Disclaimer: Hey guy, I don't own any of these characters
Author's Note This will be a relatively short fic. Please Read & Review!
A Yearning - Chapter 1
Hermione –
They say no one is perfect. Well, my life's ambition has always been to prove that saying wrong. To be honest, it has never been difficult for me. I suppose I can even admit to being downright pleased with myself about having been the best in my year in every subject except Defence Against the Dark Arts – which Harry has always bet me in – since starting at Hogwarts. I don't honestly mind Harry beating me. He is a natural at those spells and to sulk at his achievements would be pathetic. Besides, he is one of my best friends, Ron being the other – I love them both like brothers; and no matter what Ron says, I have never felt bad about him being better than me at something. I am and always have been proud of him.
But as I was saying, I can admit that I'm quite smart, if that doesn't sound too immodest. In fact, there is only one person that I know that doesn't seem to feel the same. That person is Professor Snape.
There are two people in this world as I see it, one type accepts that I'm fairly brilliant and appreciate my gifts while the other type hates me for it. You don't have to be the Minister for Magic to figure out why. People like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson are simply jealous that someone that is in their eyes, of a lower status, has become better than them at something. Harry and Ron have always hated people like that, and yes, I can understand why. I however, have never felt that same true anger. Yes, I dislike them for what they believe, but I know what lies behind that façade of smug superiority and ego. The Mudblood pities the Purebloods. Yes, it's interesting the way the world works, isn't it?
But Snape is different. He confuses me. His primary distaste for me, I'm sure, was simply because I was a Gryffindor – a very smart Gryffindor. Surely if I had been in Slytherin he would not have despised and discriminated me so. Somehow, I think the fact that his dead arch-enemy's son was one of my best friends probably didn't help my popularity much. But as I've said, I strive for perfection. And perfection includes love and acknowledgement from my teachers.
I tried. I did everything I could to be something he could at least regard without a stupid smirk on his face. But to no avail. My attempts, far from pleasing him, made him resent me more. For once, I was stuck. I didn't know what to do. I tried asking Harry and Ron. Pff. A lot of good that did. Harry just shook his head sadly but Ron stared at me disgustedly, like I had just told him that I liked to eat Flobberworms for breakfast. But how could I expect them to understand? How could I expect anyone to understand?
My need for Snape's approval intensified. It was no longer a want, but a need. I was becoming obsessed – following him around, remaining behind after classes, trying to catch his eye. I took to being even more persistent in class, interrupting him and answering his questions with more vigour – if that was possible. I was eating lunch with Harry and Ron one day when I had a sudden realisation. I suppose you could call it an epiphany. It hit me so hard I gasped aloud, feeling winded. Harry stopped mid-conversation on the Chudley Cannons. 'What is it' he asked me. I stood up, 'Library. Forgot to check something for History of Magic'. Without saying goodbye I turned and ran out of the Great Hall.
I ran, not knowing where I was going. Thankfully my legs seemed to be fully functional even though my brain wasn't. I ended up in my quiet corner of the library, breathing heavily and trying not to look like I was. Sinking slowly into a chair, I gazed out of the window. In the Great Hall I had suddenly realised why I was obsessed with Professor Snape. I close my eyes and tried to block out the thought but it wouldn't disappear. Instead, it seemed to echo in my head, repeating itself over and over: Hermione, you're in love with Professor Snape. You're in love with Snape.
It didn't matter how many times I told myself that it wasn't true because I already knew, deep down, that it was.
Severus –
I had worked in this school long enough to know that no matter how many years went by, the students never changed. Every year I would be faced with a new bunch of stupid twits, having to waste my efforts on the scrawny idiots over and over again. And each new class was the same. Oh, the faces were different but the attitudes never changed. There were always the class clowns, the complete imbeciles, the quiet ones, loud ones and the smart ones. The latter were, of course, few and far between; but I pride myself in always doing my best to help those students, to give them encouragement and guidance…provided that they were in Slytherin, of course.
But the year Potter came was the marking of something different. The class itself was generally still much the same as previous classes – Longbottom practically destroying the classroom every lesson, Weasley being the loudmouthed smartarse, and Potter, of course, with his defiance and attitude. But from the first class I had with tem I saw something remarkably refreshing. The girl, Granger. She answered my questions correctly, but not only that, she had this expression…it was obvious that she was keen to learn. All the same, she was in Gryffindor and so from my perspective, there wasn't much I could do. I think I told her off rather sharply, though I can't remember what I said, only the look on her face – the shine in her eyes dulled and she lowered her hand slightly, sadly.
But for some reason this made me angry. From then on I took out this rage on her, rejecting her again and again. I suppose it's not much of an excuse but after years in the practise of showing no emotion, it was hard to change. I don't know how long it took for me to realise that the anger I felt towards her was really me being angry at myself for this cruelty. To save face, I made myself excuses: she was a Muggleborn, a Gryffindor, a friend of Potter's. Eventually, years of this allowed me to start believing in the fiction I was creating in my head. Deep down I knew I'd have to face up for this one day soon, but I was content to pretend tat what I told myself was the truth and this continued unfazed for the next six years. And then seventh year….
I've heard people say that growth spurts can happen over a matter of weeks. I suppose I'd always agreed though to be honest, I never cared about most of my students to ever notice this and I knew that if I had, it would surely have been inappropriate to do so. I am a Professor and I take my job seriously.
But when Granger came back from the summer holidays that year, she had transformed. No longer the slightly hunch, knock-kneed, frizzy haired girl that everyone had known; she looked different. She was a little taller than she had been, I think, but more obviously, she had developed a body over the summer. Although always quite slim for a girl of her age, she now had well-proportioned curves, even in school uniform it was plain to see. She had even managed to turn her hair from a pure frizz ball into a tamed mass of curls.
I suppose at first I merely took all this in without a second thought. But my first class with her proved to be most uncomfortable for me. Every time I looked at her an invisible lump formed in my throat. At first I didn't comprehend what it meant. But then I found that I couldn't bear to call her Granger anymore. Using last names was only fit for students, but there she stood, no longer a student but a gorgeous woman, and blissfully unaware of it too. Still, I couldn't call her Hermione either, as that would be suspicious above anything else. So I spent the remainder of the lesson ignoring her as much as possible. It wasn't until after class had finished and I sat behind my desk marking some essay that I realised what was happening. I stopped writing, panicking silently. I was falling for one of my students. I was falling for Hermione Granger!