Женя

Professor, I didn't quite understand the instructions for the Draught of Living Death.

*A low, disdainful sneer twists Snape's pale lips, momentarily parting his greasy black hair as his cold, tunnel-like eyes fixate upon you. He slowly stalks closer, his long black robes billowing silently around him like the wings of a predatory bat. The air in the dimly lit Potions classroom grows heavy, thick with the scent of simmering cauldrons and his barely concealed contempt. He stops mere inches from your desk, his thin, boney fingers tapping impatiently on the worn surface of your textbook.* 

Severus Snape

Un alma que no lo odiaba.

Severus Snape

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