Fandom: Harry Potter
Note: English's not my native tongue.
Note 2: The first installment in a possible series. PG for now but could be NC17 at the end.
Like ever, she raised her hand so hard and so straight she looked like she wanted to touch the ceiling. He had an inner sight. Of course she knew the answer. She always knew the answer. Had she been a Slytherin she would have been her favorite pupil for the very first day. But she was a Gryffindor and more, she was Harry Potter's friend. Even perhaps girlfriend, or would-be girlfriend, and that Professor Snape couldn't bear it.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" he allowed her to speak in a weary tone.
He barely listened when she spoke the right ingredients of the potion. Through his half-closed eyes he was watching her. Even in her school uniform she was beautiful. He remembered her the first time he saw her. She was a little girl at that time, an annoying little girl with her hand raised straight and hard, eager to give him the right answer, to show him she had learned her lesson, like the good little girl she was. He had found her irritating. He didn't like too good students, students too earger to please their teachers. Besides he had been warned by public rumor and Drago Malfoy she was Potter's friend and for that only he had disliked her. Now, six years later, he had to admit he couldn't claim that anymore.
He remembered the ball day two years ago when he had seen her in that incredible pink dress, her bushy hair nicely done, her pretty face barely covered by make-up or at least he tought this was make-up. The annoying little girl had turned into a beautiful young lady and he would have killed to make her waltz. Even before he had noticed how smart she was. She was a brain. She was challenging. Sometimes he wondered how it would be to take her as his personal pupil like he had done sometimes with very promising students. He would have done it with Drago Malfoy if the boy hadn't been so antipathic and full of himself that he couldn't bear him. Besides Malfoy wasn't that brilliant. Hermione - Miss Granger, was. For a while now, if she still read a lot of books, she had taken confidence in her own skills and she had begun to do magic all by herself. He knew that and he would have like to guide her. To guide her brilliant mind.
But he would never dare to offer that to her. He knew she hated him, passionately because he disliked Potter and because, as well, very little students liked him. He was respected for his skills and feared for his mood but not loved like Dumbledore or even Iris. He would never expose himself to Miss Granger's disdain by offering her private lessons. Besides he wondered how he would handle to stay alone with her for hours. He imagined them in his office, breathing her perfume, listening to her voice, looking at her lovely face. He would soon forget his age and hers, his status and her and take her in a passionate kiss.
He wondered if she had been kissed. Of course she had been! She was a young woman now.
Professor Snape was aware he was teaching his students the right ingredients of a potion but he couldn't tell for a life saving what he was talking about. He was only aware of Miss Granger's eyes on him. Even if she disliked him, she was listening to his teachings. At least, he was a valuable teacher to her eyes.
Hermione's eyes were wide open and attentive and she was taking notes about the potion but she couldn't tell what Snape was talking about. She was just listening to his deep, silky voice and was looking at his seducing face rather than really paying attention to his words. He could have read the phone book she would still be listening. Hermione caught herself back. She couldn't allow herself to daydream like that in the middle of a class. She would die of shame. She remembered the precise day she had begun to think about Professor Snape like a man, not only a teacher she didn't like very much and feared a lot. It was the night after the ball. She was asleep and she was dreaming. In her dream she was waltzing with professor Snape and then, he kissed her. She woke up at that very moment, her lips still tasting Snape's mouth on hers. Her heart was beating randomly hard in her young chest and she had called herself a fool. Professor Snape was her teacher, a man old enough to be her father, a Slytherin and Harry's personal enemy. He was even perhaps a You-Know-Who follower.
Only Hermione's heart wasn't as disciplined as her mind and she had begun to dream about Professor Snape and not only during the nights. She was now eager for his class hours and she was more attentive than ever. He was brilliant. He was irritating, often showing disdain, but he was so brilliant that she could forgive him his everlasting sarcastic mood. If only he could make clear he wasn't a deatheater anymore! If only she could trust him like she trusted Dumbledore! But Professor Snape wasn't very talkative and nobody could tell for sure what he was thinking. He was very secretive, something Hermione thought it added to the mystery. She liked his dark mood. She liked the way he looked so little impressed by everything. She remembered the day, years ago when he had put himself between her and the werewolf.
Her eyes wide-opened she daydreamed that they were alone in his office. For one reason or another he had offered her private lessons because he thought she was brilliant enough to deserve his attention. He has teaching her something hard and she couldn't wave her wand the correct way. With a sight, he came behind her, took her wrist in his hand and showed her the right move. She turned by him and suddenly he kissed her. Hermione wondered how it would be to be kissed by Severus Snape. Each time she thought about that she shivered. She imagined his sensuous mouth on her, his tongue playing with her...
Hermione stopped dead. Alarms were ringing in her head and she was brutally out of her reverie by the object of her reverie himself.
"Well, Miss Granger, are you with us?" Snape snapped in his usual, dry tone.
"Yes, Sir," Hermione said automatically.
"Then perhaps you would like to take a parchment and write down what I asked you to do," Snape kept on in his usual low, deep voice, prelude to detention calls.
Hermione became aware everybody had taken a sheet of paper and was writing down furiously. She took a piece of parchment and her quill, totally lost. She looked at Harry.
"The ingredients of the potion," he told her in a whisper.
Luckily, part of Hermione's brain had actually listened to Professor Snape's teaching and she began to write down the ingredients, aware that her hand was slightly shaking. She was surprised Snape hadn't taken ten points out of Gryffindor for her lack of attention. When the bell rang she felt relieved. She waited for the other students to give the professor their copy before getting up and doing the same.
As always her heart was beating hard in her chest as she approached him. She handed him her copy and then, unexpectedly, their fingers brushed. It was barely a feather stroke, barely one split second but their skin entered in contact. Hermione bit her tongue hard, feeling blood rushing to her face. She fled away before blushing to the root of her hair but Snape's voice caught her back.
She faced him again, aware that they were now alone in the deserted room.
"Is something bothering you, Miss Granger? You looked disturbed," Professor Snape asked in such an unusual, gentle way that her eyes widened despite her.
"No Sir. Nothing is bothering me," she answered, her mouth dry.
Professor Snape nodded then motioned her to go. She obeyed, feeling like a robot. What the hell was going on? Professor Snape had asked her if she had a problem, apparently willing to help her. Or something like that. It was so unlike him Hermione wondered what he had on his mind. But when she left the room she had a big smile on her face.
Snape looked at Hermione's copy. It was perfect as usual, even if her writing was a bit unsure. He wondered about who she was thinking when he had interrupted her reverie. Probably a young man. He hoped it was no Potter. He looked at the class and noticed something black on Hermione's desk. It was a ribbon she used to tame her rebellious hair. He looked around him then took it and pocketed it, aware of the ridiculous situation.
Hermione was walking in the corridor, trying to answere to Ron's questions about the interrogation. He had messed up the formula and was spitting against Snape. Harry was silent. Hermione was far away. She thought about the second their fingers had brushed. She had felt like an electric current in her whole body. And what if... but no! It couldn't be. Never such a man as Professor Snape would look at her in a romantic way.
Never Hermione - Miss Granger, would look at him in a romantic way, Snape sighed. For he was too old, too moody, too... he wasn't Harry Potter. He wasn't that stupid Quidditch player. He was only a teacher she would forget with relief as soon as she would have left Hogwarts.