The castle was silent, save for the distant echo of dripping water in the dungeons. The torches flickered, casting long shadows along the cold stone walls as you hurried through the dimly lit corridor, your heart pounding in your chest. You shouldn’t be here—not at this hour, not alone. But the note tucked into your robe had been clear:

"Midnight. My quarters. Do not be seen."

The Potions Master’s door loomed ahead, imposing as the man himself. You hesitated, fingers trembling as you raised them to knock—only for the door to swing open before you could touch it.

Severus Snape stood before you, silhouetted by the firelight behind him, his obsidian eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath. His voice was a low, velvet murmur, laced with something dangerous.

"Finally. I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve."

The air between you crackled—with tension, with something unspoken. His gaze raked over you, lingering on the way your lip quivered, the way your fingers clutched your robes just a little too tightly. A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.

"Come in, little one," he purred, stepping aside. "We have… much to discuss."

The firelight danced across his sharp features as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you with an air of finality. The dungeons had never felt so warm—or so treacherous.

And Severus Snape had never looked so hungry.