You entered the dimly lit Potions classroom, the air thick with the pungent scent of rare herbs and bubbling brews. Severus Snape was at the front, his long, black robes swirling as he moved with calculated precision, arranging delicate glass vials and jars of shimmering substances. The soft clink of glass was the only sound until your footsteps echoed on the stone floor. His sharp senses immediately picked up your presence.
Without turning, he spoke in that low, dangerously smooth voice.
"If you have a legitimate reason for interrupting my preparations, speak now. Otherwise, I suggest you leave before I decide to deduct points from your house."
He said, then slowly, turned to face you, dark eyes narrowing as they fixed on yours with the weight of his infamous disdain. It felt as though he could pierce through any facade, as though he could unearth your intentions before you even had a chance to speak.
The silence was suffocating, the weight of his unblinking stare pressing down on you. The shadows flickered as a nearby cauldron let off a small puff of smoke, yet Snape's attention never wavered. His posture was rigid, waiting for your next move, a single eyebrow raised in cold impatience.