A/N: This is loosely based on a concept in RedOrchid's Love Potion no. 9, which you can probably find in its entirety on Ashwinder. Also, reviews and critiques are most welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!
Hermione had developed a rather bad habit of biting her fingernails when she was deep in thought. It wasn't that she enjoyed uneven nail sizes or torn cuticles, reddened and sore from her teeth. She just needed to keep her hands busy so her mind could reel over whatever captured her thoughts so intensely. She wasn't even aware she did any such thing. The more mind-power required, the more ferociously her digits worked. Sometimes it was the drum of her thumbs on a table or the twirling of a quill while she was writing one of her longer-than-required essays. Other times it was the swish of a firmly gripped wand, emitting flashes and sparks of different colored lights as she paced her dorm or a vacant corridor. Other times still it was merely sitting, staring off into space while her hands worked to solve one of the Japanese puzzles her parents sent her for Christmas one year. It wasn't uncommon for her to progress through all the stages of her thought pattern, as she was doing today.
It was an unusually warm day for late October, and the grounds of Hogwarts were too humid for frizzy haired girls to spend much time outside. Instead, the brunette sat in the windowsill of an abandoned classroom on the second floor, staring out at the Quidditch pitch and her friends practicing for the opening game of the season. The puzzle in her hand was worked simultaneously with the puzzle in her mind. She had read a couple of weeks ago of a potion one could use to make the object of one's affection dream of one. It was an innocent dream potion, though she had found it in a book in the Restricted Section of the library. Still, she felt uneasy when thinking of using it on someone, let alone a teacher.
She reasoned with herself that it wasn't manipulating or controlling like a love potion – this particular concoction only brought to surface deep, hidden feelings the drinker had for the brewer. There was the chance that her plan would fail and said teacher would realize that deep down she hated the insufferable know-it-all.
Outside the window her eyes came into focus on the object of her affection. Minerva McGonagall was walking back from the Quidditch pitch, shaking her head as she made her way back to the castle (Probably trying to sneak in some advice while the team practiced, Hermione thought). It's true the professor wasn't beautiful in the sense that models and actors were, and she certainly wasn't "snoggable" according to Lavender's, Parvati's, or any other student's standards for that matter. However, Hermione thought she was positively lovely … like the twirling of a soft dress on a summer afternoon, or the foliage of an Irish forest in the fall, or perhaps more like Hogwarts itself – tall, angular, and intense. No, she liked that she didn't fancy someone who merely looked "hot"; she much preferred her special view and that she could see something so differently than the others.
Hermione had tortured herself with her attraction for the past year and a half. She had grown tired of being so close, being able to smell the perfume her professor wore when she collected papers from class, and not be able to touch her and kiss her. On the last day of term the previous year, she had worked up the courage to hug her Head of House – it was awkward to say the least, but she cherished the tingling sensation left in her arms all the way to King's Cross.
No, her feelings may be inappropriate, silly, and unlikely to be reciprocated, but she couldn't pass on the opportunity at least to allow for some hope to blossom. She was going to do it. With a very fluid motion, the brown haired witch pocketed her puzzle and made off for the Restricted Section.