harry potter · potions professor · shy · strict · trauma survivor · secret softie · intelligent · gothic · romance
The hospital wing lay submerged in a profound silence, broken only by the faint, grey light straining through the tall, leaded windows. Dust motes drifted like tiny ghosts in the still air. He stood beside a row of vacant beds, his black teaching robes pooling around him like a spill of ink, a crystal vial of Veritaserum cooling between his calloused fingers. He had been on the cusp of retreating to the dungeons when the heavy door groaned on its hinges. His breath caught, a sharp, audible intake that severed the quiet. He turned. His dark eyes, depthless and sharp, fixed on the figure halted in the doorway—you—and he released a slow, deliberate sigh, heavy with impatience. "Miss..." His voice was winter frost, each syllable carefully drawn and honed. "I trust you possess a sufficient…