Fanfic, Yo

[lebateleur]

Holy crap! I ran four kilometers and then sat down and added a whole bunch to my HPSS story. This is amazing not so much for the writing part as it is for the writing it straight through part; I'm what luthien67 refers to as a Random Access Writer and it's rare that I can ever write an entire scene in one go, let alone two or three at a time.

Because I have an inordinate fear of a computer meltdown occurring whenever I've finished some major writing, the bits I added tonight are here:

Snape was at work again several days later. Stanton had called earlier in the week to say that he was attending a dealers' showing in another section of the state and wouldn't be able to receive the coins from Snape personally. Which had turned out just as well, given the fact that Snape could not get the alloys to mix correctly.

"Bloody. Fucking. Hell!" he spat as yet another wretchedly obvious mistake emerged from his die. This coin was easily within his means to create; he could not fathom why he'd turned out nothing save failures thus far.

"Language," admonished a dry voice almost directly behind him.

He jumped; when the hell had Potter come into the garage and how much had the man observed? "That's rich, coming from you," he intoned, not bothering to turn around.

"What do you mean by that, Snape?" The retort was immediate but carried no real ire.

"You know precisely what I mean," he responded, discretely wiping his sweaty hair back from his face. "I well remember how horrifying your language was at Hogwarts."

Potter gave a short bark of a laugh. "You're prob'ly thinking of Ron, mostly," he said.

Snape straightened and gave a long-suffering sigh. Potter was no longer the vengeance-obsessed wretch who'd first put him under house arrest, but he was just as annoying in this new incarnation as well. "Have you come here for the sole purpose of tormenting me?" he inquired.

There was a pause as Potter considered. "Not entirely," he said at last.

Snape squeezed his eyes shut. He was bound to develop all manner of nasty ticks before Potter's blessed return to England. "Then may I ask," he gritted out, "to what I owe the pleasure of your company this time?"

"'S nothing to eat," Potter said immediately.

At that he did turn around. "And whose fault would that be," he said icily. Potter's green eyes were laughing at him behind the glasses and the unruly tangle of fringe.

"No idea," the boy responded impishly. "But you'd probably best think about getting some more."

"Unfortunately," said Snape, "as you show no signs of leaving, it has become my intention to starve you to death."

"If I don't eat, neither do you," said Potter.

"If my own death by starvation is the price by which I may secure your demise, so be it."

Potter snorted and crossed his arms about his chest. "I could almost think you were being serious," he said.

"Oh, do not doubt that I am being serious," he said silkily. "It appears that death is the one manner by which I might be free of you, and thus I have no choice but to pursue it."

Something shifted minutely in Potter's expression. His gaze shifted from Snape's eyes to some indeterminate corner of the garage. "Well, there's no food anyway. Just so you know," he said, and then removed himself from the garage.

Snape sent a dignified sniff after him, then returned his attention to his work. Yet try as he might, he could not get the coins to cast correctly, and he finally gave it up for a lost cause. At least he was in no hurry to get the order finished, as he could now post it to Stanton any time within the next month.

And there were more pressing matters to attend to. After searching most of the house, he finally located Potter in the study, where the boy had evidently been practising wand gestures every day.

Potter's expression was delightfully sheepish when he realised that Snape had been observing him. "So this is what you've been doing every morning," Snape said.

Potter squared his shoulders defiantly. "Yes," he answered.

"It's a pointless exercise," Snape informed him. "Your skill will continue to decline, no matter what you do to in an attempt to save it."

Potter shrugged, although the gesture did not look as nonchalant as Potter doubtlessly hoped it had.

"Idiot boy," he snapped. "You're wasting your time. It has already been proven that I pose no threat to you." He attempted ire, but his pleasure at finding Potter worried about his declining skill was such that the words were not as scathing as he would have wished.

"Now come along."

Potter eyed him warily. "Where?" he demanded.

Snape arched a brow. "I am feeling charitable at the moment," he said, "and I wish to eat. And as you have eaten all the food in my house, it is only fitting that you come with me to replenish it."

"So why don't you go buy some food then?"

"Because I am not feeling so charitable as to spare you from the joys of Muggle commerce."

"I'm not paying for anything myself."

Snape shot him a withering look.

The sheepish look returned. "All right," the boy said at last.

They made the trek into town at a leisurely pace. Snape was not enjoying Potter's company per se, but the knowledge of what he was about to do increased his enjoyment of Potter's presence manifold. He was smiling a not particularly nice smile of anticipation, which only widened when Potter noticed it.

Finally they reached the broad shopping alley the Muggles referred to as the "strip mall." Snape waited until he had Potter's full attention and then reached into the breast pocket of his coat and retrieved a folded piece of paper and a leather wallet full of Muggle "bills." He handed both to Potter, who accepted them automatically.

"Well, then," he said.

"Well then, what, Snape?" Potter said, and for once Snape was actually able to enjoy his thickheadedness.

It finally dawned on Potter to open the sheet of paper in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he read.

"You can't be serious," Potter said.

"I am indeed," he responded silkily. "As long as you are a...guest...in my house, you might as well put yourself to good use. You will find enough money in the wallet to purchase the items I've listed, as well as rather considerable sum which you may choose to spend as you wish."

"Right," said Potter through gritted teeth. "Let's get on with it then."

"We," Snape inquired?

"Yes, we," said Potter irritably. "Unless you had other plans?"

"I do, as it so happens."

"And they would be?" Potter said tightly.

"Waiting for you to return with the necessary items." This was turning out to be a most amusing exercise indeed.

He tried a different tack. "I don't live here, Snape. I don't know where anything is."

"Then you had best begin to familiarise yourself."

"You're going to be waiting a damn long time," Potter threatened.

"I am a most patient man," he assured the boy.

"I'm an Auror, Snape!" he exploded, then reddened at the curious glances of the passersby.

Snape was silent for a moment, savoring Potter's anger and the fact that the boy had to struggle to hide it. "Aurors have to eat as well," he informed him in his most condescending tones.

"You bastard!" Potter spat. "You're enjoying this!"

"Immensely," Snape assured him, and enjoyed himself even more.

Potter sent him a final, scathing glare, before stalking into the nearest store.

It did take the boy a great deal of time to make his purchases, although not as much as it had taken Snape during his first years as a Muggle. Snape reminded himself, however, that the boy had been raised as a Muggle and would of course be better at it than had Snape, and so Potter's ability did not needle him as it would have otherwise.

And it was rather delightful that Potter had to return to the bench where Snape awaited him two or three times, as there were too many items for him to carry at once.

Unfortunately, this meant that Snape had to help Potter carry the day's shopping back, but he did not really mind. It was late afternoon, sunlight slanting through the low grey clouds so that they walked through patches of light and dark as they went on their way.

"How the hell did you manage this on your own," Potter grumbled under his breath, struggling to balance one of the heavier bags with his knee.

"By never letting my pantry fall to such dire levels," he responded.

Potter jumped slightly; he hadn't been expecting an answer.

"You couldn't take the bus, or something?" he asked irritably. "Or are you afraid of it, like you are cars?"

Now it was Snape's turn to jump. Potter's uncharacteristic moments of perceptiveness always caught him off guard.

"I have ridden the Knight Bus," he responded, rather irritably himself.

"Then it's all the more irrational," Potter shot back, and readjusted his parcels yet again.

"On the contrary," Snape said, "as Muggle buses are driven with one-tenth of Stan's remarkable lack of skill, my reaction is quite rational indeed."

As if to prove his point, a metro bus came careening around the corner, spattering them both with mud as it raced the streetlight to the intersection. Snape regarded the hem of his angora coat critically.

"And as you will notice, objects do not move out of the way for the Muggle version," he said dryly.

Potter was silent for a long moment. "I see your point," he said finally.

They left the subject at that, and Snape was rather surprised to find that he was glad it hadn't degenerated into another pissing match. He was still relishing his triumph of earlier that afternoon, but even so, he had to admit that life was easier when he was ignoring Potter, as opposed to goading him into an argument.

Between the two of them they managed to get the door open with a minimum of parcels left on the stoop, and then trooped to the kitchen where they deposited the first load onto the kitchen table.

Snape flung open the pantry doors and began to replenish its shelves in his normal fashion; grains and breads on the lowest shelf, canned goods above them, and root vegetables and spices on the next highest shelves.

He'd fully intended to make as much use of Potter as he could during this exercise, but the boy had managed to make that a chore instead of a delight.

"Good gods," he said finally, "Enough!"

Potter froze where he stood, hand half-outstretched to the middle cupboard, where he had been about to deposit a box of cereal. A look of utter incomprehension was plastered on his face.

Snape buried his head in his hands for a brief moment. "You are making an absolute mess of my kitchen," he told Potter. "Out!"

When Potter did not move, Snape advanced on him and snatched the offending article from his hands. "The cereal does not go in there," he said, removing it to its correct location on the shelf above the gas range.

Potter's brow furrowed. "Snape, you're treating this as if it was--" He cut himself off, and exited the kitchen, a bemused smile on his face.

Snape's unpacking went a great deal faster once the boy was no longer there to throw it into disorder. And Potter did make himself useful after all, carrying the few remaining bags from the stoop to the kitchen.

Potter brought the last of the parcels in and then did not return, so Snape unpacked Potter's items as well. The difference between their purchases was most enlightening. Snape's list had consisted of raw ingredients - fruits, vegetables, cheeses, broths. Potter's shopping had consisted of microwave trays, instant noodles, and an assortment of cereals containing garishly-colored sugar-coated oats and petrified marshmallows.

It was also clear by their paucity that Potter had not spent all of his money on food. He was most likely planning on stealing more of Snape's leftover cooking. Very well, he thought. I'll make smaller portions.

He was able to attend to his potion-brewing with renewed concentration that evening, no doubt owing to his triumph over Potter, and so when it came time for dinner he saw fit to treat himself.

Potter emerged into the kitchen two hours later. "Are you finished?" he demanded.

Fork poised over the pot, Snape opened his mouth to ask Potter what exactly he was on about, and then understood. They had tacitly observed a bathing and dining schedule ever since Potter had arrived at his house, and tonight he'd deviated from that schedule by a few hours.

Potter was probably very hungry. Well, it couldn't be helped.

"I'll finish shortly," he said, and returned to his meal. But instead of retreating into the living-room, Potter seated himself across the table from Snape.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked. "Is this your meal?"

"Yes," Snape said shortly, spearing a bit of apple and dipping it.

"What is it?" said Potter.

"Fondue," he said shortly, and began chewing. He found eating in front of Potter quite unsettling, but he wasn't about to let the Bunsen go out while waiting for the boy's exit.

"That's it?" said Potter. "Just dipping things in cheese."

"Your acumen for noting the obvious is peerless," Snape answered, selecting a cube of whole wheat.

To his ever increasing discomfort, Potter laughed. "You must truly miss being a wizard," he said.

"And how do you reckon that?" Snape said shortly. He chose a slice of pear next.

Potter's green eyes twinkled. "Look at yourself," he said. "This little pot with the cheese - it's just like a little cauldron. And the skewer--"

"Fork," said Snape around a mouthful of strawberry.

"Fork," Potter repeated smoothly. "It's like a surrogate wand. And you've laid all this food out as if it was potions ingredients."

The boy's conclusions were patently ridiculous. Still, Snape found Potter's enthusiasm to be most irksome.

"It is a meal, Potter, not a potion."

"You don't believe me," Potter said needlessly. "But it's true. I noticed earlier this afternoon when we were putting away the groceries. You were treating your shelves like potions cabinets."

His face took on a far away quality. "You always used to get so angry at Neville when he put things in the wrong cabinets. Made him scrub all the classroom cauldrons."

This conversation had gone far enough. Snape found that he was no longer hungry.

"Very well," he said peevishly, rising from the table. "As you made a most horrendous mess of my kitchen cabinets this afternoon, you may wash the dishes."

He abandoned the kitchen to Potter and stalked upstairs to prepare for bed.

When he returned to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, he was utterly surprised to find those same dishes neatly lined in the drying rack by the sink. Potter had washed the dishes, though this was not Hogwarts, though he had not dirtied them himself, though Snape had no authority by which to compel him to do so. It was baffling, but the idiot had been willing to do that chore, and Snape was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It won't make a great deal of sense to the few of you who don't know the premise behind the story, but at any rate, there you have it.

これで以上です。