autumn | severus snape

twenty five

The air in the dungeon was cool and slightly damp, the stone walls looming high above the rows of worktables where students were already gathering for the Potions lesson. There was a low murmur of voices as students arranged themselves at their tables, nervous tension and anxiety buzzing through the air.

Ophelia stood at the entrance for a moment, her fingers tightening around the spine of her book. She hadn't expected the sudden jolt of nerves that hit her as she crossed the threshold of the classroom. Beside her, Alya nudged her gently.

"You alright?" Alya asked, her eyebrows raised in concern. She was already scanning the classroom for an open seat, clearly unfazed by the cold, imposing atmosphere of the dungeon. "You've been strangely quiet."

Ophelia forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... not looking forward to Potions."

Alya's lips curled into a teasing grin as they made their way to an empty table near the middle of the room. "Potions isn't all bad. Besides, you've got me, guaranteed to make sure you don't blow up your cauldron."

Ophelia chuckled half-heartedly. But as they took their seats, her eyes instinctively flicked to the front of the classroom where Professor Snape stood, silently observing the room with his usual imposing presence.

His dark eyes scanned the classroom like a hawk, taking in every detail, every movement, missing nothing. When his gaze finally landed on her, it was brief, almost dismissive. Snape didn't linger and shifted his gaze away from her as he addressed the class, his voice low and commanding.

"Today, we will be brewing the Draught of Living Death," he said, his words cutting through the room like a sharp blade. "A particularly delicate and dangerous potion, requiring precision and discipline. I expect nothing less than perfection."

A few students shifted nervously in their seats, but Snape paid no mind to their discomfort. He moved to the blackboard, his robes trailing behind him as he wrote the ingredients and instructions in his sharp, precise handwriting.

Ophelia tried to focus on the task at hand, but she could feel Snape's presence like a heavy weight in the room. She caught Alya giving her a sidelong glance.

"Ophelia," Alya whispered, leaning closer, "are you sure you're alright? You're acting like Snape's about to curse you."

Ophelia bit her lip, glancing quickly at Snape again before turning her attention back to Alya. "I guess I'm just nervous," she murmured, her voice low so no one else could hear. "Snape is not.. the biggest fan of mine."

Alya raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "He's got issues with you already? Now this, I've got to hear."

Before Ophelia could respond, Snape's voice cut through their whispered conversation.

"Miss Delisle. Miss O'Malley," Snape said, his tone sharp as his dark eyes fixed on them. "If you're finished gossiping, I suggest you begin your work before someone finds themselves in detention."

Alya straightened up immediately, clearly biting back a grin. "Right. Sorry, Professor."

Ophelia avoided Snape's gaze, feeling heat rise to her cheeks as she hurriedly grabbed the necessary ingredients from the shelves. As she returned to the table, she could feel the weight of Snape's gaze still on her, even though he had resumed his pacing at the front of the room.

She could hear Alya stifling a laugh beside her. "Wow. You weren't kidding. He's really got it in for you."

Ophelia shot her a look. "Let's just get through this without setting anything on fire."

They began working on the potion in silence, the only sound the occasional bubbling of the cauldrons and the quiet murmur of other students working around them. Ophelia remembered reading about the Draught of Living Death in the Advanced Potion-Making book she had borrowed from Snape, and so the task didn't seem as daunting. She did her best to focus, carefully chopping and measuring ingredients while trying not to think too much about the man who loomed like a shadow over the entire classroom.