Lemons and Letters
Title: Lemons and Letters
Summary: Written for the
contrelamontre 70min Letters challange. Great Aunt Mildred disapproves of Snape's relations with Potter.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1055
The first Howler singed the desktop, leaving behind a vaguely circular mark on the ash wood. It came on a clear sunny day, when the sun was shining, children laughing and birds were singing merrily in the trees. Snape found it satisfying, at least, that the screaming scared the birds and children off, although it couldn’t do much about the obnoxiously cheerful day. The message that was so sonorously delivered did nothing to improve his mood.
After yelling for almost ten minutes about the Snape’s enormous mental, physical, ethical and moral ineptitude, his utter worthlessness, and his disgusting sanitary habits, his Great Aunt Mildred got to the confounded point, and promised to excise him from her will should he maintain relations with that cur.
Seeing as Snape had been maintaining her for the past 20 years, this was hardly a source of great sorrow.
He cleaned up the ashes with a flick of the wand, and brought in an expert to rejuvenate the table. A few stains that had been significantly more enjoyably, and less innocently, produced were removed.
~.~
When Potter knocked, Snape was just finishing his afternoon mug of tea, and as such was uncharacteristically relaxed. The boy almost swallowed his tongue when the tall, black-clad, scarred War hero welcomed him into the house, and then offered tea. There was a painting of a rearing horse on the wall, the knight astride waving his sword in a challenge.
Potter took exactly eight minutes to finish greeting his old professor, nine minutes to relay the greetings of the Hogwarts faculty, and thirteen minutes to request Snape return to the school as potions professor. As he talked, he habitually pulled at his high, blue collar, bringing attention to his long neck and brown fingers.
Snape took exactly one minute to tell him to tell Minerva she should leave him be, and show him the door. The blue robes floated over a lean figure, made hard by his post as Quidditch Master. Just before Potter stepped over the threshold, he remembered to thrust at Snape the parcel he had held loosely in his hands the whole thirty one minutes, and to mumble something about ‘house warming’. Snape most certainly did not shut the door in his face.
~.~
The second Howler came on a dark and stormy night, when the wind was lashing the trees almost to the ground, and little children were doubtless screaming with every roar of thunder. Snape was enjoying himself marvellously. He was reading his newly-acquired first edition of ‘Lingua Nadir’, a gift that had been signed ‘With Love’ on the inside cover. A roaring lion had been drawn underneath.
This time, the yelling focussed on the might and prestige of the Snape family, on all the great achievements and platitudes that had been theirs over the ages, on all the alliances that had been formed to lead to the family’s greatness, and on how Snape planned to end all this with one fell, spiteful stroke.
The floor was the main victim, with an impressive burn decorating the patch in the very centre of the room. After proving resistant to Snape’s magical efforts, he put his ever eager helper to the task of scrubbing it out. Although this achieved even less, Snape found it very enjoyable to watch, and made it fully known later that night.
Later, a rug was put over the ruined floor boards, and snakes forever after danced on the spot of Great Aunt Mildred’s fury.
~.~
After dinner, Snape unwrapped Potter’s parcel, expecting a pot, or spice rack, or even a set of novelty shot glasses; at least he could put the last to good use. He was, therefore, surprised when he uncovered a wooden box embossed with a feather.
When he opened the lid, he was first struck by the smell of dust and lemon. He shut his eyes, thinking of lemon pie in the attic at home…but this was home now, with Spinners End burnt down to the rocky ground. And he had the housewarming present to prove it.
He lifted out a garment made of sumptuous, midnight-blue fabric, which sat heavily in his hands. Standing up and spreading it out, it revealed itself to be a cloak, with a black hood and black edging. With a flick of his arms, the cloak sprayed out with a loud swish, and settled around his shoulders.
Gathering the material around himself, Snape wondered who had been responsible for the cloak. While Minerva, to his great consternation, knew him well enough for such a gift, she was much more likely to give a bottle of whisky and/or aforementioned novelty shot glasses. The Scot in her was definitely let free when it came to gifts.
Inside the box, there was a note. Upon reading it, Snape, for the first time in many years, blushed red. He dropped it on table, and almost ran up the stairs to write a thankyou note, with extras included - not that Snapes ever ran, of course.
On the abandoned note was written, in fast, broad quill strokes,
“I hope it’ll keep you warm at night. H.P.”
There was a minute lion drawn underneath.
~.~
The third Howler arrived just after dawn, when Snape would have habitually already been awake, preparing potions ingredients or brewing tonics. That morning, though, the screeching lifted him from a half-awake doze in which he was inhaling the youthful, lemony scent that he had learnt permeated everything that Harry held for long enough. His arm was slung over a muscled chest, while his nose was buried in dark brown hair.
On this occasion, the vocalised missive went into great depth on Harry’s particular flaws, inadequacies and faulty attributes, including his Muggle-loving history, his allegiance with the late Dumbledore, the death of the Dark Lord at his hands, his pitiful income as a teacher, and the taint that his squint would bring to Snape blood lines.
Snape decided that Great Aunt Mildred, in her dotage, had lost grasp of the particulars of anatomy and conception.
Harry pulled out his wand and obliterated the letter before it could insult his honour and hair any further, leaving the room blessedly quiet. Now that they were both up, Snape decided that they could both be occupied much more productively, and drew Harry down to him.
Summary: Written for the
contrelamontre 70min Letters challange. Great Aunt Mildred disapproves of Snape's relations with Potter.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1055
The first Howler singed the desktop, leaving behind a vaguely circular mark on the ash wood. It came on a clear sunny day, when the sun was shining, children laughing and birds were singing merrily in the trees. Snape found it satisfying, at least, that the screaming scared the birds and children off, although it couldn’t do much about the obnoxiously cheerful day. The message that was so sonorously delivered did nothing to improve his mood.
After yelling for almost ten minutes about the Snape’s enormous mental, physical, ethical and moral ineptitude, his utter worthlessness, and his disgusting sanitary habits, his Great Aunt Mildred got to the confounded point, and promised to excise him from her will should he maintain relations with that cur.
Seeing as Snape had been maintaining her for the past 20 years, this was hardly a source of great sorrow.
He cleaned up the ashes with a flick of the wand, and brought in an expert to rejuvenate the table. A few stains that had been significantly more enjoyably, and less innocently, produced were removed.
~.~
When Potter knocked, Snape was just finishing his afternoon mug of tea, and as such was uncharacteristically relaxed. The boy almost swallowed his tongue when the tall, black-clad, scarred War hero welcomed him into the house, and then offered tea. There was a painting of a rearing horse on the wall, the knight astride waving his sword in a challenge.
Potter took exactly eight minutes to finish greeting his old professor, nine minutes to relay the greetings of the Hogwarts faculty, and thirteen minutes to request Snape return to the school as potions professor. As he talked, he habitually pulled at his high, blue collar, bringing attention to his long neck and brown fingers.
Snape took exactly one minute to tell him to tell Minerva she should leave him be, and show him the door. The blue robes floated over a lean figure, made hard by his post as Quidditch Master. Just before Potter stepped over the threshold, he remembered to thrust at Snape the parcel he had held loosely in his hands the whole thirty one minutes, and to mumble something about ‘house warming’. Snape most certainly did not shut the door in his face.
~.~
The second Howler came on a dark and stormy night, when the wind was lashing the trees almost to the ground, and little children were doubtless screaming with every roar of thunder. Snape was enjoying himself marvellously. He was reading his newly-acquired first edition of ‘Lingua Nadir’, a gift that had been signed ‘With Love’ on the inside cover. A roaring lion had been drawn underneath.
This time, the yelling focussed on the might and prestige of the Snape family, on all the great achievements and platitudes that had been theirs over the ages, on all the alliances that had been formed to lead to the family’s greatness, and on how Snape planned to end all this with one fell, spiteful stroke.
The floor was the main victim, with an impressive burn decorating the patch in the very centre of the room. After proving resistant to Snape’s magical efforts, he put his ever eager helper to the task of scrubbing it out. Although this achieved even less, Snape found it very enjoyable to watch, and made it fully known later that night.
Later, a rug was put over the ruined floor boards, and snakes forever after danced on the spot of Great Aunt Mildred’s fury.
~.~
After dinner, Snape unwrapped Potter’s parcel, expecting a pot, or spice rack, or even a set of novelty shot glasses; at least he could put the last to good use. He was, therefore, surprised when he uncovered a wooden box embossed with a feather.
When he opened the lid, he was first struck by the smell of dust and lemon. He shut his eyes, thinking of lemon pie in the attic at home…but this was home now, with Spinners End burnt down to the rocky ground. And he had the housewarming present to prove it.
He lifted out a garment made of sumptuous, midnight-blue fabric, which sat heavily in his hands. Standing up and spreading it out, it revealed itself to be a cloak, with a black hood and black edging. With a flick of his arms, the cloak sprayed out with a loud swish, and settled around his shoulders.
Gathering the material around himself, Snape wondered who had been responsible for the cloak. While Minerva, to his great consternation, knew him well enough for such a gift, she was much more likely to give a bottle of whisky and/or aforementioned novelty shot glasses. The Scot in her was definitely let free when it came to gifts.
Inside the box, there was a note. Upon reading it, Snape, for the first time in many years, blushed red. He dropped it on table, and almost ran up the stairs to write a thankyou note, with extras included - not that Snapes ever ran, of course.
On the abandoned note was written, in fast, broad quill strokes,
“I hope it’ll keep you warm at night. H.P.”
There was a minute lion drawn underneath.
~.~
The third Howler arrived just after dawn, when Snape would have habitually already been awake, preparing potions ingredients or brewing tonics. That morning, though, the screeching lifted him from a half-awake doze in which he was inhaling the youthful, lemony scent that he had learnt permeated everything that Harry held for long enough. His arm was slung over a muscled chest, while his nose was buried in dark brown hair.
On this occasion, the vocalised missive went into great depth on Harry’s particular flaws, inadequacies and faulty attributes, including his Muggle-loving history, his allegiance with the late Dumbledore, the death of the Dark Lord at his hands, his pitiful income as a teacher, and the taint that his squint would bring to Snape blood lines.
Snape decided that Great Aunt Mildred, in her dotage, had lost grasp of the particulars of anatomy and conception.
Harry pulled out his wand and obliterated the letter before it could insult his honour and hair any further, leaving the room blessedly quiet. Now that they were both up, Snape decided that they could both be occupied much more productively, and drew Harry down to him.