'Sup guys. Here is my awesome one-shot GROCERY SHOPPING.

(pauses to hold in laugh)

Anyway, this IS a one-shot whether you try to convince me out of it or not, and specifically written for a forum contest on The Third Floor Corridor. Which is a sweet role playing site that I highly recommend you join.

Link is here: http://thirdcorridor. referred you.

Stepping aside from advertising, I will now introduce you to The Challenge.

The Challenge:

In order to create more understanding between Muggles and Wizards after the war, the pure bloods are required learn about muggle activities by actually doing them without magic. Could be a sport, housework, any everyday activity that muggleborns would take for granted.

With a little help from my sister Kazoolyband (also an ff member), she sparked the idea to take Severus Snape grocery shopping.

Yes, I know Sev isn't a pureblood. They better be lenient.

And of course…being slightly more imaginative than anyone has a right to, some of the greatest ideas came right to me.

Anyway, I'm sidetracking…well no, I'm actually stalling from studying…and trying to think of ideas…

(plays with rubik's cube)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter goes to JK, plot goes to kazoo, Severus goes to me…I mean…JK—for a price of course.

Grocery Shopping


Dumbledore grew frustrated as once again, the potion's master didn't appear to hear him. He never saw him so engrossed in a book before, especially one titled The Mysteries of the Kneazle and how it Applies to Getting a Girl in Two Simple Dinners and a Car that says 'Sup.

Considering it now, the title was rather odd. Though Severus did need a mate… or at least hire a maid to clean his quarters. Someone had to take care of it, and apparently it wasn't going to be him.

What is known of the Kneazle is its particular sexual charm, usually used in love potions. Extracting the extract is what proves to be difficult, thus the reason why love potions are so highly priced. The Kneazle's pet peeve is undoubtedly having its tail tugged on, the only way to acquire its charm. Twelve thousand wizards alone have died in the past 10 years from such a st—


He jumped, the book leaping out of his hands and falling to the ground, cover up, in front of him. Holy cow. How did he do that?

"H-headmaster," he breathed and he ran a hand through his hair with slight frustration, obviously trying to make up for his panic by trying to smoothly pretend it never happened at all. "I didn't see you enter."

The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "You have a nice taste for books," he pointed out simply, eyeing the cover with a glint in his eyes.

Severus blushed, and picked up the book, slightly annoyed. His mouth was set in a tight line as he set it back on his protesting bookshelf and sat back down in his chair. "Yes, well…yea. Is there any reason you decided to barge in on my personal time?"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, an action that made him sick. "We have another mission for you."

Okay…sickness gone. "You do?" His voice was hopeful. The adrenaline of a mission was what he lived for…perhaps that was why he couldn't hold down a girlfriend. The hope was short lived as confusion entered his eyes. "I thought the war was over…"

Dumbledore nodded an affirmative. "Of course it's over, don't be daft. But you still have a mission all the same."

Severus rose his brows, waiting for the prompt.

"Well, here's the thing. The Ministry has been incredibly suspicious of everything lately. You know, just last week I saw them interrogating a lamp. The poor thing, it was so small, painted with yellow lily's on it you know, and it couldn't even defend itself. Well I mean obviously, since it was—."

"Dumbledore. You're rambling."

He cleared his throat. "Ah. Well yes, you see, what I'm trying to say is, that anyone ever situated with the Voldemort is now suspected to be distrustful."

Severus' eyes bulged. "You're kidding me. I was a spy."

"Aren't we all…"


"Nevermind. Just listen to the Ministry, Severus. I don't want any further problems." He paused here, waiting for Severus to nod. He did so jerkily. "Anywho, your mission. You must fend for yourself in the muggle world, doing a muggle activity…without magic, and try to understand their way of life."

"You're kidding me."


"Well what do I have to do!" he hissed out exasperated. "I want to get this thing over with so I can get back to my boo—butterscotch."

Severus blinked.


Dumbledore sighed, giving him a look of disapproval. "Do you want the ministry not to trust you?"


"Then you will try during this mission, and you will like it."

Traitor, he thought as he glared at the headmaster. He nodded defiantly.

"Good. Now your mission is to 'grocery shop'."

He frowned at the term.

"Shop for food," Dumbledore elaborated, at the look of his confusion.

Ah. Much more sense. "Where's my destination?"

"Ummm…it says, 'Albertsons'."

"What's an Albertsons?"

"What am I, a god? I don't know everything, Severus. Go figure it out yourself."

"Fine," he snapped, slightly irritated. He stood up and put on his cloak, walking towards the door."


Severus stopped and turned around, clearly frustrated.

"Think, boy. You can't go muggle shopping in those clothes."

Good God. You have got to be kidding me. "Well what do you wear to grocery shop? A kilt?" Heavy sarcasm.

Dumbledore chuckled blackly. "I believe jeans, and a t-shirt."

What was a t-shirt? What grocery shopping religious?

Dumbeldore sighed at his incomprehension and conjured a pile of clothes, shoving it into his hands easily. "Just put these on."

Severus eyed the shirt hesitantly. It was black and had the look of danger. "Headmaster, I don't think wearing a shirt that says 'Sex Pistols' on it is appropriate for a religious shopping center."

Dumbledore frowned. What…?

"Nevermind, boy. Just put them on. I have an appointment with my chai tea, and it isn't getting any warmer."

He glared defiantly and put the clothes on swiftly. The jeans were loose on him, only able to stay on his hips with the help of a belt. The shirt fit snugly, accenting the biceps that he worked on constantly but never bothered showing to anyone—mostly due to the slightly embarrassing pigment of his ivory skin, and a farmer's tan that said 'hello world, I grow radishes for fun'. His sneakers were boring, unworthy of being described or even mentioned by the creative flowing fingers of the author as they slipped by the keys, elegantly creating sentences of such otherworldly destruction that it would make Dumblefore cower in fear. Yes, the fear, she could taste it now…

Shut up Moose.

"Woah…," said Dumbledore, mildly impressed. "You're ripped."

Severus ignored him, seeing as he was still irritated for the reason of having to wear such unfitting clothing in the first place.

"Right, well now you may go. Good luck, young Severus. Do not fail me."

Severus nodded curtly and exited the room more swiftly then anyone ever had a right to.

Dumbledore was confused, though he could not pin-point the reason why. Oh. Haha. Severus isn't young, silly me.

It was an awkward store, unquestioningly established with a Roman influence as it not so much towered, but sat across from the street. The arc before the automatic front doors (looking much more sinister then the average revolver), was made of an abused concrete that looked more fit for his feet to walk on then a wall. The sign, high above him on the gigantic slab of concrete, stressed a slightly Arabic esteem.

Albertsons, he scoffed as he crossed the street, ignoring the cars that promptly honked at him afterwards. What type of name was that anyway…?

As he entered, glaring at the automatic doors with a murderous warning look, the aroma hit him—severely, agonizingly apparent.

It smelled of French bread and raisins.

His nose wrinkled at the exotic stench, for he had never had such a peculiar scent enter his nose before. It was dazzling—with a negative connotation.

Fit in Severus, you're hardly doing your job, said a lingering voice very similar to Albus' in his head. His brow furrowed.

More like torture, he pointed out miserably.

Despite his newly aroused negativity, he covered the shock that was most likely plastered onto his features and walked deeper into the store. People were pushing along interesting devices that looked much like a large basket with tiny wheels.

I think I'm going to be sick.

What in the world were they anyway? What was the use of them? When he saw someone in the distance place a loaf of bread in one of them, his question was quickly answered, but it did not suppress his horror.

The muggle kind is so primitive, he thought with a sigh as he walked over to a line of the interesting devices. They were smashed together carelessly in a tight line, each one linked to the next in a confusing manner that made him frown.

A hand from the side of his vision snapped out and grabbed a cart from the line next to his. A single device was pulled out from the links and the man walked away briskly, leaving Severus in the dust, staring at his retreating back with shocked eyes.

What the…

Shrugging it off, he followed by example and tugged on the handle bar.

It growled at him.

Severus was taken aback. It was obvious this thing meant business. Well, he wouldn't allow himself to look like a fool in front of so many public eyes. He grasped onto the handle bars with more force, and tugged the cart out of the line.

It shrieked loudly.

Severus hesitated as he gripped the now single cart with his hands and looked around self-consciously. Surely someone had heard him. The muggles did not even appear to apprehend the offensive noise, a peculiar fact—though he was thankful he was not drawing any attention to his first-time shopping experience.

He rolled the cart carefully, his knuckles white on the handles as he gripped it, making sure to get out of the way of so many people coming into the store now.

As he walked he noticed that there had to be something wrong with the cart. It whined defiantly as he pushed it along down an isle full of what looked like bathroom essentials. One wheel seemed faulty, as it spun madly around its bolted base, having no sign of ever letting up.

As he looked down at the spinning wheel, slightly disgusted with its plastic exterior—covered in a charcoal dust, he noticed a factor much more mesmerizing then any anomalistic pseudo wheel.

Were the floors of grocery stores always so elegant?

The blue speckled, sprinkled across the linoleum in no apparent pattern was what drew him in the most. They countered the white—slightly marked with the skids no doubt from faulty wheels such as his—squares that were its base color. The blue…a light shade that made him picture the sky at its best, drew in the colors from all around the room, accenting the store's apparent 'blue paradise' theme.

It was breathtaking.

Severus regretted parting his eyes from such a wonder, but looked up anyway to find himself in an area totally different from where he had last been. It looked like he was surrounded by…where those feminine products?

His eyes widened in horror. He had the slightest hint that, for whatever reason, this place was out of bounds for his species.

Perhaps such a hint came from a middle aged woman, slightly glaring at him from where she stood. Though she was only looking at him from the corner of her eyes, trying to be subtle no doubt, it did not lessen the fact that it reminded him much of the saying 'if looks could kill'.

Well if I learn one thing with this shopping experience, it is no doubt that muggle women are incredibly territorial.

He left the isle promptly after the encounter and slid into the next one. It was canned heaven.

Severus was not fond of cans, so he did not find such a place to be all that enjoyable. The cans were everywhere, glinting off a slightly mutated reflection of him with their cheap-metals and tightly sealed tops. Cans were almost unbearable, but he decided to walk down the length of the isle anyway, hoping for something enjoyable to catch his eye at the end of it.

It seemed that everything was canned in this store. Canned beans, canned soup, canned chicken, canned vegetables, canned fruit, canned cans, canned pig's feet, canned pencils, canned radishes, canned electronics, canned boxes, canned plastic, canned books, canned cancans, canned canons, canned canteens, canned canyons, canned canvas, canned candy, canned gum, canned music, canned salad, canned pizza, canned sushi, canned utopian civilizations, canned eels, canned cocoanut milk, canned cheese…

He stopped where he stood, staring in horror.

Canned cheese?

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Avoid that.

He quickly fled to the next isle, only to be confronted with even more bizarre articles of apparently edible food. There seemed to be no order to its chaos, a large variance compared to the strictly similar assembly of its neighboring canned friends.

He found a weird object called the 'Pop-Tart'—a soft rectangle filled with jelly. His mouth slightly watered, giving him the ok to place it in his cart—it must be edible…at least he hoped so. He was a fan of tarts after all…

Its neighboring food was named the 'Twinkie'. He had to admit, the name was quite adorable, reminding him deeply of a bright little star, bred with a fluffy canary. Or perhaps the canary influence came from the box…the little bars of cream filled bread were yellow after all…

His brows rose.

'Fun fact: The Twinkie has no set expiration date. Set it in your pantry for decades and it will never get stale!'

He frowned.

How unsanitary…

Against his better judgment, he placed it into his cart anyway. Perhaps it would be in good use during another the wizarding war…

The isle kept on going, filling his mind with confusing words beyond his comprehension. He almost began to feel dizzy, for the varying foods never ceased their random order, overwhelming him deeply.

Spam? Vegemite? Pretzels?

Where the hell was he?!

The Snack Isle.

The words were bright and bold above him like a sacred message. It didn't help much.

He dove out of the isle quickly, nearly losing control of his rolling cart in the process, and jumped into the next one, causing almost three collisions with nearby muggles.

A close one indeed.

He stood short at the beginning of the isle with a frown on his face. Of course he was supposed to be fitting into this whole 'customary buying of edible foods and necessities', but this—how the hell was he supposed to react to this? It was worse than the snack isle, and here he thought that would be the worst of his problems—what, with its 'pretzels'.

It was…well…it looked like some sort of inner-war arctic meltdown placed from some destructo-movie and into the landscape of an isle-way with an assortments of eats stuck to it—like prisoners, he thought horrified.

He walked through it with caution…half of him wanting to run back and down a different isle instead. As he pushed the cart, he looked around, scrutinizing every detail of the offending location. The food…it was all contained in glass cabinets…dripping in icicles and dusted with frost.

Like test subjects, he mused with dread as he observed a rather depressing tv-dinner.

The names of the foods were just as confusing as the others he had observed. There were French fries, and pizzas, pies, and fish, and 'Chinese-food', shrimp, and chicken. All of which he always thought would not taste good frozen—a fact that kept him from choosing any of the boxes to put in his cart of shopping.

Impatient with the isle, he looked for another one. The sign hanging from the high, plaster ceiling pointed arrows to certain directions—saying were the most popular foods were. Cheese, bakery, cakes, 'school' supplies, hotdogs…

A…hotdog? The term was rather odd, for never before had he seen a hot dog, which—as he was guessing, would not be sold at a food store in the first place. Of course, there was the possibility that the term was some sort of code…

Good lord. Was Albertsons a bomb factory?

The isles swirled around him, melting into the ceiling and the ground, churning until he had no awareness where he was, what he was doing, his identity!!

He shook his head. Unlikely.

Of course, the whole thing could be an acronym, which would make much more sense. Hair Of The Drenched Offspring Gallows? Well, it didn't make any sense that was for sure. Offspring most certainly could not be drenched, and the gallows was not a likely place to converse of hair. Perhaps it was a band name…

In which case the name was quite creative—slightly creepy, actually. But he liked it.

I would love to buy a recording of the hotdogs, he mused as he traced the sign and turned down another isle.

What he found as labeled 'hotdogs' was most certainly not a CD, tape, or record.

Well, whatever it was…it looked like a—

Pears. He needed pears.

The fruit section was not far from the 'hotdogs', and he immediately turned his cart around and towards the rows of piled fruits…all of them sorted and ripe. When he spotted the pears, he was mildly disappointed. The pears he grew in his own garden were much more delicious then any he saw there, but the ones at the store were much larger. He picked out one of the largest ones, put it in a designated plastic bag, and placed it in his cart.

Severus glanced at the time and groaned inwardly. It had been half an hour. Hardly any time had passed at all and yet the whole experience gave him only the temptation to throw himself off the nearest cliff. The whole enlightening process of grocery shopping was sickening. And he hadn't learned a single thing. Not one! Well okay…he learned that Twinkies never expired—but what use was that to him? They looked disgusting.

"I don't even want this," he said with a frown, glaring evilly at the box down in the cart. The Poptarts as well—it looked like a rectangle of fluffy happiness and a mild hemorrhage. Hardly a temptation to one guided by…respectable food groups. He took the two offending boxes out of his cart and placed them on top of a pile of bananas.

They didn't exactly blend in, but he had no desire to walk through any more isles. Ever. In his life. Done.

Having enough of this shopping business, he made his great trek towards the exit of the 'Albertsons' though really only twenty feet away, a look of mild irritation plastered onto his face. He put the squealing cart back into its rightful position with the others, with the contorted pear placed safely into his pocket. He observed the other muggles all in lines with their carts, and ignored the factor.

Whatever they were doing obviously slowed down the process of ever getting out of this place—he decided against it and strutted towards the exit like he planned, never losing his sight of the great automatic door and its harsh automatic-ness.

Closer…closlier…more closlier…ah! So close!!!

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep


Before Severus had time to react, he was floored by twenty men and a Mexican apple thief.

Nah…just kidding.

He was only floored by three men, no Mexican apple thief.

"Call security, Marcus. We have a shoplifter on our hands."

When Severus finally found his bearings, still pressed to the ground, the confusion hit him. What was going on here? Was this usual grocery shopping habits? Was he trying to lift the shop? Would he even be able to?

He laughed inwardly. What a stupid question, of course he would.

He felt hands all over him, obviously searching for something, and he felt oddly territorial. Their hands were all over his newly admired muggle-clothes. Ridiculous.

"Got it," a voice said triumphantly. "He was trying to take a pear."

Oh goodness, his blessed pear.

"Trying to take a pear?"

"Shoplifting a pear?"

There was a beep of a walkie-talkie. "Marcus, it's nothing big. Just a pear."

There was a crackle as Marcus replied. "Just a pear?"

My pear.

Raggedly, he was brought back to his feet again, where he was surrounded by employees and horrified muggle shoppers. He glared piercingly at all of them—he knew this whole shopping ordeal wouldn't be worth it.

"Good Gods…"

"Just let him go, Jimmy. He's obviously homeless. He's wearing a sex pistols shirt."

The man named Jimmy sighed heavily, but nodded. He held out the pear and placed it back into Severus' hands firmly. With a nudge to one of the other employees, he found himself being escorted out of the store.

"Go on, you. Eat your pear in peace."

Severus stared back at the automatic door, slightly dejected. Though he was impressed by the escorting service, the whole flooring event crumpled his style.

He took a bite of his pear and walked away.


(creates mini-party)

Your constructive criticism and comments are appreciated.