The Unbearable Tedium of Romance
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape
Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Soulmates, Accidental Voyeurism, Mild Sexual
Content, Snape is on the camping trip from hell, Severus Snape is So
Done
Language: English
Collections: All Eyes On Dramione, Good Potterhead Shit, one shots that make me
DRAMIONE MASTERPIECES
good!, Dramione to Read
🦁🐍
feel some typa way, fuel for dramione obsession, Best of DMHG,
, Complete, Oh God that was so
Stats: Published: 2021-02-15 Words: 4,594 Chapters: 1/1
The Unbearable Tedium of Romance
by smokybaltic
Summary
Severus Snape attempts to alleviate the indignity and aggravation of living in a tent with
Hermione Granger by throwing his godson into the breach.
Sometimes the solution is exponentially worse than the problem.
Notes
This story was written as part of Draco's Den's Scattegories challenge. The roll for this round
was 'wild' so I chose the letter S.
HP Character: Severus Snape
Spell: Silencio
Magical Item: Scrying mirror
Trope: Soulmates
Colour: Scarlet
Item from football game: Socks
Tourist attraction: Stonehenge
See the end of the work for more notes
Of the many indignities Severus Snape has suffered in his life, cohabitation with Hermione
Granger surely numbered amongst the most galling.
They are not properly flatmates of course; it was a hardship exasperated by the odium of
living in a magically extended tent, but ameliorated by the transience of the situation. In point
of fact, they were on an important and prestigious assignment as Unspeakables, making a
study of Stonehenge in the hopes of reviving its magical potential.
Severus imagined it would shock nary one of the hundreds of students he had taught over the
years that he did not feel teaching was his vocation. No longer in thrall to one master or
another, he had decided to indulge both his intellectual curiosity and desire for obscurity by
joining the Department of Mysteries; only to find himself a close colleague of one of the
most vexing students to have ever afflicted the complacency of his Hogwarts dungeon.
She still insisted on calling him Professor Snape while he persisted in referring to her as Miss
Granger, the familiarity of Hermione a horror beyond contemplation. Yet somehow this
acrimony, which ought to have been a source of friction in the office, was treated as some
sort of in joke. As if the notoriously surly double agent had a soft spot for the so-called
Golden Girl. He'd even once heard it referred to as adorable and couldn't have said who he'd
wanted to hex most at that moment, but the impulse was certainly strong. Some days it
seemed as though the entire department was operating under the misapprehension that he was
some sort of mentor or, more upsettingly, a father-figure to the curly haired ninny.
It was distressing, to say the least.
Yet, when they were a week into what would likely be their months-long assignment he
would have conceded she was not intolerable.
She had been quiet and tidy, competent in her warding, and purposeful in her use of time.
Their fieldwork was conducted late at night to avoid tourists, and during the day she pored
over texts and a scrying mirror. She fixed herself simple meals and always left their little
kitchen neat. What leisure time she took was spent reading or, he assumed, going out
walking. Aside from the rare topical consultation or the perfunctory pleasantry, he could've
blissfully maintained an illusion of relative solitude.
Then, she got comfortable.
He was still 'Professor' or 'sir', she was still tidy and diligent, but the chit blathered almost
nonstop. About her research, about other department undertakings, academic articles she’d
read, politics, Hogwarts, books, potions theory- she reminisced about living in a tent with
Potter .
His insults, at first veiled but now overt, did nothing to deter her. His lack of conversational
participation went unnoted. His finely honed scathing condescension, cold reserve, and huffy
derision were all for naught.
And then , she came to him for a favour.
She shifted about nervously at his elbow, quiet for once, as he calculated the previous
evening’s astrological alignment relative to the standing stones. Her fidgeting soon broke his
concentration however, and he set aside his quill to fix her with an imperious stare.
“I was hoping you might help me,” she blurted.
He raised an eyebrow disdainfully, "I should have thought parsing the ley lines would be well
within the scope of your own expertise."
"Oh, it is. This is actually about something personal," she began unbuttoning the cuff of her
left sleeve and stepped closer, "I've consulted healers and curse breakers about this, but I
hadn't thought to speak to a potions master and I know there's no one more qualified. Would
you mind taking a look?"
She held out her forearm, exposing the angry scarring of MUDBLOOD that had been carved
there. He took hold of her wrist and pulled her a bit closer to examine the scar. He’d never
seen it before.
"From the war?" he glanced up through a curtain of black hair.
"Bellatrix," Hermione confirmed, "She used a cursed blade."
"May I?" he lifted his wand.
"By all means."
He cast a series of diagnostic charms, a revealing charm, then a variation of a disillusionment
charm before settling back in his chair and tenting his fingers in contemplation. It was an
interesting challenge, and the war had certainly created a need for the advancement of
treatment for cursed scars, but he had no interest in entangling himself in the witch’s personal
affairs or, Merlin forbid, finding himself pulled into some sort of extracurricular
collaboration. The very last thing he needed was to incentivize further interaction.
An adage about crisis and opportunity came to mind as he considered the quandary. Yes, he
thought, this could be turned to advantage.
“I believe potioneering may offer a solution,” he said evenly, watching her expression lift and
already anticipating its fall, “But I hardly have time for indulging your vanity, Miss Granger.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s- I just-” she frowned, clearly marshalling her arguments.
He lifted a hand to stop her, “I am, however, overseeing an apprentice who is working toward
a mastery with a focus on experimental potions. He may be able to help and, as luck would
have it, he actually lives here in Wiltshire.”
“Really? That would be wonderful ,” she enthused, “This has felt like such a weight,
honestly, and I just- thank you. Who is this apprentice?”
He returned a thin smile, “My godson, Draco Malfoy.”
Her expression, a perfect blend of crestfallen and outraged, was one Severus would cherish.
He regretted it almost immediately.
Severus had anticipated open hostility, a brief foray into polite tolerance perhaps, followed by
a speedy and complete implosion of even basic civility. He had factored in probable damage
to property, perhaps the need of some minor healing decoctions, and almost certainly a liberal
use of silencio. The project would then swiftly flame out or go forward in frosty laconism.
He had expected an end to incessant nattering.
What he got was banter. Teasing. Flirting .
It was the return to supervising fifth years that he had never, ever wanted.
The three of them each had their own desk in the relatively small common area of the tent
and Draco had set up a makeshift brewing station as well. Severus didn’t mind his godson
periodically discussing the finer points of ingredients or methodology that he was exploring.
What he minded was being forced to be a spectator to relentless inanity.
He was afforded not even a moment of restorative quietude.
Draco walked in and surveyed the tent with an arched brow and curled lip, a perfect portrait
of aristocratic derision. "Well, Granger," he drawled, "This seems about right."
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a sardonic smile, "What? You answering a summons to
attend to my wishes? Yeah, something about that does feel right , doesn't it?"
"Never did have a particularly strong grip on reality, did you? Or has all that 'Golden Girl' rot
gone to your head? I suppose since I'm already here I could do you the kindness of helping to
get that ego back in check. To start with, please remember that I am deigning to grace your
hovel, and gratitude is due."
"Tsk tsk Malfoy, don't you know vanity is the weakness of an ambitious man? It exposes him
to scorn and derision.* Which- check and check .”
"Interesting that you'd chalk it up to vanity rather than pride,” he smirked, “I mean, I
understand why, but if you're already fixated on how devastatingly handsome I am then I'm
really not sure this arrangement is going to work out."
It was a meeting of outsized egos, which both sustained and instigated conflict between them.
"I didn't take you for such a narcissist," Draco taunted a few days later, not looking up from
taking notes.
"Wow, you know, that's the very first time I've heard that joke while working with a scrying
mirror," Hermione returned dryly.
"Hmmm fair. Sorry to disappoint, forgot I had such a discerning audience with such extensive
experience in being mocked."
"Oh no, carry on. It's rather validating to find my assessment of your wit was so accurate."
"Well in that case I should probably make some remark about how your so-called hair
requires you to spend an inordinate amount of time in front of a mirror."
"Because it's so immaculately styled you mean?" she touched her messy bun and tossed her
head to accentuate the curls that had fallen loose around her face, "Yes, I could see how you
would assume this would take considerable time."
Severus did himself the kindness of casting a muffiliato .
On an occasion when she sniped back at Draco’s own beloved hair, he took supreme offence.
"Hey! I might remind you I'm doing you a favour here," he groused.
"Doing me a favour?" she snorted, "Please. You're just Snape's bitch."
Severus had his limits. " Miss Granger, " he snapped.
"Sorry, Professor," Hermione stammered, looking positively mortified.
Draco, a fully grown man and the de facto head of two ancient and noble houses, snickered.
Severus rubbed his temples.
Indeed, all Severus’ old indicators of stress, mostly dormant since leaving Hogwarts, were
returning to him- rubbing his temples, pinching the bridge of his nose, a permanently
clenched jaw.
A particularly tiresome exercise he was forced to endure was the numerous irritating
iterations of their muggle versus wizarding world debate.
It began with healing practices, then diversified to topics such as alcohol, fiction, and
government. It was when they hit on music however that his quality of life truly suffered,
because here they saw fit to present evidence.
Draco queued up selections from The Weird Sisters, Ichabod Forsythe, and Glinda and the
Giddy Goblins. Hermione countered with Oasis, David Bowie, and Nina Simone. She tried to
bring The Beatles into it but that earned her record player a forceful silencio from Severus.
That band had been the checkmate argument in a similar debate he'd had with another
muggleborn witch many years ago, and he wasn’t prepared to revisit it.
And as if the banter, music, and involuntary trips down memory lane weren't enough, there
were juvenile antics to be endured as well.
Draco and Hermione began stealing each other's food, 'superior' quills, or other useless bric-
a-brac, which was inevitably followed by childish, implausible denials and tedious
bargaining.
They cast silly jinxes and hexes, trying to surreptitiously change each other’s hair colour or
height, or attempting to land critically timed Jelly-Legs or Drone jinxes. Biting jinxes
targeting near-to-hand books were another favourite.
Worse was the tussling that ensued when one claimed an allegedly coveted spot on the couch.
Severus quickly came to miss the banter and flirting however, when it was replaced by
sickeningly earnest confusion and angst, which he was confident even a first year could've
identified as a pedestrian crush .
It was about that time when he accepted self-sabotage was all too real and that he clearly held
some deep-seated belief that he deserved misery, because he'd effectively created his own
personal hell.
The only reasonable explanation was that the trauma of war had stunted their maturation
because everything about the situation screamed teenage angst. It was awkward in ways he
had thought beyond the reach of functional adults.
Their repartee became clumsy and frequently ended in stammering and stilted clarifications.
Compliments and deference were tentatively offered up, retracted, reiterated.
That’s not to say that they, in all their idiocy, didn’t provide him with some amusement.
On one occasion, Hermione, having worked late, overslept and wandered out of her sleeping
area bleary-eyed and clad only in a quidditch jersey and thigh-high socks. Draco’s eyes
nearly bugged out of his head at the sight and when Hermione realized he was there, her
expression was not dissimilar.
The pièce de résistance though was her turning to flee back to her quarters and Draco
catching sight of the name POTTER writ large in Gryffindor scarlet across her shoulders.
The unfortunate consequence of this, however, was days of Draco bringing profound shame
to Slytherin’s reputation for cunning with painfully obvious attempts to glean information
about the exact nature of her relationship with Harry. The two were, evidently, living together
at Grimmauld Place, a situation which required an excruciating amount of clarification.
Time felt as if it had slowed to a crawl as Severus' patience faced hourly tests of endurance.
Mercifully, after six weeks or so of work, Draco had produced a potion he thought would be
effective. He tested it on one of his own sectumsempra scars and while it didn’t erase the
gash entirely, it left the afflicted area only faintly paler than his natural skin tone.
Severus looked on as Hermione sat beside the brewing station, proffering her exposed
forearm with an easy trust that took him rather by surprise. The potion had thickened to a
honey-like salve and Draco carefully rubbed it over her scarring, muttering an incantation,
then watching anxiously as it absorbed into her flesh.
“It tingles,” Hermione furrowed her brow, studying her arm. “It-it kind of burns. Like a
stinging. Malfoy -” she hissed plaintively after a moment, looking up to him with fearful
eyes, tears threatening, “It burns, it’s really, really- it’s burning! Please- Malfoy !”
Indeed, MUDBLOOD now stood out more starkly than ever, an angry purplish red.
Draco looked utterly panicked. He cast a hasty and overly forceful aguamenti at her arm
before scrambling through the vials on his worktop, cursing liberally all the while, looking
for something to neutralize the salve. He applied Wiggenwald Potion and Murtlap Essence
topically and gave her a healing potion and calming draught to swallow.
After a frenzied few minutes the crisis had passed.
Hermione was fairly soaked from the aguamenti and staring down at the scar that now looked
as if it had been freshly carved. She bit her lip, “It’s fine, I’m alright now.”
Draco collapsed into his own chair, head in hands and elbows on knees, “ Fuck - I’m so sorry,
Granger. I never would have tried it if I thought it wouldn’t work. It should have worked.”
“Aside from creating a solution worse than the affliction, I would say this was a qualified
success,” Severus drawled.
Draco looked up at him disbelievingly.
“We’ve learned something, haven’t we? Most scars, like yours, are a result of injury,”
Severus expounded, “In Miss Granger’s case the scar itself was the point. What might that
tell us?”
Draco thought for a moment before hissing another low curse, “We need to expunge the
magic then heal it, not try to hide it. The streeler shell probably reacted badly with the curse
from the blade, and the incantation is all wrong.”
Draco began his revisions immediately, more determined than ever now that he had a failure
to compensate for. The incident also marked an unmistakable change in his behaviour toward
Hermione, as he suddenly seemed to feel the need to play nursemaid to the little witch.
When his day began before hers he’d leave a hot chocolate under stasis on her desk. He
brought her books from his library that he thought might be useful to her research.
It wasn’t uncommon now for him to fall asleep at his desk, refusing to call it a day before
she’d returned from her fieldwork. When she dozed off on the couch, he’d carefully draw a
blanket up to her shoulders and then just stare at her with a look somewhere between
confusion and concern until Severus would pointedly clear his throat.
Once, in the midst of an animated conversation, she grabbed his hand in her enthusiasm and
the man honest-to-Merlin blushed .
It wasn’t long before he was accompanying her on "walks" from which they would return
looking dishevelled and altogether far too pleased.
There were several occasions on which Severus, to his horror, bore involuntary witness to
cuddling . Hermione at least had the decency to try to hastily extricate herself when she
realized he took notice, but Draco evidently had no such qualms and was quietly insistent that
such transgressions carry on.
Severus, for his part, was fighting down the urge to shame and punish them, which was born
of long years as Head of House for Slytherin- as well as personal inclination. He settled
instead for reassuring himself that the natural end to such an aberrative pattern of behaviour
must surely be nigh. In his present circumstances, he reasoned, his best course of action
would be to ignore it until it went away.
They did not make it easy.
On one night that would surely haunt him through to old age, he ventured out to double-
check his cadastral survey of the henge’s naturally occurring ward magic. As he stalked the
perimeter he caught sight of some movement. It was likely Hermione, but he cast a
disillusionment charm and proceeded with caution anyhow; muggles sometimes trespassed
and he didn’t fancy dealing with confounded teenagers this evening.
It wasn’t teenagers.
Instead, when he edged closer he was met with the stomach-churning sight of his godson and
his colleague rutting like animals in heat on one of the ruin’s low, broad stones. They were
evidently making liberal use of charms- cushioning, warming, and silencing.
Both were completely naked, looking eerie and pale in the moonlight like some ghost of a
profane ritual long past. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and her back was arching
off the stone as he drove into her. Her hands were clutching at his silvery head where it was
bent over her, his mouth on her breast, sucking and pulling at the nipple. His hips were
relentlessly rolling and snapping with a bestial celerity that had her mouth hanging open in a
silent scream.
Severus fled back to the tent with a speed he hadn’t mustered in years, pissed off and shook
up, grateful only that he hadn’t been seen.
He wasn’t as lucky the next time.
In perfect innocence, he had returned to the tent on a night not long after to find it empty. His
lip curled into a sneer as he contemplated what might have both Draco and Hermione out at
such an hour, but he put it from his mind. Setting his notebook and survey equipment on his
desk he made his way to the tent’s tiny loo, throwing the door open without a thought.
He met Draco’s eyes first.
Draco, who, with a wrought expression on his face, was leaning against the wall with one
hand braced on the towel rack and the other buried in Hermione’s hair.
Hermione, who was on her knees with Draco’s cock buried down her throat. Her gaze
swiveled up instinctively and met Severus'.
If either had their way after this, it would be the very last time they ever, ever made eye
contact.
He might have yelled something in surprise before he slammed the door shut and stormed out
of the tent, out past the wards, and apparated to the nearby town of Amesbury where he made
directly for the closest pub. He wasn’t usually one for such dramatics but his very last nerve
had just effectively been burned, beaten, and stabbed- the only thing to do for it now was
drown in it in alcohol.
The singular silver lining of the ordeal was the mortified reticence into which Hermione
retreated for days afterward.
Fortunately, it was only a couple weeks later when Draco had a new formula prepared and
ready to try. This time he had already conducted several tests and had a veritable
smorgasbord of healing potions at the ready.
Severus watched as he tentatively rubbed the bluish serum over her tattoo, letter by letter,
tense with waiting for her to cry or scream. But inch by inch the scars faded, the lines and
curves smoothing out and losing their colour until the last D seemed to melt away.
Severus smiled, proud of Draco’s advancement under his tutelage.
Hermione’s face lit up and she leapt from her chair, “Draco! You did it- this is- this is- thank
you! I can’t believe it.” Her hands were on his shoulders and she was looking up at him in a
way that had Severus offering up sincere prayers that Flitwick had been competent in his
teaching of silencing charms.
Draco looked deeply relieved and smiled down at the witch with open adoration. That is,
until his gaze wandered to the place her scar used to be and his expression unaccountably
gave way to agitation. He extricated himself from her embrace and rubbed at the back of his
neck, giving a forced laugh, "Gods, I'm so glad I didn't maim or disfigure you for once."
He began tidying his work station, packing away ingredients.
Hermione seemed a bit confused but was still happily examining her now unblemished arm.
It was only after ten of the quietest minutes the tent had seen in recent memory that she
seemed to grow concerned.
Severus had long since retreated to his own desk as she began to hover, peppering Draco with
questions as he dismantled his work station.
The tension in the tent was becoming palpable, even to the ardently disinterested Severus.
Finally, they exited the tent. Draco had carried out all his belongings and cleared away his
desk and workstation completely.
Severus kept his head down and resolutely ignored Hermione’s sniffling when she returned
alone a little while later. She curled up on the couch with a book and was asleep shortly
thereafter.
Severus had no idea what might have transpired between the two, and even less interest in
puzzling it out. The inexplicable devolution of their rapport had, however, prevented him
from analyzing the effect of the potion or discussing the results with Draco.
With Hermione soundly asleep he decided to venture a peek at the formerly afflicted forearm
that was now laying unconcealed at her side.
The skin was pinkish and raw looking, and a smattering of freckles had been exposed.
Severus stooped to get a closer look, searching for any shadow of the crude tattoo.
The letters were gone, but he could see now that thin scarlet lines traced delicate paths
between freckles in the place the scar had been.
He frowned and then sucked in a breath.
It was Draco . The constellation Draco.
It was subtle but undeniable.
This was old, old magic. Black family magic, no doubt. He had heard rumours about some of
the generational blood magic the pureblood families had dabbled in, but such things were
closely held secrets.
Famously, the Malfoys allegedly only ever produced one child because of the invocation of
such magic, but the child was always a male. The Shafiqs were said to have incurred an often
physically crippling blood curse to imbue their bloodline with a propensity for second sight.
The Blacks, Draco's maternal line, were said to have delved into such gray magic most
extensively of all- at the expense of their sanity.
This pattern on Hermione’s arm, if his estimation was correct, was a soulmark.
There was a tragic fairytale of sorts about a Vela Black who had found the pattern of the
constellation for which she was named over the heart of her lover after he'd been slain.
Severus shuddered even to imagine what sort of ritual had been performed generations and
generations ago to accomplish this, what the cost must have been.
It had likely appeared when she turned eighteen, not long before it was obscured by the
obscene tattoo.
Draco would have recognized it immediately.
So, evidently, had Bellatrix.
He knew directly and with absolute certainty that whatever followed this was going to be
deeply, deeply unpleasant. And, as always, he was right.
Severus would absolutely have exchanged all the banter, flirting, and earnest fawning he had
heretofore suffered for the pining he was currently enduring.
For the last two weeks he had regularly received owls from his godson, ostensibly about
potioneering, but all with painfully obvious 'indirect' inquiries after his cohabitant's welfare.
Meanwhile, Hermione kept a smooth little stone Draco had favoured pathetically clutched in
her hand as she listlessly went about her work. His previously tidy, diligent colleague now
lost track of her objective in the time between leaving her desk and walking to the bookshelf.
A simple scourgify after preparing a meal in the kitchen was apparently too much to ask.
Most worryingly of all, her nattering conversation seemed to be edging toward becoming
confessional in nature. Like she might expect him to engage in some sort of commiseration
over her love life .
Severus had endured many terrible things in his life, truly harrowing and painful experiences,
and he was not prepared to add this to that litany.
He chose the lesser of two evils: he went to see Draco.
He apparated to Malfoy Manor and, after getting direction from the house elf, stalked toward
Draco's potions lab with his ubiquitous black robes billowing.
He began without preamble, "She's your soulmate."
After Draco recovered himself from the shock of being crept up on and having his latest
deep, dark secret unceremoniously flung at him, he summoned up his well-worn mask of
indifference, "It doesn't matter. It won’t work."
"As I know from rather painful experience, you and the girl seem… amenable to one
another."
"It's not the same,” Draco shook his head, “It was one thing in the tent, where we were off on
our own with no one else knowing. But that mark- the soulmates thing- that's real. She won't
want me in the real world.”
“So dramatic.”
“I’m not . It was my fault that bloody scar was there in the first place."
"She’s your soulmate,” Severus repeated, his tone speaking both to his scorn for his godson’s
reasoning and his reluctance to delve further into the subject at hand.
"Maybe she was, once, before I cocked everything up. Now she deserves better," Draco’s
eyes turned down, "We'll have other lifetimes. I don't think it's meant to be, this time around."
“Salazar save me,” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, “Such piteous self-indulgence
ought to be beneath a Malfoy.”
Draco scoffed, "Just leave off- she's already living with Potter and he's wanted into her
knickers since at least fourth year. It’s only a matter of time before they get together. I'm sure
they'll be very happy, and the entire fucking world will rejoice; the Chosen One and the
Golden Girl, together at last."
Severus scowled, "Losing your witch to a Potter is not something I'd personally recommend."
He was loathe to impart advice drawn from his own experience. It felt like he and Draco were
perilously close to bonding or something.
Draco seemed to consider his words while Severus fixed his godson with an icy stare, willing
him to concede and bring this nauseating heart-to-heart to an end. What little patience he had
was rapidly dwindling.
“She is not stupid, Draco. The mark is on her arm - she’s going to notice, and it won’t take
her long to figure out its significance. If you have any inclination toward self-preservation, I
would suggest you broach the subject before that happens.”
Realization dawned and Draco’s face, previously a mosaic of petulance, uncertainty, and
resignation, was now fear all over.
Check and mate.
It was one year later that Severus was glowering down at his place setting as Draco offered
up a toast, “Please raise your glass to a real old softie, my godfather. If he weren’t such a
romantic then all you lovely guests joining us here today might be attending my funeral and
Hermione’s subsequent murder trial instead of our lovely wedding. To Severus Snape.”
End Notes
This one was a bit of a departure for me so I'd love to hear your thoughts!
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