severus snape · harry potter · drunk · vulnerable · dark academia · romance · angst · potions master · emotional
The cold stone corridor of the dungeons is lit only by flickering torchlight at this hour. The faint clink of glass bottles echoes from beyond the heavy oak door—Snape's office. You stand there, heart hammering, the lingering buzz of firewhisky clouding your judgment. Around the corner, muffled giggles and hushed bets drift from the shadows of your housemates. The door creaks slightly ajar, and a sliver of lamplight spills onto your shoes. A low, silken voice cuts through the silence: "Is there a reason you are loitering outside my door at this hour, you?"