The Passion According to H. G.

Hermione had had her fair share of crushes on teachers. No wonder, learning was after all what she admired the most. In first grade, a lot of the other girls had found professor Quirrell cute, but he had failed to move her. She wished she could say it was because she had sensed the evil lurking underneath the shy, stuttering surface, but truth to be told, it was precisely his insecurity and incompetence that had put her off. She preferred teachers who knew what they were talking about. So instead of Quirrell, there had been something about the brisk and sporty Madam Hooch with her whistle that had fascinated the everything but sporty bookworm. Hermione had only been twelve and barely aware there was such a thing as lesbians. She wouldn’t have called it a crush then and even now she wasn’t sure if that was the right word for it, but there had been something…
In second grade, it had been the big fraud professor Lockhart. She was ashamed to admit it and wished to believe it was due to some sort of charm he had cast upon himself to make him irresistible to his female students. How else could she have failed to notice Snape’s performance during the duel when Lockhart was humiliated and as good as exposed? She must have been hexed by Lockhart to have eyes only for him…
In third grade, the easygoing professor Lupin had charmed everybody, including her. Her sympathies had begun to shift, however, when Snape had heroically tried to rescue her and Harry and Ron, his least favourite students, from Sirius Black, while Black and Lupin were bickering less heroically. She had to admire his adamant consistency in doing the right thing, or what he thought to be the right thing, when it really mattered. He would have died to protect them from the werewolf Lupin turned into, and he didn’t even care for them a bit! As a teacher, he might be unfair and tyrannical but he was also, ultimately, demanding, and as a student, she appreciated that. Well, apart for the one detail that she could never please him, no matter how hard she worked, which kept her awake at night, tossing to and fro in cold sweat…
In fourth grade, she had been momentarily distracted by the unexpected attention from the much older, and famous, Viktor Krum. Though flattering as it was, the athlete was an idiot and at the ball it had been painfully clear that when they were not dancing they had nothing to talk about. Instead, her reluctant fascination for Snape had grown.
During the summer vacation between the fourth and fifth year, she had had this thing for the wild, purple-haired Nymphadora Tonks, and now she knew what a lesbian was. But of course she hadn’t dared to speak a word about it to anyone, much less act upon it! And now she was back in school and didn’t see Nymphadora anymore. Only professor Snape was there to fan her fire…
It was ridiculous, that’s what it was. First of all, he was old. Well, he wasn’t really older than Lockhart or Lupin, but he seemed older. More imposing. Second, and this was related to the first, he had been evil. Really evil. Though she couldn’t help thinking, despite herself, that his being reformed made him more interesting, and perhaps also a greater man than if he had merely been good all along. Third, she resented him for the way he treated Harry, and to a lesser extent his other students. If he was truly a great man, he wouldn’t bully a child the way he did, a poor orphan whose only fault was his unearned and unwanted celebrity. Four, she feared him, a fear she nevertheless struggled to overcome each time she saw him, mustering up all of her Gryffindor courage to raise her hand or even speak out of turn when he refused to acknowledge her. Again and again she tortured herself by doing it and having him mock her or silence her, and the torture was sweet. It didn’t feel sweet, but it must be or he would have frightened her into quiet obedience a long time ago. She craved his attention as much as she feared it, even though it took the form of a sneer or a reprimand.