Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2004-07-09 06:29 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2004-07-09 06:29 pm
Fic: In The Eyes of The Mind
Title: In The Eyes of The Mind
Pairing: Snape/Draco, sort of.
Other pairings: None
Rating R
Warnings: Psychological fucked up-ness?
Summary: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_ouroboros challenge number 54: With Lucius in Azkaban, Draco must turn to Snape for protection.
The mind is a very fragile thing.
When I was young, my mother told me fairy tales. They were all the same, when I think back on them now. They were all the same, when I think back on them now; a prince, a princess, some horrible evil thing, and a kiss at the end. I liked them when I was little, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I was stupid, when I was little. I blame my mother. She coddled me and sheltered me and treated me much in the same way a high born lady treated a beloved pet poodle.
In some circumstances I suppose it would have been alright. Not in mine. A poodle wouldn’t have ever had to deal with my father.
I’m not saying my father was a horrible man. He wasn’t, in the least. He was a powerful man whom I respected and I suppose I loved him. It’s difficult to tell, looking back now. I sometimes wonder if I only thought that I loved him, since he was my father and all.
But it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
I say ‘was’ as though he were dead. He may as well be, in all honesty. Azkaban, dead, it’s the same thing. He’s ruined now, which he probably thinks is worse than being dead. Does he realize that he’s ruined me as well?
I doubt it. He always did care about his reputation and his ascension more than he cared about me. I’m not bitter about it, because I understand it. If I had benefited from this little debacle, I’d hardly give a whit if he’d been ruined.
It’s a pity my mother went insane. At least then I could have pretended that things were alright. We still had the manor, of course.
Now I’m stuck here, in this dank old house that creaks every time there’s a gust of wind and smells like an incontinent cat.
There are quite a few cats here.
It’s funny, but I never really thought of Professor Snape as a person. He was a teacher, he was something beneficial to me and my peers. He was an associate of my father. He was just an entity, a constant. He didn’t have a home, or hobbies, or family, or cats.
I suppose one could say I’m learning a lot. Nothing useful, in my opinion. I know more about potions than I ever knew there was to know. And of course I had a crash course in Snape family history. Which really isn’t all that interesting, trust me. It’s as dull and stuffy as this stupid house. Don’t the House Elves clean? Pardon. House Elf. There’s one, and it’s about as old as Methuselah. I don’t even see how it gets up and down stairs.
I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be. But I’ve no where else to go, and I know far too much about my father’s activities. So it’s here, in this house that makes my skin crawl and eyes water. It’s too dark and dirty. It gets under my skin and into my head.
It could be worse. Not that that’s a pleasant thought, the lesser of evils is still evil. This house is evil. It’s peeling faux-velvet wallpaper is evil, it’s molding carpets are evil, and it’s thick layer of dust evil. And it’s cats. There are four in all, I think. Professor Snape doesn’t even seem to like them, but they’re here. Thin, giant eyed things that look as though the belong in a horror novel. They’re part of the house. I think it’s some sort of rule that all old, sickly houses like this need cats. This house is something out of a horror novel. And Snape doesn’t care. His lab is clean, that’s all that matters to him.
I think the worst part is the boredom. Actually, no. The boredom is alright. The wealthy are accustomed to boredom. One of the drawbacks of being the privileged class, I suppose. We can lay about and do nothing and so we do. It’s our right, we take advantage of it. Boredom I can deal with. It’s him that’s the worst.
I know he’s not letting me stay on out of the goodness of his heart. He’s a cruel old bastard that doesn’t have any goodness in him. And his heart has nothing to do with why he keeps me around.
I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind. I’ve caught him looking at me. He’s always looked at me, ever since first year. Not that I blame him. I always draw the eye, it’s only natural. I’m perfection, of course he’d look. They all look, there’s no harm in looking.
I don’t mind that he looks. But I can tell his looks have gotten longer, hungrier. They linger. And they make me feel as though I need a bath. I don’t want to be lusted after by a disgusting old man with greasy hair and stained fingers. I don’t want to sleep in a bedroom just down the hall from him. I can hear him creeping about outside my room at night, when he thinks I'm asleep.
It doesn’t bear thinking on what he’s doing out there.
I know it’s only a matter of time before he begins dropping hints. Reminding me how much I owe him. How much he’s done for me. I know what he’ll ask for, in exchange. I know what he’ll want me to give him. And he’ll offer me no choice; I know how these things work. He’ll probably come into my bedroom one night. Maybe after I’m asleep. Or rather, after he thinks I’m asleep. I hardly sleep, not here. Who knows who’s slept in that bed before me? And the covers itch. I think there’s bugs in it.
But anyway, he’ll slip inside and he won’t bother with a light and he’ll want payment for his hospitality. I can see it in his eyes.
He touched my shoulder the other day. Merlin knows how long that sustained his perverse fantasies. Dirty old man, always breathing down my neck every chance he gets.
If my father only knew what he’s done to me. Ruined me. He’s ruined me as surely as he’s ruined himself. Leaving me with this lascivious excuse for a human being. I bet that’s the only reason he teaches, so he can watch the young boys. And I’m stuck here, alone with him. And the house might be dark but there’s nowhere to hide.
If my father only knew…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pairing: Snape/Draco, sort of.
Other pairings: None
Rating R
Warnings: Psychological fucked up-ness?
Summary: Written for
the_ouroboros challenge number 54: With Lucius in Azkaban, Draco must turn to Snape for protection. The mind is a very fragile thing.
When I was young, my mother told me fairy tales. They were all the same, when I think back on them now. They were all the same, when I think back on them now; a prince, a princess, some horrible evil thing, and a kiss at the end. I liked them when I was little, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I was stupid, when I was little. I blame my mother. She coddled me and sheltered me and treated me much in the same way a high born lady treated a beloved pet poodle.
In some circumstances I suppose it would have been alright. Not in mine. A poodle wouldn’t have ever had to deal with my father.
I’m not saying my father was a horrible man. He wasn’t, in the least. He was a powerful man whom I respected and I suppose I loved him. It’s difficult to tell, looking back now. I sometimes wonder if I only thought that I loved him, since he was my father and all.
But it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
I say ‘was’ as though he were dead. He may as well be, in all honesty. Azkaban, dead, it’s the same thing. He’s ruined now, which he probably thinks is worse than being dead. Does he realize that he’s ruined me as well?
I doubt it. He always did care about his reputation and his ascension more than he cared about me. I’m not bitter about it, because I understand it. If I had benefited from this little debacle, I’d hardly give a whit if he’d been ruined.
It’s a pity my mother went insane. At least then I could have pretended that things were alright. We still had the manor, of course.
Now I’m stuck here, in this dank old house that creaks every time there’s a gust of wind and smells like an incontinent cat.
There are quite a few cats here.
It’s funny, but I never really thought of Professor Snape as a person. He was a teacher, he was something beneficial to me and my peers. He was an associate of my father. He was just an entity, a constant. He didn’t have a home, or hobbies, or family, or cats.
I suppose one could say I’m learning a lot. Nothing useful, in my opinion. I know more about potions than I ever knew there was to know. And of course I had a crash course in Snape family history. Which really isn’t all that interesting, trust me. It’s as dull and stuffy as this stupid house. Don’t the House Elves clean? Pardon. House Elf. There’s one, and it’s about as old as Methuselah. I don’t even see how it gets up and down stairs.
I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be. But I’ve no where else to go, and I know far too much about my father’s activities. So it’s here, in this house that makes my skin crawl and eyes water. It’s too dark and dirty. It gets under my skin and into my head.
It could be worse. Not that that’s a pleasant thought, the lesser of evils is still evil. This house is evil. It’s peeling faux-velvet wallpaper is evil, it’s molding carpets are evil, and it’s thick layer of dust evil. And it’s cats. There are four in all, I think. Professor Snape doesn’t even seem to like them, but they’re here. Thin, giant eyed things that look as though the belong in a horror novel. They’re part of the house. I think it’s some sort of rule that all old, sickly houses like this need cats. This house is something out of a horror novel. And Snape doesn’t care. His lab is clean, that’s all that matters to him.
I think the worst part is the boredom. Actually, no. The boredom is alright. The wealthy are accustomed to boredom. One of the drawbacks of being the privileged class, I suppose. We can lay about and do nothing and so we do. It’s our right, we take advantage of it. Boredom I can deal with. It’s him that’s the worst.
I know he’s not letting me stay on out of the goodness of his heart. He’s a cruel old bastard that doesn’t have any goodness in him. And his heart has nothing to do with why he keeps me around.
I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind. I’ve caught him looking at me. He’s always looked at me, ever since first year. Not that I blame him. I always draw the eye, it’s only natural. I’m perfection, of course he’d look. They all look, there’s no harm in looking.
I don’t mind that he looks. But I can tell his looks have gotten longer, hungrier. They linger. And they make me feel as though I need a bath. I don’t want to be lusted after by a disgusting old man with greasy hair and stained fingers. I don’t want to sleep in a bedroom just down the hall from him. I can hear him creeping about outside my room at night, when he thinks I'm asleep.
It doesn’t bear thinking on what he’s doing out there.
I know it’s only a matter of time before he begins dropping hints. Reminding me how much I owe him. How much he’s done for me. I know what he’ll ask for, in exchange. I know what he’ll want me to give him. And he’ll offer me no choice; I know how these things work. He’ll probably come into my bedroom one night. Maybe after I’m asleep. Or rather, after he thinks I’m asleep. I hardly sleep, not here. Who knows who’s slept in that bed before me? And the covers itch. I think there’s bugs in it.
But anyway, he’ll slip inside and he won’t bother with a light and he’ll want payment for his hospitality. I can see it in his eyes.
He touched my shoulder the other day. Merlin knows how long that sustained his perverse fantasies. Dirty old man, always breathing down my neck every chance he gets.
If my father only knew what he’s done to me. Ruined me. He’s ruined me as surely as he’s ruined himself. Leaving me with this lascivious excuse for a human being. I bet that’s the only reason he teaches, so he can watch the young boys. And I’m stuck here, alone with him. And the house might be dark but there’s nowhere to hide.
If my father only knew…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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THAT'S the word I wanted. I read the post earlier, but couldn't verbalize what I was thinking about it or how I should describe it. But creepy is definitely a good adjective. I don't think I've ever seen lecher!Snape, and he's definitely 'creepy'. Oh man, I'm stuck on the word now. But anyway, I liked how you got down into Draco's head. It all seems so in character for him--how and why he's comfortable with boredom, how he falls back on his father to punish people 'If my father only knew about this....' and how he's disdainful of all the things in Snape's house because they don't meet his 'standards'. The whole story isn't so much a story about Draco and Snape as much as psychological character study of Draco, almost. And that's really very fascinating to me. :D
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It really did turn out to be a psychological study of sorts. I had something completely different planned, but this is what wanted to be written. I'm not a fan of lech!Snape, personally, but I think the fun thing about this peice is the question of is that really what's going on, or is it just in Draco's horribly fractured mind?
I was really nervous writing for Draco, and from a first person POV. I'm not enitrely comfortable with him, and I'm really glad to hear I did it well.
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That's exactly how I feel about Snape. I just don't quite know how to handle him. He's such a jerk and snarky all the time, but he's actually a really complex character. So I haven't yet ventured too closely into Snape's psyche or even included him in a fic. There was that Snape/Harry oneshot I wrote awhile ago, but it was not so good and kind of scary, even for a first try at slash. :) So I think I shall let some time pass by before I try to write Snape again.v :D
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So that would make Lucius the prince? That is so cool, how twisted that is. I liked Draco's tone and the paragraph about the cats belonging to the house, and just the atmosphere of the whole thing like someone else already said.
Sorry to highjack the thread, I just couldn't resist.
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I really should be in lying down right now....
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