Written for the SSHG gift fest on LiveJournal last year. I was very lucky to be given the talented writer, Q_drew as my recipient. I had a lovely time reading up on her amazing works. You can search for her stories on Archive of our own.
Recipient q_drew
Title: Human Resources
Author/Artist: Anon
Pairing: Severus/Hermione
Rating: PG13
Word Count/Art Medium/Craft Material: 6900.
Content: (Please include warnings or possibly triggering things here. The mod will proof and make suggestions if applicable.) No warnings unless small mentions of politics makes your toes curl!
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Working together in 2019 is an utter disaster when lingering looks, Brexit, ethics, and probably-quite-unhelpful comrades are involved.
Author's Note: Thank you to my beta, and to the recipient. Your prompts were fantastic. I had a go at incorporating a few.
Spring, 2019. London.
There was a particular moment—it was on a Tuesday—when he looked up from a stack of parchment on his desk and paused. Had she always … Had there always been that expression on her face? Pensive, soft. A small, secretive smile playing on her mouth. He wasn't sure what to do with himself as he continued to watch her. He felt uncertain, like a boy.
"All right?"
She was looking at him from her desk on the other end of the small office. Granger was looking—
"Ah. Ahem." Severus cleared his throat. "What?"
She scowled. "Have I got something on my nose? Or is that what your face looks like when you're composing all your lovely little insults?"
"Merely admiring the view," he hurled back acidly. Or at least he thought he did. She mimicked him silently and pushed her chair out before striding over to the tearoom. He almost found his gaze tracking her delightful—
Jesus, he thought. Pale, long-fingered hands reached up and covered his treacherous black eyes. "Stop that," he admonished them.
To his despair, it was of no use. From that moment on, Severus was entirely all too aware of Hermione Granger, assistant Master, Medicinal Potions Development Department, St. Mungo's.
/
For weeks the realisation that Granger was somewhat lovely pestered him. It was in the brewing; she held herself in a way that was almost elegant. Poised over the cauldron, her mad hair was always restrained severely but as her hand reached for the rod, the cuff of her sleeve would slip, and he would glimpse her wrist, delicate and smooth.
It was in her impatience. Time did not wait for Granger. She was expressive, throwing her arms around to punctuate speech, trying to gather everyone up in her excitement. Sometimes he wondered how exhausting it would have been at Hogwarts to restrain herself, to take steps back, to not indulge the side of herself that could quite possibly dismember a man for new knowledge. There was a look in her eye, he thought. A glint.
He was sitting in the vast hospital kitchens thinking about that look. It came upon her face when she read a new diagnosis sheet in Healer's scrawl that only spells deciphered.
Sexy, Severus' mind supplied. He coughed awkwardly, glancing around the room to see if anyone had noticed the way his face bloomed a furious red. Christ alive, she was scary if she was anything.
/
He was her boss and he wasn't. He pressed his wand to staff timesheets, stamping them with his magical signature. He could order ingredients without prior approval. He answered to the executive, and to Shacklebolt.
Granger was his assistant, though she did not exactly assist him. Gone were the days when a Mastery required a few years of training under a Master before being spat out with the certificate. Granger was 6 years into her part-time course through the Guild, but there wasn't long to go. Severus only had the final say on her trials, and submitted proposals, and all due to workplace regulations rather than anything else. Other Masters supervised her every now and then, and his name would be far from the signatures on her final examinations. He had thought this through: he had managed to halfway justify why he was not exactly in the wrong for living an entire dreamlife with the witch, where she was in his bed and life, and he was… wherever she thought he should be.
But there'd been that impassioned speech once some years ago now, borne out of too much Christmas wine. Potter's house a village over from Godric's Hollow was covered in garish tinsel and rather lovely golden lights. Granger had been admonishing Miss Lovegood for going to dinner with the creature catcher she was Apprenticed to. All the various sprogs were in bed at the Burrow, watched over by a slightly tipsy Molly Weasley.
"It's all about Power!" Granger had declared, filling the glasses of everyone within her reach.
He'd been in the corner, snickering with Minerva, awaiting the Granger-Danger that only popped up once a year at about this time, when her Owner was almost entirely off her face. Minerva had accused him once of only accepting Potter's yearly invitations to amuse himself at ageing former students; she wasn't entirely wrong.
"Yes!" Ginevra Weasley shouted. "More, go on!"
"I will!" The witch stood up at the table, gesturing to her captive audience. "The imbalance of Power between a woman and a man is a recipe for downright fuckwittage! She will never know if she's here or there. He'll have the strings. It's like…" pausing, Granger frowned as she thought hard. "The Ministry! Yes!" She punched a fist in the air.
"Oooh, she's adorable," Minerva whispered, sighing in a way that Severus suspected Granger would find extremely patronising and paternalistic at that very moment and probably when sober as well.
"I'd keep that to yourself," he advised her sagely.
Minerva nodded, shushing him as the younger witch continued.
"Exactly like the Ministry. I don't mean you, Kingsley, of course. Well, I do! When the Men in Robes are raking in the galleons and making all the decisions… and we… us plebeians have to run around underneath, grabbing whatever fall through the cracks. It's our ethnocentric, patriarchal, medieval system!"
"Should I say something about being the daughter of dentists?" Minerva whispered through a hiccough that sounded like Hampstead Heath.
"No, no. Let her join with the commoners," Severus snorted.
Potter was nodding along gleefully from his spot at the head of the table. "Say more about the fuckwittage!"
"It's emotional fuckwittage, Harry."
At this, one Weasley in particular edged out of the room.
"Yes," Granger steamrolled on. "The emotional fuckwittage of Men in Power to dangle a woman around with their puppet strings, to make her think oooooh, isn't he lurrrrvely, when as a matter of fact, there he is, Master Manipulator!"
She sat down heavily. The table applauded. When she frowned in his direction, Severus gave her a quiet salute.
He stayed well away from her after that. Most of the time.
/
The staff lunch room of St. Mungo's was very often horrendous, but the comfortable chairs were second to none. There were a few small, useful spots where the large and fashionable indoor plants created semi-private tables, of which he favoured.
Granger put her container down opposite his. He glared at her.
"What?" she complained. "All the other tables are full."
This observation was entirely incorrect, and yet she sat down anyway. Severus watched her tuck in her chair, shove her hair out of her face, and pick up a fork. She had something in the container that looked like there should still be soil at the bottom.
"It's healthy," she sniffed. "I'm trying it out."
"Enjoy." To further his encouragement, Severus took another bite of leftover lasagne. The things one could find in the frozen aisle of Aldi…
"Go away."
"Eh?"
"Not you," Granger said, pushing a creeping plant vine away from her shoulders. "Why do you sit here, anyway? I didn't realise the plants were so friendly."
Another spoonful. He made her wait while he chewed. "Not to me."
"Incorrect. I can see one on your ankle."
He happened to have a soft spot for the plants. Unconditional regard was a rare thing and he had only observed the plant discriminate when Lockhart had broken out of the wards above, sat down opposite him and offered to sign a spinach leaf.
Was he meant to say something to her? Was that how these things went? He almost opened his mouth to ask how her day was going before recalling that he was both her boss and fully aware that she'd almost blown up the laboratory this morning.
Granger continued eating the salad, making noises of disgust as she went along.
"Are you eating that as part of some attempt to lose weight?" he asked, genuinely confused. Then, horrified, he swallowed a too-large piece of lasagne and more than made up for the question by almost choking in front of her. She did not assist him.
When his coughs finally subsided, he Summoned a glass of water and rubbed at his streaming eyes.
"Well, I'm glad the universe paid you back for that," Granger remarked.
Severus risked a look at her and winced. "I didn't exactly…"
"It's fine." She stabbed a limp, green leaf. "If you must know, I think all the stodgy food is getting to me. I've been having… erm…" She stared at the salad, then met his gaze. He forgot to look away.
"I've been having odd dreams, and to tell the truth, have been feeling… iffy a lot of the time. I enjoy my work, don't misunderstand me, but there's a part of my life that's not going as well as I want it to, and in an effort to try and influence it from all sides, I'm eating better, drinking more water, and Not going outside to Not Smoke on Friday nights at the pub."
"Ah. The old Not Smoke." He knew that one very well.
A full, proper conversation was rare with them. In all their years of working together, communication between Severus and Granger was mostly a few awkward lines, sometimes a cup of tea, and often written reports back and forth. In a department as busy as theirs, this was very easy to achieve. After her divorce, there had been an excruciating conversation where Severus attempted to empathise with his employee and ended up insulting her so horribly that she did not come back for a day. He decided years ago that he was socially inept, but these days was kinder on himself – he was just a certain type of person, and mostly out of practice with how to have healthy friendships. And at least he knew the reason behind that, so soul-searching was not at all required.
"I'm surprised you haven't asked about what I mean by all of that," she said, and her grin was only slightly hesitant.
He was about to shrug the comment off before he noticed Sprout on the other side of the room lunching with Longbottom, and one of the head Healers near the doors sitting deep in conversation with an intern. Perhaps the two of them didn't appear so odd, then.
"What do you mean by all of that?" he offered.
Granger laughed lightly. "Sometimes I forget you're not like Harry."
Scowling, Severus leant back in the chair and folded his arms.
"Steady on," she said, the grin now full wattage. "I intended to convey that Harry knows me so well that he can pick up on what isn't said, with me. You are one of my few friends, and I forgot that I might need to tread a little differently."
One of her few friends? Knows her so well? Severus stayed silent as his mind supplied that he knew her well enough to decipher what a tremulous smile meant on an experimenting day (make me laugh), her footsteps after she'd taken his place on a research committee meeting (time to join in with verbal evisceration, if you please), and the way she held her shoulders at the end of the day. He remembered, before the divorce, how she would leave the room with her shoulders so tense and high that she'd hold her handbag by the strap instead of loop it across her body.
"Anyway," she said, flapping her hands in the air, "how are you?"
"Fine." He tried to meet her eyes again but failed. Inside he was furious at himself. Fifty-nine years old and he was monosyllabic.
"What did you think of Bill's presentation yesterday?"
"Staff Development Day is a special type of torture, easier than the High Table at Hogwarts and worse than throwing your boss off the Astronomy Tower."
Oh, Christ.
Granger blinked. "Well, at least your examples are all school related. I'm delighted there wasn't anything in there about suffering your assistant's presence every day."
"Don't be absurd," he said immediately.
She had that smile on her face again. That soft smile that got him into all of this trouble in the first place.
"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"
"I'll be joining Lupin at the pub tomorrow night. There'll be a spot of lager, a spot of darts, and a dose of Not Smoking outside."
"I can't believe you have lads nights with Remus," she said, making a sound that was sort of a giggle, sort of a snort. "Isn't that… weird?"
"We're on par. Killed significant others. Have various unhealthy habits. Can't really go out in public."
"He didn't kill Tonks! The final battle wasn't his fault! And you didn't kill… whichever one you're talking about."
He almost rolled his eyes before he remembered her tendency towards idealism. "I'm not arguing with you. But tell that to him."
"Oh, of course." Granger sighed, deflated. "I still haven't lost the knack for charging around without a full understanding."
Her hands were flat on the table. Her fingers were long and thin, nails cut short. He almost reached for her hands then, before busying his with closing his container.
"I seem to remember," he muttered, avoiding her face, "a girl who once raged against injustice and the system. The girl who funded the first healthcare workers Union."
"The Order of Merlin money didn't belong with me," she whispered. He was proud of her for not shrugging.
"Some might've stopped at House Elves and not seen the wider, sicker society of ours. The pittance orderlies are paid. The working poor. The death-eater children. I used to think you wouldn't get there."
Oh, but he was in for it now.
She moved forward in the chair and poked his shoulder. He tried to glare at her again.
"Did she get there? The girl?" asked Granger, expression bordering dangerously on The Look. His stomach twisted.
"Suppose so," he grunted, standing up. He forbade himself from looking at her as he gathered up glass and container and strode to the doors and out of the room.
Severus left the office for the day thinking about irony. Irony was the sort of wanker you didn't want at your table, he thought. Countless days, months, years of living in passable contentment meant nothing when confronted with a person that was Not Good to fixate on. He strode out of the building, hands deep in the folds of his robes, cursing a smudged spot on the left lens of his glasses, and feeling like his old friend dejection was about to come around again.
Those feelings were familiar. He accepted them; knew when they were approaching. There had been moments in the past when despair had swathed him like his old teaching robes but he knew better now. The trick was in the welcoming.
With that in mind, Severus continued to a quiet side-street, turned out of existence, and came into being again before the gates of Hogwarts. He took a moment to breathe in the cold night air before pushing through the gates, the doors, then up, up, and up the stairs.
"Hello, old friend," Minerva smiled as she waved him into an office that contained some of the best and very worst things in his memories.
"Evening," he returned, heading for the liquor cabinet. "I've come to wallow."
She heaved a sigh and snapped closed all the documents left on the desk before moving out and around it. In a well-practiced movement, the older witch folded her still-powerful body into one of the twin chairs by the largest window.
"Very good. I haven't had one in a while. I'll let you lead the way tonight."
Severus sank into the other chair with one hand full for himself and the other offering Minerva a second tumbler of Old Pulteney.
"I wish you'd stop choosing the cheap ones," she complained. "Times like this are getting rarer and rarer."
"I like it. It tastes like the sea. Besides, I refuse and reject your capitalist old-age tendencies."
"It isn't capitalism to prefer a whisky that isn't at the cheap end of the aisle."
Severus grinned. "When the workers rise, you'll take that back."
"I'm too old for this."
"The fuck you are. But fine," he relented, pushing back the laughter. He raised the glass. "To companionship: destroyed by the good ship Dumbledore, who taught us to doubt instead of trust."
"Since you and I are fine on the blather front, may I take that to mean new companions? Attachments, perhaps?"
Severus nodded glumly. Minerva blew out a long, regretful breath.
"Oh, yes," she agreed. "To attachments, of which we are too tarnished, too old, or too mistrustful to accept."
Glasses met closed lips.
Severus muttered, "In three, two, one."
"Down we go," said the Headmistress.
/
"So you see," Granger said, shoving the parchment full of equations into his hands, "this is what I'm up against! It's the bureaucracy! I want to bring it down, Master."
"Yes, you mentioned that last week," commented Severus, distracted as he was by the way she was marching around the laboratory. Most of the research staff were based in their areas of development and deskbound only a few times a month. The colour of her robes today matched the way her birds-nest hair lightened when she strode through splashes of light from the windows.
"I'm glad you were listening. I'm currently deciding between a coup and just bribing my way in."
"Worked for some."
She paused and gave him That Look. "Ha-haaaa. So, can you?"
He folded his hands over his chest and leant against the nearest table edge. Granger's lab was pristine. White walls, scrubbed clean benches. Severus was trying to work out how much of an utter git he looked against such togetherness.
Focusing on her again, he glowered. "Are you asking if I can get through a proposal that was deemed unethical when both our predecessors attempted it? If I can use whatever means I have at my disposal to ensure the Powers that Be above us don't dismiss us both and waste this chance at finally, possibly, improving the residents of the Janus Thickey ward just an inch?"
Granger stared at him. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes!" she blurted, nodding. "That was just all very capable sounding and I rather enjoyed it."
Then she gave him a Different Look. His mouth was dry. He pushed off from the desk and took one step towards her. She stayed where she was, meeting his gaze. Severus found himself toe-to-toe with her, their chests almost touching, his breaths coming too fast, her eyes so wide and lovely as she—
"Right," he bit out. "Consider it done."
"My proposal?" she whispered.
He closed his eyes against her gaze and half-groaned. "Yes, witch. Now get out of my sight."
Severus opened his eyes again to see her still standing in the same place, one eyebrow raised, her lips spread into a delicious grin.
"You're in my lab."
Stepping back, Severus gathered his robes around him, hunching over in his awkwardness. "So I am, Granger."
The next morning, his resignation was hovering in Minister Shacklebolt's floo. There was nothing else for it. Not giving it a go was unfathomable.
And quite unbeknownst to him, so was hers.
/
"I don't really think this is appropriate, Snape," Potter muttered out of the side of his mouth.
"Since when did you give a shit about appropriate?" hissed Severus.
"Not really ever. I probably owe you one, I guess."
In his shock, Severus pushed a nearby door open far too hard. The whack of the wood against the stone wall made him wince. He was out of practice.
"Get in."
They entered the disused office, fighting the urge not to check if anyone in the corridor outside had noticed.
Whipping around, Severus stared hard at the younger wizard. "Owe me one?"
"You sound like I said I voted for bastard bloody Brexit. You're right, though, I owe you more. Only slightly more than the other person, mind you."
"I work in healthcare, Potter. I'd say more than that if you voted—"
"Okay, Jeremy Corbyn."
Severus couldn't decide if he was furious or amused. The watch on his wrist chimed softly then, causing the uncomfortable twist to return to his stomach. "Can you just…"
"All right, all right. Come on." Potter conjured two hard wooden chairs. "Never did master the sofas. But you'll be… I mean if you just talk, instead of sneer, you'd walk into any job, you must know that. Anything in the MLE would be open for you."
"If that was true, I'd have been hired for the cover letter."
"It was good."
"Yes. But the first bloody task was… unexpected."
"All MLE appointments involve physically vigorous testing methods," Potter parroted. "You can out-duel anyone. Why do we even need to discuss this?"
"Because I want to win!" Severus growled. "I have to… I have to get out."
Potter's face turned boyish as he offered a sympathetic smile. "Is it really that bad? I thought you and Hermione worked well together."
There was no chance in Hell that Severus would admit the truth, so he changed tactic. "It's time for a change. And I refuse to be bested. No doubt the other applicants are former students of mine…"
"The process is anonymous. No-one knows who anyone else is. I'll say this: no-one else has a reference from the Minister himself."
He felt a bit better with that. "So… what is the second task?"
Potter pointed to his mouth. "Can't tell you that. Gag order. Most panels have it on high-profile positions, and consulting is always high-profile. All the Aurors wanting out of fieldwork, etcetera."
"Do you mean that my competition for a job in Forensics is a bunch of—"
"I wouldn't say that. I would say: expect the unexpected."
Severus rued the day he ever took Minerva's advice and allowed Potter to do him a favour. "That's what you have to offer?"
Looking slightly guilty, Potter shrugged. "Just… think about what it is you want, and… if this is really it, then fly on. If not… it's not even really a step-up for you, is it? Not much is more prestigious than St. Mungo's. If Hermione was going for it, for example, it would be for her… probably even make her gain Mastery faster since she wouldn't have to kill you to find a vacant spot in the MLE."
Severus had tuned him out after 'fly on'. "Right," he said, making for the door. "Onwards and upwards."
/
The applicants were all under heavy charms to alter their appearance, voice, and wand. He hated the indignity of it. Somewhere above them was the selection panel, comprised of Bill Weasley, Harry Potter, Shacklebolt and three others he'd forgotten the name of after the disastrous first interview.
The room was decked out to resemble a forest. There were four applicants in total, and he glanced over at the probably-female on his left. She was whispering to herself. He leant closer and stifled a laugh when he realised she was reciting levitation spells. He felt a twist of fondness. Granger shared the habit, and he generally had an absurd feeling of protectiveness whenever he noticed it.
"Applicants, prepare," a bland voice boomed.
He tensed. He felt an odd thrill within him, something to do with finally, finally getting the chance to leave his job, to seek out Granger, to find her in the lab and touch her cheek, feel her leaning into his touch, her lips soft and curved into her secretive smile, her mouth under his—
"Wands at the ready!"
Suddenly the room went black.
"Shit," said a voice to his right.
"I've never wanted anything so much," said the woman to his left.
"For fuck's sake," said Snape.
/
Overall, it wasn't too bad. The first challenge had made him uncertain because of the unexpectedness of it all. He hadn't prepared for a mock-fight, though he was far from out of practice.
This round was doable. There'd been a focus on their ability to exit a situation with haste and care, each being assigned a house-elf to protect and evacuate. There was a part of him that felt it entirely unnecessary to show such skills when he was applying for work in a laboratory a little smaller than his own personal one at St. Mungo's, but then he thought of Granger, and he wanted it more than he thought he ever could.
It was the applicants that had provided most of the entertainment for him. He'd managed to fight past the auto-curses, then flown himself over a particularly disgusting rendition of the Hogwarts lake, complete with faux grindylows and livid merpeople. Upon reaching a clearing, he found a bound and gagged elf. He paused, taking in the scene, despising it. The woman arrived soon after, gasping. Severus realised then that there were four elves in total, waiting with wide eyes. He hated the reminder of the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago, hated the look in their eyes.
"This is two thousand and nineteen!" the woman shouted, hurrying to grab her designated Elf.
Another applicant bound into the clearing, breathing hard. He took one look at the scene and began to laugh. Severus tensed, looking down at the elf in his own arms, feeling anger rise.
"Get out of my way, you racist fuck!" the woman hollered, shoving the anonymous male out of the way as she made for the doors at the side, elf in her arms.
"Is she serious?" the man asked Severus, holding his elf by the wrist.
"Well, she's just beat you, so I would say 'yes'," Severus replied, darting for the doors himself. "In fact," he declared, aiming a nonverbal spell to the man's ankles, "you probably could do everyone a favour and fuck off now, but that's up to you."
He would be lying if he denied a giggle as he exited, hearing the man shrieking in the other room.
"Sorry," he muttered, putting the elf down as gently as possible. They were in what looked like a lobby, with a tea station, comfortable chairs, and another door on a far wall.
"It be all right, Sir," the elf said, nodding sagely. "There's always one."
"One too many."
Shrugging, the elf clicked its fingers and disappeared. Severus took a step back and began walking for the door. He wasn't in the mood for tea. The mysterious woman appeared at his side and fell into step with him.
"I knew an Elf who was very into resistance, once. I miss him."
"Get this job and you'll be a part of the System. End it all from the inside."
She gave a breathy laugh. She was as tall as him, with straight, fair hair and pale skin. He was not at all interested. Not that he could look so anyway with Potter's idea of a camouflage – he'd kill the little shit for altering his appearance with red, Weasley hair.
"And that idiot back there…"
"Probably a Boris toady," he sneered.
"Up the Trump?"
He laughed loudly, then coughed. "Yes. Before he goes home to assuage the Farage."
"My God. I'm writing that down when I get home."
"It's all in the 'aaah'. Faraaaaage."
She was really laughing now. Settling somewhat, she grinned. "I've worked for the government before. Not for a while, but I'm really looking forward to it. I'm starting with this terrible interview process. The advert did say there's room for extracurricular research during quiet times, after all."
"You sound… sure," he said, frowning at her. They reached the double doors together, both quickly putting a palm to the handles.
"Well, I won, didn't I?" she answered, smiling at him with shining blue eyes.
"Fine. After you, comrade."
"Up the revolution," she said sweetly.
He tried to turn his handle first but somehow she was through the doors before him, striding through. The selection panel were all there, seated around a wide table. The woman sat herself directly opposite; he took a chair to her right. Potter looked strangely happy.
"Right," the witch declared first, putting her palms on the table. "Whose idea was the Elves?"
/
It rained the day after. He was late to work after indulging himself by walking through the lightly falling water, forgoing his usual routine of Floo-ing from his small Manchester home to the hospital. Instead he Apparated to Diagon Alley and walked. On the way he stopped for two coffees.
The interviews were inspiring more thoughts, more plans. He had thought up hundreds of ways of confessing to her, of asking her to dinner. He allowed himself to imagine her saying yes – of what she might do in the deep dark of the night, in bed beside him, her body bare, tanned skin under his searching hands. He had never thought of her like this before – never let it get so far.
She was at her desk near his when he arrived.
"For you." He deposited the coffee beside her elbow.
She looked slowly up at him, eyes tracking all the way to his wet hair and black gaze. He could feel words at the back of his throat but couldn't force them out as he let her look at him. Her hair was sprawling every which way; he wanted to bury his hands in it, to feel it for himself.
"Is it Decaf? The last time you bought me coffee, it was decaf and it was disgusting," she said, like nothing at all had changed.
He didn't know how to meet that, and so he went to his desk and ran a hand over his hair, shoving it behind his ears. "I don't have a death wish."
"Sorry," she muttered. "I walked this morning. There was a bunch of people with Leave placards in my way."
Severus shuddered. "I condone your response."
"I haven't told you it! You might fire me." Was she looking hopeful? Was that the look she was giving him? Severus was out of his depth.
"Go on."
"Well, you know. I said a few things and didn't use my wand at all."
He grinned. "'A few things'. I can picture it."
She was silent for a while as he read through messages left on his desk and sipped his coffee. He thought of her continuously. He read each message slowly, word by word, trying to stop himself from asking if she knew what he dreamt about, if she knew how hard he needed to hold himself together to stop his legs from walking to her, his hands from touching her, his mouth from kissing her?
"I think," she said, clearing her throat, "there's something I need to talk—"
The floor trembling underneath them cut her off. Severus sighed, stood, and fished out his glasses from his pocket.
"That'll be your intern, Granger. Excuse me."
/
The next challenge was the hardest, and most enjoyable, yet. He almost forgot why he had applied for the position in the first place – Forensics could be the place for him. He could brew and analyse potions in his sleep, but this was new, this was different. He had not encountered a body in years, and it was hard work to stop himself from vomiting, but analysing the substances left in the deceased's body was rather fascinating. They were working in pairs; he decided that they had paired him with the woman because they were the frontrunners. The noises of hopelessness coming from the table in the back were proof enough of that.
He swallowed thickly again, unable to hold back a disgusted, "Guh," as he pushed a needle into the subject's arm. There had been lessons on this during his formal Master studies, but at the time it had been just another day, another body, another task he hated.
"It's probably a fake," the woman said cheerfully. "Well, I have no doubt the one behind us is. Who'd agree to be analysed by those cretins? Not me."
He suspected she would have patted his arm if she wasn't swiping gloved fingers through the grey mouth and depositing the smears onto thin pieces of glass.
"I dislike the ethics of it. He didn't agree to be prodded at," Severus said, the sick feeling making his mouth run off.
"Didn't you read about this part? It's a donated body. You know when you tick, 'donate to science'? Well, here we are. Science-ing."
"Jesus," he gagged. "Sorry."
He liked what came next. It was fascinating to weave his magic through the substances, separating potion from blood and fluids. The equipment was so new it shined, and analysing the colours of a fairly standard potion under the microscope gave him a pleasure he hadn't felt in years. He wanted to tell Granger. She had a ruthlessness about her that would be tickled pink by all of this.
"I take it you didn't read the full position description."
"I certainly did."
She clucked her tongue. "It's not all like this. There's this part, of course. But you also attend scenes… analyse magical traces… the Potions work is extended to include true biology. Plus, since the MLE has expanded to include the Crimes against Magical Creatures department, there's a huge opportunity in understanding other magical beings better, and to contribute to current research…"
Severus felt an uncomfortable rise of guilt in his body. He was doing this to get away from being Granger's boss. He wanted to be her lover, her friend. He didn't want to make her feel like he had some sort of power over her, or that they were doing something wrong. He suspected that she might return his feelings – and if she didn't, this was as good an out as any. But guilt was an old friend, and it was coming in the charmed, altered look of this woman, interested more than he would ever be, almost reminding him of—
Severus put down the syringe. He took off his gloves, walked to the sink and washed his hands. The sterile gown was next; he deposited it into a tub near the door. The woman was saying something but he didn't turn around.
He was too old for this.
/
"What are you doing?" Potter hurried over as he left the room. "You were doing so well!"
"Indubitably. But it's not for me."
"Oh."
Severus narrowed his eyes. Potter looked too… happy. "What?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing." The younger wizard adjusted his glasses. "See you at the Christmas party, then?"
He found himself unable to speak. He was thinking of Granger instead.
/
"Granger?" Severus called, sticking his head into her lab. She wasn't at her desk. Wasn't in here, her head stuck in a potion, lists floating in the air around her.
He didn't know where else to look for her. She wasn't in the places he usually found her, and he realised that he had never even been to her home before. It was that thought that sent him down to the hospital kitchens, quiet now after lunchtime, with the elves now retreated until the mad dinner rush. He made a strong cup of tea and sank down on a stool, staring at the vacant room. Huge pots simmered on fires, and outside the rain beat down on the windows.
Was there even any point? She was young, and so very lovely. She made him laugh. She made him so frustrated he wanted to shout. When she was with him, he couldn't focus on anything else.
He was an idiot. An utter idiot. A great, sodding idiot.
Grabbing a self-inking quill from his pocket, Severus Summoned a piece of parchment. He wrote out the letter carefully, mindful that he had both his professional reputation and the other candidate to respect. Once finished, he folded it, sealed it with his wand, and found a vacant fireplace to Floo it through to Potter.
"Done," he declared, throwing his hands up.
"What is?"
Severus whipped around to find Granger at the door, her head tilted to the side, whisky eyes watching him. She came into the room and closed the door behind her. She had her work robes on, heavy and black. Her mad hair was clipped back and he loved that he could see more of her face.
"You don't come down to the kitchens," he managed, stalking back to the steaming cup of tea.
"Not really. Can't stand the visual evidence of enslavement, you know how it is."
"I made my own tea."
She laughed under her breath. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, so he sat down instead, his back to her.
"What did you do?" she asked. Her voice sounded nearer.
He decided that he could say it if she stayed behind him, so he took a deep drink of the warm, comforting liquid and closed his eyes.
"I resigned, you see."
She gasped. "No! You did not! Why? How? Why would you do that to me?"
"I did. I resigned, and then that letter was me grovelling to cancel it. So… I haven't, I suppose."
"You're staying?" Closer still came the voice.
"Yes," he said wearily. "It didn't work."
He could almost feel her now. He knew she was near.
"What didn't?"
"My strategy."
There was restrained amusement in her voice. He felt a soft pressure on his shoulders and released an uneven sigh when her hands smoothed over his robes, coming to rest. If she took one step closer, her chest would be against his back. He hung his head, savouring the weight of her hands on his shoulders, the scent of her, the nearness.
"You'll have to tell me about that one day," came her voice, although it wasn't. He tensed as he recognised the breathy voice of the woman from the interviews, the other applicant. He wanted to turn around but she held him there fast on the stool. "I worked out how to do the voice," she said, and she sounded like Granger again.
"Thank fuck," he said without thinking. "I thought you'd changed your voice forever."
She gave her quiet laugh again. Her thumbs began to move, tracing circles near his neck. He could hardly breathe.
"Unfortunately, I came to offer my resignation. Kingsley has had it for weeks but I needed to tell you myself. I can't work with you anymore, Severus."
"Nor I, you," he admitted. Her fingers spread and soon her hands were slowly dancing their way up and down his arms. He held himself tensely, on the edge, feeling that any second now he would lose himself, lose himself to the intoxicating desire he felt whenever she was near.
"You're in my every thought," he said, staring hard at the table surface. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and stepped off the precipice. "You consume me. I walk into a room and can't think if you're in it. I hate leaving here and going home, somewhere you are not. I hate decaf because of you. I think of what you would say in every encounter I have with anyone even barely politically minded. I go to the Christmas party every year just to watch you give your speeches."
She was laughing properly now. He dared to believe her laugh was tinged with notes of relief and expectation.
"Potter was helping me," he confessed, shaking his head. "I asked him to help me get the Forensics job. I wanted to leave here, and then ask you to dinner. Or lunch."
"Breakfast?" she put in, squeezing his shoulders.
"That too," he said readily.
"I can't believe Harry conspired with you. He must have really wanted you out of the job."
"He was happier when I said I couldn't go through with all of it."
"Ah. That does fit, then."
"Do you think he was attempting a Greater Good form of manipulation?"
She snickered. "Look, let's just thank him for having a go."
"Can I turn around now?"
She didn't take a step back, but her hands left his shoulders. He twisted on the seat and turned, coming to face her. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were held in the air; he guided them back to his shoulders. She began to tremble, and he reached for her, cupping her cheek in his hand.
"Granger," he said. "Open your eyes."
"I think you can start calling me Hermione now, don't you think?" She opened her eyes and stepped in closer, biting her lip as she pushed his legs apart. She was so close that he saw nothing but her mouth.
"Did you get the job?" he murmured, bringing his other hand to her face and smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks.
"What do you think?" Hermione deadpanned, arching an eyebrow.
He realised that flustered was not normally a word he would use to define himself, but there it was.
"Congratulations."
"I really wanted it," she said, dropping her hands from his shoulders to his waist. "And also there was this little thing…"
"Hm?"
He leant forward, mouth brushing hers. Not quite a kiss. Not yet.
"I had the troublesome thing of being quite in love with my boss. And that's not the done thing for me, not really. I've been looking for a way out of this situation for a while. A long while," she breathed against his lips. He lost his mind to the feel of her.
"May I kiss you, witch?" he managed, groaning as her hands tightened on his waist.
"Three, two, one…"
And he dived in, pressing his mouth to hers.