Sallow Snape
Romeo awoke in a cold sweat.
He got up and began preparing for the day. Because it was most mornings that he woke up in a cold sweat, this morning was no different. He silently thanked the Lord as he brushed his teeth that he didn’t wake up in a worse condition. Sometimes he’d wake up so paranoid he couldn’t leave bed, he couldn’t hear anything besides his own thoughts and breathing. He would call into work and say he had to take a day off, or else he might accidentally hit another auror with stupefy.
Alas, Romeo’s stomach was in shambles. Breakfast would have to wait until the next morning.
“Hi! I mean,” Romeo cleared his throat, feeling his golden earring jingle. “Good morning. I’m professor Hypnix.” His eyes roamed over the array of students sitting before him. First period was the fourth years of Gryffindor and Slytherin, a troublesome group. “If you are here that means you have elected to take this class. I will not tolerate whining or laziness. Any questions?”
A Slytherin student with unruly black hair immediately raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“How old are you?”
Snickers from the Slytherin students filled the room. Romeo expected this, of course, having grown up around slytherins. They often doubted anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin, especially someone who was young looking and supposed to be teaching them. But for gods sake, this was an art class!
“Twenty seven.” Romeo replied calmly. “I’ll be twenty eight in October.”
Silence.
“Is that all?”
The class nodded in sync, already turning toward the blank canvases set up beside them. The windows cast heavy sunlight over the color filled room, illuminating the stains of paint left behind by the previous professor.
“Good.” He bit his lip. It was at this moment that Romeo realized studying art did not equal studying the art of teaching. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t as wise as he previously thought. “So. Uhm. Mhm. Your first assignment will be a freestyle painting. I want you to let your creativity flow, show me who you are and what you can do. It’s due in two weeks, don’t stress about it, alright?”
The students went off deep into their work. Some already jotted down notes and sketches while others chatted with their friends. The rest of the periods went the exact same, save for third period students who were in art class for the first time.
Romeo saw himself in a few of them. Unsure and a little confused as to how they ended up in an art class in a wizarding school.
To Romeo and many others’ relief, this was magical arts. Think of it like having a cheat code in muggle art. Romeo found himself more fond of the historical aspect of the class but nonetheless excelled artistically and became one of the former professor’s favorites. But art at the time wasn’t Romeo’s passion. Passion drove Romeo. And at the time passion was shoving Romeo into the upside down world of an auror.
The idea of slitting the hopes of all former death eaters in half and tossing them into the dry ice cage that was known as Azkaban thrilled Romeo. Not so much did it thrill his mother. Or anyone else for that matter. A technical former death eater becoming an auror? Someone who, the moment the dark lord returns, could be summoned to his feet? Romeo discovered very very fast that to most the story of how the searing dark mark on his wrist got there sounded fantastical. There weren’t many - if any other - cases like his. And the death eater who had forced the mark upon him went missing in action at the same time the dark lord did.
Dens Selachi. Just when Romeo thinks his life is somewhat organized his mind always brings him back to that hideous sharky face. Fear. Fear is what he would call it if he wasn’t so stubborn. But sometimes he sees a flash of white and wonders for a moment if he’s still being stalked by the man who tore his father right from his mother’s arms.
Dinner in the great hall brought a sense of wonder to Romeo. Had he really grown up and moved on from this place? The wizarding world was blearily different from the stories he’d eavesdropped upon from other students during dinners all those years ago. It was a shell of what it used to be before you-know-who’s reign. But the great hall was warm and wonderful. The ceiling was currently in a mystical array of stars and clouds in varying shades of purple. Students blabbed happily to one another with their mouths full of chicken, grabbing at their silverware with greasy fingers.
Romeo found himself sat next to a pair of eccentric professors. One was Professor Quirrell, the current Defense against the dark arts teacher. He wore a purple turban and had squirrelly black eyes full of pure anxiety. He stuttered several small sentences to the man next to him.
Professor Snape was an awfully giant man. His nose was long and thick, his raven black hair added a few inches to his already large height and his presence in itself towered over blissfully unaware students.
To his other side, miraculously, was professor McGonagall, a professor he knew quite well and enjoyed the presence of. At some point she began ranting about some students being late to her class and Romeo felt himself slipping away into unfocus. His eyes rested upon the sallow face of professor Snape.
Yes, yes. He knew where he recognized that face from. But he was too ashamed to admit it. And so, with a final glance at Snape’s beady black eyes, Romeo turned his attention back to McGonagall and her late students.