Once again, she was amazed that she’d rendered him speechless and said so.
“I’ve often been found in that state. Most often in the staff room while in the company of those raunchy, bawdy old cats you called teachers—the foulest mouths belonging to Pomona and Minerva.” He reached over and nudged his gift, the floofy black kneazle kit between them, from rolling off its cushion onto the scattering of boxes and paper at their feet. “And there was always the size of your hair while creating an extremely intensive potion; I believe you stole speech from a complete class once. You should’ve been using a magical hairnet, containment spell or follicle protectant, Granger,” he smirked.
“Maybe I would have if a competent teacher had taught me those spells,” she snarked back.
“Haircare was not part of my board-mandated curriculum.”
“Besides,” she replied sniffily, “The bubblehead charm was sufficient to keep my hair from falling into my potions.”
“True,” he drawled, “But it kept you from getting an Outstanding on several occasions—something I had expected you to eventually realise…with that overly large brain of yours.”
Her mouth was gaping open, and he chuckled, making her flush and frown. “It did not! How in the world can you possibly justify that statement, Severus; you just didn’t like me.”
“True, I did not, but I also disliked that smarmy Ravenclaw—Jason Terrence? Terrold? He often brewed equal to or better than you—and he kept his unruly hair slicked back with gel, like Draco.”
“It was Jayce Tennock, and the bubblehead charm was a perfectly acceptable barrier for containing my hair, Severus; you’re nitpicking.”
But he was shaking his head slowly from side to side. He held up a finger at her evident indignation and parting lips. “And you’ve just said the magic words, Granger—‘acceptable’ and ‘barrier’. Yes, that charm was an acceptable way to alleviate your issue, but it was not the best way, especially for potion-making. It’s essentially the worst choice because it is a barrier—it covers your eyes, ears and nose whilst brewing. Distorting those senses, even minutely, always means a less-than-perfect potion.”
“But the charm is invisible!”
“Not completely; if you place a bubblehead charm on someone and hold a piece of white paper behind their head, you will discern the slight violet tint that is distorting the colour of your potion. It also mutes the sound enough to alter audible boiling levels, and you over-boiled your potion on more than one occasion. The odours of ingredients and potions are also diluted, causing ingredients to be added in an untimely manner, a potion to become overcooked, or ingredient freshness to be substandard. One last thing,” he continued, eyeing her frown, “If you’d managed to create a perfect bubblehead charm, you’d have perfect air circulation with no build-up of condensation or irregular oxygen levels—I’ve never seen a student accomplish this. And no matter how well you apply the charm, you cannot control the condensation that builds up outside the bubble.” She was listening intently now, so he continued, “You once ruined a potion when the condensation from your cauldron’s steam dripped back into your potion, reintegrating what was supposed to be boiling away. There are circumstances where you would do that purposely to keep the potion’s strength high whilst boiling it down to a usable consistency, such as for creams and unguents. But that would not have been the case in a fifth-year potions class—albeit, the seventh year would have been a different story.”
She was grinning at him now. “However did I manage to get a most excellent potions lesson when all I was trying to do was enjoy your inability to speak?”
“There are more ways to steal my words than you’ve realised, witch.”
She smirked, then replied sadly, “I wish I’d been able to have potions tuition like this when I was younger.”
He frowned at her statement. “You are not dead, and your brain appears to be in serviceable order… Why not now?”
“Now?” she squeaked.
“You’ve completed your Charms and Arithmancy masteries; haven’t you ever thought of a mastery in Potions?”
“With you, Severus?” she murmured. “I’d only ever want that with you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, witch, with me.”
She grinned, and a flash of her lovely laughter whirled around the room. “Do you think I could ever steal away your words with a potion?” she smiled, leaning back and closing her eyes; just imagine it…"
“It is a vague possibility…, but not for many, many years,” he replied with a crooked smile.
“Well,” she replied suddenly, popping to her feet with a hop, “I’ll just have to come up with an easier way. Now, how about a drink? Harry sent me this extraordinarily expensive bottle of Greek firewhiskey, Greek! Who knew the Greeks made firewhiskey,” she rambled, digging through a small pile of unwrapped mastery-completion gifts. “Here we go; I’ll just fetch some glasses, and we can toast my new apprenticeship,” she said, wandering toward a china cabinet. “I accept, by the way,” Hermione called from the kitchen, rattling through the cabinet for the whiskey glasses Minerva had given her. Severus grinned and shook his head, and suddenly, she was stood before him, her hands full, smiling with a roll of her lips—a dimple deepening in one cheek and disappearing. Her gaze became heavy and dark as she placed the small glasses into one of his hands, dropping the bottle onto the sofa with a bouncy slosh. He lost himself in the golden deepness of her smouldering gaze as she straddled his lap, taking the glasses to carelessly set them on the table behind her, barely missing the edge. “Speechless yet?”
“Mmm, not quite, Hermione…” Her lips found the scar at his throat as gentle hands slid up his chest to his shoulders. He moaned softly as her mouth slid up his neck and along his jaw. “Hermione,” he murmured, hands tentatively sliding up her thighs, “Do you think this is wise?”
“Extremely wise, yes, as I am a very wise woman, you know,” she murmured, leaning away from him to look into his eyes once more. “Why do you ask, Severus; can you not teach me and love me?” she whispered warily, dropping her eyes to rest her forehead against his.
A hand slid up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking gently across her velvet cheek. “Apparently, I already will,” he replied softly, nudging her face up with his blade of a nose, “And I already do…”
“Oh, Severus,” she breathed onto his lips as her mouth found its intended target, finally silencing him completely.