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The first time newly Professor of Aritmancy Hermione Granger came to my door she hesitated for several minutes before knocking. My wards informed me of her presence long before she mastered the courage to make herself known.
(I could imagine her rehearsing that stoic speech she gave me about her missing cat to the hardwood.)
The second time there was no exchange of any words. As soon as I opened the door to her contrite face, an orange fur ball snaked between my legs and left my rooms, not caring at all about the uncomfortable interaction above.
(I closed the door immediately, of course.)
The third time, she started apologizing as soon as she heard my boots coming close to the entrance and promised a lot of things I didn’t care about as a means of keeping it - Crookshanks was its name, apparently - away from me and my quarters by any means necessary.
(At the time, my raised eyebrow displayed my obvious disbelief. I wasn’t mistaken.)
The fourth time, I wasn’t even there. I turned down a hallway only to find a shy figure standing at my door, clearly indecise whether to knock again or turn around and leave. When she noticed my approaching, she rambled about being a bother and dismissed my quarters at a plausible hiding spot this time. She was instantly proved wrong when I opened the lock and the beast walked out unconcerned.
(How it did get in remained a mystery.)
The fifth time, she came with a question about the next Hogsmeade excursion she could have made at any of the staff meetings. Or better, to Minerva. I considered denying her the answer, but thought that by succinctly responding she would go away faster, since Crookshanks had already passed by us.
(This time I was mistaken.)
The sixth to the eleventh time she seemed dedicated to always have something to mention, or ask, even when I granted her only raised eyebrows or dismissive grunts. My indifference was not able to dissuade her from the ridiculous idea of bonding with me. Also the fact that I didn’t mind her beast incursions to my quarters gave her the wrong impression that I would welcome her attempts.
(I wasn’t bothered by him because he provided me with rats for potions and was a silent creature. She didn’t fit that criteria.)
I won’t detail all of them. Some questions she came up with were ludicrous. Suffice to say that she brought Celestina Warbeck and Gilderoy Lockhart to the conversation.
(I seriously considered locking my door forever, but it would get in the way of my teaching duties and someone was bound to notice eventually.)
I didn’t know precisely when I started to anticipate her visits instead of being mildly ruffled by them. Probably somewhere between her twentieth time — she was really annoyed by an incompetent gryffindor, which gave me a window to make a snark comment about her House she astoundingly agreed on — and twenty-fifth time — when she came in really distressed, thinking her cat was injured somehow, and I ended up serving her the first of the many subsequents cups of tea.
Perhaps because I’ve accidentally overheard her defending me to some nasty seventh years — former first years from my time as Headmaster — in a way that sounded very passionate and not naive as I would have expected from the creator of S.P.E.W..
Perhaps because she was the only one who sought to spend time with me, as frivolous and meaningless as those moments seemed to be, when the rest of the Hogwarts staff were too ashamed or disgusted to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes.
(Well, she and her orange beast.)
She actually understood my silences, didn’t touch any of the controversial subjects if I didn’t do it first, brought up academic discussions too interesting for me to pass up. I couldn’t tell if I was starved for human contact or if she was just a really good person to be around. She seemed to get more and more comfortable as I let her talk and I, on the other hand, got more and more comfortable with her and in my own skin by listening to her talk.
(Crookshanks ended up being forgotten more often, as he surely would prefer.)
What I did know was that I’ve caught myself wishing for her to come more often, waiting to hear her footsteps in the corridor when I should be focusing on correcting essays or my own potions research, buying a plethora of expensive, fancy tea to experiment and subtly see which one she liked best, thinking about her as Hermione.
The thirty-second time, Crookshanks didn’t seem willing to leave. Even after our impromptus but frequent meeting got to an end, she had to chase him down to make him cross the threshold. It became very clear that I was doomed when I wished it was her that didn’t want to go.
Now we were in her fortieth time.
Yes, her half-kneazle was evidently very fond of the dungeons.
(And no, I wasn’t counting, not on purpose.)
(And maybe I’ve put in a disillusioned cat door for easy access. Maybe.)
— He already left. — I announced this time as she entered talking animatedly about the last successful experiment from her gryffindor-ravenclaw double class. She stopped mid-sentence, looking unsure and most of all disappointed.
This was not how I thought my life would turn out. Living through the week expecting the moment Hermione Granger knocked on my door using her cat as an excuse to drink tea and unconsciously making me hope about absurd things, like being gifted by her smile or wanting to stay more than she should.
And I’ve never been the one to invite her in. Until now.
— Are you going to sit or not? I am not going to reheat your tea, Professor Granger.
She smiled. My stupid heart soared.
(This definitely was not how I thought my life would turn out. Surprisingly, I am not complaining.)