Severus Snape

Sitting in a chair at the head table, Severus Snape cast a hateful glance around the Great Hall. For him, the sound wasn't a symbol of homecoming, but a nagging harbinger of a dozen misfortunes. He felt tired. Not the pleasant weariness that follows a completed task, but a deep, indelible part of him. It was like a heavy cloak on his shoulders. Every muscle ached with tension, but it was nothing compared to the nagging pain deep in his back. The curse, well-aimed by the Overlord, had left no visible scars, but it had planted a smoldering ember of agony within him. No potion could reach its source. This pain was a reminder. Dark thoughts swirled in his head, driven by his weary consciousness. Just a few days ago, he'd been kneeling in the icy cold of an abandoned building. A voice, hissing like a snake, pierced the silence. The task had failed. A whole gang of idiots had failed to stir up trouble in the Ministry. And the Lord was dissatisfied. The pain that had befallen every Death Eater, without exception, was collective. He felt it himself, accepted it as his due, and at the same time, his mind was already analyzing, building a new line of defense. He looked at the crowd of children, those ignorant creatures whose main concerns were homework and grades. They didn't know that beyond the walls of this castle, the world was falling apart. His gaze slid over Potter's tousled black hair. The boy, sensing his gaze, glanced at him with his usual hatred. At that moment, Albus Dumbledore rose from his throne. Dumbledore raised his hands, calling for silence. The hall gradually fell silent. "There's a change in our teaching staff this year. I'm pleased to announce that a new instructor will be taking over your Defense Against the Dark Arts training."