A Whole World of Wonderful Things (PG-13; Severus, others; 1741 words)
Title: A Whole World of Wonderful Things
Author:
iulia_linnea
Characters: Severus Snape, others
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1741
Summary: Severus has been wandering for a while. He's not lost.
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 as a Category Five entry for the 2023 run of snapecase.
He's been wandering for a while, as he often does after completing a project, when the cart passes him on the road. It's carrying produce, and is packed so high that the driver doesn't appear to notice when he loses the odd pumpkin or three.
"You there!" he calls, appearing, he knows, like nothing more than a tourist. "You're losing gourds!"
"Thank you!" The driver stops and starts picking them up.
Severus helps him. "Spare this little one?"
"Won't make much of a pie. It's only about two pounds."
"Yes," Severus agrees, "but I don't want it for pie."
Having collected his veg, the man says, gesturing at the pumpkin, "With my compliments, then."
Severus thanks him and continues on his way.
The homey cottage he's created to make his time in the hills easier is dark when he returns to it, but that's easily remedied. He does not use magic for the purposes of cookery, however, and after putting the kettle on, Severus sets to carving his pumpkin.
"I'm going to stuff you," he promises.
He's feeling cheerful this night for the day was good. It wasn't too cold or too misty when he set off that morning. It was pleasantly cool enough to walk for quite a long while before stopping to rest. When he finally did stop, it was near a small herd of deer, the five of them peacefully grazing. They were more than enough company for anyone.
Severus finds himself wondering, unbidden, if deer make good enough company for him and begins to follow that thought down an unwelcome mental path. Experiencing some mild concern, he distracts himself.
"This bread is not as stale as it might be." He turns to the now empty pumpkin and sets its "cap" back on it. "You don't care about that, though, do you?"
Into a bowl, Severus tosses cubes of bread, some cold crumbled streaky bacon, thyme and parsley, pieces of cheese, salt, and pepper.
"What's missing besides the cream? Oh, yes."
Chives-one can use any sort of onion one wishes, of course, but Severus is partial to chives. They make a house smell like a home as they cook in a roasting pumpkin, and he's feeling nostalgic.
Snorting, because his own mother never once baked anything in his childhood residence to make it a home, Severus gives his filling a good mix, stuffs it into his little pumpkin, pours the cream over it, and then puts it in to bake. It will take approximately an hour and a half, so he'll have plenty of time to read.
He blushes to think of his reading material. It's ridiculous for a grown man to read historical romance, but the Wanda's Witcheries series was obviously written by someone more than a little proficient in Potions, and Severus has learned a thing or two in his reading of it. That, and the writer clearly enjoys getting laid.
Severus represses his own frustrated needs in this regard. He's been alone for a long time and usually doesn't mind it; he is self-sufficient, after all, but upon occasion, he does miss "company."
There's cookery in the series, as well, and since Severus has taken to preparing all his own meals in the past few years, he likes reading about it. He collects recipe books, now. He's been trying new things when he can, usually in the autumn when he takes himself off around the Isles to explore. Winter is for hunkering down, eating stodge in the form of take aways, and researching. Spring is for writing about what he's learned. Summer is for attending to his correspondence, indulging in the occasional, anonymous fuck, and tending his garden. And autumn, well, that's for trekking about, reading for pleasure, and cooking. So far, he's been enjoying the post-war pattern of his life. So far, he's had no complaints. So far, he's avoided teaching, no matter how many summer letters from Minerva he finds waiting for him each year.
Theodore Nott, former student and discreet as hell-and not under pain of anything, gratifyingly enough-acts as Severus' secretary. They communicate when necessary, which isn't particularly often, thank Merlin, and Theodore doesn't pester him about anything. Severus has grown rather fond of the boy.
It has never occurred to him to tell him as much. It does not occur to him now.
Now, he slips happily into the spell-warmed water of an old beaten up copper bath and sighs in pure pleasure. "Accio trashy but useful and enjoyable book!" he Summons, and the book flies into his upraised palm. He reads about Hester's heaving bosom for a moment before losing himself to the sensation of the water as it pulls the effects of the day's exertions from him.
"Don't let me drown," he murmurs.
The spell is his own; he often falls asleep in the bath, and he's nowhere near done enough with Hester to lose his life in such a stupid manner.
Life. Life is good and has been for some time. Life is . . . .
Severus awakes in an annoyance of cold bathwater-he forgot to cast a warming charm-and the realisation that he also forgot to kit the pumpkin out in its cap after stuffing it-and then he feels something warm bubble up from inside of himself and spill out over his lips: laughter!
Severus laughs because of the cap; rather, he laughs because he forgot it and it in no way fucking matters.
"If that . . . is the worst . . . thing to happen to you . . . this day," he tells himself, "then your life is very good, indeed!"
His towel is warm enough to have just come from a dryer as he wraps it around his waist; some charms one never forgets, and warm towels are one of life's most glorious joys.
Dressing, he runs through the many things he's decided he doesn't wish to be without, warm towels being only one of them. Warm towels, sharp knives, hot coffee-and freshly roasted, too; no stale nasty beans for me ever again!-clean warm sheets, fresh clothing, shiny clean cauldrons, dark chocolate, the occasional spectacular pair of tits, and on even rarer but no less welcome occasions, a stiff prick.
Life is short. There's no need to be choosy.
"Well, except when it comes to cauldrons."
One can go disasterously wrong with an inadequate cauldron.
Severus moves to the kitchen area and removes his capless pumpkin-which smells amazing, its skin now a bronzed orange.
"Look how crispy!"
The cheese and bread have fused into a lovely browned crispy top; Severus feels as though he can barely wait for it to cool enough to eat, but of course, he does. Life is too short to waste time on a burnt tongue; magic might Heal it quickly, but the memory of it will linger. He knows this from experience.
He brushes aside the notion of lingering memories with stern mental practice; there truly is no fucking time for unpleasant thoughts. No, he's wasted enough of his life on them, making them and reliving them, and he's done.
With a flick of his wrist, his little table sets itself, and he carries the pumpkin to it. It's so small that it is firsts and seconds together; it's not as though he has a fridge. Oh, there are charms, but why? His hike was long. He has earned this pumpkin!
Severus eats it all and then belches without incident, propping his book up against a Cushioning Charm.
"Merlin, Hester!" he exclaims. "You barely know the man. You barely-oh, that's . . . inventive."
Severus falls asleep reading and wakes up to the importuning of his libido. He moves to his cot and answers it, gasping in pleasure and stiff joints before falling, entirely pleased with himself, asleep again.
~*~
"Such a . . . good day."
It's quiet on the ward, so Healer Adams is able to clearly hear it when her most vocal patient begins to speak. She rises and moves to join the man's Wizengamot-appointed guardian, checking the charms on her gauze-bedecked white pumpkin ornaments as she goes.
Theodore nods at her. "He seems happy today."
They both look at Mr. Snape. He's smiling.
"Next time, more bacon, won't forget the cap."
"He sounds as if he's been cooking in there," Adams whispers. "Good for him."
Theodore frowns. "I know I ask all the time, but-"
"It will take the time it will take, Mr. Nott. The modified Daydream Charm works at different rates for different people-"
"Who've experienced different traumas differently," finishes Theodore.
"That's right," agrees Adams. "We both know that Mr. Snape has a lot to work through. What we don't know is how a patient will elect to work through it, but when his mind is ready, he will wake up." She takes his hand. "It's been years, I know that. I know you're frustrated, but-"
"I don't mean to be a pest, Amanda."
Amanda is pleased that she keeps her composure. Theodore has never called her by her first name before!
"Forgive me, Healer Adams."
"Oh, Theodore, there's no need for you to apologise. You care for Mr. Snape. I think that's so very good for him. It can only help, caring."
Theodore blushes. Amanda beams. And the house-elves appear.
Pop! Pop!
"Physical therapy elves, Lissy and Nissy, reporting for duty!" they exclaim as one, and begin to exercise Snape's limbs.
"Hester, you barely know me."
Theodore rises abruptly and walks toward the door. "Well, that's my cue. See you tomorrow, Am-er, Healer Adams."
Amanda smiles after Theodore's oh so proper exit before pulling Mr. Snape's curtain around his bed to give him his privacy. She's not at all surprised to hear him giggle.
"I don't who this Hester of yours is," she says to him, "but she sounds like a very lucky witch."
Amanda wishes that Theodore might treat her a bit like Mr. Snape appears to be treating Hester, but she is not one to press romantic matters. Things will unfold as they ought to do. She believes this; if she did not, she could not have the career that she does.
She makes her rounds and speaks softly to each of her five patients, sometimes reading to them, sometimes sharing news of their families and friends, but always reminding them that there is a whole world of wonderful things awaiting them when they awake. Her colleagues think she's silly, of course, for not one of her patients is truly conscious, but Amanda does not care.
People need to know that they aren't alone. It's important. She feels this keenly.
Her tea is waiting for her at her desk when she returns to it. The canteen lady has left her cheese scones, which are redolent of chive and cheddar. Amanda claps her hands together in delight.
"Life," she says, gazing at her festively decorated yet orderly ward, "certainly is good, isn't it?"
Author:
iulia_linnea
Characters: Severus Snape, others
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1741
Summary: Severus has been wandering for a while. He's not lost.
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 as a Category Five entry for the 2023 run of snapecase.
He's been wandering for a while, as he often does after completing a project, when the cart passes him on the road. It's carrying produce, and is packed so high that the driver doesn't appear to notice when he loses the odd pumpkin or three.
"You there!" he calls, appearing, he knows, like nothing more than a tourist. "You're losing gourds!"
"Thank you!" The driver stops and starts picking them up.
Severus helps him. "Spare this little one?"
"Won't make much of a pie. It's only about two pounds."
"Yes," Severus agrees, "but I don't want it for pie."
Having collected his veg, the man says, gesturing at the pumpkin, "With my compliments, then."
Severus thanks him and continues on his way.
The homey cottage he's created to make his time in the hills easier is dark when he returns to it, but that's easily remedied. He does not use magic for the purposes of cookery, however, and after putting the kettle on, Severus sets to carving his pumpkin.
"I'm going to stuff you," he promises.
He's feeling cheerful this night for the day was good. It wasn't too cold or too misty when he set off that morning. It was pleasantly cool enough to walk for quite a long while before stopping to rest. When he finally did stop, it was near a small herd of deer, the five of them peacefully grazing. They were more than enough company for anyone.
Severus finds himself wondering, unbidden, if deer make good enough company for him and begins to follow that thought down an unwelcome mental path. Experiencing some mild concern, he distracts himself.
"This bread is not as stale as it might be." He turns to the now empty pumpkin and sets its "cap" back on it. "You don't care about that, though, do you?"
Into a bowl, Severus tosses cubes of bread, some cold crumbled streaky bacon, thyme and parsley, pieces of cheese, salt, and pepper.
"What's missing besides the cream? Oh, yes."
Chives-one can use any sort of onion one wishes, of course, but Severus is partial to chives. They make a house smell like a home as they cook in a roasting pumpkin, and he's feeling nostalgic.
Snorting, because his own mother never once baked anything in his childhood residence to make it a home, Severus gives his filling a good mix, stuffs it into his little pumpkin, pours the cream over it, and then puts it in to bake. It will take approximately an hour and a half, so he'll have plenty of time to read.
He blushes to think of his reading material. It's ridiculous for a grown man to read historical romance, but the Wanda's Witcheries series was obviously written by someone more than a little proficient in Potions, and Severus has learned a thing or two in his reading of it. That, and the writer clearly enjoys getting laid.
Severus represses his own frustrated needs in this regard. He's been alone for a long time and usually doesn't mind it; he is self-sufficient, after all, but upon occasion, he does miss "company."
There's cookery in the series, as well, and since Severus has taken to preparing all his own meals in the past few years, he likes reading about it. He collects recipe books, now. He's been trying new things when he can, usually in the autumn when he takes himself off around the Isles to explore. Winter is for hunkering down, eating stodge in the form of take aways, and researching. Spring is for writing about what he's learned. Summer is for attending to his correspondence, indulging in the occasional, anonymous fuck, and tending his garden. And autumn, well, that's for trekking about, reading for pleasure, and cooking. So far, he's been enjoying the post-war pattern of his life. So far, he's had no complaints. So far, he's avoided teaching, no matter how many summer letters from Minerva he finds waiting for him each year.
Theodore Nott, former student and discreet as hell-and not under pain of anything, gratifyingly enough-acts as Severus' secretary. They communicate when necessary, which isn't particularly often, thank Merlin, and Theodore doesn't pester him about anything. Severus has grown rather fond of the boy.
It has never occurred to him to tell him as much. It does not occur to him now.
Now, he slips happily into the spell-warmed water of an old beaten up copper bath and sighs in pure pleasure. "Accio trashy but useful and enjoyable book!" he Summons, and the book flies into his upraised palm. He reads about Hester's heaving bosom for a moment before losing himself to the sensation of the water as it pulls the effects of the day's exertions from him.
"Don't let me drown," he murmurs.
The spell is his own; he often falls asleep in the bath, and he's nowhere near done enough with Hester to lose his life in such a stupid manner.
Life. Life is good and has been for some time. Life is . . . .
Severus awakes in an annoyance of cold bathwater-he forgot to cast a warming charm-and the realisation that he also forgot to kit the pumpkin out in its cap after stuffing it-and then he feels something warm bubble up from inside of himself and spill out over his lips: laughter!
Severus laughs because of the cap; rather, he laughs because he forgot it and it in no way fucking matters.
"If that . . . is the worst . . . thing to happen to you . . . this day," he tells himself, "then your life is very good, indeed!"
His towel is warm enough to have just come from a dryer as he wraps it around his waist; some charms one never forgets, and warm towels are one of life's most glorious joys.
Dressing, he runs through the many things he's decided he doesn't wish to be without, warm towels being only one of them. Warm towels, sharp knives, hot coffee-and freshly roasted, too; no stale nasty beans for me ever again!-clean warm sheets, fresh clothing, shiny clean cauldrons, dark chocolate, the occasional spectacular pair of tits, and on even rarer but no less welcome occasions, a stiff prick.
Life is short. There's no need to be choosy.
"Well, except when it comes to cauldrons."
One can go disasterously wrong with an inadequate cauldron.
Severus moves to the kitchen area and removes his capless pumpkin-which smells amazing, its skin now a bronzed orange.
"Look how crispy!"
The cheese and bread have fused into a lovely browned crispy top; Severus feels as though he can barely wait for it to cool enough to eat, but of course, he does. Life is too short to waste time on a burnt tongue; magic might Heal it quickly, but the memory of it will linger. He knows this from experience.
He brushes aside the notion of lingering memories with stern mental practice; there truly is no fucking time for unpleasant thoughts. No, he's wasted enough of his life on them, making them and reliving them, and he's done.
With a flick of his wrist, his little table sets itself, and he carries the pumpkin to it. It's so small that it is firsts and seconds together; it's not as though he has a fridge. Oh, there are charms, but why? His hike was long. He has earned this pumpkin!
Severus eats it all and then belches without incident, propping his book up against a Cushioning Charm.
"Merlin, Hester!" he exclaims. "You barely know the man. You barely-oh, that's . . . inventive."
Severus falls asleep reading and wakes up to the importuning of his libido. He moves to his cot and answers it, gasping in pleasure and stiff joints before falling, entirely pleased with himself, asleep again.
~*~
"Such a . . . good day."
It's quiet on the ward, so Healer Adams is able to clearly hear it when her most vocal patient begins to speak. She rises and moves to join the man's Wizengamot-appointed guardian, checking the charms on her gauze-bedecked white pumpkin ornaments as she goes.
Theodore nods at her. "He seems happy today."
They both look at Mr. Snape. He's smiling.
"Next time, more bacon, won't forget the cap."
"He sounds as if he's been cooking in there," Adams whispers. "Good for him."
Theodore frowns. "I know I ask all the time, but-"
"It will take the time it will take, Mr. Nott. The modified Daydream Charm works at different rates for different people-"
"Who've experienced different traumas differently," finishes Theodore.
"That's right," agrees Adams. "We both know that Mr. Snape has a lot to work through. What we don't know is how a patient will elect to work through it, but when his mind is ready, he will wake up." She takes his hand. "It's been years, I know that. I know you're frustrated, but-"
"I don't mean to be a pest, Amanda."
Amanda is pleased that she keeps her composure. Theodore has never called her by her first name before!
"Forgive me, Healer Adams."
"Oh, Theodore, there's no need for you to apologise. You care for Mr. Snape. I think that's so very good for him. It can only help, caring."
Theodore blushes. Amanda beams. And the house-elves appear.
Pop! Pop!
"Physical therapy elves, Lissy and Nissy, reporting for duty!" they exclaim as one, and begin to exercise Snape's limbs.
"Hester, you barely know me."
Theodore rises abruptly and walks toward the door. "Well, that's my cue. See you tomorrow, Am-er, Healer Adams."
Amanda smiles after Theodore's oh so proper exit before pulling Mr. Snape's curtain around his bed to give him his privacy. She's not at all surprised to hear him giggle.
"I don't who this Hester of yours is," she says to him, "but she sounds like a very lucky witch."
Amanda wishes that Theodore might treat her a bit like Mr. Snape appears to be treating Hester, but she is not one to press romantic matters. Things will unfold as they ought to do. She believes this; if she did not, she could not have the career that she does.
She makes her rounds and speaks softly to each of her five patients, sometimes reading to them, sometimes sharing news of their families and friends, but always reminding them that there is a whole world of wonderful things awaiting them when they awake. Her colleagues think she's silly, of course, for not one of her patients is truly conscious, but Amanda does not care.
People need to know that they aren't alone. It's important. She feels this keenly.
Her tea is waiting for her at her desk when she returns to it. The canteen lady has left her cheese scones, which are redolent of chive and cheddar. Amanda claps her hands together in delight.
"Life," she says, gazing at her festively decorated yet orderly ward, "certainly is good, isn't it?"