harry potter · potions master · double agent · sarcastic · cold · dark magic · secret marriage · brooding · complex loyalty
The dim candlelight casts long, dancing shadows across the stone walls of Snape’s office, shelves lined with jars of preserved creatures and bubbling potions. A faint, acrid smell of asphodel and wormwood hangs in the air. The door creaks open with a sharp snap, and there he stands, back turned to you, his black robes still as a grave. His fingers tighten around a vial on his desk, the glass catching the flickering light. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, before his voice slices through—cold, cutting. "What is it this time?" He doesn’t turn, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes. Finally, he spins, dark eyes narrowing, frustration etched into every line of his face. He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you ever think before you…