Artist Eyes

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money


Its been over a year since my first exhibition. It was a roaring success, the most fashionable display in London, and I had become almost an instant success. All my work received raved reviews, but my photographs of Severus were in an entirely different league. The Image of a relaxed and satisfied Snape had become iconic of my work, and it brought me great pride to be associated with that image.

Severus had seen the exhibit before it was shown to the public. Silently and efficiently he was absorbed the work, before giving his brief consent. After it become successful, his life had stayed much the same. Our mutual friends had little interest in the world of Art, and the events in London’s affluent Art world made no tremors in the shady working class district Severus himself inhabited. If he had been noticed and recognised in the city itself, Severus never told me. I had given him a fair share in my payments for the work, yet he still lived in his dark and spare bedsit, saying it suited him well enough, why move? In truth, I liked the fact that nothing had changed, it kept Severus real, and it kept him mine. Numourus offers had been made by people to meet Severus, to offer him money to pose, or model but he refused everyone with no explanation. I liked to think of that as proof of him trust in me, and his appreciation of my work. But maybe he just liked to make people beg.

I was still begging.

Almost immediately after I had opened the exhibit, I felt the urge to create. And every time I saw Severus, my mind whirled with the artistic and aesthetic opportunities he could offer me. Within my mind I saw Severus dressed in black and white suits, posed with arrogance and flaunting his thinness. I saw him laying on a bed, wrapped in black sheets, a wanton, decadent display, beautifully androgynous. Sitting in front of a fire, the gold and red contrasting with his colouring - warm meeting cold. Wearing thin stripes of cloth masquerading as fashionable clothing, a living canvas for current trends. I wanted a picture with my hand splayed on his chest to show how petite he really was, wanted to make love to him, to see what lustful, intense expressions he would create again. I wanted to put him on a pedestal and worship him, and I wanted to break him and make him beg for me.

It was a typical Severus inspired reaction - polar extremes - the middle ground never enough.

I finally got my chance a cold November afternoon. Severus had come over to my new flat, looking for a drinking buddy to while away the grey day. After the exhibit I had moved to a large loft style flat - more space to work. Black curtains had the potential of blocking out all light, lamps and lights littered the walls and ceilings allowing me to control the glow of the room, and new brushes, paints, canvas and cameras held pride of place. It was all clean lines and shape corners, and I had laughed at the idea that even the place I choose to live had a hint of Severus in its character.

Severus was leaning against the window, gray light surrounding him as we conversed. Wearing tight black jeans, a white shirt and a well used and baggy suit style jacket he seemed half Mod and half punk, yet with a hint of conservatism. He still had his hair long, it was now half way down his back from disinterest, and its strands slid down the front of his face, ink on paper. We had been drinking for a good few hours, the scent of pot and tobacco lingering in the area, and Severus was moving with that easy long limbed grace they overtook him when he was relaxed and indifferent. Feeling cheeky and confident I reached and grabbed my new camera and took a sly shot, when he was leaning against the glass, eyes down, mouth smirking around a cigarette. His eyes darted up at the sound of the camera, and a raised eyebrow was all the question he voiced.

I asked him again if I could take his photo. I asked him if he trusted me, if I could try new things, told him he was so beautiful I wanted to share him with the world again…I babbled for a few minutes, trying to convince him to give me another opportunity, desperation growing, fearing that he was gong to deny me, that I would never get another chance to present him to the world as I saw him…

With a hard voice, slurring slightly from the days drink, Severus said yes….

POV Change

That photographer was showing another exhibit. As James hurried along the crisp spring morning, he tried not to examine his reasoning behind going back to the gallery which had displayed the artwork last time. He tried not the think about why he was going alone…

A crowd was once again milling around at the gallery, and James simply followed the crowd to reach the exhibit, and most importantly, the most anticipated section.

Snape was the model again.

Staring at the first portrait, James noted that Snape had not changed since the last time he posed. Yet he seemed so different. He was leaning hard against a wide glass window, a gray sky outline him thin, skinny frame. Wearing black jeans and a black jacket he stood out startlingly against the dull and boring backdrop. His head was hanging slightly down, hair falling over his shoulders, (it had grown since last time), reflecting the grey light poring into the frame. A long fingered hand was holding a white cigarette to his smirking lips and his eyes were downcast and laughing lazily. It was as if the camera had caught him unaware, an intrusion into a private joke. A relaxed and smiling Snape was an unknown entity to James and he felt slightly unsettled to be staring at the proof that Snape had a personality that knew phrases like laugh, smile and relaxed.

With a throwaway thought, he wondered what he was laughing at.

POV Change


As soon as Severus gave his consent, I downed my drink, thrust a fresh one in his hand and steered him towards the far end of the flat, where all the lights and cameras were set up, eagerly waiting to capture him again. The wall was simple exposed brick, and immediately I knew I would have no need to cover it; it suited Severus perfectly - hard, cold and unwelcoming, yet raw, vulnerable and striking in its simplicity. Severus leaned back against the wall, taking a long drink from his beer as I set up the lights and a few of the camcorders ( I wanted to make sure I managed to capture as much of him as possible). Finally picking up and focusing my trusty camera, I was overcome with nerves. There was so much I wanted to do, so many ways I wanted to present him, I felt almost at a loss as to which I should do first, which Severus would allow.

He was staring at me, eyes drilling into mine, they had lost their mellow, relaxed look and were now hard and challenging again. His deep voice cut through my thoughts and paralysis with a biting:

“Lost your “inspiration” or what?”

Drawing a quick breath at the accusation, I quickly begin to blindly click my camera, suggesting poses and states of dress as I went…

POV Change

Sirius could admit to himself that he was curious and wanted to see what the Photographer had done now. After finding out about the new exhibit, Sirius was quick to make his way to London and to the gallery, wondering if lighting had struck twice and Snape was once again a feature in the show. Pushing his way though tourists and then slinking his way past art lovers, he was again shocked to be confronted with an entire wall of Snape. These were different to the last show thought.

The last ones all relaxed and lazy, calm and contented. These were harder, more challenging and urban. There was a particular set of three which caught his interest right away. It was of “Snivilus” Snape as he remembered him…but not.

Standing in front of a plain brick wall, lights harsh, particularly after the gray wash of the first one, Snape stood sneering at the camera. Nothing spectacular or artistic about that…yet when Snape sneered in school it was never quiet like this…

Black, endless eyes stared hard out at you, looking right into your mind, face taunting and mouth cruel. His head was slightly tilted, his body leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. The black jeans and coat seemed to make him simultaneously smaller yet bigger against the plain black drop. He made you want to walk up to him and slap the defiant look off his cold face. Sirius felt on edge and tense just looking at him. The second one was much the same, except this time the head was tilted a little more, the shoulders hunched slighty and legs straight. By the third one, Snape had undone his coat and had his hands in his jeans, looking up at you through a curtain of long greasy hair. Throughout the three, cold, hard, defiant eyes stared back at you; a look Sirius was no stranger too. Yet, by the time you looked at the third one, the sense of vulnerability was choking which was at odds with those challenging eyes. He was like a cat - the smaller he became, the harder his eyes, the more you knew he would fight to the death. Sirius felt uncomfortable staring at the third one for too long, felt personally responsible for that look and that defensiveness. Realising his thoughts he snorted and quickly cast his eye over the rest before leaving quickly.

He had to give the Photographer credit - he could almost make you feel sorry for Snape.


POV Change


Severus was hating this. It was in his eyes, his posture. He felt vulnerable. Part of me was ecstatic at the feral looks he was giving me, at the raw emotion I’m sure he was unaware he was showing. Another part was overwhelmed with the urge to reassure and look after Severus, to make him realise how beautiful, strong and unique he was…That part of me won. Putting my camera down I dimmed the lights, grabbed more booze, an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes, before walking over to Severus and slumping down to the floor, pulling him with me by the hand. He sat reluctantly on the floor, body tense and not meeting my eyes.

Feeling cold and scared that he would walk out on me, I passed him a drink and a lit cigarette, and casually told him that he looked fucking fantastic. It earned me a scoff and a sneer, but he took a drink and smoked his fag before asking if I had heard anything about a mutual friend. We talked softly in the dim light, drinking and smoking or what felt like eternity. Slowly, Severus began the relax as the alcohol seeped into his blood, leaning back against the wall again, stretching his long legs in front of him. My eyes raking along his thin form, I felt my alcohol filled blood begin to warm, and the familiar urge to touch and explore, to evoke an entirely different set of emotions and looks from him. Kneeling up slowly, I run a finger gently along the inner seam of his jeans, just above his knee. He regards my movement lazily, neither accepting or rejecting. Reaching slowly for my camera, keeping my eyes on his I aim my shoot to include my hand, to catch my action and his lazy reaction. I was pleased when the click of the machine did not inspire that haunting look at defiance in his eyes. The calmness that was now in the room was deafening.

Giving into the drunken urges I had promised myself to resist, I clumsily stumble forward, nearly falling from my knees, and kiss him. The angle is awkward and his lips cool but still my breath hitched. Pulling back slightly, his eyes still held that same look, a passive acceptance, a resigned understanding. Suddenly aware of my own actions I move to sit back when I felt a cool and long fingered hand on the back of my neck, felt his breath on my lips. When that hand applied pressure, pulling me towards him again I went eagerly, moaning softy as he kissed me back. It was soft and slow, easy and relaxed. Eyes closed, soft moans and wet sharp sounds filled the air and hands simply held onto each other. Oddly enough, there seemed to be nothing sexual in this kiss. Unlike last time, there seemed to be no crescendo building between us, no desperation on my part to make him come undone in my hands, even if I would not allow myself to be undone by his. I was happy, thrilled, ecstatic, just to kiss him and taste him, to bruise his lips and just enjoy this simple yet intimate act. I realised with a jolt that I was now straddling his long legs, one hand on his neck, another in his hair. His hands mirrored my own. I imagined how intimate we would look on the camcorders, how perfectly we would fit together. It suddenly struck me I would be happy for the rest of my days if I could spend them right here, softly kissing Severus Snape. But already, I feel Severus pulling back and the ache in my chest make me realise:

I was falling in love.

Its both tragic and inevitable, the artist falling in love with his art. The intimacy he forms to it is incomparable to anything else. I had seen the beauty of Severus, the moment I laid eyes on him. I had managed to capture some of it and show it to the world. But the world would never, could never, see what I see. Every picture or photographs shows a single second, far removed from its original time. To be with Severus, see the changes every second, memorise every look, to see the influence you can have on him, is a greater high then any drug, bring more happiness then any recognition. It’s like painting the most incredible landscape in the world, only to find that a cloud that’s just come into view makes it all the more enchanting, that the sun would make it more perfect, the rain more striking, and even then, the image on canvas is just a pale imitation.

I think Severus understands.

He is looking at me now, lips bruised red and wet, cheeks flushed. His face holds a tiny smile, and his eyes are calm and warm, and I distantly see a glimmer of…pity? Apology? Resignation?

For once I’m not sure what his eyes are saying. Instead, I pick up my camera…

POV Change

Peter gave the street a final shifty glance before ducking into the gallery. He had to see the show, see if Snape was there again. If he was and the pictures were rubbish he would have something to bring to the others, to laugh and joke about with them, but if they weren’t, he had no intention of telling the guys anything.

Snape was featured again, and to Peters disappointment the pictures were once again, striking. One of Snape against a window, sneering against a wall (Peter found those ones hard to make eye contact with), but his eye was drawn for much longer by the next two.

Still in front of the wall, but this time slumped on the floor, bottle of beer just peeking into shot, The angle was slightly to the left, and Snapes head was tilted making the overall effect quiet dizzy. Snape looked relaxed and mellow. Bottom left, dancing on Snapes inner thigh, was a hand, fingers grazing black fabric. The placement was intimate, but Snape seemed unaware of this. With huge lazy black eyes, he regarded the camera with little interest. His gaze seemed deliberately blank, accepting the world as it was.

The next one though…

Taken almost straight on, and at a much closer distance, those black eyes seemed to be starting right into your soul. His face seemed content, and the bruised, red lips and flushed cheeks hinted at why. Yet his eyes were…almost loving, soft and warm. But at the same time, there was an element of pity when mixed with his small smile…All in all, Peter felt like he had lost something he did not know he wanted…


POV Change

I release a heavy sigh as I put my camera down feeling emotionally exhausted . Severus just raises an eyebrow. Smiling, I thank him and ask him if he wants to order some takeout. The rest of the night is spent drinking, eating and talking. Although it was as enjoyable as ever, the heavy sinking feeling in my chest stayed strong, and I knew my eyes were showing my longing, my self pity, my realisation.

I wonder if Severus can read me as easily as I can read him.

I offer Severus to stay the night, save him the drunken walk home but he declines. I’m not sure if that makes me happy or sad. I promise him final say in what I do with the pictures and he nods his acceptance, and I am stuck with a horrible feeling he will never pose for me again. As I stand at my door, watching him stagger along the road I want to run after him and run away. Want to keep him with me, and make sure I never see him again.

I had told myself the first time he posed that I wanted to keep him a mystery, to myself and my camera. Now I wanted to strip him bare and find all his secrets, only to do it again and again and again. My urge to share him and his beauty with the world was fading rapidly. I only want to show his beauty to him, to document it and explore it for myself. I want to paint him and photograph him in all the poses and looks I have dreamed of purely for my own eye. I no longer wanted Severus to be my art, I wanted him to be my Severus.

Nearly in tears at the realisation of how much Severus has consumed me, I sit on my sofa, and drink the night away…


POV Change

Remus was looking forward to this. Since the first exhibit, he could not get the artist and Severus out of his mind. It was strange and exhilarating, looking at the pictures, seeing the Snape that they all knew but looking at him with new glasses.

He spent the better part of an hour looking at all the pictures, going back and looking at them as a whole and on their own merits. It was just as breathtaking as last time, but the mood running through them was so much different. Seeing Severus change from content, to defensive, to uncaring to pitying was done so flawlessly Remus wanted to know the story behind it so badly. Wanted to get to know Severus.

With a small smile Remus found an empty spot on a bench, and spent another hour, happily drinking in the changing moods of Severus Snape.


POV Change

Once more, I am famous. I have not seen Severus in weeks. He has tried to come round, but I don’t tend to answer my door. I need time to fix myself, to go back to seeing him as objectively as possibly. I’ll manage it soon. Until then, I amuse myself by drawing and painting him in all my whimsical poses and styles of dress, trying to get back to how I was with him.

But I truly think I am a sadist.

Even now, playing on my video, is the camcorder footage from that session.

We do fit perfectly together…


a/n

Well that turned out far stranger then I thought it would. I did not mean for the photographer to be creepy. I was thinking of making this into a SS/RL fic but that just does not seem to fit…if people arent put off by the character, maybe I should put Snape and the photographer together? Snape is going to have issues which would be fun to put in P’s eyes maybe…or maybe I lost you all with this chapter…

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