Written a long time ago because I wanted to try out this ship; posted now because I felt like it. I don't support teacher/student relationships. That's squicky. But onesided was interesting to write and, I guess, a little bit possible. I'd really appreciate any feedback.

You hate this feeling of hating him for hating you; of hating yourself for not hating him.

(Even now, you can't say the word love. Love is not something you want to think about, not with a greasy haired git of a Potions professor.)

Six years it's been of fighting constantly to win his approval. Other teachers reward you for feats that are half what you accomplish in his dungeon, but never once has he given you more than a, "Correct, Granger" in that clipped, guarded tone of his.

You find yourself frequently wondering about that tone. Why is he so afraid to relax? Why won't he let others in?

(Why won't he let you in?)

You like to think of him as a dark horse; a misunderstood hero. Romance is never something you've understood, and maybe that's why you retreat to it now: because you laugh at it regularly, because you know it's all sugar coated dreams and rainbows in the sky. Because it's so far from everything you don't have with him, so far even from the tiny moments you do, that you can retreat into the improbabilities of frenzied kisses in broom closets and steamy love making on Egyptian cotton.

(Really, you wouldn't want that. Not with anyone, and certainly not with a greasy haired git of a Potions professor.)

That's all he is, you tell yourself again. A greasy haired git, one who's snappy and heartless and means nothing to you. No more than stupid Lockheart did all those years ago.

(But you never cried over Lockheart. Then you were driven Hermione Granger, and not that foolish.)

Now, you are hopeless Hermione Granger, and head over heels foolish.

(But he's still a greasy haired git of a Potions professor, and not at all what you need.)

You try to listen to the voice of reason in your head, because the passion in your heart will drive you to insanity. And one day, the reason in your head speaks louder than that silly passion you never understood anyway.

Its better this way, you tell yourself when you walk into the dungeons and feel nothing at all. Better to lose this uncertainty and regain a life.

But even when you know you don't care anymore, you still—only a little, tiny bit—miss that greasy haired git of a Potions professor.