AN: I have absolutely no intention of doing anything more with this…some of you may recognize an old joke in here, though to be honest, it turned out a little darker than I intended. I was challenged to tell a story in 300 words. This is the result.
Hermione Granger swept into his apothecary two minutes to closing time on a dark, stormy Saturday evening.
Severus didn't sigh as she came directly to the counter. They were on decent enough terms after he'd survived the war. She had aided him with some delicate matters inside the Ministry as her career skyrocketed. Granger had helped him get the permits for this shop, helped him squeeze his pension out of Hogwarts.
"What can I help you with tonight Hermione?"
She looked at him with clear eyes. "I want to buy a good quality poison to kill my husband."
Severus rolled his eyes at her unusual humor. She wasn't generally one for jokes. "You know I would normally be quite willing to assist in that endeavor, but I'm afraid the Ministry has some pesky little laws regarding homicide."
"You are assuming I would get caught."
Severus allowed a smirk to cross his face. "I assume your Gryffindor sensibilities would cause you to confess." He paused, trying to get a feel for her mood. It seemed rather off. "I want a high-quality poison. Something untraceable."
"Hermione?" He ran a half-dozen diagnostics.
She sighed. "I'm not poisoned, under a spell, or mad Severus."
"I have avoided Azkaban this long. I'd like to continue the trend."
"I wish you hadn't made me show you this." Hermione pulled a thick packet of wizarding photographs from her purse. Tossing them at him, she replied once again. "I want a high-quality poison. Something painful. Untraceable."
Severus took in the pictures in front of him. Ronald Weasley was giving his best effort in the first one, pale arse moving feverishly on top of a breathless beauty…
Severus turned the picture over, holding back nausea. "You didn't mention you had a prescription. Hold on, I have just the thing."