Sorry for the lateness, as usual. I actually really like this chapter, even though it's rather short. You really get to see Hermione's true feelings on the whole thing with Oliver and all. I'm happy that I've finally covered how she really feels. Soon, it'll be Oliver's feeelings, but that'll be in one of the next few chapters or so.
I plan to update sooner, considering I already have most of the next chapter written so exepct that soon!
Please read & review!
A few long days passed, leaving Hermione nervous and anxious for her lesson. She found herself held up in the library Saturday night after hearing many persistent complaints for Harry and Ron. They droned on all day about how they never got to see her lately and how when they did get to spend time with her, her mind didn't seem to be there, which, according to Ron, is "bizarre 'cause her mind was usually everywhere at once."
It was true; she regretfully admitted to herself that she had been a bit out of it the past week or two. She often found herself wanting to blame it on the stress of seventh year, but she knew that there was another reason, a much more frightening reason. It was Oliver. She hardly ever got to see Oliver and when she did, she usually couldn't even talk to him. She spotted him every night in the Great Hall while they were dining, and she would watch him. She loved just admiring him and how he did things. He was so kind to his fellow staff members even though he was obviously exiled from them because of his age. Oliver was such a gentleman and it made Hermione find that she was reliving her school girl crush.
It annoyed her how cliché it was to fall for a teacher, even though he wasn't technically her teacher. Sure, in her second year Hermione couldn't deny that Lockhart was easy on the eyes, but she was repulsed whenever she would overhear a fellow student telling a friend how she was going to marry Lockhart and how many children they were going to have. He was a teacher, for Merlin's sake. He was there to educate young students, not marry and impregnate them. Sure, Hermione didn't see herself having Oliver's children, but she certainly saw herself holding his hand, laughing at his Scottish jokes, kissing him goodbye, but she knew that that could never happen. It was policy. No student/teacher affairs allowed, no matter how small the age difference.
That's why Hermione decided to push her feeling away and deny them to everyone, including herself. Well, except for Ginny, who she told everything to, of course. She was just so ashamed of her feelings, and she knew how disappointed McGonagall would be if she ever found out that her top student was harboring feelings for one of her staff members. There was no way in hell McGonagall would ever support it.
That is why Hermione spent a beautiful Saturday night tucked up in a corner in the library. She sat in the Quiddich section so that she was reminded of Oliver and how horribly wrong and impossible her feelings were.
Hermione sat curled up on a chair, reading up on Quiddich. Her eyes scanned over the words with ease, but her mind put fourth no effort to understand and process them. Hermione didn't know what was wrong with her. Even Ginny spent hours trying to convince Hermione that a crush on Oliver wasn't the end of the world, she still felt disgusted with herself. It wasn't even the age difference that bugged her, he was only a few year her senior, it was the fact that he was a teacher and she, a student. The more time she spent with him, the more she realized that it wasn't just and innocent little crush anymore; it was developing into something bigger, and she needed to stop it. She wouldn't have thought it so wrong if it was, per say, Ginny falling for Oliver, because it wasn't Ginny, it was her. For all those years she strived to be the perfect student, and suddenly it all seemed to dissolve when her crush came back. It was all in her head, anyways. There was no way he had feelings for her. He only viewed her as a friend. That was just the way it was, and she needed to accept it.
"Hermione?" an all-too-familiar voice announced.
Hermione slowly and sadly looked up, wondering why it had to be now that he decided to pop by.
"Oliver. Why are you here in the Quiddich section? You know more about Quiddich than these books do," Hermione sputtered with a bit of trouble. He caught her at a bad moment.
Oliver chuckled. "Well, according to someone at one of last week's matches, I called a "shit call". So, I'm here just for that poor, little third year in denial, just to humor him by looking it up."
Hermione smiled then mentally yelled at herself. Ignore his natural charm. You're just his friend, and he's just your friend. "Sounds fun."
Oliver nodded. "Indeed." He sat down at the table Hermione had been at for the past three hours after yanking a random book off the shelves. "So why are you here? Cramming before our lesson tomorrow?" he questioned with a smirk.
Hermione shrugged. "Something like that," she said in an odd voice.
Oliver looked up from his absent mindedly page turning with concern. "Are you alright?"
Hermione closed her book. "What? Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Perfect, really," she rambled.
Oliver closed his book as well and reached for Hermione's hand. "You sure?"
Hermione jumped up before Oliver could reach her hand. "Yep! I'm fantastic! No worries." She then crammed her book randomly back on a shelf in an un-Hermione-like fashion and dashed away after saying, "Goodnight. I will see you tomorrow."
Oliver sat there with his mouth ajar wondering what the hell he did wrong.
Hermione ran all the way to the Gryffindor common room and sped past Harry, Ron, and Ginny, who were lounging on the couch near the fire. The three looked at each other and Ginny said, "I got this one," then followed Hermione up to her dorm.
Hermione sat on her bed, panting. Ginny moved over and sat next to her best friend. With a reassuring arm around Hermione, Ginny asked, "Wood?"
Hermione's silent gasps for air became louder as she nodded. "It's not right, Ginny. Me. A teacher. It's immoral. It's so, very wrong."
Ginny shushed Hermione and stroked her hair. "It's not all that bad, Hermione. He's only four or five years older than you."
Hermione quieted down enough to say, "I know, but why did this have to happen to me? This goes against everything that I believe."
Ginny rubbed Hermione's arms and kissed her head. "I know, it's not fair."
Hermione tried her hardest not to cry. "It really isn't."
"You know what you need to do?" Ginny asked, pulling out of the embrace.
Hermione shook her head.
"You need to find out whether he returns the feelings or not. That way, you could either move on or act on your feelings."
Hermione looked down. "But I don't want to ruin my friendship with him, and I'd never be able to ask him. I don't have your courage."
"But you could, Hermione. Tomorrow at your lesson, ask him. Or maybe even hint that there might be something going on between you two."
Hermione looked at Ginny with uncertainty.
Ginny pouted. "Please, Hermione? Do it for me, I hate to see you in such pain. You're in a war between your feelings and your morals and your morals are winning. Let your feelings get a taste of victor for once."
Hermione sighed. "I can try…."
"Yes!" Ginny jumped up.
"But," Hermione continued, also standing up, "if I get any doubts, I'm not going through with it. Understood?"
Ginny grinned. "Sure, fine, whatever!"
Hermione shook her head and laughed. "Now leave, please. I would like to get some rest."
"Anything for you, Princess."
Hermione pulled out her pajamas. "Uh, Gin, don't call me that."
Ginny giggled and before she left said, "Well, you're gonna get your prince tomorrow, so get used to it."
Hermione shook her head and smiled as the door closed. She had no idea what she would do without Ginny. Harry and Ron could never give guy advice as good as hers.
Alright, so, I'm sorry if it seems a bit choppy or quick. I finished this up tonight and I wanted to post it so I skipped over the usual 100 extra times I read it to make sure it's okay.
Thoughts, questions, concerns? Leave a review!
Thank you for reading!
I love you all!
jtrem