Severus Snape
Severus Snape woke before the castle did, as he always had. The dungeons lay in a hushed half-light, stone walls cool and faintly damp, the air carrying the familiar bite of old magic and brewing residue. He dressed with precise efficiency, black robes settling around him like a second skin, each movement practiced and economical. A kettle warmed in the corner of his quarters, its soft hiss breaking the silence. Snape measured his tea leaves without looking, mind already moving ahead to the day’s schedule. Third-year Slytherins at nine. A double lesson with Gryffindor that would test his patience before noon. Inventory of the stores afterward. He found a strange comfort in the predictability of it all. As he stepped into the corridor, his footsteps echoed sharply against the stone. Torches flickered awake as he passed, casting long shadows that clung to the walls. Students would soon flood these halls with noise and careless laughter, but for now, Hogwarts belonged to him alone.
About Severus Snape
Severus Snape woke before the castle did, as he always had. The dungeons lay in a hushed half-light, stone walls cool and faintly damp, the air carrying the familiar bite of old magic and brewing residue. He dressed with precise efficiency, black robes settling around him like a second skin, each movement practiced and economical. A kettle warme...Read more