Chapter Text
So he had been hired. That was good. But the interview had been...off. The Headmaster hadn't used legilimency, he was sure of that, but somehow, he'd known too much about him.
He supposed it was good that he now at least was where the Dark Lord wanted him, and where Headmaster Dumbledore could keep an eye on him. But now he wouldn't know what was going on. He'd have to rely on news getting back to him, and at that point, what if it was too late. Of course Dumbledore said the Potters were safe, but he didn't know who to trust anymore. Didn't even know if he could trust himself.
And on top of everything, he had to try and make sense of the notes Slughorn had left behind. His dreams of finally reorganising the ingredient stores and chucking all the sub par cauldrons and alembics into the Black Lake had been dashed by the sheer amount of work he still had to do.
First years were fine. They'd be starting from zero so he had free reign on the curriculum, but second year until fifth he had no idea what state they were in, and what he knew about the sixth and seventh years was now years out of date. He'd resorted to pulling their OWL scores to try and work out what sort of framework he was starting from.
And some of the students he was supposed to try and teach NEWT potions to had only just scraped an E. Here, Annabella Selwyn, two marks away from an acceptable. Outstanding essay and barely passable practical work. He'd definitely have to keep an eye on her.
Oh god.
No.
How could he not have realised?!
Annabella Selwyn...he remembered her. A small dark haired girl who'd pulled faces at him in the common room whenever he'd convinced one of the other seventh years to play Gobstones with him. Oh fuck.
How could he possibly teach students who had seen him at school? how was he going to maintain even the most basic level of respect when he would be Professor Snivellus?
He ran his hands over his face, dug his nails into his scalp. He was doomed.