𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 II SS/HG ✔️

Going Spare

Hermione sat in the center of the couch, surrounded by yellowed Prophets. A thick photo album sat open on the coffee table. She carefully cut out articles or photos and Spell-o-Taped them in.

Severus sat in the chair nearest the fire. He had forty-seven minutes before he had to tend to the anti-paralytic potion. With his head in his hand, and the fire bathing him in warmth, he fully intended to take the smallest of naps. But his loquacious wife had other ideas.

"When did you figure out you had magic?"

Severus sighed heavily through his nose. "Is this another thing you're going to write down?"

He cracked open an eye to see the blush bloom over her face.

"No," she said, prim despite being caught at whatever bizarre project she was cobbling together.

"Found my mother's wand under her bed," he mumbled as he resettled into a better position to nap.

It turned out his father also had had no idea Eileen was a wizard until that moment. Severus shoved that memory to the back with Occlumency. And in so doing, fell asleep.

He jolted awake an hour later. He didn't bother to rush downstairs to try to salvage the potion—even sixty seconds late on the next steps would ruin the batch.

But he should have known Hermione would be down there to finish it.

The Order no longer wanted anything to do with him, let alone to accept potions from him. Hermione had brewed several months' worth of potions for Poppy so they wouldn't have to worry until the last month of the term. The Dark Lord tempered his list, now that Severus ran the school, but still expected random things from him at least once a week.

Hermione did not notice he stood in the doorway.

"You know you don't get a grade for helping me anymore."

She jumped, some of the potion flicking away from the stirring rod as she yanked it from the cauldron.

Hand over her heart, she said, "That's a good thing, because I just made this one set to expire in a week."

Severus rubbed his brow. If it kept her occupied, she could do all the brewing and marking she wanted.

"Go back to sleep, I will handle this," she insisted.

Hermione did not come to bed until several hours later. And even then, she sat up to read by the light of a dull candle.

When Severus would return to his rooms to grab a text or to use the loo, it was a fifty-fifty chance he would find her napping or running on fumes. Without classes or anything, really, to occupy her time, she read constantly—and when she ran out of things to read, she stared at a bedraggled parchment and her favoured galleon.

The castle had seen fit to give them two desks. The old parchment sat open on hers every time Severus walked past. Sometimes there were blueprints drawn on it. Sometimes it was blank.

He walked in after dinner one evening and found her squatting on the floor, holding out a book towards Crookshanks for his approval.

That is probably not a good sign, he thought. "Are you teaching the cat to read?"

"Ha ha," she drawled. She flipped to another page but Crookshanks lost interest. "I made a scrapbook and wanted to show someone."