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kelly_chamblissI haven't written any Harry Potter fanfic since the final edition of the late, lamented ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hoggywartyxmas fest last December. I'd run out of ideas, for one thing, and I had other stuff going on, and I thought my HP-writing days were over.
But now I've been inspired to dip my toe back in the HP waters because a) I need a fantasy distraction from the disaster ofVoldemort Donald Trump, and b) I wrote my first HP fanfic in 2008 because I had a broken foot. It seems only fitting that I embark on my second HP career on the occasion of my second broken foot.
(Foot update: I saw the orthopedist, and guess what! I now have an Air Cast boot. It's big, it's cumbersome, but it means that I can [lightly and gingerly] put my foot to the ground with each step I take. I still need crutches, and I can't move very far or very fast, but at least now I can hobble around without risking my neck and all my other limbs. It's a game-changer. I also invested in a knee walker, and while it's not very usable in our small apartment, it's quite sturdy, and I should be able to venture outside occasionally.)
Anyway, for my return to HP-world, I wrote an entry foradventdrabbles, a multi-fandom holiday fest run by the those HP stalwarts, the lovely torino10154 and alisanne. There's a different prompt for each Advent day.
This fic is unbeta'd, and my HP-writing muscles are stiff, so be warned! But I had fun writing.
Title: A Yuletide Tradition
Author:kelly_chambliss
Characters: Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall (sort of)
Prompt: Elf-made wine
Rating: G
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The table in Severus Snape's dungeon quarters was usually piled high with wretched student essays and mindless memos from Albus or the Board of Governors.
But once a year, at Yuletide, Snape meticulously cleared off every quill, every scrap of parchment, every fleck of dust, and polished the old wood by hand. Then he drew up two chairs at semi-companionable angles. A goblet and a litre of elf-made wine went on the table in front of one chair, a tumbler and a dusty bottle of single malt in front of the other.
This year is no different. By Christmas evening, his table is gleaming, the wine has been decanted, and Snape is pouring two fingers of firewhisky into the tumbler.
"Vile horse piss," he mutters, as he does every year.
He never touches the stuff himself; he keeps the bottle only for her.
For Minerva.
He shakes his head in wry amazement. Somehow, over the years, he and that waspish, irascible old Gryffindor became something like friends. Part of him still can't believe that for more than a decade, they've spent Christmas night together, drinking and arguing and bantering and then drinking some more.
But they have.
Of course, she would never agree to share his table now. Indeed, now -- as she so elegantly expressed it to him back in August -- she wouldn't deign to spit in his mouth if his teeth were on fire.
Because now, Severus Snape is the Death Eater headmaster of Hogwarts, and Minerva despises him.
No matter.
Tradition is tradition.
Sitting in his old dungeon rooms, elf-made wine in his hand and horse-piss whisky on the table, Snape can almost believe that nothing has changed, that his world is as it was.
He raises his glass to the empty chair.
"Slàinte Mhath, Minerva," he says.
hoggywartyxmas fest last December. I'd run out of ideas, for one thing, and I had other stuff going on, and I thought my HP-writing days were over.But now I've been inspired to dip my toe back in the HP waters because a) I need a fantasy distraction from the disaster of
(Foot update: I saw the orthopedist, and guess what! I now have an Air Cast boot. It's big, it's cumbersome, but it means that I can [lightly and gingerly] put my foot to the ground with each step I take. I still need crutches, and I can't move very far or very fast, but at least now I can hobble around without risking my neck and all my other limbs. It's a game-changer. I also invested in a knee walker, and while it's not very usable in our small apartment, it's quite sturdy, and I should be able to venture outside occasionally.)
Anyway, for my return to HP-world, I wrote an entry for
adventdrabbles, a multi-fandom holiday fest run by the those HP stalwarts, the lovely torino10154 and alisanne. There's a different prompt for each Advent day.This fic is unbeta'd, and my HP-writing muscles are stiff, so be warned! But I had fun writing.
Title: A Yuletide Tradition
Author:
kelly_chamblissCharacters: Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall (sort of)
Prompt: Elf-made wine
Rating: G
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The table in Severus Snape's dungeon quarters was usually piled high with wretched student essays and mindless memos from Albus or the Board of Governors.
But once a year, at Yuletide, Snape meticulously cleared off every quill, every scrap of parchment, every fleck of dust, and polished the old wood by hand. Then he drew up two chairs at semi-companionable angles. A goblet and a litre of elf-made wine went on the table in front of one chair, a tumbler and a dusty bottle of single malt in front of the other.
This year is no different. By Christmas evening, his table is gleaming, the wine has been decanted, and Snape is pouring two fingers of firewhisky into the tumbler.
"Vile horse piss," he mutters, as he does every year.
He never touches the stuff himself; he keeps the bottle only for her.
For Minerva.
He shakes his head in wry amazement. Somehow, over the years, he and that waspish, irascible old Gryffindor became something like friends. Part of him still can't believe that for more than a decade, they've spent Christmas night together, drinking and arguing and bantering and then drinking some more.
But they have.
Of course, she would never agree to share his table now. Indeed, now -- as she so elegantly expressed it to him back in August -- she wouldn't deign to spit in his mouth if his teeth were on fire.
Because now, Severus Snape is the Death Eater headmaster of Hogwarts, and Minerva despises him.
No matter.
Tradition is tradition.
Sitting in his old dungeon rooms, elf-made wine in his hand and horse-piss whisky on the table, Snape can almost believe that nothing has changed, that his world is as it was.
He raises his glass to the empty chair.
"Slàinte Mhath, Minerva," he says.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-03 11:54 am (UTC)'Twas a lovely little drabble too!! I hope more of the prompts inspire you. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-03 03:16 pm (UTC)Seriously. I plan to wrap the foot in steel bands or something once it heals, since clearly the bone is weak and I definitely do NOT want a triple play.
Drabbles are such fun. I'm sure I'll find more to write.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-03 10:02 pm (UTC)I'm glad you were inspired to write and a good one too! The prompts have gotten me flexing my multi-fannish limbs a bit, so I'm glad for that. Hope you'll write some more.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-04 05:29 pm (UTC)I'd almost forgotten how fun drabbles can be to write. I may even feel inspired to try a different fandom or two. We'll see. I'm enjoying the entries so far.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-04 07:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-04 05:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-04 06:56 pm (UTC)