Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All belongs to J.K and Warner Bros.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in years and I would just like to think my wonderful beta, Severus' Malfoy Maiden, for getting me on the right track. Please review, I welcome all advice and criticism. Words of praise are always welcome as well. :)

Dear Professor,

For some time now, I have found myself enjoying a growing infatuation with you that rages inside of me. The feeling can only be compared to an emotional hurricane.

The sound of your voice sends pleasant shivers down my spine. When you speak, I see your lips, and though they're soft in appearance, they become stiff and unyielding as if they're trying to hold the words back. It causes the seductive cadence of your baritone to pronounce each syllable succinctly.

It's as your lips caress each word, drawing them out and making them beg for more.

On the rare occasions in which you speak my name, causes my heart to flutter and my mind to freeze. I gaze into the depths of your black eyes and you must see the heat of my skin and the quickening of my pulse in preparation for our union.

My mouth waters at the thought of our flesh becoming one. I long to see your silky strands of black as night hair splayed across my pillow as you writhe beneath me, begging me to bring to the earth shattering climax for which you yearn.

Know that all I wish to be is the lover you deserve, and the whore you want. I will make all your fantasies come true.

I will bow to your feet as a servant or reign as your queen. I will beg for more, all the while knowing that I will never be enough for you.

Always yours.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The last class of the day finally left, and hoping to relax before dinner or get started on the mountain of paperwork, Professor Snape walked back into his classroom for a final walk-through before he took his leave. He observed all that was left out of place, noting the house and reducing points from whoever had occupied the space during class.

The students would be surprised to see their house points diminished at their lack of tidiness.

While passing one of the tables closest to the door, he notices a scrap of parchment lying on the floor. He sighed, picking it up. No points there, he thought. He wouldn't be able to find the owner of this trash. Before he tossed in the rubbish, he noticed writing on the back; a feminine script neatly lined and confidently written. Intriguing, he thought.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Hermione was frantic. In her room, she turned her school bag inside out onto her bed. 'How could I be so careless?' Hermione berated herself. It was such a small piece of parchment, but it was very important, and if it was found... The thought of anyone reading it had her heart pounding and her hair sparkingwith anxiety magic. The only solace she took was that she had not written her name on it. After she had gone through everything, Hermione sat on her bed breathless.

In a moment of ill fitted inspiration during potions that day, she had torn off a piece of parchment and written to what she felt. Hermione had taken to doing this lately, always stuffing the pages into her bag to either be locked in her desk or to be burned; depending on how she later felt or the degree of what she wrote. The note today was ment to be burned. Cast out and never thought of again, at least until the next time she had potions.

Sitting there, the solution came to her like a light bulb. Hermione picked up her wand from her side and cast, " Accio Severus' letter." She sat in silence, wondering if it would work, when the letter flew under her door and into her lap. Her words stared back at her as she lifted the parchment with her left hand, her wand held to it in her right. "Incendio." The letter burst into flame which quickly died. The only trace now was the faint smell of fire.

Hermione relaxed, the situation now resolved. However, the frustration ebbed in and out. She could never let this happen again. She dreaded the thought of another person finding what she had written, knowing what she truly felt. 'What if Professor Snape had found it?' she thought as she considered her actions.

"No more," she said aloud to herself, coming to a decision. She would no longer write her feelings, her thoughts. Perhaps, if she no longer wrote them, she would no longer feel them. Perhaps.