..Late Night Candles..
A/N: Alas, this is a oneshot. And it just happens to be my first Harry Potter fic as well so please be gentle, I am fragile…hahah. Reviews are very welcome, and so is respectful criticism! If you don't like the pairing of Hermione&Snape then don't even bother reading okay? Save your time and my disapproval!
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Harry Potter no matter how much I wish to. It all belongs to Ms. JK Rowling. Though, if I could be her for a day, I would create the funniest pairings that you could imagine. As that that most likely won't be happening, I will just have to create my own plots here, for my plots are all that I own. So, without any further ranting, I give you- the story!!
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Again the candle flickered in the brightly lit room. The familiar glow warmed her, as did the presence of her mentor. Hermione was working in the potions room busying herself with the delicate art. Snape meanwhile, was there keeping an eye out for his gifted student. He had been extremely pleased when she had approached him for evening classes to improve her mark even further. Often, these sessions were hard to maintain, but it was always worth it.
Yet again, Snape glanced over at her, keeping cover under his sleek black hair. The golden candlelight seemed to cast a spell over him, it was at these times alone with her that were so unequalled with anything else. In daily class, with all the other students, his favoritism of her always seemed to vanish. But here, diligently marking essays -watching her carefully create concoctions- brought all his admiration for her right back. Back again to haunt him. After all, she is so young…
Hermione suddenly felt there were eyes on her, and the hairs on her neck stood immediately. She looked at her professor for answers, but all she saw was a head of onyx hair bent over parchment. Instant disappointment washed over her, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Was it too much to ask for to have him accept her? No, she was lucky just to be able to attend these meetings. She still had no idea what had made him consent to spending extra time with her. She figured that he was only wasting his precious time, and all for a simple girl.
By now, she was in her own reverie, and had stopped working on her sleeping drought, the latest assignment. Her thoughts enveloped her, and so she didn't notice Snape in a similar state. Again, several thoughts rushed about in her head. She didn't think she was grateful enough to deserve such kindness. And everything confused her so, for Severus was known to be nasty, and it was impossible to figure why she was an exception. Merlin's beard! She berated herself silently; she had again made the mistake of referring to him by his first name. It seemed undeniable, the way she felt for him. At this thought, she discreetly glanced up at him, and yet felt no elation as she had in the past. If only he could look back, just once.
The distant noise of the grandfather clock reverberated throughout the castle, bringing both intellectuals to the present. The night has passed so quickly again and so Hermione decided that she should leave, packing her books gingerly, trying to not disturb the professor. Snape looks over at her, and sighs to himself, realizing that another evening has passed with no further avail to his heart. He clears his throat to rid himself of emotion and starts to stack the papers on his desk.
He can hear Hermione pass by and she utters two mere words, "Goodnight Professor." As she walks by, her fragrance drifts after her, charming him so that he can barely breathe. Concentrating on putting his papers in order, he manages to mumble a goodnight. He hears the swishing of her robes stop, and looks up to find her eyes on him.
She doubles back and carefully, she reaches out and places a hand on his sallow cheek. Swiftly, his black orbs rest on her, trying to calculate this action. It is clear that Snape is more than confused by her and his expression is ever so amusing. All the tension between them seems to melt away, and Hermione smiles gently. She breaks their gaze only to say, "There was some ink on your face."
At this statement, Snape feels even more embarrassed, unable to recall whether he touched his quill to his face or not. That was the peril of thinking of her, he would lose all his concentration. Nevertheless, this stays the excuse for the soft touch as Hermione smudges away the imaginary ink from his face. Apparently pleased with herself for leaving him ink free, she grins widely and slowly, almost tantalizingly, walks away from him. Little did Snape realize that she had just been wanting to touch him. His spirits are then lifted as he picks up on what she did. He chuckles to himself. She was one formula that he could not understand.
FIN.