The Hogwarts dungeons remained perpetually cold and damp, as though what seeped from the walls was not moisture, but the resentment of countless Slytherin students accumulated over centuries.
There was no distinction between day and night here, only specimens of toads and tree snakes soaking in glass jars, staring at everyone who entered with lifeless eyes.
The occasional crackle of a wall torch was the only sound here-apart from the frantic scratching of a quill against parchment.
Snape sat behind his black walnut desk, piled high with exam papers.
His greasy hair clung to his cheeks, and his sallow face was dark with sleeplessness and mental exhaustion.
He looked less like he was marking papers than slaughtering the parchment with red ink.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking was measured and rhythmic, but it set Snape's teeth on edge.
The quill in Snape's hand stopped abruptly, its tip punching a large hole in a Hufflepuff student's essay.
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to turn his visitor into a potion.
"Enter."
He forced the word through gritted teeth.
The heavy oak door swung open.
A rush of warm air, spicy and fragrant, instantly flooded the office.
It smelled of beef tallow, Sichuan peppercorns, and cumin.
Douglas walked in.
He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit waistcoat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and carried a takeaway container that was still steaming.
"Good evening, Professor."
Wearing the humble smile of a model student, Douglas casually closed the door behind him.
"I thought you probably hadn't had dinner yet. This is fresh from the pot..."
To Professor Snape at that moment, the smell was no less devastating than a Cruciatus Curse. "Get that disgusting feed away from me."
Snape did not raise his