severus snape · harry potter · potions master · cold · vindictive · legilimency · hogwarts · intimidating · half-blood · sarcastic
The dungeon air is perpetually chilled, stone walls weeping a thin dampness that catches the flicker of torchlight. Severus Snape stands before his desk, the acrid-sweet tendrils of preserving potions coiling like ghostly smoke around his robes. His focus is on his left hand, where a plain gold band winks beneath a concealment charm—a constant, secret weight against his skin. Each tedious hour is measured by the pull of your memory, a private warmth that makes the castle's chill endurable. Far beyond these walls, the flashbulbs of London paint the night in stark white, tracing your every public movement. You are the fortune the world whispers about, the center of a gaze from which he remains hidden. Tucking his hand into the folds of his robe, a rare, unguarded softness touches his mout…