Pragmatic Wizardry (PG; a wizard, three hags, and a forest warden; 1954 words)
Title: Pragmatic Wizardry
Author:
iulia_linnea
Characters: A wizard, three hags, and a forest warden
Rating: PG
Warning (highlight to view): Hags die, babies don't.
Word Count: 1954
Summary: A wizard, three hags, and a forest warden walk into a story; not all of them walk out of it . . . .
Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from (and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by) the posting of this fan work.
Author's Note: Written for the 2022 run of snapecase. Thank you, Shog, for beta'ing.
The cottage blended into and became part of the forest in which it stood, so much so that Vera Rawbody and her "sisters," Olive Snakelegs and Belladonna Burnbone, were the only creatures in all of Scotland who knew, roughly, where it stood.
"Is this the place?" Vera asked, squinting into the curtain of dried mushrooms that acted as a shade over the door.
Olive sniffed at the browning fungus in the unnaturally warm air. "Got to be. Only wizards'd eat such muck!"
Bella stepped forward, pulling a large basket behind her. Dropping the leather cord she'd attached to the basket's handle, she growled, "You, there! You as promised us the baby back for Christmas! Open up yer door right no-"
"Ladies."
The voice came from behind them, from the way they'd come, and they all jumped.
The wizard's eyebrows rose. "Anyone would think you afraid, starting like that."
"Oh, stop it, you! We're here for our victual."
"Our big, fat victual," Olive said, emphasising Bella's point.
Vera grinned. "We've brought what-"
"You mean I've brung it!" Bella interrupted.
"-you asked for," continued Vera, as if her sister hadn't spoken. "All the makings of your bizare magical pie."
"The pie isn't magical," the wizard replied, Summoning the basket and opening it.
"Hey! You haven't given it us!"
"No, Miss Burnbone," the wizard agreed, "and I won't give it to you, not until I see that you've kept your part of the bargain."
"It's all there," whinged Olive. "All of it!"
"Close yer mouth, girl," Vera demanded. "Let the wizard work."
Slowly, he began removing and inspecting parcels from the basket. "Yes, good. Venison, rabit, pheasant-just over two pounds. Yes, that will do nicely."
"You said you had oil a'plenty," Vera noted.
"So I did," the wizard replied.
"And onions!" supplied Olive.
"But no garlic. Ah, excellent," the wizard said, pulling out a white lobed head of it.
Bella remarked, "That awful farmer, er," she corrected, as her sisters glared at her, "butcher in the village almost wouldn't sell me the back bacon."
"Why not?" asked the wizard. "Was your glamour so very weak?"
"There's no reason to be rude," Vera snapped.
"There is if you didn't bring enough bacon-but I see that you did. And I have mushrooms enough."
"How can you eat that filthy stuff?"
"Olive!"
"Vera!"
"Both of you!" exclaimed Bella.
"Salt and pepper, good. My stores of those were low."
"But flour you have?"
"Always."
"I bought the bay leaves and oranges and red currant jelly," Bella told the wizard, as he removed those items from the basket.
"And I found the port wine and eggs!" Olive exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "And you said you would give us back the baby if-"
"I remember our bargain," the wizard interrupted, snapping his fingers as he straightened.
The so-called foodstuffs levitated back into the basket.
Olive muttered something under her breath.
"What'd you say?" demanded Vera.
"Show off," Bella replied.
The wizard snorted as he surveyed the trio of hags. Vera Rawbody, long thought responsible for the disappearances of young children in the area, was a wiry being of indeterminate sex, though her pinkish, beribboned cloak and long black snaggled curls indicated a female presentation. As far as he could tell, she was in charge of her sisters' doings, and she had been the first one to agree to the deal when he'd caught them trespassing. The wizard didn't care to consider her surname.
Olive Snakelegs came by hers honestly. He had been able to verify that, between her limberness and use of glamours, she had managed to dispatch several human "suitors" who had not ever realised, until it was too late, of course, that they had only ever meant meat to Olive. Her complexion was unfortunately clear for a hag, but she did boast a creditable stoop and a set of well maintained fangs.
Belladonna Burnbone-or "Bella," to those who knew her better than they might have wished to do-was not a being from whom the wizard would ever have accepted flour; the wizard knew how she came by it: her surname was truth, itself, but her red hair owed everything to the artifices of a bottle.
The wizard sighed, impatient to dispatch his unwelcome neighbours. "I have dressed the infant, roasted and glazed it, and now that it has cooled-"
"You cooked it?" shrieked Vera.
Bella's hand closed over her own mouth with a clap.
And Olive howled, her head thrown back as far as her hump would allow.
"Oh, how could you have? We kept our part!"
"The deal! You broke it!"
"I'll, I'll kill you for this!"
Addressing each of the hags in the order in which they had spoken, the wizard said, "Come now, Vera and Bella and Olive, I'm a wizard of my word. The child you brought me was too far gone, as you know. I had to roast it, but that doesn't mean," he continued, over the rising sound of crying emerging from beyond the mushrooms, "that I didn't find something more appropriate for your Yuletide cheer."
"Is that . . . is that another baby?" Olive asked, composing herself. "A live baby?!"
"Step not into my home!" thundered the wizard.
Olive and Bella, who had both been moving towards his door, froze.
"Wizard," Vera said, "we don't require cooked meat. You keep it."
"I've gone to a great deal of trouble on your behalf. Refuse my generosity, and your ingratitude will. Be. Repaid."
The hags glanced at one another, their fingers working at their clothing, their bodies swaying from side to side, as they considered the wizard's words.
"I can, of course, and have, performed a spell on the cooked child. I shall tell you how to activate it at the appropriate time."
"And that'll make it seviceable?"
"Yes, Bella. It will."
Olive's eyes flew open. "You can make a babe as has been cooked raw again?"
"I can make it better," the wizard said, his voice filled with promise. "Remain here. I shall return with your . . . victuals."
As soon as the wizard disappeard with the basket of provisions, the hag siblings turned to one another in excitement.
"Two babies. Two!"
"What a Yule celebration we shall have!"
"Your diction, Bella, has improved."
"Oh, do be quiet, Vera. It's hard not keeping up appearances."
"That one is already too fancy for his own good and like to starve out here, eating dead things with so many spices."
"Herbs and spices!" Olive practically sang, shrugging when Vera and Bella glared at her. "Two babies!"
"Yes," said the wizard, handing Bella a basket. "Now off you go to celebrate at home. I've baking to do, and I don't want to see any of you before the new year."
"Prissy bitch."
"Bella!" cried Vera and Olive, grabbing her by the arms in a flurry of apologies and decaying skirts. "You can't speak to a wizard like . . . ."
~*~
The wizard listened to their voices fade, not wondering that none of the hags had paid any attention to the contents of the large basket they were dragging off with their sister. He'd surreptitiously Confunded them, after all.
There were no babies in their basket, just suckling pigs full of . . . pragmatic wizardry.
"No need to concern myself about that right now," the wizard told himself, setting about to prepare his own holiday meal. "Game pie and good ale," he murmured, "nothing could be better."
It was a traditional recipe he'd chosen, and one that would yield approximately six servings-unless three people were very hungry.
"Or one person means to engage in an orgy of Christmas cheer."
The wizard smiled. He didn't do it often, but the idea of a gelatinous pie filled with sweet meat and washed down by tankard after tankard of ale made him as merry as he had ever been.
And to be able to dine without worrying about the possibility of hags darkening his door with infant-related gore-though in this case, the infant in question had not been harmed but rather, returned immediately to its crib before it had been missed-was also worth celebrating.
The wizard had something else about which to be cheerful, and it arrived about the same time as the "report" from afar that signified that the hags had begun to celebrate a trifle early. He decided, just to be certain that the thing was done, to postpone opening his letter in favour of taking a walk.
~*~
"Hullo, there!" called an obvious Forest Warden from outside the blackened ring of destruction. "You're the new man in the hierophant's old place?"
"I am."
Extending his hand, the man continued, "Name's Travers, Ben Travers. I'm the Forest Warden in these parts."
"Yes, and this was the hags' hovel?"
"Oh," said Travers, "you knew of them?"
"They did tend to cackle of an evening. Sounds like that . . . travel."
Travers turned back towards the smouldering wreck. "Hags don't usually play with magic. I wonder what could have caused such an explosion?"
"Any bodies? There were three of-"
An awful snapping and popping sound rang out then, and Travers rushed towards it.
The wizard watched him go, making no move to follow. "Oh, my letter."
He pulled it from his robes. He'd known it was coming, had always known since he'd arrived at his new home. He'd just never had any idea what it would say. It read:
Dear Severus Snape,
Your name is Severus Snape. You were of late dead, a spy, not your own man, and a professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At this precise moment, you are still officially dead, but the name you carry-and you will find your required documents in the cottage, or that is to say, they will find you-is now William Prince, of those Princes, you know the ones (or you will; it will take a bit of time for the various spells to both take effect and wear off). You have a vault at Gringott's under that name, and you have engaged in various Potions-related correspondences under it for many years.
You wrote yourself this letter, William, as Severus, and to preserve your new life, it will destroy itself presently.
Don't do anything stupid, and enjoy your game pie.
You, for a wee bit longer, anyway,
Severus Snape
Severus blinked. His mouth watered. He blinked again-and then issued a bark of surprise as the letter burst into flames.
"Wow! It's going around, isn't it?" Travers called. "Nothing to worry about. Just the timbers settling."
"The what? Oh, yes. Of course." Severus offered his hand to Travers. "Forgive me for before, Forest Warden Travers. I've been baking all day. The name's Prince. William Prince."
Travers shook William's hand. "Of those Princes?"
"I'm afraid so. Hence the dramatic flourish with the letter."
"Well, it's good to meet you, but I've got to get back to headquarters and report the er, death, of three hags, Mr. Prince."
"William, please. I mean to stay for quite a while-the botanic specimens are simply splendid here-so I've no doubt I'll be seeing you again."
Travers looked back towards the embers, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, er, that sounds-William? Mr. Prince?"
~*~
"William" stepped back inside his protective enchantments, the ones that had not entirely fooled the hags. He could smell the pie, the ale, the drying mushrooms. He was, finally, home.
"It's over," he murmured. "It's finally over."
And of course, that was true. Severus Snape was dead. But for William Prince, there were many future Yule meals and countless researches to commence-so in a happy sense, it was just the beginning, which was quite a merry thought, indeed.
Author:
iulia_linnea
Characters: A wizard, three hags, and a forest warden
Rating: PG
Warning (highlight to view): Hags die, babies don't.
Word Count: 1954
Summary: A wizard, three hags, and a forest warden walk into a story; not all of them walk out of it . . . .
Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from (and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by) the posting of this fan work.
Author's Note: Written for the 2022 run of snapecase. Thank you, Shog, for beta'ing.
The cottage blended into and became part of the forest in which it stood, so much so that Vera Rawbody and her "sisters," Olive Snakelegs and Belladonna Burnbone, were the only creatures in all of Scotland who knew, roughly, where it stood.
"Is this the place?" Vera asked, squinting into the curtain of dried mushrooms that acted as a shade over the door.
Olive sniffed at the browning fungus in the unnaturally warm air. "Got to be. Only wizards'd eat such muck!"
Bella stepped forward, pulling a large basket behind her. Dropping the leather cord she'd attached to the basket's handle, she growled, "You, there! You as promised us the baby back for Christmas! Open up yer door right no-"
"Ladies."
The voice came from behind them, from the way they'd come, and they all jumped.
The wizard's eyebrows rose. "Anyone would think you afraid, starting like that."
"Oh, stop it, you! We're here for our victual."
"Our big, fat victual," Olive said, emphasising Bella's point.
Vera grinned. "We've brought what-"
"You mean I've brung it!" Bella interrupted.
"-you asked for," continued Vera, as if her sister hadn't spoken. "All the makings of your bizare magical pie."
"The pie isn't magical," the wizard replied, Summoning the basket and opening it.
"Hey! You haven't given it us!"
"No, Miss Burnbone," the wizard agreed, "and I won't give it to you, not until I see that you've kept your part of the bargain."
"It's all there," whinged Olive. "All of it!"
"Close yer mouth, girl," Vera demanded. "Let the wizard work."
Slowly, he began removing and inspecting parcels from the basket. "Yes, good. Venison, rabit, pheasant-just over two pounds. Yes, that will do nicely."
"You said you had oil a'plenty," Vera noted.
"So I did," the wizard replied.
"And onions!" supplied Olive.
"But no garlic. Ah, excellent," the wizard said, pulling out a white lobed head of it.
Bella remarked, "That awful farmer, er," she corrected, as her sisters glared at her, "butcher in the village almost wouldn't sell me the back bacon."
"Why not?" asked the wizard. "Was your glamour so very weak?"
"There's no reason to be rude," Vera snapped.
"There is if you didn't bring enough bacon-but I see that you did. And I have mushrooms enough."
"How can you eat that filthy stuff?"
"Olive!"
"Vera!"
"Both of you!" exclaimed Bella.
"Salt and pepper, good. My stores of those were low."
"But flour you have?"
"Always."
"I bought the bay leaves and oranges and red currant jelly," Bella told the wizard, as he removed those items from the basket.
"And I found the port wine and eggs!" Olive exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "And you said you would give us back the baby if-"
"I remember our bargain," the wizard interrupted, snapping his fingers as he straightened.
The so-called foodstuffs levitated back into the basket.
Olive muttered something under her breath.
"What'd you say?" demanded Vera.
"Show off," Bella replied.
The wizard snorted as he surveyed the trio of hags. Vera Rawbody, long thought responsible for the disappearances of young children in the area, was a wiry being of indeterminate sex, though her pinkish, beribboned cloak and long black snaggled curls indicated a female presentation. As far as he could tell, she was in charge of her sisters' doings, and she had been the first one to agree to the deal when he'd caught them trespassing. The wizard didn't care to consider her surname.
Olive Snakelegs came by hers honestly. He had been able to verify that, between her limberness and use of glamours, she had managed to dispatch several human "suitors" who had not ever realised, until it was too late, of course, that they had only ever meant meat to Olive. Her complexion was unfortunately clear for a hag, but she did boast a creditable stoop and a set of well maintained fangs.
Belladonna Burnbone-or "Bella," to those who knew her better than they might have wished to do-was not a being from whom the wizard would ever have accepted flour; the wizard knew how she came by it: her surname was truth, itself, but her red hair owed everything to the artifices of a bottle.
The wizard sighed, impatient to dispatch his unwelcome neighbours. "I have dressed the infant, roasted and glazed it, and now that it has cooled-"
"You cooked it?" shrieked Vera.
Bella's hand closed over her own mouth with a clap.
And Olive howled, her head thrown back as far as her hump would allow.
"Oh, how could you have? We kept our part!"
"The deal! You broke it!"
"I'll, I'll kill you for this!"
Addressing each of the hags in the order in which they had spoken, the wizard said, "Come now, Vera and Bella and Olive, I'm a wizard of my word. The child you brought me was too far gone, as you know. I had to roast it, but that doesn't mean," he continued, over the rising sound of crying emerging from beyond the mushrooms, "that I didn't find something more appropriate for your Yuletide cheer."
"Is that . . . is that another baby?" Olive asked, composing herself. "A live baby?!"
"Step not into my home!" thundered the wizard.
Olive and Bella, who had both been moving towards his door, froze.
"Wizard," Vera said, "we don't require cooked meat. You keep it."
"I've gone to a great deal of trouble on your behalf. Refuse my generosity, and your ingratitude will. Be. Repaid."
The hags glanced at one another, their fingers working at their clothing, their bodies swaying from side to side, as they considered the wizard's words.
"I can, of course, and have, performed a spell on the cooked child. I shall tell you how to activate it at the appropriate time."
"And that'll make it seviceable?"
"Yes, Bella. It will."
Olive's eyes flew open. "You can make a babe as has been cooked raw again?"
"I can make it better," the wizard said, his voice filled with promise. "Remain here. I shall return with your . . . victuals."
As soon as the wizard disappeard with the basket of provisions, the hag siblings turned to one another in excitement.
"Two babies. Two!"
"What a Yule celebration we shall have!"
"Your diction, Bella, has improved."
"Oh, do be quiet, Vera. It's hard not keeping up appearances."
"That one is already too fancy for his own good and like to starve out here, eating dead things with so many spices."
"Herbs and spices!" Olive practically sang, shrugging when Vera and Bella glared at her. "Two babies!"
"Yes," said the wizard, handing Bella a basket. "Now off you go to celebrate at home. I've baking to do, and I don't want to see any of you before the new year."
"Prissy bitch."
"Bella!" cried Vera and Olive, grabbing her by the arms in a flurry of apologies and decaying skirts. "You can't speak to a wizard like . . . ."
~*~
The wizard listened to their voices fade, not wondering that none of the hags had paid any attention to the contents of the large basket they were dragging off with their sister. He'd surreptitiously Confunded them, after all.
There were no babies in their basket, just suckling pigs full of . . . pragmatic wizardry.
"No need to concern myself about that right now," the wizard told himself, setting about to prepare his own holiday meal. "Game pie and good ale," he murmured, "nothing could be better."
It was a traditional recipe he'd chosen, and one that would yield approximately six servings-unless three people were very hungry.
"Or one person means to engage in an orgy of Christmas cheer."
The wizard smiled. He didn't do it often, but the idea of a gelatinous pie filled with sweet meat and washed down by tankard after tankard of ale made him as merry as he had ever been.
And to be able to dine without worrying about the possibility of hags darkening his door with infant-related gore-though in this case, the infant in question had not been harmed but rather, returned immediately to its crib before it had been missed-was also worth celebrating.
The wizard had something else about which to be cheerful, and it arrived about the same time as the "report" from afar that signified that the hags had begun to celebrate a trifle early. He decided, just to be certain that the thing was done, to postpone opening his letter in favour of taking a walk.
~*~
"Hullo, there!" called an obvious Forest Warden from outside the blackened ring of destruction. "You're the new man in the hierophant's old place?"
"I am."
Extending his hand, the man continued, "Name's Travers, Ben Travers. I'm the Forest Warden in these parts."
"Yes, and this was the hags' hovel?"
"Oh," said Travers, "you knew of them?"
"They did tend to cackle of an evening. Sounds like that . . . travel."
Travers turned back towards the smouldering wreck. "Hags don't usually play with magic. I wonder what could have caused such an explosion?"
"Any bodies? There were three of-"
An awful snapping and popping sound rang out then, and Travers rushed towards it.
The wizard watched him go, making no move to follow. "Oh, my letter."
He pulled it from his robes. He'd known it was coming, had always known since he'd arrived at his new home. He'd just never had any idea what it would say. It read:
Dear Severus Snape,
Your name is Severus Snape. You were of late dead, a spy, not your own man, and a professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At this precise moment, you are still officially dead, but the name you carry-and you will find your required documents in the cottage, or that is to say, they will find you-is now William Prince, of those Princes, you know the ones (or you will; it will take a bit of time for the various spells to both take effect and wear off). You have a vault at Gringott's under that name, and you have engaged in various Potions-related correspondences under it for many years.
You wrote yourself this letter, William, as Severus, and to preserve your new life, it will destroy itself presently.
Don't do anything stupid, and enjoy your game pie.
You, for a wee bit longer, anyway,
Severus Snape
Severus blinked. His mouth watered. He blinked again-and then issued a bark of surprise as the letter burst into flames.
"Wow! It's going around, isn't it?" Travers called. "Nothing to worry about. Just the timbers settling."
"The what? Oh, yes. Of course." Severus offered his hand to Travers. "Forgive me for before, Forest Warden Travers. I've been baking all day. The name's Prince. William Prince."
Travers shook William's hand. "Of those Princes?"
"I'm afraid so. Hence the dramatic flourish with the letter."
"Well, it's good to meet you, but I've got to get back to headquarters and report the er, death, of three hags, Mr. Prince."
"William, please. I mean to stay for quite a while-the botanic specimens are simply splendid here-so I've no doubt I'll be seeing you again."
Travers looked back towards the embers, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, er, that sounds-William? Mr. Prince?"
~*~
"William" stepped back inside his protective enchantments, the ones that had not entirely fooled the hags. He could smell the pie, the ale, the drying mushrooms. He was, finally, home.
"It's over," he murmured. "It's finally over."
And of course, that was true. Severus Snape was dead. But for William Prince, there were many future Yule meals and countless researches to commence-so in a happy sense, it was just the beginning, which was quite a merry thought, indeed.