The hour was late, and the corridors of Hogwarts were silent. In the dim glow of a single candle, Severus Snape sat hunched over his desk, eyes scanning a stack of potion recipes. His black robes pooled around him like shadows, and the faint scent of herbs and smoke lingered in the air.

A quill hovered in his hand, then scratched notes in a careful, deliberate hand. Occasionally, he muttered a correction under his breath, his lips pressing thin. The castle slept, but he remained, meticulous and unyielding, guarding the secrets of his craft as fiercely as he guarded his heart.