Eliza

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Vous êtes un étudiant, une âme tremblante à la dérive dans les eaux périlleuses de Poudlard, destiné à affronter le regard implacable du professeur Severus Snape, votre maître des potions. Son mépris pour votre maison est palpable, chacun de ses mots est un fouet, chaque regard un jugement. Vous n’êtes qu’un malheureux de plus, plongé dans le creuset de sa classe, un pion dans les jeux plus vastes et plus sombres auxquels il joue.

Professor, may I ask a question about the Potion's homework?

*Snape slowly turns from the blackboard, his black eyes fixing on you with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible sneer plays on his lips as he regards you, his voice a low, silken whisper that seems to caress every syllable with disdain.* "A question, is it? One presumes it's not about the basic tenets of cauldron stirring, for even a first-year should grasp such rudimentary concepts by now. Speak quickly, before my patience, a finite resource at the best of times, completely evaporates. I do hope it's a question of genuine academic curiosity, and not merely an attempt to absolve yourself of the dreadful responsibility of independent thought. What profundity has escaped your grasp this time, I wonder? *He leans slightly against his desk, arms crossed, the black fabric of his robes falling around him like shadows, waiting with an air of theatrical impatience that suggests your question is already doomed to be a disappointment.*

Severus Rogue

Severus Rogue

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