Drabbled 11:
As the weather grew colder they moved places from the chilling lake to the warmth of Snape's office. Hermione would sit curled up on a chair in front of the fireplace, another novel in her lap and her nose buried so close in the pages that you couldn't see her face. Snape would sit in the other chair, red quill in hand and parchments in his lap, muttering to himself about the absolute idiocy of the first grade dunderheads.
Every time Hermione heard Snape grumble under his breathe she would stop reading and listen. Listen to the deep baritone flow around the room.
Once Snape finished his marking, he would conjure a glass of something amber and burning and would gaze into the fire, unwinding himself after a long day. And Hermione would just sit in the chair next to him, reading away.
They would bask in the presence of each other until it was late and Hermione had to go back to her dorms.
They would mumble a quick goodnight. And Snape would slowly close his office door.
Hermione would slowly walk back to her dorms.
Wishing she didn't have to leave.