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kiertorata
Recipient:maraudersaffair
Title: Caffeinated Adventures in Curved Spacetime
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2448
Summary: When Pansy joins the department, Hermione decides she will have to be decent towards her if for no other reason than to stop another woman in academia from being reduced to a coffee fetcher.
Author's Notes: Dearmaraudersaffair, I used your prompts "professors" and "unusual careers", "pining" and "first kiss", I hope you like this! I threw in another of your pairings in the mix. Thank you to N & L for your superb beta reading and ideas! All remaining mistakes are mine.
Caffeinated Adventures in Curved Spacetime
Professor Smith, uncle of Zacharias Smith and Head of the Subdepartment, dunked another chocolate wafer into his tea and stroked his beard in what he considered to be a thoughtful manner.
“I think we have our applicant,” he said. “She’s more than qualified, and her letter of recommendation exceeds that of any other applicant. Although I suppose we’ll have to check up on this French Arithmancer fellow.”
Looks like she’d have a good pair of legs on her, too, he almost added, before remembering that in addition to his many old colleagues-turned-friends, he was also in the company of Professor Granger, who was a feminist and rather unattractively vocal about it too.
Hermione took the application, carefully avoiding any contact with his hand, and suppressed the way his lecherous gaze made her feel.
The application looked in order. Among was misspelled twice, which made Hermione twitch involuntary, and the language was a little sloppy overall. But she had learned from working with the top Arithmancy experts in the country that intelligence wasn’t always paired with impeccable grammar.
Scanning through lines describing her assistant experience, good marks in Master’s courses and an eagerness to learn more, Hermione nodded to herself. It seemed that Professor Smith had not only picked a pretty face. She kept reading until she reached the bottom line, and almost spurted out her afternoon dose of caffeine.
“Professor Granger, I assume you approve?” Smith said, and, in a greasy attempt to appear progressive, added, “It will be refreshing to have more witches on the team.”
*
Sincerely, Pansy Parkinson haunted Hermione for the rest of the afternoon.
She was particularly distracted by the imprint of the magical CV photo in her mind: the short, styled hair, the lips quirked ever-so-slightly into a boyish smile, the intelligent gleam in her eye. Familiar, yet completely unfamiliar, as if her schoolgirlish pugness had been replaced by a bulldog. Arithmetic Models and Theory, Department of Mysteries, was the last place Hermione ever thought she’d run into those features, and to her annoyance, her iron-strong focus on proofs, theorems and spacetime had to subside in the way of idle flashbacks.
From her front-row spot in the Arithmancy classroom at Hogwarts, she had seldom had to acknowledge the other students in the class. But Hermione could still remember Pansy – like a stain in the back of her memory – occupying the back row, painting her nails and never raising her hand when Professor Vector asked a question, and instead dropping her little pearls of insults when no-one cared to hear them.
She had been less insufferable in Arithmancy than in their other classes due to the lack of the usual flock of lackeys. Hermione had always wondered what she was doing there; she had put it down to Arithmancy being the class that required the least reading.
But apparently, Pansy Parkinson was an Arithmancy student now – an Arithmancy Master, Hermione corrected herself – unless she had forged her certificate, which Hermione didn’t put past her. No—she couldn’t – she wouldn’t – fall in league with the many sexist fossils of the department. For all she knew, Parkinson was completely competent in her field of study. Sighing, Hermione decided that she would try to be decent towards Pansy Parkinson if for no other reason than to stop another woman in academia from being reduced to a coffee fetcher.
*
A week later, Pansy marched into her office with two cups of coffee and a level of self-irony Hermione didn’t expect.
She interrupted her nose-deep in her research papers, and Hermione corrected her posture hastily to take in the sight of her: short hair pulled back in a styled mess, a black polo jumper and dark-gray trousers with suspenders. Hermione’s little queer heart nearly had a heart-attack.
“I’m doing my rounds. I suppose that means saying ‘hi’ to you too, Professor,” Pansy drawled, not unpleasantly. “It’s weird calling you professor, isn’t it? Professor Granger,” she said again, as if tasting the word.
Why? Hermione almost retorted, the familiar backlash rising against their old dynamic. But Pansy continued, with a small bark of laughter, “Since I’m nothing but a lowly Junior Arithmancer. You never take your time getting things done, do you? Eleven published papers at the age of twenty-two. And that’s after ye good old days of male geniuses who used to have a house of servants – including their wife – taking care of everything else for them.”
Hermione sat awkwardly under her praise, not knowing how to interpret their interaction. The new Pansy Parkinson was still snarky, but somehow changed. She said, instead, “So, what brings you here then, Pansy?”
She eyed the two coffees in Pansy’s hands and her heart sank a little. Despite her witty comment, Pansy had probably been on the way to Professor Smith’s or somewhere else, ready to slither her way up the social ladder of the department.
“Do you want the long or the short story?” Pansy said. She leaned against the doorframe in casual coolness. “Escaped post-war Britain to go to a magical business school abroad. Learned a few things about myself, politics, and basic human decency. Although, I’m still working on the last one.” She looked past Hermione now, at the stack of books on her desk. Her voice was steady, but she seemed tense. “Went from Business school dropout to Arithmancy major when I realized that the only part of Economics I liked was the numbers. And now I’m here.”
She turned her gaze back to Hermione, looking a little uncomfortable. “Sorry for being such a prick towards you and your friends at school.”
It came out rushed but felt sincere. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if the reason Pansy has been such a strange mixture of prickly and nice until now had been because she’s had been waiting to get it out.
“Forgiven,” she said. She couldn’t think of anything to add.
“Oh, this was for you,” Pansy said, and reached out with one of the disposable cups. “You might want to cast a Warming Charm on it.”
She stood around awkwardly and put her free hand into the pocket of her mesmerizing trousers and watched Hermione.
“I usually take my own cup to the cafeteria,” Hermione said, “to reduce waste.”
She didn’t know what to think. Just when she had started to warm up to Pansy, the whole interaction felt strange.
“Noted,” Pansy said with a nod, before turning on her heels and leaving the room.
Once by herself, Hermione gave the coffee one sniff of suspicion before losing herself in the velvety caramel taste. Her parents would disapprove, but it was a damn truth universally acknowledged, that Arithmancy research ran on money, caffeine and sugar.
*
“I just don’t understand her! We were the opposite of friends at school, and now it seems that she’s trying to befriend me. Today, she came into my office to ask my opinion on the effects of Magico-Wave-Fields on gravity, and we talked for at least twenty minutes without fighting. And the other day, she brought me coffee. Coffee! It was the fancy kind too, of course it would be, with her incessant need to let everyone know she has money.”
Percy watched her shut his office door and stop to catch her breath.
“—Namunyak and Franco are bringing on the pressure from both sides of the Puddlemere goal posts. Can Wood handle this fearsome Beater-Chaser duo? The Bludger misses him by the width of a hair, and Wood—”
“What is this nonsense you’re listening to? You don’t even care about Quidditch,” Hermione said. Heat rushed into Percy’s ears, and he turned off the wireless silently.
“She didn’t bring me any coffee,” he said as a way to distract her. It wasn’t hard: mentioning Parkinson seemed to set her off in a monologue that rivaled with her best Arithmancy speeches.
Hermione was his closest colleague; an unlikely friend and ally among the many stuffy and close-minded Ministry employees, and the only person genuinely interested in his research topics. Percy’s disastrous career at the Ministry had led him to descend the endless marble floors into the subdepartment that suited him most: Experimental Cauldron Materials. Full circle from his first ever Ministry job as cauldron bottom thickness standardizer extraordinaire.
“Well that’s even worse. It means she’s selective about it. Perhaps she doesn’t think Weasley’s are worth the trouble,” Hermione continued, completely missing his eye-roll.
“Of maybe she knows I’m a tea drinker. Or maybe it’s just her way of apology.”
“A cup of coffee doesn’t make up for years of ridicule,” Hermione said. But she seemed rather pleased nonetheless.
“So, are you here, because you needed to vent about Parkinson, or did you actually need me for something?” Percy asked. He stretched his arms, trying to release some tension from his body. He had been in the long process of analyzing the most recent samples from the lab, although for the past half-hour, his attention had been mostly absorbed by his… guilty pleasure.
“Actually, I came to ask you for lunch.”
But even as they approached the cafeteria, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop talking about Pansy.
“She’s sitting alone. Do you think we should sit with her? I bet she’s put her bag on the seat next to her so that no-one would sit there. Well, I’m not sitting with her,” Hermione said. But despite her affirmation, she seemed to be gravitating towards Pansy’s table, as if space itself was warped in her direction.
“I’ll sit with you both as soon as you finally admit she’s radiating sexual energy at you and stop complaining,” Percy muttered. Hermione glared at him, but at least had the decency to blush.
*
A month later, it appeared that Percy had been very much right in his observation. Pansy was radiating sexual energy at her. It arrived through her office doors at odd hours, from across the cafeteria table in unexpectedly long, meaningful glances, and sometimes even in the form of little notes signed with a heart, piercing Hermione’s whole body at an unbearable flux.
And the worst part? Hermione was really starting to like her.
It was getting so bad it was taking a toll on her creative ability. She had felt her sense of ----- wither recently;
She startled as she heard a small rattle from her office door.
“It’s open!” she said.
Pansy slipped in like a shadow; the late gloom of the hall followed at her heels. The light of Hermione’s desk lamp wrapped her into a warm glow, and Hermione’s breath stopped for a second in appreciation of the light reflecting off her sharp features.
“Care for an evening coffee?” Pansy said. “It’s decaf,” she added, as if she had known Hermione was about to refuse.
“Is it mocha?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, with an extra shot of chocolate syrup and some whipped cream.”
Pansy took the extra office chair and wheeled herself close, close enough that their legs were touching. She passed the cup, and their hands lingered on each other for a moment; it was one of Pansy’s Arithmancy joke mugs she had brought to the office (saying “Arithmancers do it better”).
Hermione drew in a long breath and closed her eyes, letting the divine smell of coffee and chocolate soothe her after a long day. She opened them again to Pansy watching her, a thoughtful expression on her face. She looked like she was about to say something significant, but when she opened her mouth, it was just work talk.
“I’ve been trying to put together the lesson plans for next week, but I’m on my last nerve. Argh... Who knew people at the International Magical Trading Standards Body could be so annoying?” she said. “I may exude the patience of a Demiguise under normal circumstances, but these trainees make me want to rip out my hair.”
“Or disappear like a Demiguise,” Hermione said.
“I wish I could make them disappear,” Pansy said with a pout that Hermione found adorable.
“We tend to give the Ministry Arithmancy trainings for the new recruits to handle,” Hermione said a little apologetically. “I’ve been there too. It’s always a little disheartening to realize that most of the witches and wizards making the financial decisions of this country are incredibly thick.”
“No chance you’ll still go into politics and save us from this mess? We need more people with sense in positions of power.”
“Is Pansy Parkinson finally admitting I have sense?” Hermione said, giving Pansy her best smirk.
“Only so that I can get you out of my way and get your professorship,” Pansy said. She held a serious face for a moment, but it fell when she caught Hermione’s eye.
Their banter had become more outrageous in recent days, as if they were testing each others’ boundaries. Luckily by this point, Pansy had proven time and time again that she respected Hermione’s skills as a professional, and Hermione knew she was kidding.
“Hey, if I left the department, we’d stop receiving funding altogether. I write articles for top-class journals – unlike some people,” Hermione said.
“Touché,” Pansy said and laughed softly. “Anyway, I need you here.”
“You do?” Hermione said, a little breathless. Did she imagine it, or had Pansy just pressed closer to her?
“Yeah. I’ve started to grow fond of you,” Pansy said, flashing her a lopsided smile. She raised her hand to brush a lock of Hermione’s hair off her face.
Kiss her, every nerve in Hermione’s body in her screamed. Just kiss her finally!
But she didn’t have to. Because at that very moment she started to lean in towards Pansy, Pansy leaned closer, allowing weeks worth of sexual tension to explode between them in a mind-blowing kiss.
*
At the same time, unaware of the lucky scene happening mere feet from his office, Professor Smith poured over his notes concerning Discrete-Continuous Dual Spaces.
He Accioed himself a late-night coffee from the break room, and as a pleasant afterthought, summoned the package of oatmeal biscuits he knew was hiding behind the outdated lemon tea in the tea cupboard.
It was sometimes sad to think that he had nothing better to do on a Friday evening than work on his research, but alas, the path of a scientist was a lonely one. But, while there was perhaps no-one to go home to, at least he could always have a date with the magnificent curves of his one true love, the Arithmetic majesty that was spacetime.
kiertorata Recipient:
maraudersaffairTitle: Caffeinated Adventures in Curved Spacetime
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2448
Summary: When Pansy joins the department, Hermione decides she will have to be decent towards her if for no other reason than to stop another woman in academia from being reduced to a coffee fetcher.
Author's Notes: Dear
maraudersaffair, I used your prompts "professors" and "unusual careers", "pining" and "first kiss", I hope you like this! I threw in another of your pairings in the mix. Thank you to N & L for your superb beta reading and ideas! All remaining mistakes are mine.Caffeinated Adventures in Curved Spacetime
Professor Smith, uncle of Zacharias Smith and Head of the Subdepartment, dunked another chocolate wafer into his tea and stroked his beard in what he considered to be a thoughtful manner.
“I think we have our applicant,” he said. “She’s more than qualified, and her letter of recommendation exceeds that of any other applicant. Although I suppose we’ll have to check up on this French Arithmancer fellow.”
Looks like she’d have a good pair of legs on her, too, he almost added, before remembering that in addition to his many old colleagues-turned-friends, he was also in the company of Professor Granger, who was a feminist and rather unattractively vocal about it too.
Hermione took the application, carefully avoiding any contact with his hand, and suppressed the way his lecherous gaze made her feel.
The application looked in order. Among was misspelled twice, which made Hermione twitch involuntary, and the language was a little sloppy overall. But she had learned from working with the top Arithmancy experts in the country that intelligence wasn’t always paired with impeccable grammar.
Scanning through lines describing her assistant experience, good marks in Master’s courses and an eagerness to learn more, Hermione nodded to herself. It seemed that Professor Smith had not only picked a pretty face. She kept reading until she reached the bottom line, and almost spurted out her afternoon dose of caffeine.
“Professor Granger, I assume you approve?” Smith said, and, in a greasy attempt to appear progressive, added, “It will be refreshing to have more witches on the team.”
*
Sincerely, Pansy Parkinson haunted Hermione for the rest of the afternoon.
She was particularly distracted by the imprint of the magical CV photo in her mind: the short, styled hair, the lips quirked ever-so-slightly into a boyish smile, the intelligent gleam in her eye. Familiar, yet completely unfamiliar, as if her schoolgirlish pugness had been replaced by a bulldog. Arithmetic Models and Theory, Department of Mysteries, was the last place Hermione ever thought she’d run into those features, and to her annoyance, her iron-strong focus on proofs, theorems and spacetime had to subside in the way of idle flashbacks.
From her front-row spot in the Arithmancy classroom at Hogwarts, she had seldom had to acknowledge the other students in the class. But Hermione could still remember Pansy – like a stain in the back of her memory – occupying the back row, painting her nails and never raising her hand when Professor Vector asked a question, and instead dropping her little pearls of insults when no-one cared to hear them.
She had been less insufferable in Arithmancy than in their other classes due to the lack of the usual flock of lackeys. Hermione had always wondered what she was doing there; she had put it down to Arithmancy being the class that required the least reading.
But apparently, Pansy Parkinson was an Arithmancy student now – an Arithmancy Master, Hermione corrected herself – unless she had forged her certificate, which Hermione didn’t put past her. No—she couldn’t – she wouldn’t – fall in league with the many sexist fossils of the department. For all she knew, Parkinson was completely competent in her field of study. Sighing, Hermione decided that she would try to be decent towards Pansy Parkinson if for no other reason than to stop another woman in academia from being reduced to a coffee fetcher.
*
A week later, Pansy marched into her office with two cups of coffee and a level of self-irony Hermione didn’t expect.
She interrupted her nose-deep in her research papers, and Hermione corrected her posture hastily to take in the sight of her: short hair pulled back in a styled mess, a black polo jumper and dark-gray trousers with suspenders. Hermione’s little queer heart nearly had a heart-attack.
“I’m doing my rounds. I suppose that means saying ‘hi’ to you too, Professor,” Pansy drawled, not unpleasantly. “It’s weird calling you professor, isn’t it? Professor Granger,” she said again, as if tasting the word.
Why? Hermione almost retorted, the familiar backlash rising against their old dynamic. But Pansy continued, with a small bark of laughter, “Since I’m nothing but a lowly Junior Arithmancer. You never take your time getting things done, do you? Eleven published papers at the age of twenty-two. And that’s after ye good old days of male geniuses who used to have a house of servants – including their wife – taking care of everything else for them.”
Hermione sat awkwardly under her praise, not knowing how to interpret their interaction. The new Pansy Parkinson was still snarky, but somehow changed. She said, instead, “So, what brings you here then, Pansy?”
She eyed the two coffees in Pansy’s hands and her heart sank a little. Despite her witty comment, Pansy had probably been on the way to Professor Smith’s or somewhere else, ready to slither her way up the social ladder of the department.
“Do you want the long or the short story?” Pansy said. She leaned against the doorframe in casual coolness. “Escaped post-war Britain to go to a magical business school abroad. Learned a few things about myself, politics, and basic human decency. Although, I’m still working on the last one.” She looked past Hermione now, at the stack of books on her desk. Her voice was steady, but she seemed tense. “Went from Business school dropout to Arithmancy major when I realized that the only part of Economics I liked was the numbers. And now I’m here.”
She turned her gaze back to Hermione, looking a little uncomfortable. “Sorry for being such a prick towards you and your friends at school.”
It came out rushed but felt sincere. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if the reason Pansy has been such a strange mixture of prickly and nice until now had been because she’s had been waiting to get it out.
“Forgiven,” she said. She couldn’t think of anything to add.
“Oh, this was for you,” Pansy said, and reached out with one of the disposable cups. “You might want to cast a Warming Charm on it.”
She stood around awkwardly and put her free hand into the pocket of her mesmerizing trousers and watched Hermione.
“I usually take my own cup to the cafeteria,” Hermione said, “to reduce waste.”
She didn’t know what to think. Just when she had started to warm up to Pansy, the whole interaction felt strange.
“Noted,” Pansy said with a nod, before turning on her heels and leaving the room.
Once by herself, Hermione gave the coffee one sniff of suspicion before losing herself in the velvety caramel taste. Her parents would disapprove, but it was a damn truth universally acknowledged, that Arithmancy research ran on money, caffeine and sugar.
*
“I just don’t understand her! We were the opposite of friends at school, and now it seems that she’s trying to befriend me. Today, she came into my office to ask my opinion on the effects of Magico-Wave-Fields on gravity, and we talked for at least twenty minutes without fighting. And the other day, she brought me coffee. Coffee! It was the fancy kind too, of course it would be, with her incessant need to let everyone know she has money.”
Percy watched her shut his office door and stop to catch her breath.
“—Namunyak and Franco are bringing on the pressure from both sides of the Puddlemere goal posts. Can Wood handle this fearsome Beater-Chaser duo? The Bludger misses him by the width of a hair, and Wood—”
“What is this nonsense you’re listening to? You don’t even care about Quidditch,” Hermione said. Heat rushed into Percy’s ears, and he turned off the wireless silently.
“She didn’t bring me any coffee,” he said as a way to distract her. It wasn’t hard: mentioning Parkinson seemed to set her off in a monologue that rivaled with her best Arithmancy speeches.
Hermione was his closest colleague; an unlikely friend and ally among the many stuffy and close-minded Ministry employees, and the only person genuinely interested in his research topics. Percy’s disastrous career at the Ministry had led him to descend the endless marble floors into the subdepartment that suited him most: Experimental Cauldron Materials. Full circle from his first ever Ministry job as cauldron bottom thickness standardizer extraordinaire.
“Well that’s even worse. It means she’s selective about it. Perhaps she doesn’t think Weasley’s are worth the trouble,” Hermione continued, completely missing his eye-roll.
“Of maybe she knows I’m a tea drinker. Or maybe it’s just her way of apology.”
“A cup of coffee doesn’t make up for years of ridicule,” Hermione said. But she seemed rather pleased nonetheless.
“So, are you here, because you needed to vent about Parkinson, or did you actually need me for something?” Percy asked. He stretched his arms, trying to release some tension from his body. He had been in the long process of analyzing the most recent samples from the lab, although for the past half-hour, his attention had been mostly absorbed by his… guilty pleasure.
“Actually, I came to ask you for lunch.”
But even as they approached the cafeteria, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop talking about Pansy.
“She’s sitting alone. Do you think we should sit with her? I bet she’s put her bag on the seat next to her so that no-one would sit there. Well, I’m not sitting with her,” Hermione said. But despite her affirmation, she seemed to be gravitating towards Pansy’s table, as if space itself was warped in her direction.
“I’ll sit with you both as soon as you finally admit she’s radiating sexual energy at you and stop complaining,” Percy muttered. Hermione glared at him, but at least had the decency to blush.
*
A month later, it appeared that Percy had been very much right in his observation. Pansy was radiating sexual energy at her. It arrived through her office doors at odd hours, from across the cafeteria table in unexpectedly long, meaningful glances, and sometimes even in the form of little notes signed with a heart, piercing Hermione’s whole body at an unbearable flux.
And the worst part? Hermione was really starting to like her.
It was getting so bad it was taking a toll on her creative ability. She had felt her sense of ----- wither recently;
She startled as she heard a small rattle from her office door.
“It’s open!” she said.
Pansy slipped in like a shadow; the late gloom of the hall followed at her heels. The light of Hermione’s desk lamp wrapped her into a warm glow, and Hermione’s breath stopped for a second in appreciation of the light reflecting off her sharp features.
“Care for an evening coffee?” Pansy said. “It’s decaf,” she added, as if she had known Hermione was about to refuse.
“Is it mocha?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, with an extra shot of chocolate syrup and some whipped cream.”
Pansy took the extra office chair and wheeled herself close, close enough that their legs were touching. She passed the cup, and their hands lingered on each other for a moment; it was one of Pansy’s Arithmancy joke mugs she had brought to the office (saying “Arithmancers do it better”).
Hermione drew in a long breath and closed her eyes, letting the divine smell of coffee and chocolate soothe her after a long day. She opened them again to Pansy watching her, a thoughtful expression on her face. She looked like she was about to say something significant, but when she opened her mouth, it was just work talk.
“I’ve been trying to put together the lesson plans for next week, but I’m on my last nerve. Argh... Who knew people at the International Magical Trading Standards Body could be so annoying?” she said. “I may exude the patience of a Demiguise under normal circumstances, but these trainees make me want to rip out my hair.”
“Or disappear like a Demiguise,” Hermione said.
“I wish I could make them disappear,” Pansy said with a pout that Hermione found adorable.
“We tend to give the Ministry Arithmancy trainings for the new recruits to handle,” Hermione said a little apologetically. “I’ve been there too. It’s always a little disheartening to realize that most of the witches and wizards making the financial decisions of this country are incredibly thick.”
“No chance you’ll still go into politics and save us from this mess? We need more people with sense in positions of power.”
“Is Pansy Parkinson finally admitting I have sense?” Hermione said, giving Pansy her best smirk.
“Only so that I can get you out of my way and get your professorship,” Pansy said. She held a serious face for a moment, but it fell when she caught Hermione’s eye.
Their banter had become more outrageous in recent days, as if they were testing each others’ boundaries. Luckily by this point, Pansy had proven time and time again that she respected Hermione’s skills as a professional, and Hermione knew she was kidding.
“Hey, if I left the department, we’d stop receiving funding altogether. I write articles for top-class journals – unlike some people,” Hermione said.
“Touché,” Pansy said and laughed softly. “Anyway, I need you here.”
“You do?” Hermione said, a little breathless. Did she imagine it, or had Pansy just pressed closer to her?
“Yeah. I’ve started to grow fond of you,” Pansy said, flashing her a lopsided smile. She raised her hand to brush a lock of Hermione’s hair off her face.
Kiss her, every nerve in Hermione’s body in her screamed. Just kiss her finally!
But she didn’t have to. Because at that very moment she started to lean in towards Pansy, Pansy leaned closer, allowing weeks worth of sexual tension to explode between them in a mind-blowing kiss.
*
At the same time, unaware of the lucky scene happening mere feet from his office, Professor Smith poured over his notes concerning Discrete-Continuous Dual Spaces.
He Accioed himself a late-night coffee from the break room, and as a pleasant afterthought, summoned the package of oatmeal biscuits he knew was hiding behind the outdated lemon tea in the tea cupboard.
It was sometimes sad to think that he had nothing better to do on a Friday evening than work on his research, but alas, the path of a scientist was a lonely one. But, while there was perhaps no-one to go home to, at least he could always have a date with the magnificent curves of his one true love, the Arithmetic majesty that was spacetime.
