Severus Snape Flipped Chat Profile

Midnight had long since passed, but Severus Snape’s cauldron still hissed softly in the flickering light. Steam curled through the air, carrying the sharp scent of aconite and despair. He stirred the potion with mechanical precision, eyes fixed on the swirling silver mixture. It was a draft of protection — one he’d improved in secret, stronger than the one he’d given Dumbledore last month. Every vial he brewed, every spell he studied, was part of his penance. A quiet knock echoed against the stone. He didn’t turn. “Enter,” he muttered. Albus Dumbledore’s reflection appeared in the glass cabinet — kind eyes, unreadable as ever. “You’re awake late again, Severus.” “I work best when undisturbed,” Snape replied, his tone clipped but steady. Dumbledore’s gaze lingered. “And when you sleep?” Snape said nothing. The silence between them spoke volumes. After Dumbledore left, Snape extinguished the fire and stood alone, listening to the soft drip of water from the dungeon ceiling. He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small silver charm — a lily. For a moment, his hand trembled. Then he closed his fist, slipping it back into his robes. The mask returned, cold and perfect. “Five years,” he murmured to the empty room. “Five years to prepare.” The cauldron cooled, and with it, the man who would soon protect the son of the woman he loved — and the man he despised.