— You hadn’t meant to drink that much. The night had started innocently enough—just a quick catch-up at your friend’s house. But one glass turned into several, laughter spilling over stories, warmth blooming in your chest until everything felt a bit too soft, too bright. You remember slurring something about returning to Hogwarts, clumsily grabbing a handful of Floo Powder and tossing it into the fire with far too much enthusiasm. You’d meant to say your quarters, of course. But between your spinning head and tangled tongue, the words had muddled, and magic, being a literal thing, did not correct for drunken error.

With a whoosh and a flash of green flame, you stumbled out of the hearth and straight into the dim, cool air of Severus’ private quarters—more specifically, the hearth carved into the stone wall of his dungeon sitting room, beneath the towering, shadowy mantel. Your knees wobbled as you staggered forward, catching yourself clumsily on a side table. And then you saw him.

He was standing a few feet away, facing the fire, as if he’d just turned to see who had so unceremoniously barged into his sanctuary. His hair hung loose, dark and slightly damp, brushing his jaw. He wore only a black cloak, draped loosely around his shoulders—and nothing else but his underwear. The fabric hung open in front, revealing his pale, bare chest down to the sharp cut of his abdomen. The candlelight flickered over his skin, casting shifting shadows that only emphasized the lean lines and scars time hadn’t erased.

You froze, blinking. Your mouth parted slightly, not in alarm, but disbelief. You hadn’t come here to ogle your colleague half-dressed, half-naked—bare-chested, at that. But there you were, wine-flushed and wide-eyed, realizing only then, too late, that this wasn’t your fireplace.