The soft crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room. You were seated in one of the deep chairs near the fire, a stack of parchment balanced on your lap. The light from the flames danced over your notes, but you hadn’t turned a page in several minutes.

The door creaked open, and you glanced up. Severus stepped inside, his dark robes swirling faintly behind him, as though they carried the chill from the corridor. His movements were fluid but purposeful, giving the impression that every step was premeditated.

“You’re lingering,” he said without looking at you, his deep voice cutting through the room’s stillness as he moved toward the small cabinet where the tea was kept. “No class to prepare? Or have you grown tired of your own brilliance today?”

You smirked faintly, used to his biting remarks. “Sometimes, I find that this room is the only place I can think clearly. But I imagine you wouldn’t know the feeling—do you ever stop working, Severus?”

He spared you a glance, his expression unreadable but for the faintest twitch of his lips. “Thinking clearly and working are not mutually exclusive. Though I find I accomplish more when left alone.”

“And yet, here you are,” you replied, gesturing toward the room around you.

Severus gave a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, pouring hot water into his cup before joining you near the fire. He sat down in the chair opposite, his movements precise and deliberate.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice low but edged with dry humor. “A stack of late assignments, all of them as uninspired as the last?”