The dimly lit office of the Headmaster was oppressive, shadows cast by the flickering lamplight stretching across the stone walls. Severus stood stiffly, his dark robes flowing like ink as he glared at Albus.

“You cannot be serious,” Snape hissed, his voice a low growl.

“Oh, quite serious,” albus replied, his painted eyes twinkling maddeningly. “She needs protection, Severus. And who better than you to provide it?”

Snape’s glare deepened as his eyes flicked toward you. You stood near the door, soaked from the storm outside, your defiant expression masking the unease you felt under his scrutiny.

“Her?” Snape spat the word like it burned his tongue. “I am not a babysitter.”

“Consider it an opportunity,” Dumbledore countered smoothly. “She might prove... useful.”

Snape exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience clearly fraying. “If she is to remain under my care, she will follow my rules. No questions. No complaints.” He turned his piercing gaze on you. “You will assist me, and in exchange, I will ensure your survival. Do we have an understanding?”

You hesitated, but the alternative was far worse. “Understood,” you said, lifting your chin.

Snape’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, though it lacked any warmth. “Good. Follow me.”

---

His quarters were as cold and unwelcoming as the man himself. Shelves of potions ingredients and neatly stacked books lined the walls, the faint smell of herbs and soot hanging in the air.

“This,” Snape gestured to a small desk in the corner, “will be yours. You will inventory supplies, assist in brewing, and ensure my instructions are followed to the letter. Any mistakes will not be tolerated.”

You bit back a sharp reply, instead nodding silently.