Chapter 3-
"I am trying to describe these things not to relieve them in my present boundless misery, but to sort out the portion of hell and the portion of heaven in that strange, awful, maddening world…" -Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
Disclaimer: Not mine.
(Hermione's last name has been changed to Smith to protect her identity-AC, editor)
It was not until years later that I first saw her. Admittedly, it was hard not to see her based simply on her hair alone. I remember my first sight of her, now so many years ago. I was sitting at the excessively elevated High Table as the first years entered the Great Hall at Hogwarts. With the possible exception of my classes, there was little that bored me more than the Sorting Ceremony. It was due only to boredom with my colleagues that I saw her. If I recall correctly, Minerva McGonagall (who had made a rather noble habit of sitting next to me) had reprimanded me for sullenly staring at the tabletop instead of socializing. I believe I had just looked grimacingly up as she walked in.
The moment I first viewed her is set into my memory as if branded. She appeared from the half-light of the doorway, looking just like the rest of her classmates. She stared at the enchanted ceiling, her mouth slightly agape in awe. Her burnished brown hair extended in all directions as she ran a small hand through it, attempting to tame the beast of a coif. She then looked quickly to the children on her left and right before adopting a countenance of self-importance. It was strange. The face of a little girl openly displaying awe, alight with life, and then suddenly shutting down in the space of a second. It was oddly beautiful in its own way.
Please don't accuse me of paedophilia in its classical sense. There was no sexual attraction then, and I will not accuse her of being a nymphet, not at that point, anyway. She was simply a little girl to me and nothing more.
When Hermione began attending my classes, I ached for her. Her plight seemed so much like my own. Her knowledge was impressive, at least equal to that of a fourth-year, and every time she raised her hand, most of the students rolled their eyes or sniggered. I briefly considered moving her up to the appropriate level, but decided that she would be even more out of place among the older children. Instead, I discouraged all her displays of knowledge in my presence. The action I chose was undeniably harsh, but I was attempting to protect her from suffering the same school-day fate as I had. I would hate to see her pushed to put her beautiful brain to dark purposes. This is not a justification this is only a confession.
I intended to single her out whenever she raised her hand and chastise her alacrity before the entire class. I assumed, wrongly so, that a few harsh words would cause her to stop volunteering. Ms. Smith seemed more and more determined , as time passed , to prove to me she had the right to showcase her knowledge in whatever manner she saw fit. Unfortunately, the way she saw fit to display her knowledge was to be a very large pain in my backside.
My efforts may not have been wasted, though. She gained the friendship of two boys who troubled me greatly in their pre-pubescence. The ringleader of their little trio of trouble was the unabashedly famous Harry Potter. Along for the ride was his minion, Ronald Weasley. Hermione did her part to keep their feet on the ground and accompanied them on their mischief, much of which, I am convinced, was solely to make my life miserable.
I recall an occasion when I had given the three of them detention. I made them all clean caudrons while I graded papers at my desk. Just as I was grading and gleefully failing Seamus Finnegan, Potter managed to knock over a pyramid of iron cauldrons I'd set out for the next day's classes. I bought into the bait and left my work to yell at the boys. They began to argue, claiming that my cauldron arranging was an accident waiting to happen. All the while, Hermione stood to the side, her eyes on the ground. Naturally, my attention focused on the arguing boys rather than the supposedly castigated girl. After what I considered a thoroughly invigorating outburst , I returned to my desk to find something startling. All of my papers, including the ones yet unread, were marked as exemplary. Many included comments, in my writing, like 'way to go!' or 'I'm so impressed by your improvement!' There were far too many exclamation points for my taste. Obviously, they couldn't be handed out. I had cultivated for myself a particularly serrated personality and fuzzy comments just wouldn't do. I knew the supposedly supplicant Ms. Smith was to blame.
I tried my best to counteract whatever spell had been used to lighten up my grading policies. I was unable to, and the next day I claimed all papers had been destroyed in a potion explosion (which was true) and would have to be written again. I told my classes that they had The Golden Trio to thank for it.
I don't agree with the love-at-first-sight philosophy. Seeing the one you love and knowing her before you love her is an odd thing. I watched a precocious, bright child turn into a witty, fiercely intelligent woman before my unnoticing eyes. To love her when I first saw her would have been a crime. What I did was no crime, at least in my view. What happened between us was something else entirely.