AN: Written for the Oneshot Wars. My prompts were Hermione Granger, narcissistic, exposed, and freak.
xxx
Hermione Granger stared down at her copy of Daily Prophet, startled by the sorrow washing over her. She knew that seeing Minerva McGonagall's picture frowning at her from beneath the word Obituaries shouldn't have shocked her. She'd heard about her old professor's death a few days earlier. Somehow, though, it hadn't felt real until that moment.
How could Minerva McGonagall be dead? Minerva McGonagall, who'd taught Transfiguration to Hogwarts students for as long as anyone could remember. Minerva McGonagall, who'd stepped up to shield Harry Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts without batting an eyelash. Minerva McGonagall, who'd dueled Lord Voldemort himself and lived to tell the tale- not that she'd ever do so without considerable begging from her first-year students. A woman made of iron and thorns and pure magical ability couldn't just be gone that suddenly.
"Mum?" said a voice. "Why are you crying over the newspaper?"
Hermione blinked, surprised, and lifted her head to see her thirteen-year-old son, Hugo, standing in the doorway and watching her with an expression of both confusion and concern.
"I just got a bit of bad news, that's all," she said, wiping her eyes.
"What is it?" said Hugo, moving closer and sitting down at the kitchen table.
She laughed shakily. She supposed she ought to be somewhat concerned by her son's complete lack of tact, but in truth, it just reminded her of Ron.
Setting down her newspaper, she rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward a little. "You remember Professor McGonagall, right?"
Hugo frowned. "Remember her? Yeah. I mean, I've had her for Transfig for three years."
"Transfig?"
"Teen slang, mum. Too cool and hip for you to understand."
She shook her head, smiling a little in spite of herself. That was the other reason Hugo reminded her of Ron: both used humor, with varying degrees of success, whenever they wanted to cheer her up.
"I guess you haven't heard, then," said Hermione. "Professor McGonagall passed away a few days ago."
Hugo's smile faded. "She did?"
Hermione nodded.
"Oh," said Hugo. "I sort of thought she would live forever."
She gave a startled laugh. "I guess I did too."
"But why are you crying?" said Hugo. "Did you know her well?"
"Well, she was my professor, too," said Hermione. "But she also did something for me that I'll never forget."
"What's that?"
She picked up her coffee mug and took a sip, shuddering as she realized that it was completely cold. "Ugh." She set down the mug and sighed, running her fingers through her unruly hair. "Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a bit sad."
"Sure," said Hugo easily. "I don't mind."
"Alright, then," she said, shifting into a more comfortable position. Hugo's round blue eyes were fastened on her face, bright and unwavering. "It was my first year of Hogwarts...
xxx
Professor Minerva McGonagall loved her job. Though most people found it surprising, the stern, grey-haired Professor had a soft spot in her heart for children. She always had. Even more surprising, she'd always been secretly fond of the students she supposedly hated most of all: the troublemakers. Though she would probably walk over coals rather than admit it, James Potter and Sirius Black had been two of her favorite students, and she was frequently amused by the antics of the Weasley twins.
After all, Minerva had been a troublemaker herself in her Hogwarts days. The difference between her pranks and the ones her students pulled was that no one had ever caught her.
But even more than the troublemakers, the students Minerva loved best of all were the ones who really cared, the ones who paid attention in class and actually listened to the things she said. Unlike some people, Minerva was never surprised that the students who worked the hardest and cared the most were frequently Muggleborns. Pureblood students, who grew up surrounded by magic, were used to all the wonders it offered. Muggleborns were fascinated by each and every spell.
So it came as no surprise to the professor when the Muggleborn student Hermione Granger quickly became the top student in her first-year Transfiguration class, and, by all accounts, top in the rest of her classes as well.
What did surprise her was finding the same Hermione Granger sitting in the corridor late one night, alone, her knees drawn up to her chest and tears streaming down her face.
Minerva, who was on her way back from an appointment with the headmaster, came to an abrupt stop. Hermione looked up, her eyes widening as they landed on her professor's face. Hastily, she rubbed her eyes with her hands, as though she was trying to wipe away any evidence that she'd been crying.
It was clear that she'd been having a private moment and was feeling caught off guard, so Minerva did her best to arrange her features into a kind expression.
"Is everything alright, Miss Granger?" she said, adjusting her spectacles and peering down at the bushy-haired, red-eyed girl.
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said anxiously, sitting up a bit straighter. "I'm sorry I'm out so late, Professor, I didn't mean to break the rules and I know you're going to have to remove points from Gryffindor. I promise it won't happen again."
"There's no need to worry about the points, Miss Granger," said Minerva. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong? I might be able to help."
"I wouldn't want to trouble you, Professor."
She raised an eyebrow. "If it was going to trouble me, I wouldn't have asked. Now what is it?" The tone of her voice left no room for negotiation.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably and glanced up and down the hallway, clearly feeling a bit exposed, before speaking.
"It's just that… well… I guess I thought things were going to be different here, Professor," she said, biting her lower lip.
"Different in what way?" Minerva tried to sound somewhat encouraging.
"The other students, I guess," said Hermione. She took a deep breath. "I don't mean to be- well- narcissistic, Professor, but I was always better at schoolwork than the other students, back at home. Before I came to Hogwarts, I mean. I did better in class than a lot of them, and they said awful things about me."
Minerva fought the urge to smile at Hermione's careful pronunciation of narcissistic.
"But even more than that, the other students just thought I was… well, they called me a freak," the girl continued, looking down at the floor. "Because I could do magic. Except I didn't know that it was magic then- I just made things happen and I didn't know how to control them."
"But then you got your Hogwarts letter," said Minerva, who was starting to see where the conversation was going.
Hermione nodded. "I was so happy when I got it. I thought… I thought that everyone here would be just like me. I thought they'd all care about school and things like that as much as I do." She fought back another wave of angry tears, rubbing her eyes so vigorously it made Minerva wince. "But they still think I'm a freak here. I feel like a freak."
And that, of course, was the worst thing of all.
"Miss Granger," said Minerva, "being called names by someone else and calling yourself names are two very different things. When you choose to identify yourself as something, you must be sure that it's something you're proud of. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded.
"Calling yourself a freak, or narcissistic, is a choice that you make," she continued. "If you wish to identify yourself in such a manner, by all means, go right ahead. But in my opinion, it would be far more productive to call yourself intelligent, or unique, or dedicated. What do you think?"
Hermione hesitated again before speaking. "I think- I think that you're right, Professor."
"Good," said Minerva. "Now why don't you head back to your dormitory and get a good night's sleep."
Nodding, Hermione got to her feet. "Are you going to take off points, Professor?"
"Not this time," said Minerva. "And, Miss Granger, you'll do well to remember this: books and cleverness are all well and good, in their place, but there are more important things."
The small girl didn't look completely convinced, but she nodded again. "Yes, Professor."
"Good," said Minerva. "Now run on back to your dormitory."
Three weeks later, when Hermione Granger stood in front of her and said boldly that she was the one who'd sought out the troll and that Potter and Weasley were not to be blamed, Minerva looked back at her and felt nothing but amusement, and perhaps a little bit of pride. It was an outright lie, and she knew it, but that didn't bother her in the least.
The important thing, Minerva knew, was that Hermione finally understood what her professor had tried to explain to her three weeks before. There are far more important things in the world than books and cleverness.
xxx
"...and that's how I became friends with Dad and Uncle Harry," Hermione finished. "So you see, I owe a lot to Professor McGonagall. If she hadn't said what she did in the corridor that night, I might not have lied about the troll, and the three of us may not have become friends. It's all thanks to her."
"Did you ever tell her that?" said Hugo.
Hermione shook her head. "I never did," she said, with a small smile. "But I think she knew."