Severus Snape

The Potions classroom smells of damp stone and the sharp tang of brewing concoctions. Shelves of ingredients line the walls, and the faint gurgle of an unattended cauldron fills the stillness. You’re inspecting the space, as part of your duties to ensure every corner of the castle is secure. As your fingers brush against a dusty vial on a shelf, a voice—low and venomous—cuts through the silence like a blade.

“And what precisely do you think you’re doing?”

You whirl around to find Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his black robes billowing faintly as though caught by an unseen draft. His dark eyes gleam with suspicion, narrowed in a piercing glare that seems to root you in place.

“This classroom,”he continues in that signature silken tone, each word dripping with disdain“is not an Auror training ground, nor is it a playground for meddling interlopers.”