𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 II SS/HG ✔️

Hard Work

Severus and Pomona repotted every root and started each bulb. When they returned from lunch at the Three Broomsticks, they tackled each seed.

Severus's shirt was no longer white by the end of the day. Pomona's curly hair was laden down with dirt.

"Like back when you was a student, eh?" Pomona laughed at him.

"I dressed a little more appropriately for the task back then." These jeans were ruined. Whatever dirt on him had turned to mud once he'd had contact with water.

Pomona reached up to clap him on the shoulder. His neck twanged a bit. A cloud of dust puffed into her face and away. She coughed but smiled.

"I'll check on these tomorrow then I'll check on the Willow. Good night, Severus."

"Good night," he replied.

She watched him ward the greenhouse with several layers of security.

Severus made a beeline to his washroom. When he entered the sitting room, he found Hermione half-asleep on the sofa.

Her hair had swollen with the day's brewing but it was still tightly bunched on her head. Her shoes were thrown haphazardly across the room. Crookshanks purred on her lap.

It was still hot into the evening. She had changed into a skirt and ditched her work robes before her impromptu nap.

Severus took care with the door but she woke anyway.

She stretched her neck. He liked the sleepy-eyed gaze she set on him while she did so.

"Rough day at the office?" she joked.

Even as he stood here, flecks of dirt and leaf bits fell off him and onto the floor. "I haven't been inside all day."

Her eyes traced over the dirt splattered over him, from his head to his feet. "You don't say."

Severus felt, generally, fine. A bit tired. These sore muscles came from hard work and not a Cruciatus or a bloody snake hugging his windpipe.

He unrolled his sleeves en route to the shower. Part of what had been rolled up was still white. He just had to do it—rip the shirt off in one go and hope the dirt didn't fly everywhere.

That was a mess for later, he decided, tossing the white shirt towards the armoire.

"Need help?" Hermione asked from behind.

"No." He was perfectly capable. If Hermione was going to continue to smother him—

"I don't know," she tutted. "This looks like a two-person mess to tackle." She walked around to the stand in front of him. She poked her fingertips into the hem of his jeans.

Had he said he was tired? Absolutely not. He was fine.

"Who should I have assist me?" he asked.

Her forefingers were cold against his suddenly hot skin. "If you ever ask anybody but me to assist you, I'm going to be a mite angry."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She examined his chest. One of her hands came up to trace a scar. It was a punishment for disobeying Bellatrix some years ago.

"Do you dream of me?" she asked quietly.

"And if I have?" he murmured.

She lifted her head to smile at him. "I wouldn't mind."

Hermione had barely touched him and he was wound up. In his defence, it had been months since the last time she made his blood rush this way.

Hermione pulled him backwards by the trousers until she backed into the washroom. As soon as Severus stepped in, the shower kicked on. Hermione bit her lip before she looked down to find the fly.