A/N: Not (exactly) MM/HG. Expect the names and the quotes to hand out papers, the rest of the story, including the last quote, are actual events. -tabby

She's so beautiful. Sure, the gray hair makes her age show but that doesn't bother me. I've always liked older women for some reason anyways. Her blue robes, such a change from the usual, show off her tight figure and lovely stomach that I could just wrap my arms around and stay there forever. Her hair is down today, curled and loosely framing her face, not tucked behind her ears. The sunlight follows her every move around the classroom and ending at her desk as she sat down and began to stack the never-ending pile of papers lying in front of her.

"Miss Granger, would you hand out these papers?"

"Of course professor."

I don't believe she ever struck someone as beautiful before. Well, that is besides her husband. I wish that I could embrace her, touch her face, or caress her enthralling hair. I remember the time that she hugged me. That hug was more than I could ever imagine, more than love at first sight, more than life itself. The way that she walks entices and enchants me. Her voice is like the wind's song on a summer's day; calm and swift but ever so gently as a flower ready to bloom. Her dazzling orbs are a world of their own, ever so captivating. To comfort her when she's upset would be a musical of heartstrings pulling at every thought in my head.

Everyone believed her to be too strict, too hard, or the devil's wife. But she acts exactly like I would if I were a teacher. We think alike too. She has taught me so much more than she could ever imagine and so soon we shall have to part. I hope that there will never be a time when I'm without a smile or a hug from my professor.

Once, I remember she said that our hugs were "sometimes the only thing that keeps me going." We've always had a bond of some sort. I know I love her, and not as a lover but as a granddaughter. Even though the way I talk about her indicates romance; the simple fact is that there is none. That's what she called me too, granddaughter, along with sweetheart and the Easter princess. I call her Nana. Her daughter is a year older than I, but I don't care. It doesn't bother me. She's my Nana; she'll always be.