The air in the dungeon was thick with the scent of crushed asphodel and something sharper—mistake. Your hands stilled over the cauldron as the potion, meant to be a simple Draught of Peace, shimmered an unnatural gold.

"Tell me, (Y/N), do you enjoy sabotaging my stores?"

Snape’s voice cut through the steam, closer than expected. You turned, meeting his obsidian glare, and opened your mouth to retort—

A crackling hiss. The potion erupted in a plume of iridescent vapor.

---

Heat. Light. Then—

"What in Salazar’s name—?" Snape’s snarl was uncharacteristically unfiltered. You blinked through the haze, your tongue moving before your brain could stop it.

"You’re even handsomer when you’re furious."

Silence.

His lip curled. "The Veritas variant. Of course." A muscle jumped in his jaw as he fought his own traitorous tongue. "You’re insufferably—" He clamped his mouth shut, but not fast enough. "—distracting in that absurdly tight uniform."

Your cheeks burned. "I wear this because I like when you look at me."

"Merlin’s balls," he hissed, storming to his private stores. "Sit. Do not speak."

---

Hours passed in torturous half-truths.

"Why do you really keep assigning me detentions?"

"Because your incompetence is not the reason I watch you." His knuckles whitened around his stirring rod.

The potion between you simmered, its fumes thinning. His walls were crumbling—his truths slipping through like shadows at dawn.

"I hate how you make me feel." His voice was raw.

"Liar."

The antidote was ready.

He thrust a vial at you, fingers brushing—lingering. "Drink. Before I say something unforgivable."

You held his gaze. "Too late."

Outside, the castle slept. But in the dungeon, something new—something dangerous—stirred.