And I like his [redacted] the best
“I can’t understand what you find in him–”
Hermione closed her eyes and regretted her poor life decisions for the millionth time since this conversation started. One of said poor questions being having this particular conversation with Ronald fucking Weasley in the middle of the street.
Right outside her workplace. Where the him in question could easily listen.
“Stop embarrassing me, Ronald!” she huffed, her arms wrapping defensively around her middle. It wasn’t so much a gesture of self-defense, but more like, an attempt to exercise self control and avoiding shoving her wand up the young man’s–
“He is my boss if you don’t mind!” she hissed, her gaze flicking at the seemingly empty Prince apothecary, where she was apprenticing as a potioneer under the ever-watchful, but surprisingly kind, Severus Snape. “And even if he wasn’t, who I am with is none of your business!”
“We were supposed to be together, Mione!” Ron said, his voice alarmingly loud, making the few passers-by who were walking around Diagon Alley this early in the morning stare blatantly at them. “We were supposed to get married and have our family, just like we discussed–”
“Oh, would that be before or after you’d be done screwing every witch that so much as batted an eye at you?” Hermione interrupted him, already feeling uneasy about this confrontation. It wasn’t her business who Ron slept with, anyway; it had been two years already that she had washed her hands off him, setting him free so he could enjoy his fame as a Quidditch player. And he did enjoy that fame, she learned all about it from the Daily Prophet. It hurt at first, of course; but soon enough, she realised it was for the best. Ron would never be the kind of man Hermione would like to have.
The kind of man she would like to have though, was bound to appear any moment now to open shop with her, and he was painfully unaware of the fact that Hermione pined after him.
“You’re being unfair now, Mione,” Ron continued his own tirade. “And how is he better than me? The bat of the dungeons?”
“Stop talking like that, Ron–”
“He is ugly, Mione, and old, and how can you like him? I heard you talking to Luna about it the other day–”
Brightest witch of her age and all, Hermione was also a witch with a surprisingly short fuse, and for a moment, she envisioned Ron’s nose getting up close and personal with her fist. Not only he was making an unnecessary scene in public; he had also overheard her personal discussions with Luna, thus learning that she had growing feelings for her own boss, her mentor, the most unconventional man she could fall for.
She should be the better person here, act like the civilised adult that she was–
Instead, she took a look around in order to make sure that Severus wasn’t around yet and then let her pettiness take over.
“Oh, you’re right, Ronald,” she said, her voice turning saccharine. “You won’t understand what I find in him. You won’t understand that he’s funny, and intelligent, and time stills in his presence, because you have the personality of a cardboard. And ohhhh, he is physically pleasing too, you know, especially his–”
Green always looked good in redheads; just not when their whole face turned that colour. However, Hermione, half-petty and half-truthful, found a perverse satisfaction bringing Ron to this state. Maybe he’d finally let go this way.
Or so she thought; instead, the wretched man lurched forward and tried to pull her into his arms instead, mumbling something about her needing to let out some steam so she’d think clearly.
“Touch her, and you’ll learn exactly what is worse than death,” Severus’ voice was heard saying behind her, and Hermione didn’t know whether she should feel relieved or mortified. Ron though felt the latter and let go, deciding that Severus’ murderous look wasn’t something to be underestimated.
“The lady told you to let go, Weasley,” he drawled. “And as far as I remember, you were seen with another witch last week. I’d advise you to go back to her and leave Miss Granger alone.”
Despite the common sense that said that one shouldn’t talk back to Severus Snape before noon, Ron decided to bite the bullet. “Oh, so you’re fucking her, Snape? Should I be afraid of you?”
“You should be afraid of her,” Severus said, and turned to look at Hermione who was still dumbfounded by the whole conversation that had taken a turn for the weirder. “Miss Granger, should you want to exercise violence upon the fool, I won’t be watching,” he said with a smirk. “I heard through the grapevine that you have a strong right fist.”
Ron, who knew exactly how strong her fist was –who could forget Draco Malfoy–, decided to drop the matter for another day and turned to leave, and Hermione headed towards the door of the apothecary, where Severus was already unwarding, getting ready for the new day.
And she thought she had made it unscathed through that wacky conversation, until–
“By the way, witch, I think I’d like to know what it is that you find especially physically pleasing about me,” he hummed.
And at this moment, she realised that her day wouldn’t get easier, after all.