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Hermione hurries down the cobblestone alley, cursing as her heel catches a gap in the stones. They were a bit higher than she preferred to wear but beggars can’t be choosers and all that she has in her closet at home are sensible and close toed; they were the perfect armor for the boardroom, not so much for operation Woo a Wizard. Not that Severus Snape was going to care about her silver pumps or meticulously painted toenails but it made her feel confident and when it came to that man she needed it in spades.
She pauses in front of the last shop before Seance and checks her reflection in the window. The potion in her hair is still holding up; the pinned back pieces aren’t budging whilst the rest of it flows freely down her back in frizz free ringlets. Her lipstick has smudged. Again. She casts a cleaning charm and runs her finger self-consciously over her nude lips. She just wasn’t a lip stick girl and if that was his deal breaker then she’s not his girl. And that’s fine. She pulls at the hem of her dress that’s only slightly shorter than she’d normally wear but a bit more snug. Totally fine.
Her warming charm wears off just as she pushes open the doors. The small smattering of regulars don’t look her way, but the loud group in the back corner all turn expectantly. She flushes slightly as they cheer, wondering why they bother with out of the way pubs for discretion if they’re going to be so bloody obnoxious anyway.
“Here you go, Mione,” George says, appearing out of nowhere. “Put this on.”
He holds out what seems to be a small flower with a lapel pin. Hermione eyes it warily.
“What is that?”
“A flower.”
“And what does it do?”
“Cant tell you that, love. It’s a prototype.”
She arched her brow. “And I’m to just blindly trust you?”
“The other ladies have.”
He inclines his head back towards their waiting companions. Sure enough, every girl has a similar flower pinned onto her outfit. Seeing one on Ginny puts her at ease.
“I trust Ginny’s already threatened you?”
“Within an inch of my life, yes.”
“And you know that I prefer birds to bat bogeys.”
He puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“Only if you deserve it,” she shoots back, accepting the pin.
As he leads her back to the group, she looks around. Severus hadn’t explicitly said that he would be coming to their New Year’s party but he also hadn’t outright rejected her either. So she was hopeful. Her eyes scan over the dark corners again. Perhaps foolishly so.
Ginny welcomes her with a side hug and suggestive whisper. Ron gives her a nod, glancing nervously down at his girlfriend. The girl, a petite blond, smiles brightly at her and Hermione relaxes slightly. That was one relationship conundrum solved for the night. His last girlfriend had been unbearably territorial. To some extent she understood it. But also… one adrenaline fueled kiss and two unfortunately publicized dates before they called it quits six years ago hardly qualified her as a proper ex-girlfriend.
Hermione makes her rounds, hugging the various Weasleys. Due to her work she’d missed the last few Sundays at the Burrow. She lingers with Luna who has just returned from traveling abroad with Rolf Scamander but sidesteps Lavender and Parvati. Unfortunately that puts her right in the path of Cormac—she was going to have words with Harry about where he discusses plan moving forward, why are half these people even here?—but then Neville swoops in to save her. They’re in the middle of a discussion on the ethical sourcing of fjui leaves from nymph habitats when the energy of the room shifts.
The friend group quiets briefly, everyone reflexively straightening at the sight of Severus before relaxing back into their conversations. Hermione smiles but doesn’t move to approach him. No need to seem overeager. George catches his arm and murmurs something into his ear. His gaze narrows on her flower. From the thinning of his mouth as he looks about the room, she suspects Severus isn’t pleased.
“Do you know what these are for, Nev,” she asks, glancing down at the pin. “Is it.. glowing?”
She looks around the room. Every girl’s flower seems to be glowing to various degrees. Her flower isn’t particularly vibrant, currently, but still distinctively lit. Neville shifts awkwardly.
“Nev?”
“It’s a charm of some kind, George said,” he explains. “He’s still experimenting with it and I do know what it does, but he said it messes up the charm if you know what it does.”
Hermione frowns. “And only the women have it?”
“It works either way. I guess he and Ginny flipped a coin to decide which one.”
“So Ginny knows what it does.”
“I’d reckon so.”
Hermione nods to herself.
“Do you want me to tell you?” Neville lowers his voice and glances around. “I don’t want to ruin the experiment, but I dunno that it’s—“
“Granger! Just the witch I was hoping to see.” Cormac appears out of nowhere, somehow managing to step in between her and Neville. “I think Hannah was looking for you, mate.”
Neville hesitates, clearly waiting for Hermione’s cue and she reluctantly nods. It’s not like she hasn’t handled Cormac before. And Hannah does seem to be shooting many covert looks in their direction. When Neville reaches her, her flower brightens considerably and Neville blushes. Interesting.
“Granger?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione says at once, refocusing on Cormac. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d heard about my recent promotion to the Department of International Affairs.”
“I must have missed it! It’s been a lot of paperwork lately. What will you be doing now?”
Hermione tries to pay attention and be polite whilst also trying to disengage. Cormac is a tricky sort of bloke; he’s quite charismatic with heavy influence amongst the older generation at the ministry which makes him a great wizard to have on your side but he’s also prone to hold a grudge. It’s not gotten to a level of sleaze that merits an appeal to HR but everyone is aware it’s best to politely tolerate him. Every so often he glances at her flower and frowns. Finally her salvation comes in the form of Charlie Weasley.
“‘Mione, it’s been an age! Let me get you a drink,” he says as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.
She doesn’t hesitate to go with him, pretending she doesn’t see the way Cormac glowers after them. Charlie releases her as soon as they reach the bar and angles his stool a polite distance away from hers before leaning back on his elbows. They both glance down at her flower reflexively. It’s grown brighter since she talked to Neville but is nowhere near what Hannah’s looked like. She glances around curiously, trying to find rhyme or reason.
“Have you solved it yet?”
“What?” She turns to find Charlie watching her fondly.
“The flowers. What they do.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Not quite. I mean they seem to be reacting to presence, maybe? Or familiarity. My flower is brighter with you than it was with Neville. So familiarity would make sense. I mean, Nev and I are good friends, but you’re practically family.”
Charlie’s lips twitch like she said something funny; her eyes narrow suspiciously but she continues her assessment.
“Ginny’s shines brightest with Harry so that’s another point for familiarity being a factor, but then.. why is Lavender’s so bright near Ron? They haven’t spoken in ages. Have they?”
Charlie shrugs. “I’m in Romania most of the year. Ronniekins doesn’t owl.”
“Hmm, but then Ron’s girlfriend’s flower is relatively bright too and they haven’t been together lo—Is that flower shriveled?”
He follows her gaze to where Seamus is chatting with Parvati. Her flower looks black instead of green. Charlie makes a sympathetic noise, confirming her theory that a bright flower was positive. But Parvati and Seamus had known each other as long as she and Neville—if it were about familiarity, only perfect strangers would shrivel.
“Am I at least close with my theory,” she asks Charlie.
He holds up his hands. “Not supposed to say. Part of the experiment is if the other party can figure it out.”
“This is supposed to be a party not a bloody science experiment.”
“Figured that’d be your preference,” he teases.
She swats his arm and then they start to catch up properly. When she glances around, wandering where Severus has disappear to, she notices everyone seems to have almost paired off. Preparing for the drop? She glances at the clock but there’s still over an hour until the new year.
“Miss Granger.”
Hermione looks over to find Severus standing nearby. Before she can say anything, her flower flares the brightest it’s been all night. She pushes aside the mental analysis of whether it was more comparable to Hannah or Ginny’s flower in order to focus on the man in front of her.
“You made it!”
Severus is staring at the flower as if he’s never seen anything like it before. Then he clears his throat and meets her gaze. “You did mention Potter was running the tab.”
She snorts. “Should have lead with that, I suppose. You remember Charlie, don’t you?”
“Perpetual thorn in my quidditch team’s side,” he says in acknowledgement. Charlie smirks. Then he shoots her a knowing look and she flushes. Is she that obvious?
“It was good catching up,” he says, pecking her on the side of the head. “And good to see you, Professor.”
Hermione gestures for Severus to take his seat once he wanders off, but he sits on the opposite size, forcing her to half-turn away from rest of the pub. Normally it would make her uncomfortable—the want for a clear sight to an exit continues to prevail even all these years after the war—but she has no such concerns with Severus. The light of her flower pulses and his eyes widen minutely in subtle surprise. Merlin why hadn’t she forced Neville’s hand when she had the chance? Stupid bloody Cormac.
She clears her throat. “Were you brewing before you came?”
“I’m a Potioneer, Granger, there’s always something on the cauldron.”
“Allow me to rephrase,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “What were you working on?”
“It is a variant of the standard blood replenishing draught; I’m looking at creating an appropriate substitution for hemophiliacs. Current dosages are either insufficient or too potent.”
“That’d be an amazing breakthrough, Severus.” Her mind whirls with the implications. “I assume you’ll be prioritizing sourcing an appropriate thickening agent?”
“Indeed. I’ve got a few promising ingredients, but the one I’m most interested in is a bit harder to obtain.”
“Why is that?”
“Are you familiar with the chiabari tree?”
She shakes her head. “I did well in Herbology but I never had much interest in further study. Is it heavily protected?”
“Not by Wizardingkind,” he says evenly. “The roots, which is the ingredient I need, are actually quite cheap on the market. The problem is the sourcing. Chiabari trees serve as the homes for a particularly species of fairy. Most suppliers simply stun them, rip up their homes, and leave.”
“How absolutely barbaric!”
She wracks her brain, trying to think about the native fairy populations. Surely she would have heard if such a practice was happening in her own backyard? Perhaps not though given it was three years into her time with the Department that someone bothered to inform her that Merpeople didn’t naturally migrate but had developed the habit due to both Muggle and Magical shipping practices. She had personally oversaw the enchantments and memory modifications to allow boats to pass over Merhomes without harm to either party.
“The tree doesn’t grow natively, does it?”
“Britain’s climate doesn’t suit it,” he confirms. “There are ethical suppliers who barter with the fae and source in more sustainable efforts but it’s both time and labor intensive which leads to a significant up-charge.“
“We could work out a grant for your work, if you were interested,” she says thoughtfully. “I’ve had the department allocate resources to business relations between wizards and magical beings.”
Severus hesitates. “I will consider that for future investments. As it is, I’ve already paid a supplier for the root. But unbeknownst to him, however, the fae mother is pregnant so I asked him to wait for her comfort.”
“He was going to source it anyway? I thought he was ethical!”
“It wouldn’t actually hurt her or the pregnancy,” Severus defends the man. “It’s a matter of my own preferences. It didn’t feel right to interfere with her home at such a time.”
Another flare of her flower startled her. Had it reacted like this with everyone else? She doesn’t remember much change when she was talking to Charlie. Self-consciously she rests her chin in her hand, angled so that the flower is slightly obscured by her forearm. Severus apparently doesn’t find it distracting as he says nothing about the flower nor her behavior and gradually their conversation shifts. She knows she’s bolstered by alcohol and high heels, but even he seems different. Like an invisible wall has lowered between them. When he smiles—an actual smile, not his usual smirk!—her heart skips a beat.
“These Love Blooms are absolute bollocks, Weasley,” Cormac fumes loudly. He’s attempting to tower over George who’s utterly unimpressed. “Barely a single glow from any of the witches!”
“Well, McLaggen maybe that’s because—“
“I mean look at that,” he continues undeterred, gesturing towards where she sits with Severus. “In what world does Hermione Granger fancy Severus sodding Snape over me?”
“I imagine all the ones in which I have sentience,” she mutters. Unfortunately the pub is quieter since his outburst. And he definitely heard.
“What was that, Granger?” His voice is ominously lower.
Perhaps she should heed the warning, but the alcohol in her system emboldens her to make a scene; she slips off her bar stool to approach him. George takes a half-step in between them. She feels Severus at her back.
“Sentience,” she repeats slowly. “It means being able to perceive. Or feel.“
A muscle in his jaw ticks. She smirks, already drunk off the feeling of no longer playing nice with this prat. “In other words, as long as I have a brain, I’ll pick Severus over you any day.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” He looks at George. “Did Granger have you manipulate the flowers? I knew you were upset I didn’t invite you to the Gala.”
She scoffs. “Cormac, I cannot express the relief I feel to know I will not be stuck on your arm suffering through a thousand tales of your mediocrity masquerading as greatness. It could fuel a patronus.”
“Fancy tales about Muggle torture instead, do you?”
Hermione would like to think she’s grown quite a bit since her first campaign for social justice her fourth year. She’s learned to listen first. To educate herself on the topic throughly, not just through texts but by speaking to the affected. To hear their opposition and ascertain if compromise is possible. She’s been praised frequently for remaining level-headed that she’s been named head mediator of her department.
And yet—
“You arrogant bastard,” she hisses. “Over twenty years ago he made a bloody mistake, one he paid for a thousand times over, giving his life in more ways than one and that’s still not enough for you. Of course you can’t appreciate that, the only people in life you value are the ones that fall over themselves to do your bidding or get in your bed.” A voice in her head begs her to shut up, to keep it just about the Death Eater comment, but— “At any rate, of course I fancy Severus over you. Of course I fancy him in general. No caveats. He’s bloody brilliant. Snarky, true, but yet so funny I can’t quite mind. Quietly kind, just plodding away doing good work for which he’ll never take proper credit but makes up the bloody backbone of our ministry, not to mention—“
“Granger, enough,” Severus voice cuts across, grabbing her wrist firmly as she makes to prod Cormac’s chest. “You’re embarrassing—“
“Ha, I knew it! Look at the flower now.” Hermione glances down to see that her flower withered. “Quite the act, Granger. I knew you weren’t really attracted to Snape.”
“It measures…,” Hermione trails off as she puts it all together.
The way everyone had been pairing off. Why Lavender still glowed for Ron, and why Parvati shriveled for Seamus. Charlie’s bloody smirk at the family comment. She was close to the answer, but hadn’t managed to solve it in time to avoid her own mortification.
Snape knew. George must have told him when he arrived. And so the whole bloody time she’d been talking, trying to work up the nerve to properly flirt, he knew how much she wanted him. She laughs, a low bitter sound.
“I forgot, of course, how cruel you can be when it suits you,” she says venomously, rounding on Snape. “You must’ve felt so smug watching me flounder like a stupid school girl with a crush. Thank Merlin you got a bloody conscience before I confessed my undying love in front of the whole ruddy pub!”
Silence. Deafening silence.
“I’m going home,” she says meekly. Her voice sounds so small and she’s not going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
Hermione shoves past the dumbfounded men. George’s apology falls on deaf ears. Ginny calls her name. She ignores all of it, only focused on getting through the double doors. With a crack, she’s gone before they can even close behind her.
oOo
Severus stares at the spot where Hermione vanished. Murder. He’s going to commit murder. The only question is if he starts with McLaggen or Weasley.
“Merlin, dodged an avada with that one, eh. Barmy as a—“
Severus grabs Cormac by the collar and throws him against the bar. He recovers quickly, but stops at the sight of his drawn wand.
“That woman would be utterly wasted on the likes of you,” he snarls in a low voice. Then, aware of his audience and concerned for his witch, he lowers his wand. Turning towards the door he calls back over his shoulder, “Weasley, be at yours in an hour.”
Hermione’s house is warded. The floo is locked. He spends the better part of the hour lingering outside the wards, close enough that she must know someone is there. Two conversations run through his mind: the one he imagines having with her if she opens the bloody door and an argument with himself that says dismantling wards is wrong. Even if they’re abysmal and she really needs to update them. Before a third conversation can start in his head, he turns on heel and apparates to George’s flat.
“Snape,” George says as soon as he opens the door.
He barrels past the redhead. “Why didn’t you tell her what the flowers signaled?”
“It would have ruined the experiment.”
“My love life is not an experiment.”
George scoffs. “You think I’m that much of an arse? I wasn’t messing with you and Hermione. I didn’t tell any of the girls what it did. This whole thing was a dry run of a new product, Love Blooms. The idea is you give your date flowers when you pick ‘em up and then you can use the flowers to gauge their interest in you. It accounts for physical and mental attraction. Takes all the uncertainty out of reading cues and body language.”
“Your idea is to give people the ability to ascertain another’s level of attraction to them without them being aware of it?”
“Yes,” George says slowly, as if he’s the one being dense. “If the other person knows then they’re going to be thinking about how attractive they think they find the person who gifted the flower which can influence the flower. I mean Mione’s short circuited when she got all heated over you.”
Severus pinches the bridge of his nose, unsure whose stupidity is more infuriating—Weasley’s or his own.
“A witch or wizard would be thinking about that on a date regardless.The results would barely skew,” he says barely contained irritation. “But do you not see the potentially deadly consequences of these Love Blooms.”
“Deadly? Merlin you two are a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Look at McLaggen this evening.”
“Well that tosser is a—“
“Prime example of where this could go wrong! Think about it! He didn’t like not being attractive to the women he liked and what did he do? He lashed out at you and then, when he thought she’d chosen me over him, he lashed out at her!”
“So tensions were high,” George says dismissively. He gives Severus a pointed look. “He’s not the only one who lashed out.”
He takes a deep breath. “What I said—that came out wrong. I was under the impression she was pitying me. I thought she knew what the flowers signified and was faking it. I never imagined—the idea that she—“ He shakes his head. Weasley doesn’t deserve his love confessions or his vulnerability. “In any case, that only furthers my point. A slighted male ego is a dangerous thing. If you put out this product, you risk triggering violence.”
“Was that what you were going to say, ‘Mione?”
A door to his left clicks open, and Hermione comes stomping out. Her hair has lost all semblance of decorum and she’s so radiant in her fury, he almost forgets to be mortified.
“George Weasley if you ever seal me in a bloody closet again, you will wish Severus had taken off your whole head.”
“Look, you were embarrassed in front of him. Now he’s embarrassed in front of you. I’ve cleared the way for you to speak as equals. And then once you establish that you’re madly in love, you can honor me as your best man. Or woman. I happen to look great in women’s clothing and I’m prepared to fight Ginny for it.”
“Leave before I hex you,” they growl in unison.
“This is my bloody flat,” he cries, putting a hand over his heart before hurrying to his floo. “I’m off to Ang’s. If you desecrate my flat, please incendio the bed after, would you?”
He disappears in a flash of green. Severus breaks the silence first.
“I went to your flat.”
“I came here as soon as I realized the broader implications of what George had done. Never mind my own feelings, it was, well, you know as you practically said all that I came to say.”
“Did he really ward you in the closet?” He can’t keep the amusement from his voice.
“I’m a bit tipsy and heartbroken, leave me alone.”
That sobers him up at once. “Granger, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m a grown woman; I can handle rejection.”
“I wasn’t rejecting you.”
Her face scrunches up. “I never took you for a Darcy type.”
“Pardon?”
“Pride and Prejudice. The male lead, Mr. Darcy insults her quite eloquently then still dares ask for her hand in marriage.“
“I wouldn’t put it past me,” he mutters before he can stop himself. Her lips twitch. “Did you mean those things you said?”
“Well that’s hardly fair,” she protests. “I’ve been broadcasting my affections all night, part of it in an obnoxiously drunk fashion and you ask that I do it again? Whilst you’ve said nothing? If you weren’t rejecting me, what exactly was your intention?”
“I thought you were pretending. I was… I couldn’t believe that what you were saying could possibly be true. And so when the flower shriveled up, I thought.. I thought it was a trick.”
“You think I’d be so cruel.”
He shakes his head. “I know you have a propensity towards pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Severus.”
“So is it true then?”
The question leaves him without permission. Hermione flushes a delicate pink, and looks anywhere but him.
“What if it was?”
He swallows thickly. “Then my suffering would end.”
“Suffering?” She looks up sharply.
“For the better part of two years, I’ve shown up to all of Potter’s bloody events just for the hope that you would be there and that perhaps I might get to speak with you. I’ve endured hours of tedious conversation for mere moments of your time, Gra—Hermione. “
“Why did you never just ask me?”
“I am not one to ask questions when I’m convinced that I know the answer.”
“Pride.”
He inclines his head. “One of my many faults to contend with.”
“We’re all human,” she chides gently. “I’m an independent witch. I could have said something before tonight. But… but everything I said is true.”
“Even that you love me?” Salazar his voice sounds small.
“My affections quite literally short circuited my flower.”
“That was your attraction,” he counters, still waiting for the broom to nosedive. “And I’m not the only one for whom you glowed.”
“Let’s not pretend it wasn’t the sun next to a lumos,” she says with what he hopes is an affectionate roll of her eyes. “Nev and I are just good friends. I find his openness endearing which is probably what the flower picked up on.”
“And Weasley?”
Her nose wrinkles. “I’m not going to pretend Charlie’s not bloody fit but he’s also practically my brother.”
He eyes her skeptically.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that your flower wouldn’t glow once in a room full of beautiful women,” she challenges, arching a brow.
Severus spies a box in the corner and summons one of the accursed flowers. He pins it to his lapel. The gold of her eyes reflects back the brilliant light of the flower. Her lips part slightly in surprise before she remembers herself. She raises her chin defiantly.
“That doesn’t prove me wrong, you know.”
“Well seeing as we’re going to incendio this whole line, I suppose it must remain a theory.”
“You’re quite insufferable.”
“Unrequited love does that to a person.”
“I’m quite enjoyable.”
“Then perhaps your love is returned.”
They’ve unconsciously drifted closer to one another. Severus had noticed her heels—how could he not with the effect they had on both her legs and arse—but he hadn’t realized how close they’d brought their faces. He’d barely need to bend to claim her mouth as he’d long since dreamt of doing. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to bridge that gap. Hermione was perfection from head to French tipped toe. He would—
The soft brush of her lips against his short circuits his brain.
She pulls back a breath and then presses in more firmly.
He’s frozen for a beat too long and she moves to pull away. Quickly he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, and pressing his lips back to hers.
As the kiss deepens, he hears the distant sound of explosions.
Hermione pulls back with a smile. “Happy New Year, Severus.”