Legos (a fanfic)
Title: Legos
Author:mary_j_59
Type: Fiction
Category: Gen
Length: About 1,900 words
Main characters and/or pairings: Severus Snape, two original characters
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Ten years after the war, at Spinner's End, and Severus Snape is still learning some unexpected lessons
Disclaimers and Notes: Inspired by J.K. Rowling, without whose work this wouldn't exist. the story follows the cut:
Legos
(Summer, 2008)
"Christopher Evan Snape. Get that rubbish off the floor. Now."
It was the second time he had had to tell his son to pick up his toys, and he was annoyed. Jane had a colleague coming to the house, very much against his wishes, but it seemed to be unavoidable. They would need to entertain this person in the sitting room, which, at the moment, was littered with Christopher’s little plastic blocks. Jane’s parents had given him the things for his fifth birthday, a week ago, and Chris had been eagerly building with them ever since. Unfortunately, he was much better at strewing them all over the place than he was at putting them away. Still, he was an obedient child usually. Severus Snape trusted the mess would be cleaned up when he came through again from the kitchen.
It was not. Not a single little cube had been touched, and the strange ship Christopher was building still stood inside the box lid. Christopher himself was sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap For about a half second, Severus understood why his own father had sometimes taken a belt to him. He drew in a breath, preparing to give his son a tongue lashing, and noticed, just in time, that Christopher was in tears.
Severus Snape had never thought about being a father, and had been astonished at how intensely protective he had felt when his children were born. He would kill anyone who hurt them - no, who even tried to hurt them; who so much as thought about it. He knew that with certainty. But when he was the one doing the hurting? What could he do in that case? It was clear that Christopher was not simply being defiant. He was deeply upset, and he - Severus Snape - was the one who had upset him. In nearly fifty years of life, he had never understood how easy it was to crush a child with a word.
Severus walked over to the couch and sat down next to his son. With a sense of deja vu, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to his little boy. "Here. Blow," he said. Christopher obeyed, sniffling slightly. "What’s the matter?" Severus asked quietly. "Why didn't you put your toys away when I asked you to?"
"Cos it won't fit back in the box. My rocket! I would have to take it apart! An' I worked on it for hours and hours!"
Severus felt his irritation rising; was that the tragedy? Surely the child could manage to put the thing back together after taking it apart. Hadn't he built it in the first place? On the verge of snapping at Christopher once more, he forced himself to breathe in and speak calmly. He said, "Well. I see. But can't you build it again?"
"Aye. But it would take so long, Daddy. And I might not remember."
"So. You're afraid you wouldn't be able to build it again," Severus said. Christopher nodded emphatically.
"But can't you follow the picture on the box?" Severus asked. Christopher had been building peculiar objects all week, and had made most of them by following the models the box gave him. But now the little boy shook his head. "Why not?" Severus asked him.
"Cos it's not there. The picture. I made it myself, in my own head."
"Ah. Well, then. But we can't leave it here on the floor, can we? Your mam and her friend are coming home soon, and we need to make the place tidy. Why don't you pick up those little pieces and put them away?" In answer, Christopher looked up at his father hopefully and explained, "They'd get mixed up again. I put all the same ones together."
"So you want to keep them together." The little boy nodded again. "How many piles do you have?" Christopher counted carefully on his fingers, and his father, who had spotted seven piles in a glance, waited for his answer. "Seven here, and two more over there by the chair. That's nine, right, Daddy?"
"Right. Now, then," Severus said, and went to the desk where his wife kept her computer and opened a drawer. He pulled out nine envelopes and then produced a fountain pen from his pocket. "You draw the kinds of bricks on here, one on each. Then you put that kind in that envelope, and put it in the box. All right?"
"Aye!" Christopher responded, and got to work at once. Severus got down on his knees to help, since, after all, speed was of the essence. Chris had tried hard to keep the pieces together, but he hadn't quite succeeded: Severus felt one digging through his trousers into his knee, and hoped he hadn't broken it. There were two more stray pieces under the chair, but that seemed to be all. In a couple of minutes all the envelopes were filled and back in the box.
"Now. Take your ship there out of the lid and close it." Christopher obeyed. "You carry that; I've got the box. We'll put it in the shed," Severus told him.
"I can go in the shed, Daddy? Only you said I wasn't to go in there."
"You may go when I take you. Once the company's gone, you can have your ship in the sitting room again, or in your bedroom, if you prefer." They went out through the kitchen, and Severus unlocked the padlock on the shed door. Then he moved several flasks to a high shelf to the left of the entrance and set the box on the low one he had cleared. "Here, now. Put it on the box," he told his son.
Christopher obeyed. He spent some time getting the thing exactly centered on the box, and Severus, who felt himself growing impatient, had to remind himself not to rush the child. As Christopher took his hands from the ship, he said, "I'm going to put an engine in it, Daddy, when it's done."
"Ah. Are you?" Severus smirked a bit over the little boy's head; he could imagine the ship flying into hundreds of pieces once the engine ignited. That would be amusing, though possibly hazardous to the eyes of innocent spectators. Better have Christopher wear protective spectacles of some kind. "What sort of engine?" he asked.
"A rocket engine, Daddy! Didn't you know?"
"Well. I think you 'd better ask your Uncle Tim about that," Severus said. Visions of the utter destruction of the ship were becoming clearer and clearer to him. Christopher was likely to be disappointed if that occurred. True, one had to learn some things through experience, but, after all, he didn't want his little boy disappointed.
"Sean has a robot lorry. He can steer it with the computer. Maybe he'd help me?"
"Aye, most likely he would. But you had better ask Sean's dad about the engine. It might be the ship is not strong enough for it."
"I'll ask Uncle Tim if you like, Daddy. But it'll be strong enough. I know it will."
Severus raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. Christopher was determined, and would not be dissuaded, at least not by his father. He hoped the child would be ready to enjoy the explosion, when the time came. In the meantime, the rocket ship was safe in the shed, but there was still a good deal to do. Having locked the shed door again, he guided his son down the narrow path with one hand on his shoulder. Christopher had a tendency to dawdle, and was clearly reluctant to leave his rocket behind a locked door. But the children needed to be fed and bathed, and the kitchen cleaned; and the women were due to arrive in less than an hour.
As they opened the kitchen door and walked in, they were greeted by a wail. Elizabeth Grace Snape, Lily for short, seven years old, long-legged and full of drama, was standing at the table with a small bunch of wilting wildflowers in her hands. "Daddy," she cried, " I looked and looked, but I couldn't find any good ones."
"Those purple ones are pretty," her brother said.
"Ah. So you went to the river," Severus said, glaring at the spur of loosestrife his daughter was holding. "Didn't I tell you not to go there by yourself?"
Lily nodded, shamefaced. "But I didn't go close, Daddy. These were the only good ones I found."
"You were not to go at all. Do you know why?"
"Yes," Lily whispered.
"Tell me."
"Cos I might fall in. And it's dirty."
"Exactly. How do you think you should be punished?"
At seven, Lily was allowed to walk to school and the corner shops by herself, and was proud of having reached that level of maturity. "I shouldn't go to the shops," she suggested, teary eyed.
"For a week," her father added. Lily heaved a sigh and nodded. "Right. Bathe and get into your night things. Lily, you first. I'll take care of these." As the children trooped off, Severus heaved a sigh himself. He wasn't often alone with the children, and sometimes he found them exhausting, dearly as he loved them. One simply never knew what they would get up to next. Had he ever been that impulsive and dreamy? Jane often said he must have been exactly like Christopher as a little boy, but he couldn't see it. He couldn't remember ever being that vulnerable. Chris was far better looking, of course; he was a beautiful child. Both of them were absolutely lovely children.
Severus told himself he would speak to Tim first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe Christopher's rocket could fly, after all, improbable as it seemed. If not, perhaps they could put wheels on the thing instead. One way or another, they would get it moving.
He didn't want his little boy disappointed if he could prevent it. He knew with certainty that he would die for his children, if necessary. Getting a rocket made of little plastic bricks - legos, that was what the things were called - to take to the air without flying into pieces had to be simpler than dying. Less possible, perhaps, but simpler. If there was a way, he would find it. He would do anything for his children. It was unreasonable, perhaps, but reason didn't enter into this equation.
Tomorrow, or the day after, Christopher's rocket would fly.
Author:mary_j_59
Type: Fiction
Category: Gen
Length: About 1,900 words
Main characters and/or pairings: Severus Snape, two original characters
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Ten years after the war, at Spinner's End, and Severus Snape is still learning some unexpected lessons
Disclaimers and Notes: Inspired by J.K. Rowling, without whose work this wouldn't exist. the story follows the cut:
Legos
(Summer, 2008)
"Christopher Evan Snape. Get that rubbish off the floor. Now."
It was the second time he had had to tell his son to pick up his toys, and he was annoyed. Jane had a colleague coming to the house, very much against his wishes, but it seemed to be unavoidable. They would need to entertain this person in the sitting room, which, at the moment, was littered with Christopher’s little plastic blocks. Jane’s parents had given him the things for his fifth birthday, a week ago, and Chris had been eagerly building with them ever since. Unfortunately, he was much better at strewing them all over the place than he was at putting them away. Still, he was an obedient child usually. Severus Snape trusted the mess would be cleaned up when he came through again from the kitchen.
It was not. Not a single little cube had been touched, and the strange ship Christopher was building still stood inside the box lid. Christopher himself was sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap For about a half second, Severus understood why his own father had sometimes taken a belt to him. He drew in a breath, preparing to give his son a tongue lashing, and noticed, just in time, that Christopher was in tears.
Severus Snape had never thought about being a father, and had been astonished at how intensely protective he had felt when his children were born. He would kill anyone who hurt them - no, who even tried to hurt them; who so much as thought about it. He knew that with certainty. But when he was the one doing the hurting? What could he do in that case? It was clear that Christopher was not simply being defiant. He was deeply upset, and he - Severus Snape - was the one who had upset him. In nearly fifty years of life, he had never understood how easy it was to crush a child with a word.
Severus walked over to the couch and sat down next to his son. With a sense of deja vu, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to his little boy. "Here. Blow," he said. Christopher obeyed, sniffling slightly. "What’s the matter?" Severus asked quietly. "Why didn't you put your toys away when I asked you to?"
"Cos it won't fit back in the box. My rocket! I would have to take it apart! An' I worked on it for hours and hours!"
Severus felt his irritation rising; was that the tragedy? Surely the child could manage to put the thing back together after taking it apart. Hadn't he built it in the first place? On the verge of snapping at Christopher once more, he forced himself to breathe in and speak calmly. He said, "Well. I see. But can't you build it again?"
"Aye. But it would take so long, Daddy. And I might not remember."
"So. You're afraid you wouldn't be able to build it again," Severus said. Christopher nodded emphatically.
"But can't you follow the picture on the box?" Severus asked. Christopher had been building peculiar objects all week, and had made most of them by following the models the box gave him. But now the little boy shook his head. "Why not?" Severus asked him.
"Cos it's not there. The picture. I made it myself, in my own head."
"Ah. Well, then. But we can't leave it here on the floor, can we? Your mam and her friend are coming home soon, and we need to make the place tidy. Why don't you pick up those little pieces and put them away?" In answer, Christopher looked up at his father hopefully and explained, "They'd get mixed up again. I put all the same ones together."
"So you want to keep them together." The little boy nodded again. "How many piles do you have?" Christopher counted carefully on his fingers, and his father, who had spotted seven piles in a glance, waited for his answer. "Seven here, and two more over there by the chair. That's nine, right, Daddy?"
"Right. Now, then," Severus said, and went to the desk where his wife kept her computer and opened a drawer. He pulled out nine envelopes and then produced a fountain pen from his pocket. "You draw the kinds of bricks on here, one on each. Then you put that kind in that envelope, and put it in the box. All right?"
"Aye!" Christopher responded, and got to work at once. Severus got down on his knees to help, since, after all, speed was of the essence. Chris had tried hard to keep the pieces together, but he hadn't quite succeeded: Severus felt one digging through his trousers into his knee, and hoped he hadn't broken it. There were two more stray pieces under the chair, but that seemed to be all. In a couple of minutes all the envelopes were filled and back in the box.
"Now. Take your ship there out of the lid and close it." Christopher obeyed. "You carry that; I've got the box. We'll put it in the shed," Severus told him.
"I can go in the shed, Daddy? Only you said I wasn't to go in there."
"You may go when I take you. Once the company's gone, you can have your ship in the sitting room again, or in your bedroom, if you prefer." They went out through the kitchen, and Severus unlocked the padlock on the shed door. Then he moved several flasks to a high shelf to the left of the entrance and set the box on the low one he had cleared. "Here, now. Put it on the box," he told his son.
Christopher obeyed. He spent some time getting the thing exactly centered on the box, and Severus, who felt himself growing impatient, had to remind himself not to rush the child. As Christopher took his hands from the ship, he said, "I'm going to put an engine in it, Daddy, when it's done."
"Ah. Are you?" Severus smirked a bit over the little boy's head; he could imagine the ship flying into hundreds of pieces once the engine ignited. That would be amusing, though possibly hazardous to the eyes of innocent spectators. Better have Christopher wear protective spectacles of some kind. "What sort of engine?" he asked.
"A rocket engine, Daddy! Didn't you know?"
"Well. I think you 'd better ask your Uncle Tim about that," Severus said. Visions of the utter destruction of the ship were becoming clearer and clearer to him. Christopher was likely to be disappointed if that occurred. True, one had to learn some things through experience, but, after all, he didn't want his little boy disappointed.
"Sean has a robot lorry. He can steer it with the computer. Maybe he'd help me?"
"Aye, most likely he would. But you had better ask Sean's dad about the engine. It might be the ship is not strong enough for it."
"I'll ask Uncle Tim if you like, Daddy. But it'll be strong enough. I know it will."
Severus raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. Christopher was determined, and would not be dissuaded, at least not by his father. He hoped the child would be ready to enjoy the explosion, when the time came. In the meantime, the rocket ship was safe in the shed, but there was still a good deal to do. Having locked the shed door again, he guided his son down the narrow path with one hand on his shoulder. Christopher had a tendency to dawdle, and was clearly reluctant to leave his rocket behind a locked door. But the children needed to be fed and bathed, and the kitchen cleaned; and the women were due to arrive in less than an hour.
As they opened the kitchen door and walked in, they were greeted by a wail. Elizabeth Grace Snape, Lily for short, seven years old, long-legged and full of drama, was standing at the table with a small bunch of wilting wildflowers in her hands. "Daddy," she cried, " I looked and looked, but I couldn't find any good ones."
"Those purple ones are pretty," her brother said.
"Ah. So you went to the river," Severus said, glaring at the spur of loosestrife his daughter was holding. "Didn't I tell you not to go there by yourself?"
Lily nodded, shamefaced. "But I didn't go close, Daddy. These were the only good ones I found."
"You were not to go at all. Do you know why?"
"Yes," Lily whispered.
"Tell me."
"Cos I might fall in. And it's dirty."
"Exactly. How do you think you should be punished?"
At seven, Lily was allowed to walk to school and the corner shops by herself, and was proud of having reached that level of maturity. "I shouldn't go to the shops," she suggested, teary eyed.
"For a week," her father added. Lily heaved a sigh and nodded. "Right. Bathe and get into your night things. Lily, you first. I'll take care of these." As the children trooped off, Severus heaved a sigh himself. He wasn't often alone with the children, and sometimes he found them exhausting, dearly as he loved them. One simply never knew what they would get up to next. Had he ever been that impulsive and dreamy? Jane often said he must have been exactly like Christopher as a little boy, but he couldn't see it. He couldn't remember ever being that vulnerable. Chris was far better looking, of course; he was a beautiful child. Both of them were absolutely lovely children.
Severus told himself he would speak to Tim first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe Christopher's rocket could fly, after all, improbable as it seemed. If not, perhaps they could put wheels on the thing instead. One way or another, they would get it moving.
He didn't want his little boy disappointed if he could prevent it. He knew with certainty that he would die for his children, if necessary. Getting a rocket made of little plastic bricks - legos, that was what the things were called - to take to the air without flying into pieces had to be simpler than dying. Less possible, perhaps, but simpler. If there was a way, he would find it. He would do anything for his children. It was unreasonable, perhaps, but reason didn't enter into this equation.
Tomorrow, or the day after, Christopher's rocket would fly.