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Severus drummed his fingers on the table in annoyance. He leafed through the pages of the potions journal he was reading with increasing agitation, a growl escaping him was he came to a particularly flawed paragraph positing that the intent and emotional state of the brewer had as much bearing on the resulting potion as the preparation of the ingredients.
“Saccharine nonsense,” he muttered darkly.
Then, suddenly, the pages floated up into the air, out of his grasp and into Hermione’s hands.
“I was reading that!” Severus snapped.
Hermione set it gently on the countertop, then crossed the kitchen to him and kissed his cheek. “You can have it back,” she said. “But first you need to go outside and touch some grass.”
“Whatever for?” he demanded, aghast.
Hermione raised one eyebrow and looked pointedly at the tabletop. Severus followed her gaze. There were scorch marks where he’d been tapping his fingers in frustration, black singes permanently etched into the surface.
“Ah.”
“I feel very lucky to have married such a powerful wizard,” Hermione said, draping her arms around him. “But your penchant for doing dangerous non-verbal magic when consumed by academic fury is somewhat alarming.”
“Fine,” Severus gave a great heaving sigh as he pushed himself up from the table. “I will go and get some air.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re coming with me. And during the entire duration of the walk I will explain to you exactly what was wrong with that paper.”
Hermione grinned and slipped her hand into his.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”