“We have a case?”

Hermione was elbow-deep in index cards, which the Ministry had embraced as recently as the Nineties as the very latest word in archiving. As usual, they had got it wrong even before someone had decided to add insult to injury and go for the cheaper, easily combustible version.

Hermione was so fed up with the task of trying to extract any information about Mermaid sightings, she didn't even mind Snape's big nose and swishing robes announce his approach.

“Yes, we have a case,” he announced with the same excitement one imagined he would greet a Flobberworm. “As you would have known, had you read any of the half dozen letters I dispatched to you.”

Hermione just glared at him; he knew very well what he needed to do to get her to read his letters again. On her way to work this morning she had heard the birds singing amongst some lovely foliage, so she was quite sure Hell hadn't quite frozen over yet and no apology was about to be offered today either.

Wisely, Snape refrained from reopening the same debate again. “In Dublin, as it happens, so we need to organise a Portkey. It concerns cats, so it is likely to meet with your approval.”

This was the initial reason Hermione and Snape had been assigned as partners ('team' wasn't quite appropriate, as there were only two of them). The average age at the Department of Mysteries was 134, and most of its inhabitants seemed reluctant to ever venture outside it.

Hermione had had no qualms reimagining her future when she had realised that earnest legal reform by day and Ronald Weasley by night was not all it had been cracked up to be. She had drawn the line at spending her career at a desk, however.

Once she realised this ambition came with added Snape she had been quite intrigued, a reaction he most definitely had not shared. To her surprise, Snape's unwillingness to spend the rest of his working life in the bowels of the Ministry had been sufficient to make him put up with her. The rest was history, or however one wished to term the delicate balance between cutting remarks and earnest debate they had built between them.

The letter situation was bad, admittedly, but given Hermione's history with Snape it wasn't quite as bad as what had gone before.

As long as he never, ever figured out that she wouldn't be entirely opposed to being on the receiving end of whatever missives he sent to his actual partner outside of work, they would get through it. At least Severus was doing his part by never alluding to the fact that he addressed someone as 'Dearest' in his spare time.

“Dublin,” Hermione replied when no other alternative suggested itself. “I might look up Seamus!”

“We're supposed to be incognito,” Mr Kill-Joy replied.

“There's this really nifty potion called Polyjuice, have you heard about it?”

Snape's glare could have flattened small buildings.

---

The other visitors to the Portkey Office didn't pay much attention to the furious whispering.

It was just as well they were in disguise because Severus still attracted press attention as middens drew in flies.

Hermione's habit to use the opportunity to raise awareness about house-elves (just because she no longer worked for the MLE didn't mean she had abandoned their plight) did wonders to drive off journalists, but curiously Severus was reluctant to keep inflatable 'House-elves Have RIGHTS!' banners on his person.

“It's preposterous!” He hissed the word like he had been born to it – Hermione wondered if he tailor-made his vocabulary to the frequency of sibilants.

“No one will even recognise us! Assuming your handiwork had been brewed properly, of course.”

Severus liked aspersions being cast on his special potions as much as Harry enjoyed being snuck up upon from behind by people dressed in black robes. “I will not even dignify that with an answer.”

“You just did,” Hermione pointed out. It was a wonder she didn't wither and die from the look he levelled at her.

“So there's no problem, then?” she continued.

“No one will believe we are a couple.” It should be impossible to hiss that sentence, but Severus managed.

“If we keep arguing they'll find it all too easy, believe me.”

Hermione looked ahead – the small queue had not moved at all since they had arrived.

The spotty teenager at the top was rooting through his backpack, flinging items on the floor around him. “I swear to God, Ma –“

“Francis!” His harassed mother glanced around the room, but as expected she paid absolutely no attention to the couple at the back when they obligingly looked away from Francis' pile of socks.

They were a blander version of their normal selves; Hermione's hair was flat but not sleek, and Severus' nose was an unremarkable potato-shape.

Hermione knew very well what the problem was. Her wand was creaking alarmingly with the effort of keeping her temper in check.

“I take it this yet again comes back to the fact that I was your student twenty years ago. More time has in fact passed since then than my age the last time you were my teacher, so even by Minerva's standards I cannot see what the objection is. Especially as we are in fact only pretending. Surely you possess a modicum of acting ability, given your past?”

She was grateful no one could hear their conversation – that would have been a fairly obvious giveaway.

“The spectacle of a young woman with a significantly older man will invite comments and speculation, which is the opposite of our objective.” He pressed his lips together in a narrow ribbon of disapproval.

Hermione sighed. “You don't get out much, do you? The world is full of men older than you shacked up with young beautiful women. Your alias wasn't quite able to stretch to a trophy wife, so he had to settle with me.”

“That may be the custom among Muggles –“

“Don't kid yourself – you clearly haven't spent much time on the dating circuit lately.” Of course he hadn't, the smug prick, not with his 'dearest' partner at home. “It's overrun by wizards my age looking for a witch between seventeen and twenty-five – 'no old hags need apply'.”

Severus' face was a study in mingled disgust and fascination. “Do you actually arrange encounters with these dunderheads?”

“If by that you're asking if I actually meet up with them, no. The wizards who fall on my lot are the ones your age, plus a few decades. A witch should count herself lucky if a wizard deems her worthy of her interest, didn't you know?”

Misogyny was just as present in the wizarding world as the Muggle, which just went to show that all the guff about patriarchy only being natural as men were physically stronger was a lot of bollocks.

Severus was appalled. It was easy to tell from his expression; he looked exactly the same when confronted with grammatical errors or poorly brewed potions. “But you are Hermione Granger.”

“Yes, that.”

Hermione shrugged. It stung to expand on her failures on the relationship front, especially to him. Especially as Severus had no similar difficulties himself. On the bright side, at least his love interest wasn't a teenager.

“In my experience, the war thing only makes things difficult. Plus you risk ending up in the Daily Prophet, which in my experience only attracts the weirdos.”

“That would suggest the general population of the Wizarding world does not fall under that designation, which in my experience would be a wildly optimistic estimate.”

That earned him a small smile, which grew when Hermione noticed they were almost alone in the Portkey Office.

“Ready, darling?” she asked meaningfully.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Severus muttered under his breath.

It struck Hermione as a slightly incongruous utterance for someone who took such care to be as precise as possible.

---

Most Esteemed Lady Hermione,

The time draws near – I know not the hour, but soon your reign will be undisputed. He who once was the Dark Lord will not linger (he certainly won't, if I have anything to do with it). The remainder of his followers will quickly disintegrate under attack from your forces, and Britain will be yours.

I, for one, consider this the best outcome under the circumstances – I can only hope your sex will insulate you from the pitfalls of your predecessor. During my rather chequered career, I have noticed women rarely succumb to megalomania. Use your brain, and remember those who predeceased you. When in doubt, consider what Potter would have done and do the opposite.

As I expect to join him in the great hereafter shortly, I will avail of this last opportunity to tell you that I have been in love with you for years. My impending demise will save us from any attending embarrassment, and to my surprise I find that Albus Dumbledore was right about one thing at least: there isn't enough love in the world. What can be found should be cherished. A fool may admire the queen, may he not?

As the biggest fool to ever have graced these isles, I have the honour to remain your most humble servant,

Severus Snape

Hermione rubbed her eyes, in the vain hope the letter wouldn't be there when she opened them again, and stifled a yawn.

The cheap B&B that had been booked for them (woe betide any Unspeakables who had the temerity to suggest a proper hotel, or – even worse – separate rooms) smelled of mould, and the room was so small to start with that the wall she had Transfigured to divide it into two left it looking more like a cupboard.

Ever the gentleman, Severus had hogged the pillow and duvet so she had been stuck with a musty blanket that looked like it last had been clean circa 1953.

They were supposed to be tackling their case this morning; Hermione didn't have the emotional energy to even consider the bloody letter. She would make sure she got the comfortable bedding tonight, though – if he had time to compose missives on fancy-looking parchment, he could damn well spend some time Scourgifying ancient blankets.

“Snape!” She knocked on the wall for good measure; it was still robust enough to bear it, just like her features were still the not-quite-Hermione of her disguise.

They made a good team.

Sometimes.

An owl pecked on her half of the window. Hermione tried to open the ancient spring to get the owl inside before anyone in the distinctly Muggle neighbourhood noticed, but the wall had wedged the window closed.

“Oh, for Merlin's sake!” She decided enough was enough, and vanished the wall to reveal a half-dressed Severus Snape sitting on the bed with his mouth hanging open in surprise.

Hermione was too annoyed to savour the sight – why had she ever thought he was unhealthily skinny? – or properly treasure his dumbfounded expression.

She pulled in the surprised owl and detached the letter that came with it. Entirely unsurprisingly, it was addressed to her in Severus' unmistakeable scrawl.

“We are on a bloody case! Whatever petty vendetta you may be pursuing because you somehow figured out I'm in lo – have feelings for – whatever about you, I would have thought you'd be too professional to send me an owl when I'm in the room next door! What is wrong with you?”

Her chest was heaving with righteous anger, and she could feel the tips of her hair rising in the air.

“Let's see what's so bloody important, shall we?”

Snape was too busy pulling his duvet up to his shoulder to defend himself, or else he knew a futile cause when he saw it (unlikely, based on past performance).

Dear Hermione, Hermione read out.

I fear I have deceived you. I was not in need of dried Lacewing flies (or, indeed, any other potion ingredients- it would be a poor Potions Master not to check his stocks before brewing). I merely did not wish the evening to end without hearing your voice, or indeed stealing a kiss. As it turned out, I was successful beyond my wildest dreams.

Tomorrow night I plan to run out of Armadillo Bile. Would seven o'clock be a convenient time?

Yours, always
Severus

“You have time to write this, and you've been too bloody busy to brief me properly on the case! I never thought you, of all people, would be so unprofessional!”

He had closed his mouth at last and recovered the ability to speak, albeit with a voice made gritty by sleep. “I did not write this letter, and I would have assumed its content would be sufficient to make that clear.”

Words failed Hermione. She pointed to the signature.

“It's easy to falsify –“

“Why? Why would anyone even bother? Don't you think they would employ their considerable skills to deplete your bank account rather than tormenting your colleague?”

He didn't seem to have any more answers than she did, which rather proved the point.

Hermione remembered the subject of her latest non-work related research. At least she would be able to shut him up about not being the letter writer. “Redderno mittentis!”

Severus flinched slightly at having her wand pointed at him, while the offending letter fluttered uncertainly before settling back in her hand.

“Happy?” he asked.

“No.” Hermione frowned. “I know I have the spell right, because I tested it on a letter from Ron. I don't understand why it's not working...”

“An uninformed observer may jump to the conclusion that it is not the spell but its object that is at fault.” He had found a jumper somewhere, and emerged from under the duvet as it made its way down his chest.

“Read this. And this.” She picked up the first letter of the day from the floor. “Then tell me that it doesn't sound like something you may write in – in a different world.”

Severus stiffened as he read the first letter, but turned the page over to continue to the very end. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand for the second one.

Hermione watched him read it with an undecipherable quirk to his mouth, until he reached the scrawled signature.

His eyes seemed glued to the page, as he dwelled on it far longer than the brief paragraphs merited.

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red, as she remembered that he had not been the author of the last few months' missiles. The prospect of writing love letters to her, of all people, clearly did not sit easily with him.

“Like something you would write to a different woman,” she hastened to add.

“I think you are the only potential Dark Lady among my acquaintance.” He was clearly not intending to discuss the second letter, then.

“We're not discussing the recipient. I have received a number of letters, all of which could plausibly have been written by you. In earnest, not just to annoy me.”

Severus finally looked up from his scrutiny of the second letter. “Why would I write a letter to annoy you?”

“When you can do it so much more efficiently in person, you mean?”

“You are my colleague. I flatter myself that I do not make a habit of aggravating the people I work with.” There was a certain dignity to his statement. Someone who did not know him as well as Hermione may well have been fooled.

She coughed meaningfully. “The ginger incident? Also, I seem to recall a few incidents with Gilderoy Lockhart and Dolores Umbridge...”

“Competent colleagues. And you can hardly blame me for retaliating.” His cheeks turned disconcertingly pink as he admitted that she met the barest minimum of his exacting standards, and Hermione wondered again how he had ended up with his mysterious partner.

“That's what I thought you were doing,” she explained, still caught up in her musings. “When I read the note to your partner that was delivered to my office - “

“What?”

“You must remember – that was the day Cartwright made us sit through a three-hour meeting, accounting for every last Galleon spent year to date.”

He groaned. “It was almost on par with a Hogwarts staff meeting in the bad old days.”

Hermione didn't dare ask which days that had been – there were so many to choose between.

“I just gave the note to you, but when the letters started coming I thought you –“ She searched for a polite way to put 'being a curmudgeonly bastard'? “– had taken offence at me reading your private correspondence.”

“What private correspondence?”

Oh, for Merlin's sake. “To your partner. I think you were complaining about a cat – it was a very short note.”

She didn't remind him he had called her – or him – 'Dearest'. Despite being hardened by the subsequent letters, she would always remember the shock of seeing Severus' heart boldly opened on a piece of parchment.

“You are my partner.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “At work. Your – your spouse, then. Girlfriend. Or boyfriend, of course,” she hastened to add.

“I do not have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter,” Severus replied, enunciating each word as if he dared it to sully his tongue ever again.

Hermione had been so preoccupied with her need to show there was nothing amiss with either option that she had not stopped to consider Severus rather would cut his left arm off than use the same terms as his erstwhile students to refer to his beloved.

“Whatever you call them, then. Perhaps we can get back to the problem at hand –”

“I do not have a significant other, which makes this note the first letter of doubtful provenance. How was it delivered?”

She bit her lip, trying to remember. “I found it on the floor in my office – I thought you had dropped it there. Do you still have it?”

“A note about a cat? I doubt it.”

They looked at each other.

“Do you think it's a coincidence?” Hermione asked. “Perhaps you had better tell me about the case now.”

“Perhaps we ought to get dressed first,” Severus said, looking pointedly at Hermione's dressing gown. She belatedly remembered it happened to be made of pink fleece with kittens printed at the hem.

The wall reappeared so fast he barely had time to step backwards before it hit his nose.