HP fanfic snippet
I have no idea what this is. Other than a _draft_ of a _snippet_ of something. An utterly minor incident in an epic taking shape in my head. The actual piece is Snape/Lucius, slash, but probably a pretty soft rating, in that it's about politics, not porn. Marion is neither a Mary Sue, nor a major character nor anything like any of my other OCs. And I've no idea if I'll keep playing with this, mainly because I generally haven't the time, and the rustiness I'm feeling doing this is making me a little nuts, but it made me smile enough to write it, so I had to share:
Sometimes, they would go to the opera, and Severus could never breathe ntil the lights went down for no other reason than he was unused to so many people in one ridiculously cavernous space. He found it worse even than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and the Malfoy box provided them with astoundingly false anonymity. People tried not to stare, and many succeeded, even when that was the purpose of their being in attendance, especially now that they had the girls with them.
Severus didn’t care for the girls, but as Lucius kept reminding him, he didn’t have to. Narcissa was loud, not in speech but in body language, always draping herself over something, although at least usually not Lucius when in Severus’ presence. Marion was not delicate enough to be prim, possessed of perfect posture, and silent, but Severus always sensed that she didn’t have a familiar because she’d eaten hers at some point. Her eyes were yellow, and this disturbed him, but not as much as the fact that he was apparently going to be marrying her within the year.
Hence the outing. To the opera. So the world could see what new things Lucius and he possessed. “Wives,” Lucius had said, “are a liability, but babies, babies consolidate power.” He was right, Severus knew, but as with most of Lucius’s condescending pearls of wisdom on the subject of world domination, it was all simpler said than done. Marion at least seemed equally displeased, although she’d not informed him why, and Severus amused himself by ignoring her and reminding Lucius that sons sometimes killed their fathers.
“I’m getting to that,” Lucius would grumble, even when his parents occupied the seats right behind them. It was both family joke and expectation, and Severus found it unnerving.
Almost as unnerving as Lucius’s cold fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck as soon as the lights went down. He’d have trouble remembering to breathe again, and would get oddly distant and consumed with the tableau from afar. Narcissa leaning inappropriately on the edge of the box; Lucius, casually possessive in his odd choice to touch the man to the right of him, instead of the woman to the left. Himself then, being touched, and frozen, trying not to turn his head to what had foolishly been the center of his universe for so long now, and he suspected would always be, no matter what else he said or did, prayed for or feared in all the years before him. And finally the pale girl, with the dark crisp bob and yellow eyes, with her wooden posture and amusedly pursed lips, sitting as if her satisfaction with life depended utterly on her never accidentally straying into Lucius’ light. Severus could only be grateful for her reluctance to touch him (she hadn’t in any fashion whatsoever), how awkward if this should be the reason. For the girls to serve their purposes, some degree of friendliness would certainly help. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he would have liked a friend or conspirator other than Lucius, even if just for safety’s sake.
“I hate this,” he leaned over to murmur to Lucius, not even sure which part of the whole scenario was the main subject of his distaste. On top of everything else, the opera was Wagner, who he absolutely wasn’t fond of in the least.
“We’ll be home soon,” Lucius said in his soothing voice, which really wasn’t soothing at all. Truth be told, it always made Severus think vaguely of knives and spines, and he’d been long grateful that he’d never managed to put any more specificity than that to it.
He made a faint sound of acknowledgement and removed himself from Lucius’ personal space, but the hand on his neck remained, and Narcissa stretched and turned to lean on her fiancé.
“Striaghten up,” Lucius chided her. “We are only what they imagine us to be, and as usual you are leaving none of the foul thoughts I know are crawling around your head to the imagination.” She sighed and smirked, and Severus turned to look at Marion’s profile.
“I prefer to be an imperial force rather than a gracious host, to you and to others,” she said with abrupt crispness, without turning to face him or acknowledging his presence in the least.
“Clearly,” he said, returning his attention to the hated opera.
Marion smiled, and if Severus had seen her do so, he would have too.
Sometimes, they would go to the opera, and Severus could never breathe ntil the lights went down for no other reason than he was unused to so many people in one ridiculously cavernous space. He found it worse even than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and the Malfoy box provided them with astoundingly false anonymity. People tried not to stare, and many succeeded, even when that was the purpose of their being in attendance, especially now that they had the girls with them.
Severus didn’t care for the girls, but as Lucius kept reminding him, he didn’t have to. Narcissa was loud, not in speech but in body language, always draping herself over something, although at least usually not Lucius when in Severus’ presence. Marion was not delicate enough to be prim, possessed of perfect posture, and silent, but Severus always sensed that she didn’t have a familiar because she’d eaten hers at some point. Her eyes were yellow, and this disturbed him, but not as much as the fact that he was apparently going to be marrying her within the year.
Hence the outing. To the opera. So the world could see what new things Lucius and he possessed. “Wives,” Lucius had said, “are a liability, but babies, babies consolidate power.” He was right, Severus knew, but as with most of Lucius’s condescending pearls of wisdom on the subject of world domination, it was all simpler said than done. Marion at least seemed equally displeased, although she’d not informed him why, and Severus amused himself by ignoring her and reminding Lucius that sons sometimes killed their fathers.
“I’m getting to that,” Lucius would grumble, even when his parents occupied the seats right behind them. It was both family joke and expectation, and Severus found it unnerving.
Almost as unnerving as Lucius’s cold fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck as soon as the lights went down. He’d have trouble remembering to breathe again, and would get oddly distant and consumed with the tableau from afar. Narcissa leaning inappropriately on the edge of the box; Lucius, casually possessive in his odd choice to touch the man to the right of him, instead of the woman to the left. Himself then, being touched, and frozen, trying not to turn his head to what had foolishly been the center of his universe for so long now, and he suspected would always be, no matter what else he said or did, prayed for or feared in all the years before him. And finally the pale girl, with the dark crisp bob and yellow eyes, with her wooden posture and amusedly pursed lips, sitting as if her satisfaction with life depended utterly on her never accidentally straying into Lucius’ light. Severus could only be grateful for her reluctance to touch him (she hadn’t in any fashion whatsoever), how awkward if this should be the reason. For the girls to serve their purposes, some degree of friendliness would certainly help. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he would have liked a friend or conspirator other than Lucius, even if just for safety’s sake.
“I hate this,” he leaned over to murmur to Lucius, not even sure which part of the whole scenario was the main subject of his distaste. On top of everything else, the opera was Wagner, who he absolutely wasn’t fond of in the least.
“We’ll be home soon,” Lucius said in his soothing voice, which really wasn’t soothing at all. Truth be told, it always made Severus think vaguely of knives and spines, and he’d been long grateful that he’d never managed to put any more specificity than that to it.
He made a faint sound of acknowledgement and removed himself from Lucius’ personal space, but the hand on his neck remained, and Narcissa stretched and turned to lean on her fiancé.
“Striaghten up,” Lucius chided her. “We are only what they imagine us to be, and as usual you are leaving none of the foul thoughts I know are crawling around your head to the imagination.” She sighed and smirked, and Severus turned to look at Marion’s profile.
“I prefer to be an imperial force rather than a gracious host, to you and to others,” she said with abrupt crispness, without turning to face him or acknowledging his presence in the least.
“Clearly,” he said, returning his attention to the hated opera.
Marion smiled, and if Severus had seen her do so, he would have too.