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Hermione flicks her wand. The potion separates briefly before pooling back together, releasing a potent plume of gas as it does. Sighing, Hermione pushes her hair back from her face and makes a note on her parchment. Close, but not quite.
As if summoned by her failure, a glittering raven soars through her open door. It faux perches on her shoulder and its beady eye surveys her experiment with more disdain than a patronus should be capable of before Severus’ raspy voice fills the space.
“Miss Granger, I am unable to step away from my work until end of day. I will stop in around four to discuss our research. I am sure your findings are… riveting. “
She grits her teeth. His disdain for her work is evident. His disregard for her time is blatant. But it is his refusal to call her anything but Miss Granger that grates her. With two simple words, he dismisses her status entirely, treating her as an overeager firstie desperate for his approval rather than as an accomplished woman worthy of his time.
It takes all of her self-control not to fire a patronus back or to send an inter-departmental memo which would create a paper trail of his behavior. It helps to know he’d likely consider either action a victory. His patronus, unfortunately, sets the tone for her day. Too agitated for the careful hand she needs, she puts aside the practical portion of her experiments and focuses on research instead.
As an independent contractor with a dual mastery in both potions and charms, she is never short on projects. Alongside granting her an office for the duration of her work, St. Mungo’s has also granted her unlimited access to their archives. It is, she knows, an attempt to lure her into full-time employment under them. The offer would be far more enticing if their resident potion’s master could manage to be even just tepid in her presence.
Hermione spends her morning in the archives. Her stomach growls but she ignores it until Ginny arrives and forcibly removes her from the building. Despite her protests, she enjoys lunch immensely and returns to the archives with a spring in her step, packs up her work, and returns to her office only to find Healer Williams leaning against her door. She forces a smile as she approaches. He does not return it.
“There you are, Hermione,” he says in a brisk tone, straightening so that he towers over her. “I was hoping we might have a word.”
“Now is not really a good time. Perhaps tomorrow—”
“Surely you can spare ten minutes for the man whose life you nearly ruined.” He raises his voice just enough that heads turn curiously.
She grits her teeth as she opens the door. “Come in then.”
“Why did you deny that I consulted with you,” he asks as soon as he crosses the threshold.
“A conversation in a corridor about theory is not the same thing as a consultation wherein parameters are established for theory to be safely tested,” she says. “You used my name with those parents. You used me to give credibility to a procedure that had none.”
“You said there was merit,” he growls.
“Merit, yes,” she snaps. “Conceptually, it was a wonderful idea. But it was an idea that needed to be verified by arithmancy and then tested in a lab. You took it straight to a patient and could have killed three people!”
“But I didn’t. More than that, my idea worked.”
“By sheer luck that Severus’ was there to counteract the side effects that you weren’t prepared for.”
“Then help me do it better.”
Her jaw drops. “You cannot be serious. You could have ruined my reputation.”
“Is that what has you so angry?” He scoffs. “Fine then. Consultants are a knut a dozen, I don’t need you. I’m sure I’ll have people chomping at the bit to solve the problem the great Hermione Gran—”
“Williams, your obsession with Consultant Granger has become embarrassing to witness. More than that your attentions have begun to interfere with my work and so I must insist you move on from the woman,” Severus says smoothly as he walks into the room.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Severus arches a brow. “You cornered her at every opportunity and pestered her until she gave you the bare minimum of verbal affirmation which you then used to advance your own name while attempting to impress her. Now that it is clear your attempt has failed and she refuses to view your mediocrity as anything but what it is, you have decided to change course and degrade her name in the public sphere. I believe the traditional saying is ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’.”
Williams scoffs. “As if I care for the attentions of a woman who has gotten where she is by way of a pretty face and her association with Harry Potter.”
Hermione feels as though she’s been slapped. It has been a long time since someone—beyond whatever rag employees Rita Skeeter that week—has suggested her success is not based on her own merit. Severus’ face does not change, but the temperature of the room seems to drop several degrees. Before she can recover, he takes one step nearer to Williams.
“That woman received a simultaneous dual mastery in potions and charms in the same time it took you to bumble your way through healer training—less actually, I believe you failed the first time, did you not?” Williams scowls. Severus continues smoothly. “Since achieving her mastery she has improved six potions, developed three different diagnostic criteria, and is currently proving to be an invaluable resource in my work on a cruciatic recovery draught—and that is just what she does here at St. Mungo’s which, thank Merlin, has little to do with Harry Potter.”
Williams opens his mouth, but Severus cuts him off, again.
“As charming as your angry rant would surely be, I’ve far more important matters to attend to,” Severus says silkily. “But before you see yourself out, allow me to be clear: attempt to besmirch or use her name again, and I will show you the difference between anger and wrath.”
“Sounds like I’m not the one with the obsession,” Williams sneers. “Seems you’ve got yourself a type, eh? What is it about muggleborn witches that gets you—”
With a noise like a gunshot, Williams is thrown backwards out of her office. He hits the opposite wall and slumps against it. Severus steps to the door with perfect control.
“To better inform your next steps, that was anger.”
He shuts the door with a snap, completely uncaring for the gathering crowd of healers outside.
“Severus, you can’t just—People are going to—What the hell was that?”
“He has a very grating presence.”
She blinks. “You could have waited outside of my office until I dealt with him.”
“I am an impatient man.”
She frowns. That’s certainly true, but— “You have been tracking my work at the hospital.”
“I am the potion’s master.”
“That doesn’t explain why you would know about my diagnostic criteria.”
“I remain apprised of notable work.”
“You told me that my chosen dual masteries were a frivolous waste of time.”
“I believe that arithmancy is better combined with potions.”
“That’s not how you phrased it before.”
“I am flattered to learn you find my words as worthy of memorization as the texts you read,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now might we get on with our work?”
“No,” Hermione says, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk. “I have another question.”
He releases a long-suffering sigh. “And what is that?”
“Am I your type?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I know you’re not obsessed with me, your rather protective display has me curious if you might at least like me more than you let on.” He stares at her, expression inscrutable. With less confidence, she continues. “If you do, I would ask if you’re available for dinner this evening so that we can discuss why you’ve been a git for the last year.”
“And dinner is required for that conversation?”
“No, but if I must learn that my interest isn’t shared, I should like to at least have a dessert for my trouble.”
His eyes soften, just a little. Then, in a measured voice he says, “No matter the distance I put between us, you continue to be my greatest distraction.”
“Perhaps dinner will get me out of your system.”
“I fear it will only entrench you further.”
“Is that bad?”
“Theoretically.”
Hermione crosses over to him and takes his hand. “Come on then.”
“Our experiment—”
“You know how I am when presented with a new theory, Severus.”
He snorts. “I certainly do.”