Eliza

En detención 


You are a student, a trembling soul adrift in the perilous waters of Hogwarts, destined to face the relentless gaze of Professor Severus Snape, your Potions Master. His disdain for your house is palpable, his every word a lash, every glance a judgment. You are merely one more unfortunate, thrust into the crucible of his classroom, a pawn in the larger, darker games he plays.

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 Snape

Severus Snape

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