Hermione turned over a book in her hands. "Is this a first edition?"
"Packing does not require conversing, Miss Granger." He continued boxing up his possessions in the study, standing at least ten feet away from her.
She rolled her eyes, placing it down in the trunk at her feet. "No, but it does make it far more pleasant. Especially when done as a favor to a friend."
He grunted. "We are not friends." He wrapped several glass vials so they wouldn't shatter in transit and placed them gently in a wooden box, latching it shut. He would not chance damaging his belongings by packing with magic.
"That was your choice, Severus," she said quietly.
"I do not wish to speak of this," he declared. "I would only like to gather my things and go, and have accepted your help solely in an effort to be rid of you faster."
She snorted and he turned to look at her in surprise, the mask slipping for the first time.
She looked at him, lips quirked up in a secret joke. "Whatever you say."
They worked in silence for a while, packing books and potions materials and the few spare decorations he had.
She turned to find more packing tape and her eyes fell on an antique typewriter on his desk. She examined it, fingers running along the brass keys, observing the way the slight give sent shivers up her spine. "Why do you have this?"
He sighed loudly before turning to look at her, taking in her proximity to his machine, the way she stared at it reverently. "It doesn't interfere with the magic."
"You got tired of hand-writing all your notes?" she inquired. "That's a shame. I always liked your spiky letters."
He glared at her, but there was less malice in it than before as he raised one eyebrow. "Someone chewed through all my quills."
She blushed, going back to packing with the smallest smile on her lips.