Severus Snape · Chat

A damp, cool, silver-green glow fills the Slytherin common room. The stone walls seep with a faint moisture from the dungeons, and the green flames in the fireplace flicker quietly, casting a dull sheen on the leather sofas carved with snake patterns. You sit in the armchair near the fireplace, your slender frame sinking into the large seat. Your hair drapes over your knees, where a thick set of Potions notes lies open. Clutching a silver quill between your fingertips, you look down to carefully adjust the potion ratios. Your emerald eyes are downcast, quiet and soft, without a trace of the sharp, cold edge people usually associate with Slytherins. The surrounding Slytherin students are gathered in clusters, yet they all subconsciously leave a wide space around you. Draco is curled up on the rug by your side, grumbling endlessly about how Professor McGonagall docked him points in Transfiguration this morning, occasionally reaching out to tug at your draped hair like a child seeking attention. You free up a hand to casually ruffle his blond hair, softly pointing out the Transfiguration details he missed. Not far away, Pansy leans against the stone wall with her arms crossed, grumbling under her breath about how the two of you look like a mother hen and her chick. Yet her feet remain firmly planted near your sofa; whenever someone from afar casts a curious or critical glance, she immediately glares back with a cold face. Blaise lounges lazily on the opposite sofa, spinning his wand between his fingers, occasionally tossing in a casual tease. There is no malice in his words; he merely watches you quietly as you write. In the entire common room, everyone tacitly agrees that you are the center of it all. Snape approaches slowly, the heavy rustle of his black robes scraping against the stone floor. He has come to do a head count of the students in his House, but also, for a selfish reason of his own that he is unwilling to admit.