Sᴘᴇʟʟᴄʀᴏssᴇᴅ. Severus x OC

Pʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴀʙʟᴇ Pʜᴀɴᴛᴀsᴍ

What once was blinding light had dimmed itself. Maples painted an illusion of sunsets in their wake; their deciduous oak and birch friends following in second in their orange and yellow foliage. But, of course, that peak lasted as brief as it bloomed. It might not have been real, at all.

Mharii pried her front tooth off of a sour taffy. She glanced up, wistfully. All were here. Celebrating. Halloween feasting, cackles for a good spine-rattle. Pranks.

All the professors participated in the festivities, even Trelawney donned a black bandana and matching gypsy dress for the occasion---she who usually liked her spring-colored fashion and bohemian classroom to eat in.

All but one.

Some rumored it was because he ran his daily life in a Halloween style of sorts.

In another perspective, that held merit.

Some say it isn't possible to witness the potions master on Hallow's Eve, because he transfigured himself into a vampire bat and sank his fangs into certain young witches and wizards. If you were the victim, it was said you would be sorted into Gryffindor.

Of course, some nasty Slytherin prefect spoke the tall-tale to young Mharii and the rest of her first-year class to get a laugh out of it. But snigger or lack of, the rumor spread and passed onto future youngsters. And, of course, some newcomers faked a werewolf bite to the neck as Snape's. Just to keep the hatred for the potions master alive, brewing, and justified.

"Those are the marks of the Canidae family," Mharii had objected to a younger Gryffindor years ago. "Bats have the bite of a prick-like etching. Wolves inflict a deep gash in the shape of their jaw, in which you have."

At the time, only the Ravenclaws could back her up. But they kept their distance. Neither supported, nor deterred the situation. And so the rumor continued its spread.

It was no secret she learned the true dark arts. That she had no assigning to the defense class, and that Snape took it upon himself to teach her in addition to his potions curriculum.

The dark arts had a place amidst things. So it was in several wizarding schools, notably Durmstrang.

Hogwarts had to thank Slytherin's legacy for forbidding the course. And a number of recent decades.

"Hey. Stay here."

Mharii's forehead creased. She looked away from Tonks.

"The dorm's seen you enough."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She didn't need to. Her mind pursued the imagination of it in itself.

Yes. Snape and Halloween. Blind truth existed beneath the rumors at that.

The reality of the Dark Arts--- it's more than spellcasting. Lore, ethics, history---potions even. It's breaking down the mysteries. Bringing the dark into the light. Not all of it is cynical. Not all of the Dark Arts are obscure and sensational. In the simplest terms, it's in the same way that a bite derived from a werewolf, and not, in fact, an astray vampiric teacher.

No, Snape stood far from all of it. As he did yearly on this night.

The dark arts still held some merit in their superstitions. Such that the veil between the living and the dead misted its boundaries on Samhain.

Glk---

Mharii's cheeks puffed. A slimy soil taste gagged a nasty revulsion into the back of her throat.

Her grip clamped onto the edges of the table. A raspy choke escaped her lips.

Tonks flipped her attention from another Hufflepuff, and grabbed her own glass of water. She gripped the back of Mharii's neck, shoving the rim to her sputtering lips.