Severus spends hours in the lower levels of the gardens. For a little while, lost in thought on his hands and knees in dirt and plants, his primary consciousness forgets that he is where he is. There are a few surreal, dreamy minutes where he's at Hogwarts behind the greenhouses, pulling out 'weeds' with barbed ends for personal projects and seventh year assignments. But his gloves are woven mesh instead of dragonhide, and the sun that filters through against the back of his neck is unnervingly consistent. He is far from home.
The idea of potionmaking is a comforting one, even if he's not sure he can do it here. Maybe he can make a cauldron, but the best ones are formed the old-fashioned way; forged. There's a forge here, yes, but it's not staffed by anyone he recognizes as having the right education for what he wants done and-- part of him is hesitant because he thinks it'll feel worse to have it and not be able to do anything with it.
You've been trying to quit since you were hired, he tells himself.
It doesn't really help.
Severus ends up along a path, jumpsuit pulled down and tied at his middle in concession to the heat leaving him in a black t-shirt - and still his left forearm is bandaged. A rare sight anyway. He carries with him a flat basket full of bits of borrowed leaves, roots, petals, samples of earth. When he sees a figure sitting ahead, he stops. Considers. After a moment he sets his basket down and himself alongside it. Hell with it. He's exhausted, and he's not risking Apparating or wandering too close to someone who might leap into action and try and take his head off for disturbing them. He can wait.
no subject
The idea of potionmaking is a comforting one, even if he's not sure he can do it here. Maybe he can make a cauldron, but the best ones are formed the old-fashioned way; forged. There's a forge here, yes, but it's not staffed by anyone he recognizes as having the right education for what he wants done and-- part of him is hesitant because he thinks it'll feel worse to have it and not be able to do anything with it.
You've been trying to quit since you were hired, he tells himself.
It doesn't really help.
Severus ends up along a path, jumpsuit pulled down and tied at his middle in concession to the heat leaving him in a black t-shirt - and still his left forearm is bandaged. A rare sight anyway. He carries with him a flat basket full of bits of borrowed leaves, roots, petals, samples of earth. When he sees a figure sitting ahead, he stops. Considers. After a moment he sets his basket down and himself alongside it. Hell with it. He's exhausted, and he's not risking Apparating or wandering too close to someone who might leap into action and try and take his head off for disturbing them. He can wait.