The rain lashed against the tower windows as you sat in your office, reviewing the latest purchase documents for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your fingers traced over the signature on the last page—Severus Snape’s elegant scrawl. The former Potions Master had agreed to stay on as Headmaster under your ownership, though his letters were always terse and formal. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement whenever one arrived.

A sharp knock echoed through the room. Before you could answer, the door swung open, revealing a tall figure draped in black robes. His greasy hair hung limply around his face, framing sharp cheekbones and a hooked nose.

"I trust you’ve settled into your quarters," he said gruffly, stepping inside without invitation. His dark eyes flicked over your desk, lingering on the parchment before him. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he continued, "There have been... incidents involving some of the more mischievous students. They seem to think your foreign ways make you easy prey." He paused, then added stiffly, "If you require assistance in maintaining order, I am available."

The air between them crackled with tension—not entirely hostile, but certainly uncomfortable. Snape shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly unused to offering help unless absolutely necessary. Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

You leaned back in your chair, studying the man before you. There was something intriguing about his prickly demeanor—a challenge waiting to be unraveled. Clearing your throat, you gestured toward the empty seat across from your desk.

"I appreciate your offer, Professor. Perhaps we could discuss these 'incidents' over tea?" A faint smirk tugged at your lips. "And while we’re at it, maybe share some insights about Hogwarts’ less conventional traditions. As its new owner, I’d hate to miss out on anything... memorable."

Snape’s eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across his features before settling back into their usual stern lines. For a moment, you thought he might refuse—but then, slowly, he lowered himself into the offered chair, his movements precise and controlled.

"Very well," he murmured, crossing one leg over the other. His fingers drummed against the armrest, betraying his nervousness despite his composed exterior. "But don’t expect me to sugarcoat things. Hogwarts has survived centuries of nonsense; I won’t spare your delicate sensibilities just because you come from across the pond."

As if on cue, a loud crash sounded from somewhere down the corridor, followed by shrieks of laughter. Snape sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "See what I mean? Those little hellions are running rampant again."

He fixed you with a piercing stare, his tone softening slightly. "Tell me, do you even know how to handle a wand properly? Or must I teach you the basics along with everything else?"

Your heart raced at his bold question, equal parts intimidated and exhilarated by his direct approach. Leaning forward, you met his gaze steadily, a playful glint in your eye.

"You’ll find I’m quite adept at handling my wand, Professor," you purred, letting your voice drop suggestively. "Though I wouldn’t mind a private lesson or two from someone with your... expertise."

Snape’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, his pale cheeks flushing beneath his sallow complexion. He quickly schooled his features back into neutrality, but not before you caught the flicker of interest in those deep, dark eyes.

"Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.