By darthelwig
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I don’t own Harry Potter, though I would sell my soul to be able to say I do.
This story is rated a very light R, for now, just for a brief mention of sexuality. No telling where it will go, though, or if it will continue at all.
I found this poem in a book of Chinese love lyrics. It was very old and had no author or editor listed. It was, however, published by The Peter Pauper Press. I hope I’m not infringing on any copyrights by using it here. Just know that I do this in good faith.
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There Is a Man So Fair
By that swamp’s shore grow reeds
And lotus. There is a man so fair…
Oh, how can I cure my wound?
Day and night I can do nothing;
As a flood my tears flow.
By that swamp’s shore grow reeds
And lotus-flowers. There is a man so fair…
Well-made, big and stern. Day and night
I can do nothing…
Face on my pillow I toss and turn.
-The Book of Songs
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Hermione Granger had loved her professor for so long that she could no longer remember a time when she didn’t. More precisely, those times were so long ago and so hazy in her memory that she had ages ago given up on trying to recapture the feeling. His face haunted her every moment of every day. In her mind’s eye, his shadow flitted at the edges of her vision, driving her mad with longing. There was no help for her. She had done the research, had made sure she was thorough at it. There was no cure for love.
Nothing in any of those books she had read, not in the Restricted Section and not in the multitude of volumes she had procured in Nocturne Alley, had named a potion or charm or spell or anything to help her affliction. She would forever be ensnared by his dubious charms. What kind of girl fell for someone who ignored or snapped at her every chance he got? Each time he had deducted points from her, she had only become more determined to show him what she could really do. Each snide comment he had made about her increased her desire to show him the true Hermione, the one that most people never saw.
The one who desired him with every inch of her being. The one who craved his touch, who would touch herself in the lonely hours of the night and wish it was him there with her. Over the years she had matured into a woman, but her heart still held hope that one day he would see her for the treasure she could recognize within herself. She knew the wait was in vain, but the head could never control the heart’s yearnings.
In the meantime, she had dated. First Victor, then Ron… but she had never really given either of them all of herself. How could she, when a huge part of her had already been given away? Severus Snape had owned her for years without ever realizing his power.
Harry would have said that was probably for the best, but Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had she let her moody professor know her true feelings. As a young girl, her daydreams had been filled with visions of him professing his love for her. That period of insanity had passed. These days her head was filled with much more sensible images. Severus kissing her, removing his robe, letting her run shaky fingers over his smooth skin…
All things she could never have, but which tormented her with their promised delights. She wasn’t dating, but she had an active sex life…with herself. Every night she visited her dream lover, discovering anew the pleasures of their love. And each morning she awoke cold and alone, wishing he was really there. It wasn’t fulfilling and it probably wasn’t psychologically healthy, but she was long past the point of caring about that. Now she only wanted him.
Still, she carried on with her life, living it as best she could with a gaping hole in her heart where he should be. She went out with her friends, worked diligently in her chosen career and even made time to continue her work in fighting for the rights of oppressed creatures. For all intents and purposes, she was an active, productive member of society who was well-liked and respected. No one could imagine how hard it was for her to maintain that façade every day.
And though she had no contact with him, she had kept one ear open for his name. Sometimes she received news of him, through friends or teachers that she had kept in touch with. Always it was the same. He was grumpily docking points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw with abandon. Professor McGonagall had complained more than once about his intolerant mindset about non-Slytherin students. Hermione had laughed each time, knowing it was true and missing him all the same. Each mention of his name was like a knife in the chest, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking about him. He was as integral to her as air.
It had been nearly ten long years since she had seen him last, since she had set foot in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts castle. She ached to return. She was a very different person now, not so bossy or reliant on her friends. Ten years of longing had changed her. The girl was gone and only the woman remained.
But these thoughts were futile. It didn’t matter how much she had changed or how desperate she was to see him again. Her chance, if she had ever had one, was long past. He probably didn’t even remember her now. A whole new generation of students had come and gone. Surely he had forgotten the “insufferable little know-it-all” who had so aggravated him during Potions.
She would have to suffer with her burden until her heart finally decided to give up. It would be a long time coming, she was sure. She held no illusions about herself anymore. She was very a very stubborn woman. It would take a lot to make her give up this dream.
And until the time came when her heart could move on, she would live with the phantom professor in her mind. He was always there, waiting for her. Even if there was no cure for love, he could at least assuage her loneliness.