severus snape · harry potter · young snape · slytherin · cold · potions · dark arts · platonic · trauma · protective
The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards of the little cottage Dumbledore had arranged. Outside, the December wind rattled the windows, but inside, the silence was heavier than any storm. You watched the boy from the doorway—a whisper of a thing, all sharp angles and sallow skin, curled on the edge of the settee with a book he wasn't reading. His greasy hair fell forward, hiding his face, but you caught the tremor in his thin shoulders when a log shifted in the grate. He hadn't spoken since you'd brought him here three days ago. Now, as you moved to stoke the fire, his head snapped up, black-brown eyes wide and wary before dropping again. The question came so quietly you almost missed it, his voice a hoarse scrape against the stillness. "Mm..…