Chapter 1

She sat tapping her quill on the side of her desk unconsciously. One hand rested under her chin, her thoughts once again, wandering from her homework. The common room was scarce of students, as it was half past midnight. She was alone, except for the occasional couple sitting in small, isolated places. The giggles from the female Gryffindors echoed every once in awhile and the crack and pop of the fire blazing in the fire place was the only other sound.

Hermione thought back to the days events and dissected every little word, every look. She knew it was hopeless and she knew it would cost her, her friendships and her respect, but she could not help it any more than a Niffler can help looking for gold.

Her chest tightened as she thought of him. His looks, his voice, even wondered what he was doing right then. Was he alone? Was he sad? Was he lonely? Or perhaps he was exercising that brilliant mind of his and creating a new potion that would change the Wizarding World forever.

Hermione was in love with her Potions Professor.

She snorted to herself and frowned. Not in love, it was just a crush. And it would play out, no one need to know of it. For now, it was her secret. Her secret that she kept hidden away from everyone and never had any intention on acting on it. It was just fun to think about. To pull herself away from the boring day to day life.

There it was again. That tickling sensation Severus Snape got every evening. Some strong emotion, was coursing like water in a river. The strength of it nearly left him breathless the first time he felt it. Now, he was becoming accustomed to it.

He sat at his desk grading papers from the group of dunderheads that filled the second year class. No one ever grasped the concept for the use of Boomslang and it properties. It really wasn't that hard. Merlin's beard! It was in the text book!

Severus sat back and closed his eyes. From somewhere, a warmth flushed through him that filled the empty chambers of his heart like light in the darkness. Whatever it was, it had become a source of comfort to him. The lonely evenings spent grading papers and dabbling, a bit liberally, in the Firewhiskey have become but a preamble to this emotion. Tonight, he decided, he would let it consume him.

He stretched his arms over his head and rested them on the back of his neck. He sighed.