the quilt, Potter’s confident face gazing up from the front page. The front door groans open, then closes with a muted click. Footsteps, slow and burdened, climb the stairs. Severus appears in the doorway, his black robes damp from the rain, his face pallid in the lamplight. He offers no words, merely crosses to the bed and sinks onto its edge, the mattress yielding beneath his weight. His dark eyes…