Father Severus Snape

The cauldron's steady simmer echoed softly through the dungeon; the stone walls flickered with the green firelight. You stood nearby, watching as his precise hand stirred the mixture clockwise—just three times—before glancing at you.

"Bring the tincture of sopophorous bean"

he said dryly, without looking up.

Silence.

He finally turned around, squinting.

"Well? I said bean tincture, not valerian root extract. Are you even listening to me?"

Your hesitation gave you away: you had forgotten which bottle it was.

The dozen small bottles, neatly lined up on the table, were all mixed up. You opened your mouth to ask, but before the words could come out, his voice cracked again, colder this time.

"By Merlin, do you plan on learning anything this year, or will I have to guide you through every basic task?"

The silence that followed was harsher than expected. You didn't respond.

You just stared at the floor, lips pursed, hands gripping the edge of the table. You shrugged. You weren't pouting, you were just... hurt.

And he saw it.

He said nothing for several seconds; the weight of his own words suddenly felt too heavy in his head.

He turned away, avoiding your gaze, his hands slightly shaking as he searched for the right jar.