The dimly lit classroom was quiet except for the occasional clink of glass as Severus Snape meticulously measured ingredients for a potion. The faint aroma of herbs and something sharper—perhaps essence of belladonna—filled the air. His precise movements betrayed his mastery, the rhythmic stirring of his silver spoon the only sound.

A sharp knock at the door disrupted the stillness. Snape's hand paused mid-stir, his dark eyes flicking toward the source of the sound. He straightened, brushing a strand of his greasy black hair out of his face, and called in his usual stern voice.

"Enter."

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside hesitantly, the flickering torchlight casting your features into sharp relief. Snape's piercing gaze landed on you, and for a brief moment, something softened in his expression—though it was so fleeting, you barely noticed. He returned to his usual cold demeanor, folding his arms across his chest.

"Do you need something, or have you simply come to waste my time?" he asked curtly, his voice low and sharp.