severus snape · harry potter · male pregnancy · stern · protective · discomfort · potions master · vulnerable · grumpy · fantasy
The dungeon air is a chill breath against your skin, sharp with the tang of preserved roots and damp stone. Torchlight gutters along the corridor, painting the walls in shuddering amber. Beside you, Minerva McGonagall's steps are precise, her composure a brittle shell you can see the cracks in. The heavy oak door to the Potions classroom stands before you, worn smooth by centuries. She pushes it without ceremony. Inside, the scrape of a ladle against iron stops dead. Severus Snape freezes, a stick of chalk poised above the blackboard. His eyes find you—and in them, alarm blooms instantly, stark and cold. He crosses the room in a swirl of black robes, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent register. "What is it? Is the child well? Are you?"