Archive of Our Own

There were flowers on her desk again.

While Hermione was busy trying to figure out what kind they were (she’d never been a flower expert) and if they did anything (except make every fly on their floor think they should come by for a visit), Severus grabbed them by the stems and unceremoniously dumped them in the bin.

“That’s cold,” Hermione said and booted up her computer. The plug didn’t lead anywhere. Neville had stuck it into a plant pot while he had been visiting and it had remained there. Still, the monitor flared to life. “Maybe I wanted to keep those.”

Severus set fire to the rubbish bin. 

“When Resources comes for us, I’ll be sending them your way,” Hermione said and opened her email folder. It was full of spam. 

“Did you use our email address to sign up for a dubious website again?” Hermione asked as she started the tedious progress of marking them for deletion. “You know how I feel about that.”

Severus rolled his eyes and vanished the ashes inside the bin. “And you know how I feel about the again in that sentence. I never did that in my life. Do I really seem like the type to fall for pyramid schemes?”

Hermione had to admit that his notorious cynicism might get in the way of that. “It might have been porn,” she retorted. “Any hot middle-aged women in your area recently?”

He graced that with a withering glare. “There are no women in my life, hot or middle-aged or otherwise.” He bent down to fix something under the desk, so the follow-up came out a bit muffled. “Except for you.”

Hermione mis-clicked on a button and had to start the whole process over again. “Does that make me hot, or middle-aged, or both, or neither?”

“I’m not answering that. You have letters.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but gave sorting the emails up as a bad job and turned to him. He was thumbing through the stack of letters that the Ministry’s mail-sorting system deposited on their desks each morning. 

“We always have letters,” she said, but wheeled towards him. “Anything interesting?”

He hummed and shook a strand of hair out of his face. He usually kept it tied back now, and neglected cutting it regularly, which meant it reached past his shoulders more often than not. Hermione liked it, though she wouldn’t say that to his face. It made him look like a strange cross between a strict Victorian schoolmaster and a rock fan. She hadn’t known she liked that combination until he’d shown up, two years ago, in her cramped little office, announced that they would be working together, whether she liked it or not, and her stomach had given a sudden twinge. Oh, she remembered thinking, we like that now? 

Fast forward two years, to him leafing through her post with long pale fingers, and she had to admit that yes. They liked that now, very much.

He looked up and caught her staring at him. 

With a flick of his index and middle fingers, between which an innocent-looking envelope was wedged, he redirected her attention to their post. “This one, I think.”

Hermione took it and employed a quick nonverbal slicing charm to open it. It was hand-written, which was nothing out of the ordinary. People often sent the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts handwritten letters to inform them about some item or other that should not bite, speak, dance or all of the above. No, what threw Hermione was the company logo on top of the muggle stationary. 

“We got a letter from IKEA?”

Severus reached for the armrest of her desk chair and casually pulled her closer. Hermione let him. When she had rolled over until they were all but pressed against each other, he tucked his face next to hers to peek at the letter with her. 

“Apparently so,” he rumbled, and Hermione could feel his voice where their shoulders were pressed together. 

Oh, I am so fucked. 

It was one thing to have a crush on an authority figure – Hermione was well versed in that particular step of adolescent development. But for a certain fascination to harden into a full-blown crush on the person you work together daily ? That was just asking for trouble. 

Hermione breathed in his scent of herbs and laundry detergent. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest.

So fucked. 

“Interesting,” he continued. “I think we’ll do this one first, what do you say?”

Hermione blinked until the letters swam into focus. A series of enchanted objects and pieces of furniture , her brain registered. Whenever I undo a spell, another one crops up. We sell Muggle flat-pack furniture, please assist–

“Yeah,” she croaked, “sounds good.”

He looked at her with a slightly worried frown. If only he wasn’t that damn nice to her! It would possibly be much easier if he hadn’t allowed her to call him Severus, if they’d never got friendly. Now that they had though, Hermione felt a little like someone was playing a practical joke on her, dangling something she could never have in front of her eyes daily. 

“You alright, Granger?” 

Hermione wrenched her mind back to the present. “Hm? Who, me? Never better. Let’s go test out your infallible intuition for picking the most baffling cases.” 

She stood up and shoved back her desk chair. It rolled across half the room and banged against the opposite wall. Oops. Perhaps overdoing it slightly. 

Severus’ frown deepened. Hermione watched, as if through water, as he reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Are you sure?”

This is completely fine, Hermione thought hysterically. I’m fine, this is fine, everything is fine. 

“Yeah, sure.” She tried on a soothing smile. His brow smoothed a little. “Really.”

He nodded slowly. His gaze fell to where he was still loosely holding her wrist. “I actually wanted to talk to you about– well, rather ask you–”

The door banged open. They flinched, Severus’ hand falling from her wrist. She could still feel the heat of his fingers. 

Scowling, Hermione looked up at Ernie in the doorway. 

Ernie MacMillan had joined the Ministry as a clerk shortly after Hermione had started working in the Department. Back then, her coworker had still been the slightly handsy Mr. Roth, who had gone into retirement only a few months after Hermione had started. Thank Merlin. 

And then, only a few weeks of frazzled overworking later, Severus on the doorstep of her office. 

Ernie studied the room as if looking for something. “Didn’t someone deliver you flowers earlier today?”

“No,” Severus said.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Did you need something?” She asked, trying to gentle her tone. She felt Severus scowl against the side of her head. He had some sort of vendetta against Ernie that she had not yet been able to unravel.

There was an unflattering blush high on Ernie’s cheeks. He looked a little stroppy. “A Miss Fletcher called. Something about some sort of muggle shop which keeps selling enchanted shelves?”

Hermione took the coat Severus handed her. “We’re on it. Thank you, Ernie.”

Severus shouldered past him somewhat rudely. Hermione gave him an apologetic smile. He might get on her nerves sometimes with his pompousness, but he hadn’t done anything wrong, per se. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“Will you attend the pub night this week?” he called after her, sounding, she thought, unreasonably put-out for even having to ask.

“Maybe!” she called back, then jogged to reach Severus. He was already in the lift, holding open the door impatiently. 

She slipped inside and he pressed the button for the atrium. The lift doors shut with a ding , hiding Ernie’s disapproving face from view. Hermione couldn’t say she minded. 

IKEA was huge. 

Hermione had been somewhat prepared for this, she had thought, until she stood in the middle of the crowd. It was a little like that time she had stood in a field, watching a herd of sheep approach. It was all well and good until you stood among them and realised that they had rather bigger teeth than you ever thought at a distance. Except this was, arguably, worse, because instead of sheep there were people. Who also had teeth.

Severus, towering over the crowd in a way Hermione could only dream of, directed them towards an information desk and asked for Miss Fletcher. She was very grateful she’d remembered to transfigure them both muggle clothes. Severus in robes would have stuck out like a sore thumb in here – even though, to be honest, Severus in dark jeans, a turtleneck and a coat wasn’t too good for her heart.

Before too long, they were ushered through some corridors and into an office. 

Miss Fletcher turned out to be a frazzled-looking woman a little younger than Hermione who did the customary frown-flinch-double take at the sight of Severus. Former student, then. 

“Professor,” she said, stumbling ever so slightly over her words. “I didn’t know you worked for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office.” 

“Now you do. Isn’t it fascinating what one can learn in a day?”

Hermione elbowed him in the side. He rolled his eyes at her. Miss Fletcher watched all of it happen with a look of appalled fascination.

“Our shelves talk,” she said somewhat abruptly. “It’s not what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“I imagine not,” Hermione said. “They should not be aware of them shelves at all, should they?”

Miss Fletcher blinked at her. “What?” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Really, Miss Granger? Do you think we could perhaps shelve the furniture puns until this situation is dealt with?”

“I’m sure we can,” Hermione nodded amicably. “Now, Miss Fletcher, do you think the possibility of someone intentionally interfering with your display items is on the table ?”

Severus groaned behind her. She suppressed a grin. 

Miss Fletcher evidently had the good sense to know when a situation was beyond her control and focused on the matter at hand. It took a while – the poor woman wasn’t very organised, it seemed, and rather out of sorts by the constant pressure of being the only witch on staff who even knew what was happening – but this was what they got out of her: 

A few days ago, a customer had reported that they would like “one of those singing cupboards, please”. Miss Fletcher, knowing no such thing should be in their stock, had gone looking and found multiple enchanted display items. She had undone the charms and congratulated herself on a job well done. Only to find, the next day, that one of the bathtubs filled and refilled itself with rose petals. Since then, there had been a new magically enhanced display item every day. Miss Fletcher, clearly a little highly strung and also living in the Muggle world for quite some time, had applied to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office the only way she knew how.

“For future cases, I’d recommend you address your issue to the general reception – internal mail will reach us much faster,” Hermione informed her distractedly. 

“I tried sending an email,” Miss Fletcher said. “But nobody replied.”

“Strange,” Severus retorted. He had wandered off at some point to poke at a flowerpot on the windowsill. Miss Fletcher threw him confused glances but let him.

Hermione closed her notebook with a snap. “Alright then. Thank you very much for alerting us to this, Miss Fletcher. It could pose a major danger to the Statute of Secrecy, so we are much obliged to you for pointing it out before the issue could reach the ministry through much more drastic events. You did well.” 

Somehow, that struck a chord with the poor woman. She teared up. 

Seeing the threat of emotion overspill, Severus abandoned his position by the window and ushered Hermione out of the room. She went willingly, mind already racing.

“Uh,” Miss Fletcher called after them, sounding a little sniffy, “don’t you… need me to show you around? Or something?”

“Not necessary,” Severus retorted. “Good day, Miss Fletcher.”

He closed the door behind them resolutely and turned to Hermione.

“You know,” she said, carefully putting away her notebook. “We might have to work on your people skills.”

“I’m skilled with all the people who matter,” he said drily. “I got her magical signature from the plant pot. Watering charm. It was her strength in school, Pomona used to rave about it.”

Hermione led them through the corridor back the way they’d come. “Smart thinking.”

“I’m known for it.” She could hear his smirk in the tone of his voice. 

Hermione pushed open a door. Noise rushed towards them from all sides. They were back in the foyer where they had started. 

Hermione felt a brief rush of panic at the thought of how big this place was – how many people, how many pieces of furniture. 

But they’d find the perpetrator. They always had. 

“Come on Severus,” she said and threw him a grin. He returned it, crooked teeth on full display. She refused to be endeared. “Let’s go shopping.”

***

Severus had never been in IKEA.

There was no use for it. Spinner’s end lacked nothing essential and the new flat he’d got after his new start had come fully furnished. The few things he’d needed he’d got in Diagon Alley or through increasingly obnoxious instances of Lucius “forgetting” his possessions in Severus’ flat when he’d come by to visit. Severus had drawn the line at the grand piano that had “fallen out” of Lucius’ pocket while visiting the bathroom. 

Even if Severus had spent a lot of time in furniture shops, they would have been very different to this – it was large, bright, and full of people. He had no problem with people per se – except that they were largely stupid – but he could already see this thing becoming a major headache. 

“You’re right of course, about there being no point in going to check out the warehouses,” Hermione said. She liked to think out loud. Severus carefully pushed her shoulder to steer her past an elderly couple with loud voices who was pushing their shopping trolley with determination. “From what Miss Fletcher said, it’s reasonable to assume that there are cursed objects here as we speak. We just have to find them.”

She steered them past a kitchen table, fully furnished as if boring guests were about to come over. Severus peeked at the labels on the dining chair. 

“This thing is called Ingolf, ” he said. “That sounds cursed.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and dragged him forward. “Come on then. We still have to settle on a cover. Sales assistants in these types of places are typically obnoxious.”

“Don’t worry,” Severus drawled, “I’m well equipped to deal with obnoxious, I’ve been doing it for years.”

Hermione blinked her eyes innocently. “Now, there’s no need to talk about yourself like that. I for one find you perfectly charming.”

Severus was about to retort – with what, he wasn’t yet sure – when a woman materialised by their side out of nowhere. 

“Can I help you, sweetlings?” Her smile was very wide and her eyes very large. Overall, she reminded Severus of Trelawney, which did not bode well for this interaction.

Luckily, Hermione was well versed in his moods and immediately took charge of the conversation. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said, “My fiance and I,” Severus stomach felt as if it had been electrocuted, “are just looking around. Looking for things for our wedding registry.”

Severus crossed his arms to hide his sweaty palms. The salesperson looked unreasonably excited at this entirely made-up wedding. “Oh! Congratulations to you both, such a lovely couple!”

Severus had never been called a lovely anything before. He kind of wanted to snap at the woman, but he knew Hermione wouldn’t approve.

Hermione, whose arms were prying his cross-armed posture apart to wrap them around his right upper arm in a couple-y gesture. It left her side and parts of her front pressing against him. Warmth bled through their clothes. 

Get a grip, Severus! Have you never stood close to a woman before? 

Hermione smelled like oranges. It sent his head spinning – or maybe that was just her. 

He had to tell her.

“How about I help you two sweethearts pick out something?” The woman chittered. Severus itched to hex her. Hermione’s arms around his tightened in warning. 

Her smile was ever so slightly strained. “Oh, that’s not necessary, really. Just looking.” 

The woman tutted at them. Severus tried not to smirk at how Hermione’s eyebrows climbed her forehead in offended disbelief. “I understand that, love, but believe me, professional help is the best thing in these cases. I’ve been married three times and I always picked my own furniture, since I am the professional!” She let out a twee little giggle. Severus pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling. “Now, I’d like to direct your attention to these absolutely lovely chairs – suited for the finest of dining! The softest seat cover you ever will touch. Touch it, touch it!”

Hermione sent Severus a pleading look. He untangled her arms from his and pushed her towards the chair. “Yes, pumpkin . Touch it.”

The look she sent him was murderous. She awkwardly tapped her fingertips against the seat cushion of a frankly hideous dining chair and immediately withdrew her hand. “Very soft. Is it lamb skin?”

The woman tutted at her. “It’s shearling , darling!”

Severus reached the end of his, honestly already very short, patience. He grabbed Hermione’s hand. “If you would excuse us,” he snapped, “we have to go snog now.”

He dragged Hermione along the corridors until they were out of sight.

Once they had reached a different area, Hermione slowed them to a gentle stop. 

“Was that necessary?”

He turned towards her and studied her face. She did not look upset, though there was a slight flush on her cheeks. Was it from running? 

He yearned to raise his hand and gently touch the rosy skin there. For the second time, he crossed his arms tightly. 

“I have no patience for the inane. You know this.”

She sighed. A grudging smile played across her lips. Her hair, a soft, dark cloud, seemed to have a light of its own. It glowed. All of her did – like an angel, he thought stupidly. Or as if the sun had broken through the clouds just to spotlight her – a miracle in the middle of a most ordinary muggle shop.

“Did you have to drag us to the lighting department, though?” She groused. “It’s so bright in here. My eyes are burning.”

Severus blinked rapidly and shook himself out of his haze. “Well, excuse me for not knowing the floor plan by heart. This is your forte.”

“You’re just a moth,” she countered. “You go where the light is.”

Confronted with her, shining in the light of Magnarp (hideous, in Severus’ humble opinion, certainly not going on their wedding registry), he could not deny the statement.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

He had to tell her.

“Hermione–” he started. She looked at him with wide brown eyes. His mouth suddenly got very dry. “Hermione, listen, I wanted to tell you–”

Her hand fell onto his arm. He looked down at it, strangely unsettled. 

When he looked up to meet her gaze again, the look in her eyes had changed from expectation to the exuberant spark of a new discovery. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” She couldn’t mean this – this electricity he felt whenever she was near him, surely? The way his heart raced when her name was mentioned, when he spied her in a crowd, every morning that he arrived at the office and knew he’d find her there? The way his hands sometimes wanted to rise of their own accord to touch her, how he wanted to be in her company at all times, just to talk, or to listen, or to sit with each other? How work felt like the most self-indulgent time of day, because he got to see her?

She gripped his forearm tighter. The smile on her face was brighter than the entirety of the lighting department. “That buzzing. Something here is cursed!” 

“Oh. Joy.”

It turned out to be a cabinet. They had set up a faux TV stand not too far from them. Severus stood watch while Hermione cast all sorts of diagnostics. 

“It’s a singing charm. Not particularly refined – rather textbook, really. If you open the door, it starts to sing. Something from Les Miserables, I believe, the one where they get ready for their revolution. Red, the blood of angry men. I’ve dismantled it for now.”

“Shame,” Severus said. “I was feeling up to some music.”

“Sing, then” Hermione said and poked the furniture some more. In her attempt to study every nook and cranny, she was practically crawling into the TV stand. Severus rolled his eyes at her. It was better than focusing on how her bottom wriggled with all that investigating.

“Anything interesting in there?” He tried to sound disinterested, which would not fool her for a second. It would make him feel like he had a modicum of equilibrium left, at least.

Hermione surfaced from the TV stand. “This thing is called Fjällbo,” she said. “Nothing else to report.”

“ Fjallbö. What even is that, Danish?”

Hermione laughed and dusted off her palms on her dark green dress. She looked like a mythical being in its wide sleeves and v-neck. The little bow around her waist was crooked, and without thinking about it, he reached out to fix it. 

“Ah, no,” she said. Did she sound a little breathless? Had she exhausted herself in that TV stand? “It’s not Danish – that is a garbage language for garbage people. It’s Swedish.”

“Swedish,” he murmured. “I see.”

Had her face always been this close? Her eyes always been this wide? He stared at her lashes, fluttering gently, so dark and long. He was hit with the strangest urge to study them, see what they felt like moving against his finger tips. Like butterfly kisses.

There was movement behind her. Severus forced his eyes away from her with some effort. Whatever he had expected to see – this wasn’t it. 

“Kitten.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Kitten? Listen, Severus – pumpkin was bad enough. I’d really prefer it if you just stuck with my name – or we could discuss pet names we both agree on–”

As tickled as he was by that prospect, Severus decided it was best to interrupt her at this point. “No. Right behind you. Kitten.”

She spun around.

The cat in question was small and incredibly fluffy. It was a little on the mousy brown side but Hermione seemed to be immediately enchanted with it. Based on how it sniffed her hand and allowed her to pick it up, the feeling was mutual. 

“Ooooh aren’t you a sweet one! Yes, you! Look at you, with your little paws and your little nose!” She booped the nose in question. Severus told himself it was unreasonable to be jealous of a cat. Besides, he did not want his nose booped, thank you very much. Not even by Hermione bloody Granger with her brilliant mind, sharp wit and perfect cupid’s bow lips.

This day was already going pear-shaped, and it was not even lunch.

And he still hadn’t told her. 

***

For lunch, they (Hermione, Severus and the cat which Hermione had named Apples for now) got half of everything on offer. They brainstormed while Hermione fed the cat herring under Severus’ disapproving gaze. 

“So we have the magical signature of the perpetrator now,” he summarised. “But no motive or other means of finding this individual. Any better ideas than camping out in this ridiculous place till we catch them in the act?”

Hermione watched the cat consume its fish in an almost dainty way. “Not really, except with the addition of more food. I do so enjoy Swedish food. Maybe we should go there on our honeymoon.”

As soon as she said that, Hermione found herself flushing. She focused on Apples. Watch your mouth, Hermione, she chided herself, why are your jokes so ambiguous today? You’ll clue him in and then you’ll scare him off. No way he wants to work with a former student with a crush the size of the entire bloody IKEA.

When she looked up, he was studying her. “Fine,” he said. 

Hermione blinked. “Fine? What – what are you referring to?”

Blithely, he cut up another meatball. “Your plan, of course, as well as the food. I find myself in a rather adventurous mood – do you think they have risotto?”

They did not, and Severus sulked about it all the way to the bedrooms.

“You know,” Hermione said while she was pretending to try out a mattress with Apples cradled to her chest, “I really think we should try taking better notes of what we checked out and what we didn’t. Like in a spreadsheet.” She sat back up, eyes shining. “This whole thing could be a spreadsheet!”

“Oh joy,” Severus retorted, “I married a Ravenclaw.”

She threw a pillow at his face. He threw it back.

They politely got asked to leave the bedrooms.

“It’s a wonder they didn’t find that cat,” Severus said. Hermione had stuffed it into the front of her dress in a panic when the store employee approached, which left her looking a little like she had a third breast. Severus liked her better with two. The cat, it seemed, had not objected, but rather started purring. 

“Hold on,” Hermione said, “I’m feeling it again.” 

She led them to an enchanted bookcase. Same magical signature – singing R.E.M. this time, which Hermione helpfully tried to explain and Severus rebutted with a sneer. He knew his 90s rock, thank you very much. 

No traces leading to it, but they did figure out that this enchantment was older than the previous one. 

“We’re going backwards,” Hermione said and scratched the cat behind its ears. It purred. “Lovely.”

What followed, Severus would always remember as the most ridiculous scavenger hunt of his life. Hermione did start a spreadsheet, and a good thing it was, too, or they would have got hopelessly lost in the vast caverns of IKEA. 

They found two more enchanted items of furniture, but no indication as to why someone would want to enchant them in the first place. It would endanger the Statute of Secrecy, yes, but if that was the aim, this was a clumsy way of going about it. There were no protections on the furniture themselves, no attempt to mask the magical signature which had enchanted the objects. 

They replenished their energies with some brownies and tea in the afternoon, then set off again.

It took them three more hours until Severus realised what was going on. One people-eating sofa, two talking armchairs and one self-cooking fridge later (Severus asked it for risotto before un-spelling it, and Hermione did not even chide him for it), Severus finally realised why they could not catch the perpetrator in the act.

The realisation came when Hermione bent down to pet Apples, who had gone wandering off for the third time. “Oh, you’re such an adventurous kitty, aren’t you? So many new smells to discover! It’s a wonder you always find your way back to us.”

“It’s the cat,” Severus said, knowing as he did that he was right. Hermione, who was scratching the cat behind its ears, looked up. 

“What is?”

Severus snatched it out of Hermione’s grip by its neck and stared into its eyes. The cat went a little cross-eyed trying to stare back. “The cat is a spy.”

Hermione did not ask him if he had a fever. She didn’t apparate him directly to St. Mungo’s. 

She stared at him, then at the cat. Then back at him. 

“Revelio fortis,” she said, and oh, Severus was so in love with her.

The body in Severus’ hands grew heavier, heavier – extended, like an unfolding flower, except instead of petals, there was a boring brown cardigan, sensible equally brown shoes, and blonde hair.

A second later, Ernie Macmillan was sitting in Severus’ lap.

For a moment, all of them were frozen. Then Macmillan flushed bright red and clambered off Severus’ lap. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he said. 

Severus got up slowly. Macmillan was making no attempts at running so far, but one never knew when that may change. He kept his wand in his hand, his sleeve hiding both. “It isn’t? That’s such a relief. Because it looks like you are an unregistered animagus and assaulted me in the middle of a muggle shop.”

Macmillan did his best impression of a frog and puffed up in indignation. “I did not assault you! You grabbed my neck! If anything, I should be the one pressing charges!” 

“Good luck with that,” Severus sneered. He had known he was right to be jealous of a cat! It hadn’t been a cat at all! He congratulated himself on his infallible instincts. 

“Not to crash the party,” Hermione interrupted, looking a bit peaky. Severus thought she might be remembering how she smuggled ‘Apples’ out of the bedroom area hidden in her dress. “But I just checked his magical signature. He’s the one who enchanted the furniture.”

Macmillan sent Severus a stroppy look. “This is all your fault!” He accused, complete with an extended index finger pointed straight at Severus’ nose. “You ruin everything! She wasn’t supposed to find out until she reached the wardrobe with the roses!” 

Hermione looked very much like her head might be aching similarly to Severus’. She held up her hands. “Hold up – hold up, what are you telling me here? You cursed furniture at IKEA , risking the exposure of the magical world, to what – woo me ?”

Macmillan, Severus determined, was not particularly good at reading context clues. If Hermione had stared at him like this, he would have run for the hills. 

As it was, he warded the area they were in – a very unfortunate living room arrangement of orange and pink – against prying eyes and ears and waited for Hermione to snap. He did so enjoy watching her unleash her fury on other people. It was magnificent. 

“It was a puzzle! I made sure it was high profile enough so they would alarm you – I knew you’d appreciate it, you like puzzles!” 

“ I like puzzles? ” Hermione repeated. Her volume was rising. Severus fortified his spells. “The fact that I never responded to your overtures of affection has not clued you in so far that I am not interested? You had to break multiple laws and waste our time ?”

Macmillan squared his shoulders and raised his nose. “They weren’t big enough. You just had to see that I get you – I understand you, you know. You like riddles, so I made you one. You like cats, and I am one! We fit really well together, don’t you see?”

Hermione just gaped at him. Severus could understand the sentiment. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the annoying saleswoman from earlier stare in their direction confusedly. She couldn’t see them, he knew, but he sure hoped that Macmillan didn’t decide to make a run for it. 

“I know this isn’t very convincing,” Macmillan continued, sounding, somehow, like he was the victim in this situation. “I had it all thought out – there was a little string quartet and two dozen roses in the other wardrobe. That would have convinced you! But this one had to ruin it all!”
‘This one’ raised one of his eyebrows. He wished he could still take points. Or assign detention. As it was, he’d have to do the second best thing. “How fortunate that you won’t have to see me where you’re going, then,” Severus drawled. 

Macmillan stemmed his fists into his sides. “You can’t make me go anywhere! You’re not my professor anymore!”

“Prison!” Hermione snapped. “He means prison! Merlin, I need some more tea.”

“I’m not going to prison!” Macmillan shreaked. “You can’t make me!” 

“I do not even know where to begin to explain to you how wrong you are,” Severus snapped and took out his wand. “Off you go.”

Maybe he should have expected Macmillan to make a dash for it but in all honesty, he hadn’t thought the twat was smart enough. It was his own mistake – he shouldn’t have expected anyone to meekly let them arrest him. Before Severus could react at all, Ernie Macmillan vanished. 

No, Severus realised as a group of about ten feline forms dashed off in all directions from where Macmillan had stood. Not vanished – turned into a cat. 

“Decoy cats!” Hermione yelled. Was that glee in her voice? He seriously had to have a word with her about her priorities. “I put a trace on him – I’ll follow him, you collect the cats!”

Severus reluctantly moved that conversation back in his list and focused on his immediate task: Running. 

Had Severus said looking for cursed furniture had been the most ridiculous scavenger hunt of his life? It was nothing against this. He ran, he dodged, he faked a bathroom emergency more times than he felt comfortable admitting to get the Muggles to stop asking him if he needed anything. He acciod kittens out of lampshades, out from under beds, plucked them from shelves and, in one case, had to carefully pry off a little calico’s claws from a truly hideous painting. 

Hermione had said collect , and Severus was a fool in love. He conjured an invisible basket and kept them inside with a containment charm. Any scratches behind their ears or pets along their silky coats was simply to keep them calm enough so they wouldn’t cause a ruckus. 

When there were eleven kittens in his basket, his cat-detection charm came up empty. 

Finally.

Severus was sweaty, annoyed, had a headache and was thoroughly done with this day. 

And he still hadn’t told her. 

Goddammit. 

Hermione cornered Ernie-cat close to the enchanted wardrobe with the flowers. Somehow, she had not expected him to transform back and confront her, but human idiocy apparently truly knew no bounds. 

“It’s just us!” He was bouncing on the heels of his feet, rubbing his hands together. He looked like the silliest kind of comic supervillain. “See, now we can finally talk in peace! You’ll come around, I’m sure.”

“I cannot even begin to explain to you how very uninterested I am in that proposition,” Hermione said and cast some privacy charms. Some nearby Muggles suddenly decided that they actually did not want new storage options and wandered off. 

“You already talk like him! But I’ll save you from his clutches!” Ernie announced. “His influence is bad for you!”

Hermione was so thoroughly, thoroughly done with this. Ernie did not expect the full bodybind and he went down like a felled tree. “Of course I talk like him,” she snapped as she conjured some additional ropes. They weren’t necessary, but sometimes giving in to your temper was healthy. “I’m in love with him – and I’ll have you know I was always smart, it’s not Severus Snape’s fault I can manage large words and you can’t.” 

Ernie stared up at her, silent and tied up. Hermione decided she had never liked him better. She sighed and began massaging her neck. Job well done, Hermione, she congratulated herself. Now the kittens and then maybe another brownie as a reward. Merlin knew she earned it.

“I cannot believe you said that,” Severus’ voice piped up behind her. “How dare you?”

Hermione spun around so fast that she made herself dizzy. She blinked wildly. Blinked some more. 

There he was – Severus Snape, in all his glory. Complete with turtleneck and Victorian rocker hairstyle. 

“Ohmygod,” she whispered. “Oh my God, tell me you didn’t hear that.”

“I can if you want me to lie,” he said. He was glaring at her, why was he glaring? This was mortifying for her, why was he angry? 

Somehow, his anger made her furious in turn. “Well!” she exclaimed. “I said it, so there you have it!”

He scoffed. “Well, lovely! Now if people ask us oh, where did you get together, I’ll have to tell them what? In IKEA, Ernie Macmillan as our witness? Classy, Hermione, very classy.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t understand why you are angry at me! This is embarrassing enough as it is– wait did you say get together?” 

Severus rubbed his hand over his face. Hermione had no business noticing how attractive it was – there were enough confusing things going on as it was. And yet, here she was, stomach twisting at the sight. 

“I’ve been trying to confess to you all day, you impossible witch!” he all but yelled. “What did you think I was doing?” 

Hermione threw up her hands. “Well, I don’t know! You do the weirdest things sometimes! How was I supposed to know – you like me ?”

“Of course I like you! What’s not to like!” 

“Why are we yelling! ?” 

Severus took a deep breath. Hermione did the same. 

Calming down was not the best idea. It left her, suddenly, with nothing else to think of except that one sentence. I’ve been trying to confess to you all day. 

“You’re in love with me,” she whispered. Severus – right there in front of her, solid, real, in love with her – cracked the slightest smile. “You’re in love with me.”

“Yes.” His voice was so soft, so gentle, Hermione felt like she might faint. “I am.”

“I’m in love with you back,” she said. 

Severus actually laughed. “I know. I heard.”

He heard. 

He’s in love with me, and I’m in love with him back. 

We’re in love with each other. 

Laughter burst out of Hermione before she could stop it. Had she ever felt relief like this? She had no idea. She felt so light she could fly.

They stood there, grinning and giggling, for a good few minutes. Finally, Severus took a few calming breaths. “I will set down this basket of kittens now and I will kiss you. Any objections?”

Hermione tried to spot the basket. There was something, she realised – under an invisibility spell, most likely. “A basket of kittens?”

Severus lifted his eyebrow again. “You’d rather have the kittens?”

“No,” Hermione hurriedly corrected. “I’d like the kiss. Kisses. Plural. Please and thank you.”

Severus, Hermione decided, was a very generous and obliging person. He set down the basket, cradled her face in his, and did give her the kiss. Kisses. Plural.