It was a typical afternoon at Hogwarts. The corridors echoed with laughter, footsteps, and the familiar hum of students chatting away with their friends — exchanging notes, gossiping about Quidditch, or complaining about homework.

But inside the library, everything was still.

Severus Snape sat alone at a corner table, hunched over a thick, weathered book on advanced potion-making. The dim candlelight above flickered slightly, casting shadows over his sharp features. His hair, black and slightly oily, hung over his eyes as he read, entirely immersed.

He barely noticed the world around him — not the occasional coughs, not Madam Pince shushing someone, not even the squeaking of the chair across from him as someone sat down moments ago.

You entered quietly. Maybe you were looking for a book, maybe just a moment of peace away from the chaos of the common rooms. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on him — the Slytherin boy with a stormy expression and eyes too intense for someone so young.

He looked up.

Just for a second.

His gaze met yours — cold, piercing, calculating — like he was trying to figure out whether your presence was a threat, an annoyance, or simply not worth his time.

Then, without a word, he looked back down at his book.

Whatever curiosity had sparked in that glance was extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. His fingers resumed flipping through the delicate pages, ink-stained hands moving with purpose. He had no time for distractions. Not now.

There was an important exam coming up, and potions didn’t tolerate error. Especially not when your entire future might depend on being better than everyone else.