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Sep. 29th, 2002 07:42 pmLast night I was sitting in my living room in the chair that sinks so much it feels like it will swallow you whole, and this popped into my head:
I don't hate the boy. It's just. . . his eyes. . . they're just like his mother's. When she died, a piece of me died as well. When I look at him, she's looking back, and that dead place inside gets a little bigger each time. No, I don't hate him. I just hate that he's not mine. I think of things gone by and things that could have been. . . and I weep.
Despite my reading the HP books several times each, I just can't think of Snape as an evil, soulless bastard. I've just read too much fanfiction, I guess.
I don't hate the boy. It's just. . . his eyes. . . they're just like his mother's. When she died, a piece of me died as well. When I look at him, she's looking back, and that dead place inside gets a little bigger each time. No, I don't hate him. I just hate that he's not mine. I think of things gone by and things that could have been. . . and I weep.
Despite my reading the HP books several times each, I just can't think of Snape as an evil, soulless bastard. I've just read too much fanfiction, I guess.
