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Ron sinks further into the couch cushions, propping his boots up on the arm. He remembered to scourgify them beforehand, so she refrains from saying something. It’s Severus that cares more than she does, and he is thoroughly occupied elsewhere.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pressed.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’ve got that look again.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says stiffly.
“The one where it looks like you can’t decide if you’re going to have a cry or incendio his desk.”
“That would be a terrible setback for our research.”
“And spending all day out of office isn’t? He’s usually kicking me out right about now.”
“Evidently he has more important matters to handle.” Her fingertips singe the parchment she’s holding as she considers him handling her. Ron raises his brows.
“I knew it was bad, but that’s… blimey.”
She drags a hand over her face. “It’s becoming unbearable, honestly.”
“You could just stop the project, can’t you?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Hermione—”
“It’s too important,” she interrupts. “I can’t leave now, no matter how difficult it’s become to work with him.”
Ron opens his mouth but then shakes his head. They lapse into a not quite comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of her scratching quill and the rhythmic thunk as he tosses a Muggle bouncy ball against the wall. The door opens as the ball goes awry and it shoots past Severus’ head.
Ron curses, scrambling to his feet. “Sorry about that Snape.”
“See to it that you find the exit after you locate the hazard you’ve just unleashed in my warehouse.” While he’s never been friendly with Ron, his tone is practically arctic. She wonders if they had a row.
“Er, right. Bye ‘Mione.”
“I’ll see you Sunday,” she calls after him, raising her voice to be heard as the door slams shut. Severus stalks over to his desk.
“No Annika today,” she asks lightly.
He doesn’t look up as he responds. “We are brewing later this evening.”
“Is that—”
“I didn’t return here for small talk,” he snaps.
Hermione bristles. It’s been a long time since he was so short with her. She grabs a stack of documents and begins to shift through them as an excuse to keep her face covered while she stews. What she hates most is that she has no legitimate grounds for complaint. Even though Severus has given her leave to set up in his office for the duration of their project due to its more intensive nature, he is still an independent contractor and free to brew with whomever he bloody well pleases. So, she has no professional right to complain if he chooses to spend most of his traditional work hours with Annika, not when their work doesn’t require them to brew together nor when he’s always timely with his portion of the work. She releases a heavy sigh.
“Something bothering you, Granger?”
She looks up warily. By his tone she knows this is merely a segue into something that is bothering him. He is watching her with his hands steepled in front of him. His dark eyes flash like flint as he studies her. The only thing more awful than sensing the trap before her is knowing that setting it off is practically inevitable. Still, she can’t help but try.
“It’s just been a long day,” she says, shrugging as she stands. “I think I might head home early.”
“A long day,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Why is that?”
“There were some issues with the formula I was trialing. I had to do a second batch.”
“You had enough ingredients, I assume.”
“I did.”
“And there was no problem with their integrity?”
“Not at all.” Her brow furrows. “Have I been using too much? I can—”
“Were your tools in satisfactory condition?”
She almost laughs at that. “With your fastidious nature? Of course.”
“Have the homestatic runes functioned appropriately?”
“Um, given the fact that I didn’t know you had them… Yes?”
“Are you displeased with my contributions to our work?”
“Displeased with your… Of course not.” Hermione frowns. “Severus, what is this about? What are you driving at?”
“I am simply trying to ascertain what part of working with me has become unbearable.”
“Unbear…” Her heart drops to the floor. “Were you eavesdropping?”
He scoffs. “The office has privacy spells when you latch the door. You should have reminded that ginger oaf to—”
“Don’t call him that!”
“The three of you made my life hell for the better part of a decade, and you still see fit to disparage me in my own office? I’ll call him whatever I please.”
She blinks. The rational part of her brain realizes what must have happened. Regrettably, the baser part of her brain that’s been holding back for far too long does not care.
“You want to know what’s unbearable about working with you? Well alright then. It’s unbearable to brew alone day after day because you’re off with her. It’s unbearable to have her waltz into this office whining about a problem a bloody first year could solve and then watch you run to her aid without a cross word about it. It’s unbearable to realize that while I can’t seem to get over you, you can’t get enough of her. I might have made your life hell as a child, but the two of you are certainly returning the favor now,” she sneers. “My hell is loving you in my sleep and waking up alone.”
The petty part of her brain gets exactly one minute to enjoy the gobsmacked expression on his face before there’s a knock at the door. With just a blink, his face is blank again. He doesn’t look away from her as he stands.
“Come in.”
“I know I’m a bit early, but I thought—”
“Are you under the impression that we’re dating?”
Hermione glances at the other woman, unsure of who he’s addressing.
“Yes,” she answers at the same time Annika says, “Of course not.”
It’s hard to say who sounds most uncertain. Severus doesn’t look away.
“Hermione, have you continued meddling with my files in your down time?”
“Yes, I still organize them properly when I’ve the time.”
His lips twist up in a slight smirk. Then he shifts his gaze to Annika. “About six months ago you should have seen a contract for an apprenticeship agreement between Ms. Nilsen and myself.”
Her jaw drops. “She’s an apprentice.”
“She was.”
“I am,” Annika snaps. “You signed a contract, Severus.”
“Indeed. Perhaps it’s time we review the terms.”
“Alright then.” Annika snaps her fingers expectantly, but nothing happens. When she does it again with the same result, Hermione laughs, earning a glare from the other woman. “What did you do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do,” she informs her smugly. “Apprentice contracts not filed within thirty days of their signing are considered magically void. They Vanish.”
“My father will—”
With barely a flick of his hand, Annika is pushed back through the doorway. As the door slams shut, the sound of house elf apparition rings out signaling her removal from the premises. The lock clicks.
“Severus, you can’t just spell people out the door.”
“You really enjoy telling me what I can and can’t do in my office, don’t you,” he asks, unconcernedly. “She’s a spoiled witch, but that threat has no more weight than Draco’s.”
She shakes her head. “So you weren’t—That wasn’t—But you—I thought—”
“As utterly endearing as your inarticulation is, let me explain: Ms. Nilsen’s father approached me about an apprenticeship. Aware of my academic reputation and her hopelessness with a cauldron, he offered an additional stipend if I was particularly attentive and controlled my tongue. Though it seemed innocuous at the time, it spiraled into a time-consuming, mind-numbing affair which I now see was likely his intention.”
“He tricked you into a dating contract.”
“Essentially.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. “We are several years post-war, Granger, forgive me for being a bit rusty at spotting subterfuge.”
“… Were you contractually obligated to call her by her first name then?”
He scowls.
She bites her lip. “I’m sorry that’s… that is awful. Truly. I had no idea. You seemed… content.”
“I’m tickled pink to know some of my spy skills remain,” he deadpans.
“I suppose I didn’t see you without her for the better part of six months, did I,” she muses.
“Seven,” he corrects quietly. “It’s been seven months since we’ve… brewed.”
“I’ve the time now,” she offers. “I-if you want.”
“Not today,” he murmurs. “Would you be amicable to dinner?”
She nods, suddenly feeling quite shy. Severus’ gestures for her to go ahead of him. His hand presses confidently against the small of her back.
“Now tell me more about that dream, would you? I believe I might have had one similar.”