Author: Pol
Rating: Entirely harmless. Whatever the one is that baby shows have.
Disclaimer: The usual. Not mine. And if they were, they'd be hitting me over the head for abusing them so abominably, so it's probably for the best.
A/N: This fic came about in two ways. Firstly, I've been online a lot lately, scouring the HP fandom for anything and everything. And there are a lot of strange ships being written. And the second thing. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was on television tonight and it really hit me again just how young the kids are and just how old their professors are. Suddenly a lot of what we write and read seemed a whole lot more absurd. Having said that, there is shippyness in here if you're prepared to forage. I am who I am, after all.
Feedback: Yes please! Please please please. This is only the second HP fic I've ever written and you've all been wonderful reviewing my other one. Your thoughts and suggestions are so very welcome and needed. Depending on response this may also evolve from a oneshot to a ship of some description.
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Minerva had been called many things in her relatively long life but none of them had ever involved the word 'stupid'. And rightly so. She had been a sharp and inquisitive child and as an adult she was much the same, only with an ever-expanding bank of knowledge at her beck and call.
She hadn't gone right into teaching after her graduation, after the war, but she'd still been young. Young and tall and slim and raven-haired. She may never have been especially beautiful but she could certainly remember several instances of inappropriate student preoccupations with her.
Embarrassingly, Albus Dumbledore had been the first to point one out.
"I had wondered how long it would take for this to occur," he murmured one afternoon, as they strolled together to the staffroom for a meeting. She hadn't seen the quickly ducked head to her right; Albus had.
"For what to occur, Professor?" She'd asked, bemused. She had still called him by his title back then.
Albus had been kind enough not to point out the blushing boy in front of a corridor full of children, but he hadn't quite managed to suppress a chuckle.
"It seems ever the inevitable curse and honour of the teaching role to attract the interests of student admiration," he'd replied in his annoyingly roundabout way.
"Excuse me?"
Over the years she'd somewhat broken his habit of flowery speak, but back then he was quite incorrigible.
"I do believe, Minerva, that Mr. Cartwright is a little bit in love with you. Or so he would think."
"What?"
Obviously, over time she'd become quite attuned to the signs of infatuation and stamped it out firmly. The poor things were hormonal and misguided and she was a figure of authority. It was only natural that they go through this particular phase of adolescence; she had too, if she was going to be honest about it.
Even so, it had been simply years since Minerva had seen a truly bad case of infatuation directed at her. Sometimes a student got a little awed or went out of their way to impress her, but age had softened whatever attractiveness she may have held in a student's eye. Thank Merlin.
Relieving a child of their crush was not a pleasant task. Sometimes there was nothing to be done at all but wait it out and ardently show discouragement. Other times a cross remark or a gentle chiding would set the child back on their rightful path.
But she was out of practice. In fact, she'd begun to forget that this sort of thing happened at all. In her later years, the students had become more impressed by her magical capabilities (which had only grown with age) but they'd also become more cowed.
Except this one. This particular child was a delicate matter and as such Minerva had to admit that she had been avoiding the situation for some time. Years even, which was highly uncommon in such circumstances. Usually the student would come back after the summer break disabused of their notions of true love. But this one came back year after year and steadfastly refused to change her mind.
Yes. Her. Which was the other thing Minerva was having particular difficulty with. Perhaps other girls had been infatuated with her, but Minerva had grown up in an era when such tendencies largely went unnoticed and were certainly not openly expressed. She had her blinkers on about it, as Hooch was always telling her. And it was true. She did, really.
And this girl, this poor young girl with the whole world before her, had for some unknowable reason fixated on her old Transfiguration teacher.
If Albus had noticed, and Minerva was sure that he would have, he had not said a word. Hooch was less diplomatic about it.
"Look, Min, we all know she's been fawning all over you for years. Put the poor kid out of her misery, would you? Or if not, then put us out of our bloody misery. It's absolutely revolting to watch, you know."
Minerva had known Rolanda Hooch since their own student days and was not unaware of the woman's penchant for exaggeration. However, it was still a fact that this had been going on for far too long. Although she'd never admit it to her friend and colleague, Rolanda was perfectly correct. Something had to be done.
Which was why she was rather uncharacteristically fidgety as she sat in her chair, awaiting the meeting.
"Come in, Miss Granger," she called before the girl had a chance to knock but Hermione did not seem to be aware of this incongruity.
"Good evening, Professor."
It was such a pity, too. For a while Minerva had been sure that Hermione and Ronald Weasley were getting their act together and there had been that promising beginning with Mr. Krum from Durmstrang. But it was not to be.
"Have a seat, please," Minerva said, sounding very stiff, even to herself. How was she supposed to have this conversation?
"Professor…" Hermione's young face flashed a quick glance of consternation. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Of course not, Miss Granger. Whatever gave you that idea?"
Hermione was, after all, an exemplary student in every way, despite her rather worrisome habit of following her friends into danger. But Minerva had great hopes for Hermione and her academic career. If only she didn't put a dent in them now by making the child hate her.
"It's just…I don't think you've called me in to see you since you gave me that Time Turner in third year," Hermione replied, biting at the side of her lip.
Third year. It had really started then with gusto but if Minerva wasn't mistaken there had been early traces in Hermione's second year; respect and even awe overstepping the normal understanding of the professorial role.
And now Hermione Granger was in her sixth year and if she didn't get her thoughts on track it was possible that her NEWTS would be affected in the following twelve months. It was possible.
"You may be right. However, you are not here to be reprimanded…" Although that wasn't quite true. "Not precisely."
Hermione looked up at her blankly.
"What I mean to say is…" Minerva was getting increasingly annoyed. She had been much better at this in her youth. She was getting old and fusty. Decidedly so.
"Hermione, I am aware that you may be…fostering…certain ideas of me," she continued. "I am hoping that you are able to…discuss…them with me now, so that we might put them aside."
She had, rather uncomfortably, been watching Hermione's expression as she'd spoken and saw the widening of the girl's eyes with genuine pity. It was horrible to be found out about such a thing, absolutely horrible. It was no wonder the teenager looked so mortified.
Which was why the girl's response was so hopeless.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Professor," Hermione said defiantly.
Minerva just looked back at her. After a few seconds, Hermione began to blush.
"I mean, I don't…"
The poor child was clearly having an awful time of it and wasn't going to get anywhere linguistically, so Minerva held up a hand to stop her.
"Hermione, you must know that this sort of thing is merely a trial, which you must overcome. You're not the only student to have had to deal with these…feelings…but they are best conquered."
Hermione had taken to staring into the stones of the floor but her eyes flickered back up at the mention of conquering.
"But you don't understand, Professor," she protested. "I've done everything, everything that I can think of. I know it's silly and childish and wrong. I know those things. But what am I to do about it?"
Dear Gods, she sounded desperate. Desperate and tired. As though she'd had this same conversation with herself many times, and knowing the cool pragmatism of Hermione's thoughts, she probably had.
Minerva pushed back from her chair and began to pace the raised teaching platform.
"I don't know how to help you, Hermione. I certainly have never intended to give you the idea that…" She stopped and pushed her glasses rather firmly back up the bridge of her nose.
"You haven't," Hermione said softly. "It wasn't you. It's my own stupid fault."
"Your fault?"
"Yes. I always thought that you were just so strong and so smart and I always wanted to be just like you, even before I met you…"
"Oh?"
"I read about you, you know. About the things you've done. I built you up in my mind."
Well, that was certainly an honest answer and one that Minerva really hadn't been expecting. Hermione had idolized her. In a way, she was rather flattered, but that didn't serve any kind of useful function in the conversation.
"Hermione, you will also do momentous things in your own life. You mustn't seek to live through somebody else's."
"Yes, but if I ever do do anything great I will always wonder if you've noticed," Hermione muttered into the floor. She sounded entirely too dismal and Minerva was at a loss as to where to lead the discussion. She probably should have thought it out a little more before beginning, but really, she hadn't expected this degree of depth to Hermione's feelings.
"Miss Granger, in my experience teachers are always proud of their good students, no matter how far they may roam or how old they may get. If I may be permitted to give you an example; Professor Dumbledore is to this very day still known to leave me a note of commendation when I achieve something I have put my mind to. Not only because he is my friend, but because he taught me. He taught me things with which I have faced the world."
Hermione smiled shyly at this admission and quirked an eyebrow.
"But Professor, I don't think you're arguing for your case with that example," she said evenly, with very little hint of that shyness in her voice.
Minerva looked at the girl over her glasses. Hermione was certainly becoming more and more audacious with her years.
"Oh?"
"Although you wouldn't tell me if I was right."
"Right about what exactly?"
Hermione shrugged and was clearly picking her words without the casualness she was striving to portray.
"Oh, just that it's the same situation. With you and Professor Dumbledore. And me…"
Minerva had always been quick to pick up inferences, however obscure, and this one wasn't particularly obscure.
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione didn't quite manage to look sheepish about it, either.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I will try to handle this better. I had not been aware that I was being so…obvious."
Minerva sighed and sat herself back down across from her star pupil.
"These things happen. Unfortunately teachers have a way of noticing. I assure you that your…secret…is well-kept from your fellow students, though. Unless you have told somebody yourself?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Then no harm has been done. Hermione, I do not wish to make things uncomfortable for you, but I cannot tolerate any form of inappropriate attention. You do understand that, don't you?"
"Of course, Professor. I didn't intend for this to happen and have been waiting for it to…go away…for some time. I try to not treat you any differently than my other teachers. What else can I do?"
"Is there not somebody your own age….?"
"No."
Clearly that option had already been explored.
It was getting late and all the nervous energy had begun to make Minerva feel really quite exhausted. The conversation was not going anywhere, although she did feel that she'd come to understand her student a little better, and Miss Granger looked positively miserable sitting there.
"Hermione. What about we make a…deal?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I shall continue to endeavour to dissuade you from these…feelings…but I cannot force you to behave differently or feel differently. However, if you agree to work on it, I suggest that we set aside a time in which we can regularly talk through your studies and your problems. Of…other natures, of course. Would you like that?"
The idea was to give the child the attention and academic encouragement, to be the role model, without the rest of it attached. Minerva was unsure if it was dangerous to be granting more time in her presence but she thought not.
Hermione clearly understood the implications of the "deal". And most likely the logic behind it, too.
"I don't want to be an imposition, Professor."
"Not at all, Miss Granger. I think this may be the best way to attack such a…problem."
Hermione agreed to it, suddenly bashful, and got herself out of the Transfiguration classroom as quickly as she could.
Minerva let out a breath that she'd been entirely unaware of holding. Slowly, the beginnings of relaxed fatigue seeped through her limbs and she let her head rest against her desk for a few moments.
Until a knock came at her door.
Not bothered to speak, Minerva pointed her wand and swung the door open languidly. She was right in thinking that it was far too late to be another student.
"Albus?"
"Minerva, my dear, have you any idea of the time?"
"If you're about to say something remarkably un-clever about it being time to go to bed, kindly repress it," Minerva retorted, unable to help the hint of playfulness that crept through.
Albus smiled warmly and came toward the heavy old desk that he had once taught behind.
"And how did you fare with Miss Granger?"
Minerva shot him a sharp look. But then, of course he'd known. Albus really was infuriating that way.
"Not well. But we have a plan of action."
"Mmm?"
"I've suggested that it may help if I mentor her. In exchange for her letting go of these idle fancies."
"And the proximity won't encourage her infatuation?"
Minerva shrugged.
"I don't know, Albus. It was the best I could come up with."
"You've handled it marvelously, my dear. I could not have done better myself. In fact, I do believe you've quite recreated my own solution. Of course, my solutions have an alarming tendency to backfire, but don't let that dishearten you," he told her congenially, offering his arm as she rose once more from the comfort of her chair.
It was not a long walk back to her rooms and as such it was not until Albus was saying goodnight that his words of the few minutes before penetrated.
"Your own solution?" She questioned suddenly, instead of the reciprocal 'goodnight'.
Albus winked at her.
"But, Albus…" She paused. Sometimes it would have been infinitely more beneficial if she had been born stupid. "Albus…"
"Goodnight, my dear," he said again, giving her a slight bow of his head as he turned back into the corridor.
When she'd been in her sixth year Albus had become a mentor to her. She'd been hopelessly in love with him, of course, but he had never said a word about it. Until now.
My solutions have an alarming tendency to backfire.
"You're getting old and ridiculous," she muttered to herself and she brushed her hair out by the fire, trying to ignore the repetition of that sentence in her mind. "Snap out of it, Minerva."
However, by the time she eased herself into bed, grateful for the end of a long and emotionally difficult day, it was absolutely irrefutable. She knew what he meant. And as much as she might in that instant have wished it otherwise, Minerva had never been even remotely stupid.
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A/N2: Thanks for reading! Please review. It only takes a moment and your words are sincerely valued. Oneshot or second chapter? You tell me.