Pure fluff as a result of some inner speculations...
There was an ornate samovar in the corner of his private sitting room. Set on a small, plain table, it towered over the worn navy couch. Hermione had spent many a night sipping hot, strong tea from its depths while studying the curling designs etched onto its surface. From Shiraz, Severus remarked once, for a potions conference.
In his bedroom was a thin glass hookah, its green belly covered with swirling silver paint. The white mouth-piece was a stark contrast to his long hair of deep black ink that now descended past his shoulder-blades. When he lounged in bed and sucked the smoke in, something within her belly twisted in a sharp mix of pain and all-consuming desire.
His most treasured set of mugs were emblazoned with slogans and hidden away in the tiny kitchenette. Guests were served from tidy tea trays from elves in the kitchens; when she'd begun sharing his pot of morning coffee, he poured her milk into a thick sturdy mug that proclaimed: 'Tall, dark and refined – just like my coffee'. She went into a peal of laughter and his cheeks flushed with twin spots of red; emboldened by discovering his tendency to collect, Hermione was late for her morning class. When she stood in front of the students, she took extra care to hide where his mouth had suckled on her neck and left evidence of their ardour.
In the bathroom, a small bottle of Muggle cologne sat near the tap. The bottle with a pearlescent sheen had snaked its way into many of her dreams when she'd caught his scent early on in her teaching career. She wasn't entirely sure if he knew that she had her own copy of it at the very back of the second drawer in her bedside table.
A collection of belt buckles and cuff links were laid out in a box in the wardrobe. She'd counted once – four links for each arm on his crisp, white shirts. The belt buckles were a hidden treasure, concealed beneath the frock coat that had long been more delight than dour for the woman that removed it each night. One remained her favourite: silver, inlaid with one lapis lazuli stone. Simple, but effective, rather like his long-fingered hands that hurriedly undid it before thrusting into her waiting heat.
Hermione's favourite was the framed Magical photo on his desk above the stairs in the DADA classroom. When he told her plainly that the students were simply more unnerved by watching their Professor kiss his bride over and over again than any bottles with obscure, nefarious ingredients, Hermione agreed easily. She chose not to mention that more often than not, she'd glimpsed him holding it in his hands and staring at it with a faint half-smile that gave her pure, limitless joy.