Severus considered hiring an amanuensis for this work. Writing his memoirs of the war was hard enough, what with remembering what happened when, but the nonstop cramping in his hand was making the work impossible. He dropped his quill, uncaring of the ink splatters, and massaged his hand. How had Harry written three books without having these serious hand cramps? Severus doubted Harry had hired someone – he would've heard about that.
"How's it coming?" Harry asked as he walked in.
"Unbelievably painful," Severus groaned.
"What is? Remembering everything that happened? Yeah, I had the same problem. It's hard, isn't it? Thinking of all the people that died. I sobbed for two days straight when I wrote about all the people that died."
Oh Merlin. Severus hadn't even thought of that yet. He was still on his bloody initiation. He hadn't even thought of having to write about the people that died in the war – Lily, for example. He had adored Lily. Writing about her death would be painful.
And he'd have to write about the people he tortured. The ones he'd raped. The ones he'd murdered.
He'd get a lot of angry letters, death threats, exploding things, and other generally lovely surprises in the mail if he published the book (if he ever finished it, that is).
Never mind that he had helped save the world.
Or that he had never joined Voldemort to truly be part of his group. Nope. He had done it at Albus' request so that they'd have a spy.
Severus always had been spectacularly idiotic, Harry had remarked later. Severus agreed entirely.
Never mind any of that. He would receive those bloody death threats anyway because after all, in the line of duty, he had done evil.
He needed to write this, though. People needed to know what happened during the war. What happened in Voldemort's inner circle. It certainly wasn't all a snake-like maniac hissing at everyone and cackling madly.
Oh no. Voldemort had been frighteningly sane. Even towards the end. And unfortunately for the Order, bloody excellent at strategy and planning.
And he really had been very charming. Even towards the end. People didn't seem to understand that.
They needed to. They needed to know that the next world dictator wasn't the guy on the street muttering to himself and telling everyone, the dogs, and thin air that he was going to rule.
No, a real world dictator was frighteningly clever and absolutely clear-headed.
"So, is that what you meant by painful?" Harry asked, interrupting his musings.
"No, that hadn't even occurred to me yet," Severus told his husband. "I meant painful in that my hand is cramping. How the hell did you write three books without screaming in pain? I'm gonna have to hire someone to write for me. Bloody fucking hell."
Harry laughed. "No need. I used a dictation spell."
Severus felt stupid. Even a bloody Quick-Quotes Quill would have sufficed. Oh well. At least he didn't need an amanuensis now.
Amanuensis – n. A person employed to take dictation or to copy manuscripts. Word of the Day, March 1, 2008)