A Complex of Mirrors

Note: Please feel free to comment, if you are a viewer of this blog, and to click the 'follow.' I love to hear from each and every one of my readers, for you inspire me and give me ideas. If you have something that you'd like to contribute, you can always contact me at my personal e-mail: brookefox0@gmail.com, or follow my work on fanfiction, where you can find other links to my work via the profile: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2537728/

Thanks !

Intro: there are a plethora of angles in every person's character. We see them mirrored by the faces of millions of people everyday, but often we forget which is their true angle. Severus Snape saw everyone in Harry save for he truly was, and vice versa.  Yet still, Ablus Dumbledore knew that it is the actual soul of a person that matters, and recognizing a person for who he or she really is creates the bond between people that will last into our restful infinity.

            I wonder how many ways there are to describe beautiful. There are some themes that will never die, and to understand the heart and soul of a person is more gratifying than one could ever imagine. Albus Dumbledore was a great study in this particular context, because he was always so easy to read. How many ways are there in which to understand the context of a person, and how many sides of a person are there to interpret? The soul is what matters, and not what one may see reflected upon the surface. When Severus Snape looked at Harry, his mind immediately became his worst victim. He was immersed in memories of dark semblances, which tugged upon his brain until he was forced to verbalize his distaste. He was filled with loathing, but it is unclear how much of Harry he did understand. After all, he did not save his life with the utmost precision, if he did not harbor a strong reason, and deepened emotion.

            In my opinion, Snape was under a variety of impressions about Harry Potter. He did not always feel what he saw on the surface, even though his memories glided along James Potter's escapades, and the throes of his old tormenters. There were a multitude of aspects, those that did not merely rest upon the surface of Harry's face, and inner closures that were very difficult to understand completely. Harry was, after all, a product of his experiences, and not just what his parents made him. The neglected child under the famous name of Harry Potter, a.k.a. The-Boy-Who-Lived, had never actually known his parents. Thus, how could it be that he was their effect? It is sometimes quite impossible to imagine how much he was a part of the mental creation that others had concocted. Harry Potter was very much his own person. Severus Snape often might have realized that. Did his actions speak louder than his words? In Professor Snape's case, there is a fair amount of potential in the inklings of his mind, those musings that he had darkly sheltered way back, those to which he never gave voice. From my perspective, he realized that Harry was not his parent's child.

            As Hermione once quoted in the series somewhere in book six, Severus Snape was actually similar to Harry from many angles. Harry himself noted the rather distinguished childhoods that they both shared. It is not unlikely that they shared even more. As Hermione said after that memorable defense lesson that Snape taught them, the Potions Master was similar to him in the internal sense. They thought the same way, and between the two of them there was a mutual bond that stemmed, perhaps from their lonely childhood. Perhaps from the fact that they had both seen dark forces. Nevertheless, there was a looming atmosphere which the two of them had created that was rather difficult for them to interpret. The mirror images to Harry, were just as enigmatic as the images Snape produced, and they displayed a garden- not always of hyacinths and gardenias, either. There were many thorny bristles in their nature that they stumbled over, and it was a rough patch which the two of them shared. They did not recognize those areas in one another's, or, if they did see the pattern, they were too afraid to trace it.

            Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder by some. But in my own opinion, there are themes between different personalities that recur over and over again, in spite of the numerous times we miss them. Albus Dumbledore was one of the rare persons who was able to see into the very soul, through what J.K. Rowling notably thought to be x-ray vision. In Snape and Harry both, though, there was a fair amount of infrared light in their irises. Their vision was often cloudy, although, to be perfectly honest with you, both of them retained the capacity to see into the other's lighted tunnel. Just before Snape died in the Shrieking Shack that night, he whispered, look at me. There was a mutual bonding between the two of them at that moment that was impossible to miss. And, truly, I think that Snape really saw Harry for who he was. And vice versa on Harry's side, for a mere instant.

The Day That I Learned Occlumency

          My sugar is bound to be very high today . . . you do know that I had three bananas? That's a fascinating ability, really, as I never thought I could put down three, or would put down three, in one day. Ah, well  . . . the fact is immaterial. I realized a significant fact about myself yesterday, and the situation was not completely free of constraint, and some natural pain of course. I was engaging in a weight-heavy work out in which I felt extremely out of my element, and I remember standing in the most oft visited work out room, with weights. I was holding them and they were ruling over me. I did not know where I should put down the dense twenty-five pound dumbbells and when. Men with enormous arms that were practically splitting their t-shirts, wearing cold faces that never allowed their attached eyes to look in your direction unless the situation was dire, intently focused upon their own needs, pervaded. Before me, behind me, to the right, the left, swinging up their weights and lifting them over their heads as though there was no tomorrow on the horizon, and multi-billion mechanic-arm- leg . . . weight championship, must be met, today. I looked sorrowfully down at my dumbbells.

            It became a frenetic circumstance. I didn't know if I should place them in front of me where the thick barreled-chested man was, huffing almost sickly, or gently place it- should I place it loudly- should I attempt to demonstrate myself as they were doing? I despised every minute of that terrible, sweat-filled, dank room, filled with testosterone and huffs and blows that nearly sickened me. However, then I realized that I often smelled like chlorine, and I started to think about the notion that many of my café members regularly got a whiff of me, perhaps, when I sat there and typed- ha! The thought merely made me laugh. I stared in the mirror at my intently focused facial muscles- and lifted- one. Ahhhhh. That felt good. Okay, now I needed to concentrate, and I needed to figure out a way to get these weights rolling.  

            I had always known that there was a way to block out my thoughts without actually being focused on it. I had an instinct about the power of Occlumency. J.K. Rowling was not speaking about the topic through the lips of Severus Snape with an elegance that was derived from the sweet-drivel of friendly nothings. No, her voice was definitely taken from real life topics, so I knew that there must be something in the idea that was not composed only of her imagination, and I was determined to find that! I found that I really was. Recently I had read through a few fanfictions on the Fanfiction.Net site, for Harry Potter stories, and I'd noted an interested aspect that consistently made an appearance. However, it had remain untold that one might actually find the need to express a blank, white expanse of driveling space, or an object as part of those shields. I'd thought those notions for laughs, really, not decisively a tool in present life, but minor thoughts that fluttered. And yet I grasped that fluttering as my own curtain.

            I wanted more than anything to allow myself to feel nothing and to experiment with the theory of Occlumency. Was it really possible to block out one's thoughts completely? I have had so many ideas about this topic recently, that it was quite imprudent for me to say that the power of Occlumency truly lived within the realms of a false existence, and swirling and torrid- these ideas came! I wrote about Occlumency in my stories, and madly jotted down whatever ideas came to me during my lessons at school. Such made common appearances in my stories, and character interactions were flushed gay with the idea of living in a purely gray area in which thoughts could be twined into a fog at will, become absolutely nothing, pure and constant and recurrent. My characters did not seem to want to think, they seemed to be laden by the overbearing notion that thoughts could be obliterated, and I really wanted to be one with them. I wanted to invoke that gray sheet of fog unto myself, and solely believe in that one thing- fog, mist, whatever might recur, whatever you want to call it- but found that I could not reach this capacity. I did not technically believe in it, after all, although I had- oh!- so many ideas, to the point where the theme constantly recurred in my Harry Potter characters.

            It wasn't until last night that I realized the thought was more tangible then I'd been led to believe. Apparently the art of Occlumency was actually relevant, because as I stood within that crazy, that borderline frenetic swish of weights and bulky tendencies, I realized that I could in fact block out that imagery, and those awful smells. My mind wandered, and then- it stopped. I was no longer thinking of anything, and, at the most intense moment of my work out, when I thought that I would surely break from the pain and the conscious horror of the circumstances that were flying by me with their nefarious and egotistical (I should say) huffs, my thoughts halted. I came to a revelation, in that I realized that the idea of living within one, single solitary thought, actually composed the ability to turn thoughts of- and so my mind went stagnant. I no longer had to think or feel anything. I knew that I had attained the power of Occlumency.

            My characters are filled with life, on a and within a variety of different aspects. However, they are purely focused, an intent upon one particular prospect, because they are always moving towards higher thought processes. I do believe in the power of Occlumency, and I believe that it is one of the highest forms of thought that one can attain, purely designed for those that are forced to recreate the present life or segment of live in which they live currently, in order to ward off unwanted experiences. When the horror accumulates to an untamed, primitive and terrible ideology, one so thick that you do not want to be in what you mindfully perceive as the circumstance- turn it off- and escape, into the elegance of subtlety . . .

"You have no subtlety, Potter. That is what makes you such a lamentable, potions maker . . . "  Severus Snape ~