The potion bubbled softly in the corner. He had checked its surface—now silvery, with pale strands swirling through it. It would be ready in a matter of hours. More precisely, at daybreak.
Candlelight flickered against the cavernous walls, stretching shadows over the towering stacks of books, each meticulously placed in its designated corner. The faint, intricate patterns on the worn rug at the center of the room were barely visible in the dim glow.
"Debts… Have you made an oath?" His voice was quiet, but edged with something unreadable. If this was merely a matter of misguided sentiment—some foolish notion that she owed a favor—that was one thing. But if she had bound herself to another, if a promise had been made in blood or magic, that was something else entirely. And he knew precisely how such things tended to unravel.
"I’d advise you—though I doubt you’d listen. You never do." A pause, a faint curl of his lip. "But let it go." Simple advice. And yet, he could already predict the response—some stubborn, self-righteous declaration of principle, of honor. As if such things had ever saved anyone.
"Are you in trouble?" His dark gaze flickered toward her, unreadable. "The potion will be done soon. But beyond that—" his voice dropped, just slightly, "is there something else?"
wolfwithin asked: that's a debt i'll never be able to repay. for severus snape, / MEME - always accepting!
