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Hermione Granger, Head of the recently renamed Department of Magical Being Affairs, sits at her desk with a stack of parchment before her. She rubs her weary eyes and dips her quill into her third pot of ink as she edits the next round of legislation proposals. Despite none of it being pressing matters and having a highly competent staff to handle it during actual working hours, she cannot bring herself to go home. The absence of his physical presence as he lives rent free in her mind would be too much.
“You always overwork in an effort not to overthink.”
She jumps. “Merlin, Severus, how did you get in here?”
“It would seem the sudden deluge of busywork you’ve subjected yourself to has buried my termination paperwork,” he informs her. “As such, I still have clearance to your office, and it would seem my replacement is utterly incompetent.”
“I have not replaced you,” she corrects reflexively. Her cheeks feel warm. “But even if I had, you would be welcome.”
“Would I?”
“Of course.”
“And yet you’re avoiding me.”
“I am not.”
“I left your flat at three in the morning and by six I had an owl—an official ministry owl, mind you—at my window to tell me my services were no longer required. You did not answer when I knocked at your door, you’ve closed your floo to me, and my owl returned without a letter. It has been two weeks. I am not a man who begs, Hermione.” Goosebumps raise along her arms at her name on his lips. “But after two years of faithful service at your side, I believe I am entitled to more than an abrupt termination without explanation.”
Hermione lowers her gaze back to her desk in shame. Her eyes begin to burn. “You are.”
“Then explain. The werewolf legislation has yet to pass. You’ve received another death threat just today—on what grounds did you dismiss me?”
“Our relationship has changed, Severus.”
“I don’t understand.”
She sighs. “You were at my home until three in the morning.”
“Given I have stayed in your guest room numerous nights, I hardly think a prolonged conversation justified my removal.”
“I…,” she drags her hand over her face. “You really don’t see—I thought that perhaps you… We crossed a line! … Didn’t we?”
She searches his face, desperate for the confirmation that he’d felt the shift as well. That the other night had not been just another late night for him either. They hadn’t been up going over logistics or arguing over the semantics of her legislation. While they had argued, certainly, the man was a contrarian by nature and she herself was horribly stubborn, their conversation had been far more personal. It was a night of shared hopes and dreams as well as fears. It was not the sort of conversation one had with their former professor turned personal protection wizard. Severus nods slowly as he looks at her.
She closes her eyes. Merlin, if he hadn’t felt it, too… if it hadn’t meant to him what it had to her—His hand closes over hers. She looks up to find him staring at her with unparalleled intensity.
“And I don’t want to go back.”
Her mouth feels dry. “Neither do I.”
“Then why—Article 3,” he says, his voice making it a question.
“Subsection B,” she confirms. His grip on her hand tightens minutely.
“You fired me… because you want to date me.”
“You weren’t fired,” she clarifies, rolling her eyes. “I released you from your contract. The severance package is quite good, actually.”
“I wouldn’t know considering you failed to finish the paperwork,” he teases her. His mouth thins slightly, the only sign that there’s weight to his next words. “It’s unlike you to neglect your paperwork. Were you having second thoughts?”
“I worried you would not be receptive to the idea. You can be rather inscrutable, you know.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
She laughs. Her gaze falls to a file tucked under her other parchments. She pulls it out and offers it to him. “I’d make some quip about your ego, but you’re proving impossible to replace.”
“Is that so,” he asks with a smirk as he accepts the folder. His nose wrinkles with disdain as he begins to look through it. “Who compiled this list?”
“It was generated by some in the DMLE and then culled by Harry. Those are supposedly the best ten.”
“Absolutely not.”
“They all lack… something,” she agrees.
“Perhaps I should stay on.”
“But then we can’t—”
“Of course we can.”
“Severus, I am a Muggleborn witch aiming for the Minister’s office, I cannot afford any scandal in my personal life.”
“I would never risk your future like that,” he says, sounding slightly offended. “Our relationship would only be a scandal if it violated the rules.”
“Which it would.”
“Unless the rules changed.”
Her lips purse. She’d already poured over the rules for loopholes and come up empty. To change them wasn’t impossible—in fact it was something of a hallmark of her career in the Ministry thus far—but it would take time. She refocuses on Severus and finds him watching her with a soft smile she’s glimpsed on his face only once or twice before.
“I am a patient man, Hermione,” he murmurs as if reading her thoughts. “Particularly if you are what awaits me.”
She flushes crimson. “You can’t say those things to me.”
“Yet,” he amends with a smirk.
He moves around the desk and pulls her to her feet. She feels the flutter of his magic about the room, coating it in all manner of privacy spells. His free hand comes to her neck, his thumb running along her jawbone. Warning bells sound even as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Severus,” she manages to get out. “We just discussed… Agreed, I thought. That we can’t.”
“The last official owl I have from this office declared me relieved of duty two weeks ago today. As of right now, I am unemployed, am I not?”
She swallows thickly. “That’s a grey area.”
“That’s where I operate best.”
“You’ll have an official owl at your window tomorrow.”
“My current concern is tonight.”
Her heart is going to beat out of her chest. Words fail her so she simply nods. Her chin barely dips before Severus’ lips are on hers. His other hand presses against her back, burning through her robes. Her every sense is taken over the wizard before her.
When tomorrow comes, it finds them sprawled out on her elongated couch. Hermione’s head is on his chest while he trails his fingers absently up her spine. The first rays of dawn enter the room and she groans. Severus’ hand dips lower and she swats his chest.
“None of that.”
“If you’re certain,” he drawls, voice husky with sleep.
It challenges her resolve at once. Hermione scrambles to her feet. She puts her desk between them as Severus lazily stands, averting her eyes from his torso as he stretches.
“You need to leave,” she says primly, settling at her desk and pretending she can't feel his eyes on her. “I’ve got a letter to write.”
Severus shakes his head. "Always so bossy."
"You wouldn't have me any other way."
"No," he agrees, voice so tender that she can't help but look up. "I certainly would not."