R-E-S-P-E-C-T (find out what it means to me)
Hermione was taking a rare break in those last days of the school year of 1992-1993. She'd spent too much time paralyzed to the world around her. All those days lost – it bothered her in a way her young mind couldn't quite name, so she compensated by studing almost frenetically. Hours after hours in the library pouring over Harry's strangely comprehensive notes (really, if he could produce work like this in her absence, why didn't he do it all of the time?) had given her a sort of headachy feeling, so she decided to take a walk.
Thinking of the devil brought him on. There was Harry, sitting by the lake. Exams had been cancelled so most kids were simply horsing around. Harry, though, seemed to have had enough of the craziness (and the weird staring that Ron's little sister and the Creevey boy seemed to indulge in) and had found a quiet place.
"Hullo Harry!" Hermione chimed, sitting down next to him.
He was quiet for a second before he answered.
"Hey, Hermione. Had enough of the library?"
"For now. I've so much to catch up on! And even though we don't have exams, I just know that this material is important for our future studies." She worried her lip a bit, pondering over future assessments.
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you know Snape'll probably make sure anyone who got petrified will be at more of a disadvantage than they already are. That's his kind of move."
"It's Professor Snape, Harry. You really ought to respect him more," Hermione gently chided.
"Yeah? Why?" Harry turned to face her fully and all the humor was gone from his face. In fact, he looked a bit puzzled and not just a bit angry.
"Well, he's studied for years! He's a foremost expert in potion making." Really, Hermione thought, the professor's credentials were certainly well known.
"And he's a total shite. A wanker. A git." The shock on Hermione's face was palpable.
"Harry! Language! And you shouldn't speak of a professor like that."
"What, because I'm twelve I don't have right to an opinion? I don't have bleeding eyes? I don't have the ability to see facts? The man might be able to mix any potion in that big book you had for the polyjuice potion, but he's an arse. He picks on kids. He picks on me. He picks on Neville. He picks on YOU. He picks on anyone and everyone who's under the age of seventeen who doesn't wear green. How can you stand up for a supposed man who gets his jollies out of bullying kids?"
Hermione paused. Part of her mind was agreeing with Harry. "While I admit Professor Snape is a bit of a bully at times, perhaps he feels he needs to be that way to maintain control of his classroom. It is a very dangerous subject, after all."
"Made more so by the fact that he never stops his snakes from throwing things in other peoples' cauldrons. He's a terrible teacher and a terrible person. In the classroom, I'll call him professor, but not out here. He's not worthy of my respect."
"Harry! All professors are worthy of your respect!" Hermione rejoined, aghast at Harry's thoughts.
"Really…" Harry drew out the word sarcastically. "Well, let's just take your experiences with teachers, shall we? We'll even leave Hogwarts out of it for a second.
"When you got here, you were hungry for friendship. I'd dare say that, like me, you'd never had a friend before Hogwarts. It would explain why we both put up with Ron constantly degrading us – you more than me. So, I'd guess that you were picked on quite a bit at your primary. I'll bet teachers saw it happen and aside from maybe yelling at the kids, they never really punished them, right?"
Hermione was silent; she looked like she might start to cry, so Harry changed his course.
"So, I can only go off my own primary experience. My cousin and his gang used to chase me down. They called it 'Harry Hunting.' They'd beat the stuffing out of me if they caught me. The recess duty teachers never said a word. Everybody knew that if I did work, my cousin would either steal it or destroy it. Everybody knew that my uncle would also beat the stuffing out of me if I did better than Dudley. Everybody knew. Nobody did bloody anything.
"Like you, I was hoping for better here. But let's see. Malfoy has called me Scarhead and you Mudblood right in front of teachers. They do nothing. Half of this year, in addition to being called Voldie Junior, I've been hexed in the halls. They do nothing. Flitwick? He has a firstie who has her clothes stolen, her work stolen and destroyed, and she gets locked in the halls at night. Flitwick never says a thing. Of course, it all comes from Dumbledore. The man who, along with McGonagall and Hagrid, left the baby version of me on the Dursley's doorstep in the middle of the night less than a day after I'd watch my parents get murdered. He didn't even ring the bell and he never checked to see I was okay there.
"Before you try to excuse that attitude, you ought to know that Neville and I each tried to go to Dumbledore to try to get mandrakes sourced from somewhere else. We wanted to get you guys out of the hospital wing. He smiled and twinkled and shooed me away. McGonagall didn't even let Neville talk to Dumbledore. She just pulled the same thing she pulled with us and the stone last year.
"So, tell me, Hermione. Why should I respect any of those people?"
Tears rolling down her cheeks, Hermione just shook her head and then bowed it. She wanted to run, she wanted someone to make it better. But there was no one.
Until she felt an arm shyly come round her shoulder.
"I respect you, Hermione," Harry said, his voice quiet. "You're brilliant. You're brave. You're honestly the best person I've ever met. I would be lost without you. I'm sorry I took my mood out on you."
Hermione hugged Harry hard for a second, then sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. "You're right, Harry. My parents have always warned me that I worship authority a bit too much. Sometimes adults can be wrong. I'm going to rely on you to remind me of that. But there are others here you can respect. Madame Pomphrey is stellar – she's given you better glasses and nutrient potions and everything, right? And Professor Sprout actually punished the Puffs that called you the Heir. They're not all good, but they're not all bad, either."
Harry just nodded, knowing she was right.
She inhaled deeply through her nose and then she sat up straighter. "Now, what's this about you dumbing down your work? You're doing that now, for Ronald, aren't you?"
The conversation turned. It ended up with Harry changing his third year electives (Hermione, too). It also resulted in her mother making a DHS complaint about her daughter's friend. The ensuing investigation made for much more pleasant summers for Harry.
The two eventually found many teachers they could respect as they tempered their judgment with the understanding that adults were, after all, just people. It was hard for people to do what was right when it conflicted with what was easy. But as Harry soon realized, as long as he could respect himself first, he could find others he could respect, too.
A/N It always bugs me that Hermione is so adamant about respecting the faculty of Hogwarts when they are, almost to a person, not respectable. They don't do their jobs AT ALL. If I taught chemistry the way Snape teaches potions, I'd have been fired, with cause, that first class. And the school wide bullying is just atrocious and never, ever addressed. Crazy.