This is a story with the coupling of Hermione/Severus Snape. The relationship takes place over the course of what would be Hermione's sixth and seventh years. It just popped into my head while I was in bed last night and it's continuing to nag at me. It's going to be separated into little drabbles.
"Professor," Hermione whispered, reaching out for the Potions Master's black cloaked arm. He jerked away from her touch and fixed her with a steely glare that would have normally sent her running for the hills. They were shut away inside of his office. Professor Snape had been giving Hermione Granger special lessons for reasons he wasn't even aware of, and tonight, after coming in late, he'd thrown a fit and chucked a bottle of firewhisky across the room.
"Professor," she tried again, this time managing to touch him. "Are you alright?"
"Do I look bloody alright to you, Miss Granger?" he snapped, and immediately regretted it. He wasn't angry with her, per se. He was angry with himself about her. About the way she looked. The way she smelled. The way she acted. The way she was. The way she was so tantalizing.
"I—I'm sorry." Her brown eyes flickered down and she realized she was still holding onto his arm, which felt sinewy underneath his frock coat. She turned pink and removed her hand as if she had been shocked. She shouldn't be having those thoughts about her professor.