Hermione ran her fingers along the edge of the desk, tracing the grooves in the smooth wood. There was an empty rocks glass sitting on the blotter, and a quill was discarded, as if it had been used to sign a document and forgotten. She leaned back in the chair, drawing a deep breath in through her nose. She could smell his cologne, the hints of vanilla and musk, but the leather of the chair she sat in and the other furniture in the study lingered beneath it.
“What are you doing?” The silky voice wasn’t the one she was waiting for, but she welcomed Severus all the same.
“Being impatient that Lucius isn’t home yet. I needed to ask him about this motion the Winzengomot is set to hear next week. I can’t get my head around it.” Hermione peeled her eyes open to find Severus leaning casually against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Could I assist?”
Hermione smiled. “I considered asking but last time I believe your answer was to tell High Wizard Northrop to ‘dislodge his wand from his anus and attempt to use his oversized head for more than a resting place for that ugly hat.’ I thought Lucius might have the… gentler touch I was looking for.”
Severus’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “Perhaps you are correct in waiting. Though, you may be waiting a while.” He held up a slip of parchment, and Hermione could see Lucius’s elegant penmanship from where she sat at his desk.
She sighed. “I should have guessed.”
Severus drew closer, his measured steps a familiar cadence until he stood beside her, and sat on the edge of the desk. She never would have guessed, after years of watching his brittle posture in the classroom, that he’d have this relaxed side, where he leaned and propped himself against objects, let alone that she’d see it herself. But here he was, perched on the old, heavy desk with his shoulders relaxed and his head cocked at an angle, watching her.
“I know, I know. I can’t talk.” She sighed, and leaned forward, pressing her forehead into his side. He pulled her hair carefully away from her face and neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles of her shoulders and scalp.
“No, you cannot. But if it is any consolation, I know he misses you, and is planning some sickeningly romantic way to make it up to you. He’s attempting to bar me from interrupting.”
Hermione smiled, but stayed where she was, her nose in his robes. Citrus and herbs were calming and his precise fingers knew where every knot of tension hid. “Attempting?” Her voice was muffled, even to herself, but he didn’t stop.
“Lucius has always like the illusion of control. He tells me what to do, I do whatever I want regardless, and he pretends that I listened and we’re both content.”
Giggling, Hermione turned slightly to give him better access to her shoulder. “That sounds about right.”
He hummed, and his hands slowed, smoothing down her back. The wool of his robes was rough against her skin, but it was comforting. “Come have dinner. You may return to your vigil once you’ve eaten.”
Hermione sighed. “You’re just going to drag me to the dining room if I don’t come willingly, aren’t you?”
Severus chuckled, a sound from deep in his chest that Hermione still marveled at. “Any other time perhaps, but Lucius has been touchy about food in here since Draco dropped an entire serving of bouillabaisse over the rug. It took the elves ages to get the fish smell out.”
Hermione laughed. “I’ll come with you then. I’d hate to have him rethink my romantic surprise.”
An hour, a delicious dinner later and with the taste of decadent dark chocolate still on her lips, Hermione found herself back in Lucius’s study. This time she curled up in a chair by the fire, a cashmere blanket draped over her and a book in hand. Autumn rain pattered against the window, and she began drifting off before she could even turn the page.
When she awoke, her heart pounded in her throat, and she couldn’t put her finger on what had woken her until she heard it again.
Lucius’s voice sounded from outside the study, cold and cutting as ice.
Hermione froze, the voice from her nightmares now echoing around her. The door flew open with a bang, and Lucius strode in, his hair and robes flaring around him. He was the picture of frozen fury, his eyes diamond chips and his mouth twisted in a snarl.
The breath in her chest fled, leaving her frozen in fear and unable to speak, until two claret-robed aurors stepped into the room after him.
“Undersecretary Granger.” The first snapped to attention, giving her a moment to collect herself, though the second auror, lingering behind the first, furrowed his eyebrows in an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Matteo, what the fuck?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Lucius’s glare had her recoiling.
“Sorry Hermione. Here on orders.” Matteo Romero motioned to the parchment crumpled In Lucius’s hand.
She struggled to extricate herself from the cashmere blanket, getting caught as she tried to stand. “Whose bloody orders?” She was angry now, but ignored Lucius’s glacial gaze on her.
“Undersecretary Ogilvy.” Matteo looked ashamed, but she immediately understood. As her biggest political rival, Ogilvy had been grasping at straws to discredit her. Even her casual-appearing acquaintance with Lucius had been called into question several times.
She sighed. “Let me guess. He’s claiming Lucius is doing something untoward and influencing me? Well he’s wrong and the old bastard can have a seat.”
Matteo shifted uncomfortably. “No, ma’am.”
“Then what is it?” She summoned the warrant from Lucius’s hand, and her blood ran cold as she read the words. It felt as if the floor was falling out from beneath her, and she had nothing to hold on to.
“He thinks I have Lucius under the Imperious Curse?”