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Quality Time

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For an entire two weeks things settled back into normal. Or, at least as normal as things could get with a wife underfoot. Hermione returned to their unspoken agreement of avoiding Severus at every opportunity and he relaxed considerably as things settled back into his comfort zone. Well, mostly. The witch had taken to curling up in the corner of the couch with her own book while he graded or read in the evenings but Severus couldn't find it in him to mind the small adjustment to routine as she remained, blessedly, quiet and out of his way. In fact, he'd almost gotten used to the way her breathing morphed into subtle snores when she succumbed to exhaustion and her book slipped from her fingers. And if the blanket he had summoned to cover her after one such instance had found permanent residence on the back of the couch, well, it was a nice, homey touch to the otherwise stark furnishings of his living room. He wasn't quite sure when he decided he liked homey touches, but he supposed it was part of being married.

It was, therefore, a surprise when Hermione set aside her book with a too-loud thud one evening and turned her gaze on him. He could feel it like an itch between his shoulder blades but ignored it, hoping whatever fancy had taken his wife this time would pass.

"Severus?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he responded, not looking up from his own book. It was rare for him to have time to read anything unrelated to academia and he was enjoying the opportunity to indulge in his guilty pleasure of muggle mysteries.

"Could we talk?"

The itchy feeling between his shoulder blades morphed into full blown panic and Severus set the book on lap, keeping his place with a finger pressed between the pages. He'd thought they'd be further along in their marriage before he heard those words from Hermione's mouth.

"Talk?" he responded with the same amount of dread as every husband who had ever heard the same request from their wife's lips.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"About what?" he questioned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. She didn't look upset. But perhaps she was luring him into a false sense of security with innocent appearances. Tilting his head to one side, Severus contemplated that. Possibly. Though he couldn't imagine Hermione being so conniving. That was really more a Slytherin thing. And his wife was nothing if not unabashedly Gryffindor.

Folding her legs beneath her, Hermione rotated her body so she faced him from her seat on the couch. "How was your day?"

"Busy," he responded.

"You had sixth year double potions with the Gryffindors and Slytherins today, right?"

"Yes."

"How did that go?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Severus tried to recall if he'd taken points off any of the Gryffindor's that day. Probably. Could she have found out about it? Definitely. But why would that upset her? He tucked his tongue into his cheek. It shouldn't, she had no personal relationship with any of the current students… Noticing Hermione's smile fading, Severus realized he hadn't responded to her question.

"It went," he drawled cautiously. "As well as could be expected."

Her smile returned and she leaned forward a little. Severus swallowed hard when he realized she was in a very revealing nightshirt. Her movement had exposed more of her cleavage than he was used to seeing. Had she always dressed like this around him? He didn't recall seeing her dressed so scantily, but then again he hadn't paid much attention to what she'd been wearing in the months they had lived together. Mostly he was concerned with whether or not she was in his way.

"Are you cold?" he asked. Summoning the blanket before she could respond, he leaned forward and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it up around her neck to cover every inch of exposed cleavage possible.

She chuckled and clutched the blanket tighter. "Thank you. What potion did you teach today?"

Leaning back into his chair, Severus blinked at her. Why was she drawing this torture out? Didn't most women just like to say what was wrong and make the man grovel until she deemed her nagging sufficient? He huffed and wondered if he had gotten a broken wife.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" he asked quietly.

She jerked back, blinking in surprise. Her smile faltered. "Oh… um, no. I just thought it would be nice to… talk. Get to know one another. You know."

He did not. Tapping the book on his lap, he stared at her until she looked down at her own hands, buried among the folds of the blanket. At least he could still control her with a look. That boded well. As the silence stretched on between them, however, Severus felt the unusual desire to fill it. He frowned.

"Did you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Hermione's head jerked up so quickly he was positive she might have snapped her neck. But she hadn't, if her smile was any indication of the state of her vertebrae, and she responded quickly, eagerly. "Did I what?"

He licked his lips. Had her eyes always had flecks of gold in them like that? "Did you have a good day?" he said, shocked at the husky sound of his own voice. Was he coming down with something? He'd have an elf bring a pepper up potion before bed.

She beamed at him. The same smile she'd given him two weeks ago. It was much brighter now that she was sitting right next to him and Severus realized with a start that no one, in his entire life, had smiled at him with such sincerity. He rubbed at his chest, which felt suspiciously tight.

"I did, thank you," she said.

"Good," he said, then lifted his book. "Do you mind?"

She shook her head and shrugged the blanket off to reach for her own book. It was then that Severus noticed the equally revealing pair of sleep shorts she was wearing. His gaze travelled over her bared legs, taking in the dips and curves of her muscles before he could stop himself. Clearing his throat, Severus buried his face behind his novel and tried to get lost in the plot. He knew she'd never worn anything that exposed her legs like that before. He would have certainly noticed.

For once Severus found his attention straying and he scowled at the pages, forcing himself to focus on the words even as the book lost its appeal. He'd known from page three that the killer was the butler. How could the idiot of a hero actually think Miss Mayweather had anything to do with it? As he read the interrogation scene, he got so caught up in his disgust for the dunderhead's reasoning that he missed Hermione's inquiry.

"Severus?"

She tapped his knee with her book and he jerked his head up, staring at her over the top of his own novel. "Yes?"

Hermione wasn't looking at him, her nose was stuck back in her book, but Severus could see her fingers twitching and had a sneaking suspicion she was using the over-large volume to hide from him.

"Are you okay with this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely.

With what, he wondered. With her wearing hardly appropriate nightclothes in their living room? With their inane chatter during reading time? With the romantic subplot in his novel that was so overhanded he wasn't sure he would actually make it through to the end?

"This?" he asked simply, not wanting to reveal that he had no bloody idea what the witch was on about. Perhaps this is when the nagging would begin? He couldn't be sure. He'd never had a wife before. Hell, he wouldn't currently have a wife if the Ministry hadn't majored in meddling.

Hermione shrugged and peeked over her book at him. "This," she said, gesturing vaguely again. "You know. You, me, reading together. Is it alright that I'm here?"

How in the hell was he supposed to answer that question? Severus settled for shrugging and burying his nose back in his book. "It is," he drawled, opting for honesty. Gryffindors liked that sort of thing. "Acceptable."

She smiled again–he could tell just from the way her eyes turned squinty above her book. "I find it acceptable, too."

"That's–" he cleared his throat. Yes, he'd definitely need a pepper-up before the night was through. "That's good then."

Humming, Hermione returned to her book. Severus waited several minutes, turning pages automatically even though he was no longer reading the words. When he was certain Hermione was well and thoroughly engrossed in her book, he glanced over the pages at her. She was sitting there, her bare legs still curled beneath her, the blanket still pooled behind her from where she'd brushed it off, leaning ever-so-slightly in his direction as she devoured her book like a Weasley with food. A glimpse of her cleavage was visible in the gap between the book and her nightshirt and Severus gulped. Acceptable, indeed.


Thank you for reading! Blessings.