lizbee | A whinge and a fic. (Reply)

So I'm technically the bakery's cake decorator, and my first priority every morning should be ensuring that the cream and cake products are out on the shelves. But I'm also doing the job of three bread wenches, so cakes generally don't happen until early afternoon. The store manager wanted them sooner than that today, but I was overdue for a break, and really wanted my lunch. Incompetent!Manager volunteered to do cakes. Despite my misgivings, I left him with detailed written instructions and a vague sense of impending disaster. This was, after all, the man who turned my fondant icing into toffee -- twice.

I returned an hour later, to find cream ... everywhere. Mixed in with the sesame seeds. In the fondant icing. On the bread. On the bread tags. In the drawer.

Incompetent!Manager gave me an uneasy look and muttered, "I'm off for smoko ... back in twenty."

Cue cleaning. Lots of cleaning. There was jam all over the jam bag, which once seemed as likely as being able to wipe one's nose with one's elbow. But considering some of the other things going on with that jam bag, I shouldn't be surprised.

Bakery of DOOOOOM!!!

I was first inclined to be angry. Homicidal, even. But somewhere between scraping up the dried donut crust, and finding that the vanilla essence has left a permanent stain on my hand, my sense of humour intervened.

And fic happened.

Recipe for Disaster
by Teh Lizbee

Summary: This bears no resemblance to canon at all, but there are characters named Potter, Snape and Lovegood. Among others. Along with pies, cakes, bread and a vague squid reference. Owes a massive debt to junediamanti's "Hogwarts School of Cleverness and Culture", because ... well, you'll see.

Beta'd by lydaclunas, who has actually outdone herself with the innuendo this time.

1.

Harry spotted Snape moving through the classroom, and pretended to concentrate on his mixture. Too late. Snape caught his eye, and prowled towards his workpench with a cruel smile.

Harry glanced desperately at Hermione's workbench, but she had already finished the assigned task, and was now working on a triple cream sponge cake. Ron, on his other side, had produced a passable loaf of wholemeal bread, which Snape was at this moment assigning an A. Harry wished the dungeons had windows, so he could see the pigs flying outside.

It just wasn't fair. Cookery classes? He wasn't sure who to blame: Dumbledore, for his unpredictable whims, or Snape, for teaching at such an advanced level that they'd completed the seventh year curriculum early. Baking! Bread! Harry scowled at his assembled ingredients and sighed.

Stupid Dumbledore.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, which unfortunately attracted Snape's attention. He moved past Harry and contemplated Hermione's cake, which she had decorated with a copy the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, created in red, green and pink piping jelly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Granger," he said, "for being an appalling show-off. And another ten for your complete inability to portray the human figure."

Hermione looked resigned.

"Now," said Snape, "Potter. I distinctly remember telling you to add two drops of strawberry flavouring. Not one. Not three. Certainly not," his voice dropped, "a capful."

Harry said nothing.

"So I ask myself, Potter, if you added only two drops ... why is your fondant bright magenta?"

Harry attempted to look innocent. Snape was obviously preparing himself for the verbal evisceration followed by points-docking, and Harry always got worried when Snape looked that happy. Malfoy looked up from his pain au chocolat to smirk.

Then Neville's dough exploded.

Snape turned, already launching into a tirade that began, "Foolish boy, how many times have I told you not to let the dough stand too long?" Harry quietly pulled out his wand and charmed the icing to a respectable shade of pale pink.

Stupid Dumbledore, he thought.

2.

"Professor Snape?"

"Lovegood." Snape didn't deign to look up from the paper he was writing. Attempting to write. "Can I help you, or do you plan to spend the evening hovering in my doorway?"

Lovegood took two steps forward. She held a covered dish in her hands. It smelt, Snape noticed unwillingly, delicious.

"I finished your task."

"Dumbledore's task." Stupid Dumbledore, he thought.

"Yes, well..." For a moment, it looked like Lovegood was thinking the same thing. "I finished. It was very interesting, in the end."

She placed the dish on his desk, and Snape uncovered it carefully. A pie. Golden-brown crust, covered with sugar and an intricate pattern of interlocked tentacles. Faintly horrifying, that. He could only imagine the kind of peculiar culinary variations Lovegood could inflict on an innocent pie. Still, this one seemed quite ... normal. Snape carefully cut himself a slice and took a bite. A small bite.

"It's an apple pie," said Lovegood helpfully.

"Apple."

"With a hint of rhubarb. My mother used to make it that way."

"Just rhubarb?"

"I used an orange rind, as well."

"A blood orange."

"Why, yes." Lovegood's eyes grew even wider. He hadn't thought it possible. "I hadn't expected anyone to spot it." She looked like she was about to launch into one of her peculiar monologues. Snape cut her off.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw for unauthorised experimentation," he said. "And for being wilfully eccentric. I shall, of course, have to confiscate your pie."

"Of course," she agreed. "Although I should think that 'wilfully eccentric' would better describe Cornelius Fudge's relationship with his house elves..."

She fell silent as Snape stared her down.

"I shall have to confiscate the recipe, too," he said.

"If you like. I made most of it up as I went along, though."

"Write it down. I shall find a -- secure place for this pie."

"Yes, Professor."

Snape paused in the doorway, the still-warm pie in his hands. "Oh, and Lovegood?"

"Yes?"

"Your next task is to create custard tarts. Even you cannot find much to alter there."

Lovegood pondered the matter. "Custard tarts with apple?" she suggested.

"That would be acceptable. See to it." Snape swept out, then paused, reconsidered and returned. "Good pie," he said.

The very faintest hint of a smile touched Lovegood's lips. "Thank you, sir."