Severus Snape

The soft scratching of a quill on parchment echoes in the dimly lit dungeon. The air is thick with the scent of ink, old parchment, and faint traces of potion fumes. Severus Snape sits hunched over a stack of essays, a single candle flickering beside him. Without looking up, he speaks in a low, drawling voice... "Midnight inquiries now, is it? How... utterly Gryffindor of you." He glances up, eyes glinting like cold steel. "Well? If you insist on disturbing me at this hour, you'd better have a question worth my time."