Undisclosed Desires

Three

The next set of instructions that arrived from the Ministry were quite the shock. Indeed, Severus forgot to breathe as he scanned through the scroll. When he reached the end, he scrunched up the parchment in a fit of pique.

They wanted him to cook a three-course meal.

The idea that he would toil over a hot stove for the purposes of wooing a woman, and one whom he did not want to woo, was laughable. The utter effrontery that he should be expected to invite her into his home and expose himself even more to her scrutiny?

Oh, she was subtle, but he could sense the way she sized him up—the way she seemed to mentally docket things about him. What picture she was building he could not say, and a large part of him did not want to find out.

It simply wasn't going to happen. Fuck the Ministry.

He sent Granger an Owl to request her presence at her earliest convenience. During her lunch-break, the following day, she burst into the offices of the Practical Potioneer.

'I'm sorry, Severus,' she stated with a heaving sigh, 'I didn't know the next occasion would require you to cook for me!'

'A three-course meal at my home!' he blustered. 'Absolutely not.'

Someone in the Ministry must be really pissing themselves, he thought. How did she get to take him to a pub, but he had to cook?

'What happened to an hour a week for ten weeks, hmm?' he demanded. 'The rate this is going they will have us shacked up by week eight!'

Her mouth opened and closed, before she shrugged helplessly. 'I don't know,' she muttered. 'Look, I have no desire to intrude on your privacy. Leave it to me, there must be some sort of compromise or appeal we can—'

'Because you have had such luck so far in that regard!'

She grit her teeth and turned a consternated expression to look at the wording in the missive again. 'Do you wish to ignore it then and—'

'And simply be asked to repeat it again?'

'Well, we don't really know what would happen if we simply refused to comply.'

'Refuse to comply?' Severus gave her a disbelieving glare. 'What happened to all those glass ceilings you wanted to break? Will you cry when they give employee of the month to anyone but you?'

She stared at him scornfully, folding her arms tightly. 'Well, what ideas do you have other than to rail, hmm? No one is actually expecting you to whip up a culinary feast, just heat up a bloody ready-meal!'

Severus turned and glared out through the window, cursing all and sundry that he should be exposed in such a way. He absolutely was not inviting her into his home. Was a quiet life that much to ask for?

For him, it was, and maybe that was the point.

He heard her heave a loud sigh. 'We must be able to bend the rules slightly… I don't think the location is critical, mainly that you provide the fare. And 'cook' must be open to interpretation, don't you think?'

'Your point?' he spat.

'So what about here?'

He turned around slowly.

'Do you not have a kitchen here? Somewhere to take refreshment?'

His workplace, of course.

Suddenly, he smiled.


When Friday afternoon rolled around, instead of journeying home after a hard day, Severus found himself anxiously stalking around the office. What if one of his colleagues decided to work late? He'd never live it down.

Thankfully, come half past five, with only thirty more minutes of peace left to enjoy, he was alone. Her idea that he wine and dine her at the offices of the Practical Potioneer was not entirely without merit. There could be no misconstruing the dark, dingy, galley kitchen as anything more. The small table set against the wall, the only place it could fit, had space for two plates and little else—no room for any accoutrements that might by their very presence might be mistaken for effort. And to the food, well, there was no real cooking facility, so everything was pre-prepared and would be subject to a warming charm if need be.

Perhaps he could wear her down with his perpetually half-arsed contributions and she would tear off to the Ministry to pay the fine instead?

But in spite of himself, in some way, he wished he were more socially skilled. He did hate feeling inadequate—she wasn't the only one with an irrepressible need to excel, but for him at least, without it he had very little else. She, clearly, had other graces and advantages to fall back on. Not that he spent any time dwelling on those graces or advantages.

At six o'clock on the dot, she arrived.

Severus waved her through, impatiently, and followed her down the passage until she came to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

'Ah,' she said simply, shuffling past the table to allow him to enter too. 'It's compact.'

He smirked, but it faded somewhat as he watched her squeeze herself between the table and the sideboard, and then into a chair. She raised both hands to flick her shroud of hair over her shoulders and away from her face, before turning her face up to look at him, expectantly. Severus quickly turned to the worktop. The smallness of the room, the obligatory floating candles to provide the only light source, and the gentle scent of her perfume, seemed now to tinge the atmosphere rather more towards romance than dank and dingy.

Not what he had been aiming for.

Suddenly, the elf-made wine he had brought seemed like another mis-step, too.

'Er, a drink?' he asked reluctantly. 'There is wine or, ah, water, I suppose.'

'Wine, please,' she answered, smiling.

She smiled an awful lot, he noticed. It didn't seem normal to him, for someone to smile so freely and easily, especially at him. Moreover, he felt almost indecent in his fascination with them.

'There are no wine glasses,' he advised, setting down a tumbler next to her. It was clean, at least.

He manoeuvred himself into a chair, but was careful not to sit too close to the table—the danger of them bumping arms or legs far too real. He Summoned the pre-prepared, supermarket-bought, prawn cocktail salad to sit down in front of them.

'Luckily for you' she commented airily, 'I am not so posh that I require the appropriate glassware.'

'Indeed… I am starting to wonder for your self-esteem, when you seem so perpetually happy to settle for less.'

She looked momentarily taken aback. 'Despite your preconceived notions, I am actually a woman of simple tastes, and it has nothing to do with my self-esteem.'

Severus merely raised his eyebrows and lifted up his fork. 'A desire to fit-in, then?' He was definitely baiting her now, some rational part of his brain telling him he should probably resist. 'Prove you can slum it with the rest?'

'Yes, I love to be able to prove I can slum it,' she burst out in annoyance, snatching up her fork. 'Have I offended you? I am sorry if I have. I work shifts in a hospital, so I can assure you a ready-meal is absolutely not beneath me.'

'No hired-help?'

Her head shot up fiercely and, in a moment, a shadow passed over her features. 'You're winding me up,' she muttered, shaking her head.

Severus bit back a laugh. 'I apologise, but it amuses me.'

'Oh, really? Then you do not actually resent me?'

He supposed he deserved that verbal joust. He shook his head minutely, turning his eyes downwards, prodding his salad. 'Not anymore, anyway,' he added quietly. His eyes remained trained on the lettuce, wondering grimly why he had felt the need to force that bit out.

When she said nothing, he glanced up. Instead of pretending she hadn't heard, however, she was staring hard at him.

'Calm down,' he scoffed. 'This was nothing special to you; I resented all of you.'

He figured she would know what he meant. He had told a little lie, however; there had been special resentment saved for Potter and his sidekicks. And she had roused a particular sense of regret, shame and anger that he had had to keep locked away. Potter had managed to befriend a fierce, intelligent, Gryffindor Muggle-born. There was no way he could ever have been blind to the connotations. How he had hoped for Potter to destroy that friendship—for Granger to turn her nose up at Potter. As with a lot of things he had hoped for in life, though, it never happened.

Severus drank swiftly from his glass, aware the silence was elongating uncomfortably. 'I no longer resent Potter, either…'

A small lift of her mouth indicated her apparent satisfaction at that.

In mild discomfort, Severus shrugged. 'Big of me, I know.'

She let out a sudden chuckle covering her mouth with her hand. He did not join in her amusement, but he should have liked to. Instead, he focused on the quality of her laugh when it was triggered by something he did or said. It was dangerously compelling.

He was absolutely wrong to have decried his penchant for sweet things.

'Well, the starter was delicious; my compliments to the chef.' She smiled. 'What's next?'

Severus got up and reached into the carrier bag that sat on the worktop. He pulled out a large cottage pie, aware of her craning her neck for a glimpse. Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose:

'Oh, do they not have Waitrose in Cokeworth?'

With his back to her, pulling apart the sleeve, Severus did smile this time.

'I must admit to being disappointed with the Ministry,' she added. 'I thought I might be introduced to more of Cokeworth's fine eateries.'

'I suppose the completion of your study on how the other half live will have to wait.'

He deposited a plate in front of her. She had not taken offence this time, but looked mildly put out by the speed of his riposte.

'I reckon the reason you won't tell me where you live is because you are now posh.'

'Really?'

'Yes—you are embarrassed to tell me you live in a chocolate-box village on the edge of the Peak District or the like.'

She spoke flippantly enough, but he had to wonder a little at her perspicacity.

He shrugged magnanimously. 'I am what I am; one cannot forsake one's roots, though, eh, duck?'

A small smile formed around her mouth at that. She nodded in agreement, before turning her attention to her plate. Severus allowed himself a frown. The things she seemed to be able to make him do and make him say… He would do well to take more care—she was definitely tricky.


The problem with serving such pre-prepared fare meant they were finished well before the allotted time. Another mistake on his part. They would now have to spend time together with little other distraction. Small-talk was not his forte and even she now seemed to be wilting on that score. Perhaps she would not be adverse to them taking out a book each and reading in silence? Surely the Ministry could not find fault with that?

Knowing them, there would be a clause somewhere. He really should have carried out more due diligence on the whole ordeal, he considered. He was slipping in his advancing years.

'So,' she said. 'We have some time left; why don't you tell me about this place? How did you come to be the editor?'

'I applied.'

Her head nodded slowly, looking vaguely pained. 'Right… It must have an interesting history; is it not one of the oldest periodicals still in circulation?'

'A rich and varied history, to be sure,' he acknowledged. 'And as with most publications, periods that are best forgotten, too.' He downed the last of his glass and, tamping down his protesting instincts, continued on. 'Would you like to have a look around?'

She nodded vigorously and the sudden brighten of her expression gave Severus a pulse of satisfaction, entirely in spite of himself. He stood quickly, as if to physically dislodge it.

'Come, then.'

He swept off down the passageway and was vaguely aware of her scurrying after him. He stopped at a doorway and, unlocking it with a murmur, revealed a darkened stairway that descended down beneath the building. The sconces adorning the walls sprang into life and he just about caught the twitch of her eyebrow.

Belatedly, he recognised what could be trepidation. 'I assure you, it does not lead to a torture chamber.'

She allowed herself a chuckle, before moving to take the stairs.

Far too trusting, Severus thought to himself wryly.

He followed her down until they found themselves in a truly cavernous space, formed by a series of impressive gothic vaults. The area was lined and filled with all manner of bookshelves, cabinets and display cases.

'This is the archive,' he advised, standing behind, watching her.

'Wow,' she said simply, her eyes roving.

'There are copies of every issue since inception.' He began to move forward, talking quietly. 'Copies of research papers, and a reference library.' He walked between the bookcases, heading towards a series of large cupboards. 'A collection of all manner of potioneering equipment, some of which date back hundreds of years.' He headed towards several large, glass display cases, able to sense her presence behind him. 'Collections of artefacts donated by benefactors for preservation.' Severus came to a halt in front of one display. 'Including an original copy of the recipe for the Elixir of Life by Nicolas Flamel.'

She halted at his side, her face nearly touching glass. 'Impressive,' she breathed.

'Many have tried and failed to tweak it, hoping to hit on a solution that does not involve the use of a philosopher's stone, of course.'

'Have you tried?'

He did not reply immediately. 'Well, I have never understood the desire for eternal life.'

A punishment worse than death, to his mind. He turned and moved towards a door in the wall. 'There is also a modest laboratory space.'

'Bloody hell,' she burst out when she saw the size of some of the cauldrons that were stationed along the edge of the room. 'Is that solid gold?' She stepped over to examine one of the cauldrons.

Severus sat on a stool at the far edge of the room, choosing to look away from her, but managing still to be hyper-aware of her meandering figure and quiet musings when she set upon something of interest. As she pottered about, he suddenly wished he hadn't brought her down there. This felt just as claustrophobic as the kitchen. He picked at a callous on his thumb, focusing his attention only to that in an attempt to slow his thoughts.

In a moment, though, she approached again. He glanced up to find her eye-level with him, which made him feel even more awkward.

'Do you get much time to brew?' she asked.

No, he wanted to snap, my busy social life gets in the way.

'Of course,' he answered stiffly.

'Are you working on anything at the moment?'

He lifted his eyebrows and looked away dismissively, mainly because he felt he should. 'Maybe...' She had wheedled far too much out of him as it was; he needed to keep some things for himself.

Hermione huffed. 'Fine, keep your secrets,' she conceded, not unpleasantly. 'Will you show me your next edition? Talk me through the editing process?'

He caught the sparkle of challenge in her eye, daring him to deny her. She had developed guile in later years, it seemed. He noticed things like that.

He could concede—tell her to get stuffed and allow her the pleasure of thinking she merited his impatience. She probably expected it, by the look on her face. He should concede.

But, the truth was, he would prefer to prove her wrong. He would prefer to leave her as off-kilter as she did him. So, he would play her game, and he would rise to it, because if nothing else, he disliked anyone having the upper hand. And lately, he had begun to consider the possibility that Hermione Granger might know something he didn't. Something important, which affected them both.

He would find out, of course.

'Well?' she prompted.

'It would be my pleasure, Hermione.'

She smiled broadly, all warmth and white teeth.

Severus got to his feet, taking the opportunity to look down his nose at her, before leading the way back through the building and up towards his office. As he ascended the stairs, he felt the pocket watch rattle in his waistcoat. Time was up.

He said nothing.


AN: Thank you for your comments : )