The Joys of Cooking

“Idiot boy! Wake up!”

An annoyingly familiar voice rudely cut into Harry’s dream. He had been with Hermione and Ron, buying sweets from Honeydukes . . .

“Here, drink this.”

The stench of burned tea vanished any thoughts of chocolate as Harry slowly opened his eyes. A worn tea cup with a chipped rim was dangerously close to his lips. He pulled his face away from the offending object and looked up to see one very angry Severus Snape. Not an unusual sight, mind you, but Harry had witnessed enough of it to last a lifetime.

“Pardon me, Professor, but it smells like something died in there.”

Harry braced himself for the usual litany of how spoiled and ungrateful he was. Surprisingly, Snape just sighed and knelt on the floor beside him.

“I am afraid my Muggle cooking skills are not quite up to the task, Potter. I trust you are physically unharmed?”

He couldn’t keep the shocked expression off his face. Had Snape, of all people, just asked if he was all right?

“Yes, I’m fine, sir.”

Harry glanced around and realised they were still in the run down cottage. He eased himself into an upright position and turned to face the Potions master. He was still a bit sore, most likely from the fall. The last thing he remembered was a flash of blinding, white light.

“What happened, Professor? I called, but you didn’t answer and I got . . . worried, I guess. I opened the door, and as soon as I crossed the threshold, I saw . . . ”

“A bright light.” Snape finished, wearily.

“Exactly, but how did you . . . oh, I see. The same thing happened to you, then.”

“Brilliant deductions as always, Potter. Yes, the same thing happened to me.”

“But Professor, I looked around before I entered and I didn’t see you anywhere.”

“I believe you triggered some type of charm, Potter. I was shielded from your eyes, perhaps to dissuade you from entering. I cannot be certain. What I am sure of, though, is that not only have we been stripped of magic. We also cannot leave this cottage.”

Harry gasped in alarm. They were trapped in a small house and utterly defenseless. Harry jumped to his feet, ignoring Snape’s commands to halt. He ran to the door and yanked it open, attempting to step outside. The familiar light filled his field of vision and he crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Severus watched the stubborn Gryffindor stalk to the door and collapse in a dead faint. He calmly approached Harry’s prone figure and resisted the childish urge to kick him. Instead, he dropped to his knees and assured himself that the Boy-Who-Lived still breathed. Satisfied, he stalked over to the kitchen and tried again to use that . . . thing Muggles used to heat their food. He vaguely recalled it from Muggles Studies, a stove or some other such nonsense. He had found it a rather interesting item, even after he had singed his hair while finally succeeding in operating it. Luckily, he coated his hair every morning with an flame resistant potion. He was a tad dismayed that the Granger girl hadn’t noticed that his ‘greasy’ hair never caught on fire, no matter how many times one of Longbottom’s cauldrons exploded in his face.

He peeked at the boy, who was still blissfully unaware of his surroundings and snoring loudly. Wonderful, now he had to deal with the sound of elephants dying all bloody night. With any luck, they would be rescued before he went insane.

Sighing for what seemed like the millionth time since he had awoken that morning, Severus turned his attention back to more pressing concerns. They were going to need to eat, and despite the unused appearance, the cottage was stocked with the basic essentials. Whoever had imprisoned them apparently wished to ensure their continued survival at the moment.

That was not necessarily a reassuring thought.

He found the cupboards full of what seemed to be Muggle food. Cans and boxes with images emblazoned across the front lined the dusty shelves. Some were useful, if garish, designs. At least the pictures indicated what product was inside. Others were puzzling, and one in particular bordered on alarming. It had a picture of a mermaid on the front, and was evidently the ‘Chicken of the Sea’. There were certainly no such creature, and the idea of eating merpeople was downright appalling.

Severus settled on two cans of soup. He was confident he could prepare such a simple food, and Potter would need nourishment when he awoke. Carefully studying the label, he found the cooking implement he needed from underneath the sink and turned the knob on the stove. Placing both cans into the pan, he watched with curiosity. He surmised the metal casing was some sort of alloy that would disintegrate with the heat. Quite fascinating, what Muggles sometimes conjured up to make their lives bearable without the aid of magic. The cans began to make a popping sound, and he backed away cautiously in case the casings malfunctioned. It was Muggle-made, after all.

Harry drifted back into reality, embarrassed to find he was sprawled out on the floor again. He really should have listened to Snape, for once.

The scent of burning tin filled his nostrils. He rose to his feet and was greeted with the sight of Snape standing dangerously close to a heated pan with . . .

“MOVE, PROFESSOR! THEY’RE GONNA . . . ”

A blast from the stove stopped Harry mid sentence. He was relieved to see the cans miss Snape and hurl into the wall, but the Professor was now covered in what looked like Cream of Mushroom soup.

“Explode.” he said, weakly.

Harry grabbed a towel from the battered counter top and rushed to Snape’s side, trying to see if he was badly burned. To his surprise, Snape was only mildly scalded. He handed Snape the towel, and did his best to hide his grin.

“Are you OK, sir?”

Severus pulled up a splattered sleeve of his billowing robe, and showed it to a clearly confused Harry.

“Would you like some soup, Potter?”

When do the means REALLY justify the ends?

“Are you certain they are safe for now?”

“Yes.” A voice laden with grief replied.

“Do not fear, child, it had to be done.”

“I can’t guarantee Snape..”

“Neither can I. The needs of many outweigh the needs of the few, as you are well aware. Failure is simply not an option here.”

“Is it ever, I wonder?”