Disclaimer: No, sadly, I do not own Harry Potter. tear

This is my first Harry Potter fanfic. I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I just really really really like the character of Snape. The never-gonna-be-true relationship between Snape and Hermoine is also quite intriguing doncha think? Read on Prince Valiant!

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Professor Severus Snape closed the door quickly behind him and breathed a sigh of relief, finally he was shut away from the noise and bustle of the main castle, finally he was able to enjoy the peace and solitude of his private quarters. The reclusive potions professor found a busy common room repulsive, the same feeling he had during his younger years at Hogwarts and the same feeling now. He preferred the calm of his study. He preferred the company of the countless volumes filling his walls and a magnificent mahogany desk.

However, right now, Professor Snape needed the vast volumes of Hogwarts Library. He promptly spun on his heels and disappeared from his private study in a whisk of black robes.

He pulled the heavy doors open a crack and slid inside, deeply inhaling the musty smell of books. Good god, he thought, there must be over two million volume here; I'll never get through them all. Madame Pince's sharp sniff shook him out of his reverie, and he walked briskly straight toward the Potions section.

He paused while browsing the bookshelves. Now where was that book? He knew it had been here but a few days ago, and surely no student could have checked it out; it was much too advanced. The sound of turning pages made him stiffen; someone else was here, here in his own corner, or so he liked to think. That someone was hidden behind two shelves. He craned his neck and glimpsed a back hunched over a desk and a head with very bushy hair poring over a thick, dusty tome. His lip curled in reflex, it was that Granger girl. He edged closer, taking care not to disturb her, and found that she had been hoarding the very book he needed. Drat that infernal little know-it-all, he thought, what in blazes was she doing with such a book?

He carefully approached her and stood silently behind her chair. The silence was overwhelming. He was amazed how totally unaware she was of his presence, for she seemed utterly lost in the book.

He softly cleared his throat. Nothing.

A little louder. Still nothing.

"Ms. Granger!"

She leapt about a foot off the chair.

"Ms. Granger, does your bad posture affect your hearing?"

"Professor Snape! I'm sorry, sir, I didn't hear you."

"Obviously," he sneered, "Now, if you don't mind, I should like to use that book when you're through with it."

She seemed a little hurt, "Of course." She began to hand the book over to him but suddenly jerked it back. "Wait Professor, I have a question to ask you first."

Snape looked as though he would rather be hit in the face with a large glob of bubertuber pus. "Yes?"

"Well, sir," she looked bravely up at him, "I can't seem to understand this one thing. You see, I was researching for the essay you assigned us, the one on Sterling Droughts, and I came across this here." She showed him the book, with her finger pointed to a passage. He read it quickly. "Well, you see Ms. Granger…." And he automatically reverted to teaching mode.

Thirty minutes had passed. He forgot she was a friend of Princely Potter's. He forgot to be nasty towards her and comment sneeringly on her hair and know-it-all attitude.

An hour had passed, two hours. Now they were no longer teacher and student, but peers, colleagues almost. Simply discussing a subject they both found absolutely fascinating.

"No, no Ms. Granger. The draught simply does not work that way. There must be a sufficient quantity of pickled batwing before you add the scarab beetles. Otherwise the whole thing will be worthless and you'll end up with a cauldron full of grayish matter."

"But Professor, I don't see the significance of this bit of ginger root. Wouldn't even a few slices of this make the batwing completely superfluous?"

"Absolutely not. I don't know exactly how to explain this to you." He cast a look around the shelves. "There's a book that explains it all, but it's not here, the Hogwarts library doesn't keep a copy because nobody's bothered using it. But I've got a copy, in my private library. We'll go and have a look and then it'll be perfectly clear to y – " He stopped. What was he doing? Was he, Severus Snape, actually asking a student to his private quarters? He blinked, embarrassed, "That is, if you wish, Ms. Granger."

She had paused too, her beautiful brown eyes wide and staring up at him. "Erm, yes Professor, I…I wouldn't mind that."

Snape shook himself. He was being silly. She was, after all, an exceptional student. "Right, well, follow me."

Hermoine kept a few paced behind him as they exited the library together, drawing curious looks from students who were suppose to be pretending to work. Madame Pince nodded curtly to Snape as he passed, tight-lipped and sour-faced.

He led her through a winding labyrinth of tunnels through the cold dungeons and finally stopped before a pair of handsome black doors. He muttered something she could not discern and pushed open the door. "After you," he gestured her inside.

She stepped inside, looked up and gasped. His study was a combination library, bar, and laboratory. Everything was suffused with a calming green light and a clean scent of fresh air. All four walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of ancient-looking books. They all seemed well worn. He seemed to be in the midst of brewing something, for an active cauldron was bubbling happily over a small blue fire. She smiled inwardly as her gaze swept over the bar, so the Potions Master wasn't completely devoid of fun.

She twirled around to see her professor climbing a ladder at one of the shelves. He scanned the titles and pulled down a stained and tattered book.

"Here it is, Ms. Granger." He opened the large volume and quickly flipped through the pages. "Here, read that."

Hermoine took the book and placed it on a nearby table, his desk. She leaned in eagerly and read, her eyes a blur scanning the lines of tiny print.

"Yes, you see this sentence here," he leaned over her shoulder and pointed it out, "that there is the essence of what I've been trying to explain to you."

"Oh yes, I see now." She turned suddenly, facing him, "But sir, I had another qu – " He had not moved from his position over her shoulder and now their faces were but three inches apart. Their eyes locked. In that instant, the book didn't seem to matter anymore, all of Potions could go to blazes for all they cared. Seeing his eyes up close for the first time, she thought them not cold, as she had expected, but burning with a black fire that seemed to consume her. And hers, he thought, were certainly made of the most delicious dark chocolate. His features were quite pleasing, she thought, not at all like his usual self. Perhaps the lack of a sneer made all the difference. The softness of his eyes transformed his whole being. He was actually quite pleasant to look at, she thought, with no embarrassment at her feelings. His eyes glanced over the delicate eyelashes and lingered on the smattering of freckles across her nose, and on down to her lips. Snape, for the second time in his life, felt an overwhelmingly animalistic urge to put his hands on her, to kiss her senseless, to close those deep sienna pools in ecstasy and desire. Her breathing quickened, as did her heartrate. Why wasn't she backing away? she thought. You silly girl, Hermoine, she chastised herself, he's your teacher for godsake. He didn't know how many minutes, or years, they remained there, he was only aware of the sudden contact of their lips as he leaned closer and kissed her full on the mouth. It was not a hard kiss, but gentle, and she did not pull away. None of their other body parts had moved from their original positions. Their hands did not wander over each other's bodies; they did not even move closer or embrace. It was merely their mouths meeting in a furious dance of quiet passion.

Finally, they broke apart, their eyes remaining in their locked position.

"Ms. Granger," his voice was husky, as though he hadn't drunk enough water.

Her chest heaved up and down as she stood there, panting slightly, waiting for him to say something. It was, after all, he who initiated the gesture.

"Ms. Granger…I sorry that happened." For the first time, Severus Snape was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry."

Hermoine's mind was engaged in a raging battle. She knew this was wrong, her upbringing and everything she had ever believed in told her adamantly that she was wrong, wrong to enjoy this and not be disgusted by this. But it had felt so right and she had never been so sure of her actions in all her seventeen years. She felt so at-home, that this man was to be her greatest joy in life. She thought bitterly to herself, you were born two decades too late, darling.

"That's all right, Professor, I was my fault too." And she turned away from him, turned away from the one man she knew she belonged to, and walked out of his office with a pain in her heart too great for words.

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Well? Good, bad, ugly? Which is it? I think I'll keep this as a oneshot for now.

Review please! Pretty please?