What too much thinking will do to you...
I finished the 6th Harry Potter book last week. Had to finish it before I closed on my house and spent the following days in PA. Like many others, I feel I need to reread it more slowly before passing judgement. So I leant my copy to my sister, so I could step away from it a bit. But still, I've been mulling over it, thinking.
When I was in the 8th grade, there was a kid in my class named D___. He was short, not the most attractive, and had some sort of speech impediment that made him talk differently just enough to be picked on. One day in art class he said he had gotten some letter saying he was a Marine. Myself and two other girls told him that wasn't possible; you needed to be 18 to be in the Armed Forces. Perhaps he had gotten a letter about the ROTC? This upset D____ very much. He insisted he was a Marine, and once he got his gun he had a list of people to shoot. We three, doubters of his status in the Armed Forces, were at the top of that list. This was many moons before Columbine, and no one paid him much attention, not even the teachers. Or if then did, they kept it on the D.L. Of course, he was not a Marine, and never showed up at school with a gun. In fact, I can't even remember if he went to the local public high school with us. (I'll have to check my yearbook.) And needless to say, I have no idea what he's up to now.
This is how I envison Snape during his Hogwarts years. Picked on and hurt, he quickly turned inside himself, told himself various stories or what-have-you, and told them enough times to the point where he believed them. I'll show them! he would frequently think, and probably prefer to scare his classmates instead of impressing them.
And it is with all that in mind that a simple sentence popped into my head this morning on my train ride to work: "He could smell her sweet fragrance as she leaned over to inspect her brewing potion."
I tried to ignore it, push it out of my mind. But to no avail. So instead I decided to indulge, hoping to get it out of my system. So here it is. (Feel free to comment and tell me I'm f-cking crazy.)
~*~
He could smell her fragrance as she leaned over to inspect her brewing potion. It was sweet, calming. She was probably born with that fragrance, and that's how her parents chose her name.
Lily.
He peeked over at her out of the corner of his eye. She chewed on some strands of her red hair as she measured out the correct amount of toadstoole and sprinkled it into her cauldron.
He thought she was beautiful.
He thought she was smart.
But how smart could she be, to get herself entangled with that insufferable Potter?
"Oh, wonderful, Lily! Wonderful!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed, cheeks and ears turning pink with excitement. "You have a natural talent for Potions, and I'm sure you'll pass your NEWT with flying colors!" Slughorn peered into Snape's caldron, gave him a curt nod, and scurried over Peter Pettigrew's table where a strange, pink fog was emerging from his cauldron.
Mudblood! Snape thought to himself, as Lily concetrated on grinding some pomegranate seeds. But really, only a small part of himself wanted to call her that. She may be muggle-born, but she was as bright as any pureblood. Possibly brighter. Plus, she was one of the select few that truly appreciated the fine art of potion-making. She was perfect. But he had to call her that, had to use that defense mechanism. Otherwise, he would fall.
Truth was, he had already fallen.
Fallen hard.
But she was entangled with that insufferable Potter!
And that simply would not do.
He made some notes in the margins of his text book. He scrunched up his nose, deep in thought, and brought it closer to the book to block wandering eyes from his new spell. The tips of his greasy hair skimmed the pages, leaving the faint trace of oil. A wizard could only take so much, could only stand so much, and then he had to fight back. And fight back he would! He would make them all pay, make them all regret the day they heard of Severus Snape!
When I was in the 8th grade, there was a kid in my class named D___. He was short, not the most attractive, and had some sort of speech impediment that made him talk differently just enough to be picked on. One day in art class he said he had gotten some letter saying he was a Marine. Myself and two other girls told him that wasn't possible; you needed to be 18 to be in the Armed Forces. Perhaps he had gotten a letter about the ROTC? This upset D____ very much. He insisted he was a Marine, and once he got his gun he had a list of people to shoot. We three, doubters of his status in the Armed Forces, were at the top of that list. This was many moons before Columbine, and no one paid him much attention, not even the teachers. Or if then did, they kept it on the D.L. Of course, he was not a Marine, and never showed up at school with a gun. In fact, I can't even remember if he went to the local public high school with us. (I'll have to check my yearbook.) And needless to say, I have no idea what he's up to now.
This is how I envison Snape during his Hogwarts years. Picked on and hurt, he quickly turned inside himself, told himself various stories or what-have-you, and told them enough times to the point where he believed them. I'll show them! he would frequently think, and probably prefer to scare his classmates instead of impressing them.
And it is with all that in mind that a simple sentence popped into my head this morning on my train ride to work: "He could smell her sweet fragrance as she leaned over to inspect her brewing potion."
I tried to ignore it, push it out of my mind. But to no avail. So instead I decided to indulge, hoping to get it out of my system. So here it is. (Feel free to comment and tell me I'm f-cking crazy.)
~*~
He could smell her fragrance as she leaned over to inspect her brewing potion. It was sweet, calming. She was probably born with that fragrance, and that's how her parents chose her name.
Lily.
He peeked over at her out of the corner of his eye. She chewed on some strands of her red hair as she measured out the correct amount of toadstoole and sprinkled it into her cauldron.
He thought she was beautiful.
He thought she was smart.
But how smart could she be, to get herself entangled with that insufferable Potter?
"Oh, wonderful, Lily! Wonderful!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed, cheeks and ears turning pink with excitement. "You have a natural talent for Potions, and I'm sure you'll pass your NEWT with flying colors!" Slughorn peered into Snape's caldron, gave him a curt nod, and scurried over Peter Pettigrew's table where a strange, pink fog was emerging from his cauldron.
Mudblood! Snape thought to himself, as Lily concetrated on grinding some pomegranate seeds. But really, only a small part of himself wanted to call her that. She may be muggle-born, but she was as bright as any pureblood. Possibly brighter. Plus, she was one of the select few that truly appreciated the fine art of potion-making. She was perfect. But he had to call her that, had to use that defense mechanism. Otherwise, he would fall.
Truth was, he had already fallen.
Fallen hard.
But she was entangled with that insufferable Potter!
And that simply would not do.
He made some notes in the margins of his text book. He scrunched up his nose, deep in thought, and brought it closer to the book to block wandering eyes from his new spell. The tips of his greasy hair skimmed the pages, leaving the faint trace of oil. A wizard could only take so much, could only stand so much, and then he had to fight back. And fight back he would! He would make them all pay, make them all regret the day they heard of Severus Snape!