His Masterpiece

A Portrait of the Artist as a Student

I usually find him in the library, and while the towering books and flickering candles have its own appeal, there are days I want to pose him in front of the tangled rhododendrons that have invaded the courtyard, their violent colours haloing his black hair. I want to paint purples and reds and blues, and him as its dark epicenter, his eyes drawing the viewer in like a black hole.

Severus Snape sits hunched over one of the reading tables, his nose very nearly touching the page of his book. Sometimes I wonder if he's near-sighted. He has one arm on the table, his head resting against it, fingers tangled in his hair. They're clutching the strands tight, almost pulling.

It's not like I only sketch Snape. That'd be weird, and more than a little creepy. I have dozens of notebooks filled with classmates and neighbors, family and random passersby. But Snape is one of my favourites. He has an interesting face. He's long. Long face with a long nose, and long hair, a long torso stacked on long legs, long elegant fingers stirring cauldrons.

I look down at the sketch. It's mostly hair with a nose peeking out and fingers digging into the crown. I want to see more of him. Dress him up in silk and velvet. Dress him up in nothing at all.

Not that I would ever, in a million years, ask Snape to pose for me, let alone pose nude. I don't have a death wish.

Jenny drops her books on the table next to me. "I am going to pass this stupid class even if it kills me and you are going to help me."

I glance at the stack of divination books. "Why don't you just drop it?"

"I'm not going to give up. I'm not a quitter. Give me your hand."

I dutifully give her my hand while she skims through the chapter on palm-reading. "Now let's see... your palm is... disgusting." She wrinkles her nose as she takes in the ink-and-graphite stains covering my hand. "Do you ever clean underneath your fingernails?"

I pull my hand back and turn to my sketch. "You know what? I hope you fail."

Jenny drops her head on the table. "I will. I will fail," she mumbles. "They'll kick me out of Ravenclaw for this."

"They'll force you down into the dungeons with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, throwing birdseed at you the entire way."

Jenny shivers, stealing a glance at Snape. "I wouldn't last a day in Slytherin." She leans forward to whisper, "Do you think it's true what Potter says? That Snape's a Death Eater and he helped... you know..."

I roll my eyes. "An asteroid could hit Hogwarts and Potter would find a way to blame Snape. I swear, he's obsessed with him."

"I don't know, Snape kind of fits the type, doesn't he? He's so weird. He doesn't have any friends except for that Evans girl."

Maybe not even her anymore. I haven't seen her around as much these past few weeks, and when I do see them together they're usually arguing.

A sound breaks my musings, a clattering as Snape's chair skids away from his table, his entire form jumping with the force of a full-body shiver. "Shut your stupid face," he hisses, seemingly to no one, as he stands. He slings his fraying bag over his shoulder and all but flees the library.

Jenny watches him go and then turns to me. "See? Freaky."

Something is very wrong. I have sketchbooks filled with his face, from my pitiful, cartoonish attempts as a first year until now, and there is a clear trajectory, a slow decline. Snape's face transforms from one of wide-eyed innocence into hooded cynicism. The shaded parts are not just shadows, but bruises too.

He needs help, and I don't know if there's anyone willing to step up. I could. I'm willing, I think and flush at the thought. I've thought about it before, just walking up and introducing myself, "Do you want to form a study group with me?" Such a Ravenclaw thing to say. When I'm feeling particularly brave, I imagine myself saying, "I want to go with you to Hogsmeade this weekend. What do you say?" And sometimes, I imagine myself sketching in the library, as I'm doing now, and Snape walks past my table, glances down, and asks, in a tremulous voice, "Is that me?"

I should do it. I should just do it. Quit daydreaming about it and just go for it.

I say my goodbyes to Jenny and follow after him. He's moving quickly through the corridors, and I manage to screw up my courage, the name "Snape-" exiting my mouth when a jinx hits me in the back of my shoulder.

It feels like a very weak Flipendo, more of a Knock-Into than a Knock-Back Jinx. I stumble a little, just managing to catch the sounds of a chuckle and running feet, but when I look around me there's nothing there.