Easy Like Sunday Morning
Title: Easy Like Sunday Morning
Team: Order!
Word count: 12x100
Rating: PG-13 (f-words)
Challenge: Closet House Slob; Fluffy; Size Matters
Summary: A transitional day in the relationship of Severus and Hermione. Written as a birthday gift for Scoffy, her prompt is given at the end. Apologies to Droxy for two non-scoring drabbles at the start.
Against all the odds, there were some things in life that made Severus Snape feel fantastic.
Waking up on Sunday morning was one of those things.
Head covered by duvet, feet dangling off the end of the bed, Severus stretched. The process began in his chest with a deep breath before radiating out to his shoulders and down his spine. Buttocks clenched, knees locked, elbows clicking, toes splayed, spread-eagled across the entire mattress, Severus stretched until his head began to feel fizzy.
Then he rubbed his nose against his pillow, yawned deeply and curled up for a little post-stretch nap.
Waking for the second time, Severus squinted blearily at his alarm clock. It was eight-thirty.
Bolting out of bed, he slip-slapped across the icy flagstone floor and yanked a clean shirt out of the chest of drawers. He only had fifteen minutes to get ready before double potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin.
A button was coming loose on his robes, but he was diabolically bad at domestic charms, and facing a cheerfully helpful elf didn’t bear contemplating.
Sailing down the dungeon corridor, grimace in place and button hanging, Severus thrust open the door of his classroom with a resounding bang…
Which was followed, strangely, by a second thump.
Which was followed by a distant voice, uttering marvellously magical words that got closer and closer until they blared right in his ear.
“Coffee: two sugars. Croissants: butter and blackcurrant jam. It’s on the bedside table, so mind you don’t knock it over.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Severus mumbled.
“Sorry?”
“I was having a terrible dream.”
Hermione shoved a lanky leg out of the way and sat on the bed. She leaned over him and grabbed a croissant, trailing a merry stream of pastry flakes across the duvet as she straightened up.
“Monday morning Potions, or Astronomy Tower at dusk?” she enquired sympathetically.
“Potions. Mid-winter. Robes in need of repair and running late.”
“Cripes. I should have used chocolate spread instead of jam. Got any Nutella left? I can fetch it if you have.”
Severus sat up and reached for his coffee.
“Jam is fine.”
Hermione grinned. She had pastry on her chin and at least three visible pieces in her hair. Severus’ heart jangled in response.
“I ought to go home,” she mused. “I didn’t bring any clothes with me last night, and I’m dying for a bath.”
The words came out before he could stop them. Wishful. Needy. Please don’t leave me.
“Why don’t you have a bath here?”
“I suppose I could,” Hermione replied vaguely. “But all my hair stuff is at home. And I still need to change clothes. A skimpy top and fuck me boots on Sunday morning aren’t very comfy, darling.”
“It’s a lovely top, though,” Severus said inanely.
Hermione laughed and bent forwards for a flaky, coffee kiss.
“You old smoothy,” she grumbled. “Shall I come back later? I fancy some of your roast beef if you’re in the mood for cooking.”
When she was gone, Severus sat on the bed regarding his wardrobe. It was scuffed and creaky. And quite narrow. At least three spare feet separated it from the nearest window.
The drawers of the equally battered dressing table were filled with manly bits and bobs such as odd cufflinks, heartily disliked Christmas gift aftershave and stale Toothflossing Stringmints.
The bottom half of the chest of drawers held a wide variety of fraying grey nightshirts and mothballed black robes.
Severus slid his wand out of its holster behind the headboard and pointed it at the wardrobe.
“Engorgio,” he murmured experimentally.
“Severus! Are you here?” Hermione yelled.
Along with, ‘Are you awake?’ and, ‘Can you hear me?’ in Severus’ opinion, this ranked amongst the most dunderheaded of questions. But he decided that a response describing his current location as a bank of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River (all set about with fever trees) would not aid his cause.
Instead, he bellowed, “Help! I’m here!”
Footsteps drumrolled up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Hermione squeaked from the other side of the bedroom door.
“I’ve had a slight mishap,” Severus admitted, ankles trapped between the bed and an absolutely enormous wardrobe.
“Are you stuck?” Hermione asked.
Severus gritted his teeth.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I can’t move my legs.”
“Oh, my god! It’s not paralysis brought on by the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, is it?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
“The furniture.”
Hermione went quiet.
“What happened?” she asked eventually. Her voice broke slightly as if she might just have been trying not to laugh.
“I cast an Engorgement Charm on the wardrobe.”
There was a muffled squawk.
“And?”
“Then I tried to shrink it again. But it went short and fat instead of smaller.”
“And?”
“I tried a few other things.”
“Can you remember what you tried?” Hermione asked shakily.
“Not quite.”
“So Finite isn’t working?”
“Obviously not,” Severus said quietly.
“Have you tried to Banish it?”
“It’s got all my clothes in! All the new ones we went shopping for! Hermione, I’m begging you! Please don’t make me go through that again!”
The resulting hoots of laughter were probably heard on Mars.
“What’s it worth?” she eventually taunted. “A long weekend in Paris?”
“Yes!”
“A trip to the ballet?”
“Yes!”
“Dinner with my parents?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Granger.”
“A toothbrush of my own. Here?” was the soft response.
“Hermione?” Severus whispered.
“I take it back! Forget I ever said anything! Except for Paris, of course.”
The door opened the inch it was able to and lodged against the back of the wardrobe. A moment later and the gargantuan lump of mahogany (formerly pine) became cream linen and folded gracefully in upon itself. Severus thanked his lucky stars for his girlfriend’s Transfiguration skills and carefully stood up on his pin-and-needled feet.
The door stayed an inch open.
“Sweetheart?” Severus called, Levitating the large cloth sack of his clothes out of the way.
Hermione stood on the landing looking mortified.
“Do you want to know what I was trying to do?” he asked gently.
Hermione cleared her throat and smiled weakly.
“Go on.”
“It occurred to me that my drawers are full of junk and my wardrobe is a bit slim. I wanted to make some space.”
“Oh?”
“For you. For some things. For a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”
“Oh.”
“For fuck me boots, skimpy tops, shampoo, tracksuit bottoms, saggy sweaters, oodles of underwear and your work robes, if you want.”
“Oh!”
“Perhaps some slippers?” Severus suggested hopefully. “Sandals for the summer? You know I love your toes.”
Against all the odds, there were some things in life that made Severus Snape feel fantastic.
Falling asleep on Sunday night with an armful of live-in lover was one of them. Monday mornings might not be quite so tedious, for a start.
It was his turn to make the coffee, though. And admittedly, he hadn’t expected to fall asleep in what used to be just her bed.
But her house was bigger, and she had a spare room--currently containing a linen sack of clothes and a lot of books.
Plus the bedroom furniture was nice. Especially the double wardrobe.
Notes:
Nutella is a chocolate-hazelnut spread. Good on toast and in pancakes with banana.
Limpopo riverbank courtesy of Rudyard Kipling.
‘My drawers are full of junk’ really is an attempt at Anglo-American play on words. Groan.
Prompt: Some SS/HG and a negotiation over living arrangements.
Team: Order!
Word count: 12x100
Rating: PG-13 (f-words)
Challenge: Closet House Slob; Fluffy; Size Matters
Summary: A transitional day in the relationship of Severus and Hermione. Written as a birthday gift for Scoffy, her prompt is given at the end. Apologies to Droxy for two non-scoring drabbles at the start.
Against all the odds, there were some things in life that made Severus Snape feel fantastic.
Waking up on Sunday morning was one of those things.
Head covered by duvet, feet dangling off the end of the bed, Severus stretched. The process began in his chest with a deep breath before radiating out to his shoulders and down his spine. Buttocks clenched, knees locked, elbows clicking, toes splayed, spread-eagled across the entire mattress, Severus stretched until his head began to feel fizzy.
Then he rubbed his nose against his pillow, yawned deeply and curled up for a little post-stretch nap.
Waking for the second time, Severus squinted blearily at his alarm clock. It was eight-thirty.
Bolting out of bed, he slip-slapped across the icy flagstone floor and yanked a clean shirt out of the chest of drawers. He only had fifteen minutes to get ready before double potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin.
A button was coming loose on his robes, but he was diabolically bad at domestic charms, and facing a cheerfully helpful elf didn’t bear contemplating.
Sailing down the dungeon corridor, grimace in place and button hanging, Severus thrust open the door of his classroom with a resounding bang…
Which was followed, strangely, by a second thump.
Which was followed by a distant voice, uttering marvellously magical words that got closer and closer until they blared right in his ear.
“Coffee: two sugars. Croissants: butter and blackcurrant jam. It’s on the bedside table, so mind you don’t knock it over.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Severus mumbled.
“Sorry?”
“I was having a terrible dream.”
Hermione shoved a lanky leg out of the way and sat on the bed. She leaned over him and grabbed a croissant, trailing a merry stream of pastry flakes across the duvet as she straightened up.
“Monday morning Potions, or Astronomy Tower at dusk?” she enquired sympathetically.
“Potions. Mid-winter. Robes in need of repair and running late.”
“Cripes. I should have used chocolate spread instead of jam. Got any Nutella left? I can fetch it if you have.”
Severus sat up and reached for his coffee.
“Jam is fine.”
Hermione grinned. She had pastry on her chin and at least three visible pieces in her hair. Severus’ heart jangled in response.
“I ought to go home,” she mused. “I didn’t bring any clothes with me last night, and I’m dying for a bath.”
The words came out before he could stop them. Wishful. Needy. Please don’t leave me.
“Why don’t you have a bath here?”
“I suppose I could,” Hermione replied vaguely. “But all my hair stuff is at home. And I still need to change clothes. A skimpy top and fuck me boots on Sunday morning aren’t very comfy, darling.”
“It’s a lovely top, though,” Severus said inanely.
Hermione laughed and bent forwards for a flaky, coffee kiss.
“You old smoothy,” she grumbled. “Shall I come back later? I fancy some of your roast beef if you’re in the mood for cooking.”
When she was gone, Severus sat on the bed regarding his wardrobe. It was scuffed and creaky. And quite narrow. At least three spare feet separated it from the nearest window.
The drawers of the equally battered dressing table were filled with manly bits and bobs such as odd cufflinks, heartily disliked Christmas gift aftershave and stale Toothflossing Stringmints.
The bottom half of the chest of drawers held a wide variety of fraying grey nightshirts and mothballed black robes.
Severus slid his wand out of its holster behind the headboard and pointed it at the wardrobe.
“Engorgio,” he murmured experimentally.
“Severus! Are you here?” Hermione yelled.
Along with, ‘Are you awake?’ and, ‘Can you hear me?’ in Severus’ opinion, this ranked amongst the most dunderheaded of questions. But he decided that a response describing his current location as a bank of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River (all set about with fever trees) would not aid his cause.
Instead, he bellowed, “Help! I’m here!”
Footsteps drumrolled up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Hermione squeaked from the other side of the bedroom door.
“I’ve had a slight mishap,” Severus admitted, ankles trapped between the bed and an absolutely enormous wardrobe.
“Are you stuck?” Hermione asked.
Severus gritted his teeth.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I can’t move my legs.”
“Oh, my god! It’s not paralysis brought on by the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, is it?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
“The furniture.”
Hermione went quiet.
“What happened?” she asked eventually. Her voice broke slightly as if she might just have been trying not to laugh.
“I cast an Engorgement Charm on the wardrobe.”
There was a muffled squawk.
“And?”
“Then I tried to shrink it again. But it went short and fat instead of smaller.”
“And?”
“I tried a few other things.”
“Can you remember what you tried?” Hermione asked shakily.
“Not quite.”
“So Finite isn’t working?”
“Obviously not,” Severus said quietly.
“Have you tried to Banish it?”
“It’s got all my clothes in! All the new ones we went shopping for! Hermione, I’m begging you! Please don’t make me go through that again!”
The resulting hoots of laughter were probably heard on Mars.
“What’s it worth?” she eventually taunted. “A long weekend in Paris?”
“Yes!”
“A trip to the ballet?”
“Yes!”
“Dinner with my parents?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Granger.”
“A toothbrush of my own. Here?” was the soft response.
“Hermione?” Severus whispered.
“I take it back! Forget I ever said anything! Except for Paris, of course.”
The door opened the inch it was able to and lodged against the back of the wardrobe. A moment later and the gargantuan lump of mahogany (formerly pine) became cream linen and folded gracefully in upon itself. Severus thanked his lucky stars for his girlfriend’s Transfiguration skills and carefully stood up on his pin-and-needled feet.
The door stayed an inch open.
“Sweetheart?” Severus called, Levitating the large cloth sack of his clothes out of the way.
Hermione stood on the landing looking mortified.
“Do you want to know what I was trying to do?” he asked gently.
Hermione cleared her throat and smiled weakly.
“Go on.”
“It occurred to me that my drawers are full of junk and my wardrobe is a bit slim. I wanted to make some space.”
“Oh?”
“For you. For some things. For a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”
“Oh.”
“For fuck me boots, skimpy tops, shampoo, tracksuit bottoms, saggy sweaters, oodles of underwear and your work robes, if you want.”
“Oh!”
“Perhaps some slippers?” Severus suggested hopefully. “Sandals for the summer? You know I love your toes.”
Against all the odds, there were some things in life that made Severus Snape feel fantastic.
Falling asleep on Sunday night with an armful of live-in lover was one of them. Monday mornings might not be quite so tedious, for a start.
It was his turn to make the coffee, though. And admittedly, he hadn’t expected to fall asleep in what used to be just her bed.
But her house was bigger, and she had a spare room--currently containing a linen sack of clothes and a lot of books.
Plus the bedroom furniture was nice. Especially the double wardrobe.
Notes:
Nutella is a chocolate-hazelnut spread. Good on toast and in pancakes with banana.
Limpopo riverbank courtesy of Rudyard Kipling.
‘My drawers are full of junk’ really is an attempt at Anglo-American play on words. Groan.
Prompt: Some SS/HG and a negotiation over living arrangements.