Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?

A/N: Hello! It's me again. Sorry I got blocked. Anyway, this is a Harry Potter romance fic set in his final year; I have no idea what the plot is or where it is going. Therefore your scorching (yet warming in these (nearly) Autumn months) flames are welcome. For once.

(Note: Bits in italics are dreams, *asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

Harry Potter: The Potter's Wheel Of Life

Chapter 1: Pink Tutus

Harry was asleep. Therefore Harry was being a boring little sod. He was in his lovely, luxurious four-poster bed, snoring his little head off.

            However, Harry was not being completely boring. He was having a dream – a dream about a girl… or woman, even.

            Harry was in a corner of the Great Hall, putting up Christmas decorations on a very large tree as a favour for Hagrid. He was whistling 'I Want To Break Free' and occasionally chipping in with the words. When he had got to #I've fallen in love/I've fallen in love for the first time/And this time I know it's for real/I've fallen in love…# He trailed off when he realized there was a hand on his shoulder and, looking at it, it was Professor McGonagall's.

            Embarrassed, he turned round slowly to her smiling face. "You sing well," she said softly.

            "Yes... um… thanks." Suddenly, he dropped the three glass baubles he was holding and stood on tiptoe to kiss her on the cheek. A tremble went through his thin body…

            "I can't believe this. It's like a dream," he murmured.

            Suddenly, Professor McGonagall was dressed not in green robes but in a shiny pink tutu with a daisy chain in her hair. Harry looked down at himself and saw he was dressed in a (quite but not too revealing) Muggle fireman's uniform.

            "I'm afraid it is," she said, as she bent to kiss him properly…

            …And he woke with a horrified start.

            The little swot had forgotten to do his Transfiguration homework.

It was only later in the day while he was having a pee that he realized what had happened in his dream – and what it could possibly mean.

            It had begun by him innocently whistling 'I Want To Break Free' and when getting to the appropriate verse expecting the hand on his shoulder. He paused mid-note (and mid-pee for that matter) and suddenly his hand flew to his mouth. Remembering where it had recently been, he covered it with his sleeve.

            Sitting on the floor, he tried to control his breathing and his thoughts. *Ok, in… out… in… out… it means nothing. You had a cheese sandwich last night. That is all. Harry, you're with Cho Chang now. You like her. Not your teacher. Ugh. Glasses, chalk smell… and yet that is strangely attractive… HELP! *

            The bell rang – time for Transfiguration.

Harry sat at the front row normally in Transfiguration – he thought maybe the back row would be better today. Having a crush on your (ugly) teacher – who you deeply respect – and sitting on the front row DO NOT mix.

            Piling his vast quantity of textbooks in front of him he waited nervously for McGonagall to come in.

            And finally she came. Almost in slow motion, the door opened and she stepped in, surveyed the classroom and swept to the front. Using her wand to conjure up her equipment she started the lesson.

            "Open your textbooks at page 382. Come on, I haven't got all day! Your NEWTS are six months away. You have to learn a lot more to pass. We're behind schedule already…"

            She spent the next seven and a quarter minutes twittering on about how behind they were and how they could not waste any more time and how exhausting it was nagging you lot and how Dumbledore was slightly concerned with the lack of progress and FINALLY she ran out of steam.

            Harry had listened to precisely nothing while she was rambling on. He was concentrating on her lips as she spoke and her bun that bobbed up and down when she got excited. And that she kept placing her hand on her chest when she was getting cross…

            "HARRY POTTER! TURN TO PAGE 382 NOW! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

            Trying to disguise and ignore his deepening attraction he did as he was told. He studied silently through the rest of the lesson; occasionally glancing up at McGonagall… he could tell his face was red. God, it was embarrassing.

            And exhausting too. When he finally finished his lessons (of course, it was just in one ear and out the other all day) he went back to the common room and collapsed into a chair by the fire. Realizing his Charms coursework was behind he got out a long roll of parchment and began to write. He wrote for several hours, trying to force out the image of McGonagall in that pink tutu. The Charms coursework had been split into two parts: practical charms and emotional charms. He'd finished the practical charms last week and (unfortunately) had started on the emotional charms just in time for him to get a crush on his teacher. *Typical* he thought. *Isn't life good? Isn't it great? Isn't it swell… just when you least expect it – when you're happy, you have good friends and excellent prospects – life comes and smacks you in the face just like…* Failing to think of a slapping thing, he carried on writing.

            "When Is It Appropriate To Use An Emotional Charm? Discuss, including examples from history (you may use 'Charms, Their Uses Through Time, pages 200 – 230')

            Emotional Charms have been used throughout history to obtain results upon others. For example, Ruby Enchantica used a Forgetfulness Charm on her father, Sir Enchantica, so she could con him out of money time and time again. This way, over seven years, she stole four thousand galleons and seventy sickles exactly. This helped buy her a country cottage with her fiancée Vernon James."

            Harry put down his quill and paused for a minute. Charm. A Charm. Maybe one to either make himself less attracted (or ideally completely repelled) or he could make McGonagall fall in love with him… It was nearly midnight by now, and Harry was tired. His head slumped on the round table, which would result in half his Charms work printed on his face the next day…

            Professor McGonagall was walking down the corridor holding a pile of parchment. Harry ran to catch up with her.

            "Professor! Professor! Wait!" he called. McGonagall turned round and suddenly was hit by a blast of "LIMPENDA" and "OBLIVIATE". When she finally stopped blinking, she looked at Harry in a strange new way…

            "Harry… your eyes… they are so bright and green."

            "Why thank you." *No wait. No. You have to be nice.* "I mean, your eyes are beautiful too… in fact I composed a song. It's… um… well. Here goes.

            #Your hair so fair

            Your eyes so dark

            These things inside me

            This unending spark.

            It won't leave me

            For all my life

            I will love you

            Come woe or come strife.#"

            "Wow Harry. That was… beautiful. I can't believe…"

            She dropped the parchments (hitting a nearby Mrs. Norris) and leant in to kiss him. Just when their lips were a centimetre away, McGonagall suddenly had the pink tutu on again. And of course Harry was back in the fireman's uniform.

            "GAAH!"

            "What is it, Harry?"   

            "It's a dream. It's always a DREAM."

            Everything vanished in a swirl of green and he was back in the common room, and his Charms work was incredibly smudged. *Professor Flitwick will freak* he thought miserably. Still, couldn't be helped.

            And his attraction was as strong as ever.

He'd woken up around about dawn. *God, my neck hurts* He shook his head slowly to ease it up. People were already in the common room (apparently Potions was taking up a lot of time) and were giving him odd looks.

            "What?"

            "You were singing in your sleep. Something like eyes so dark and unending spark," said Lavender.

            "Freaking us out," said Seamus.

            "Oh – sorry. I was… oh never mind."

            He carried on with his Charms and forgot all about McGonagall. For half a minute anyway. He suddenly inexplicably started thinking about his father. Did he ever have a crush on a teacher? What happened?

            It was at times like this he missed Sirius. Anyway. Charms. Emotional charms. In 1864 – Hagrid would know. Yes! He put down his quill and raced down past the Fat Lady ("Ooh, mind how you go, 'Arry lad. Anyone would think yer in love or summat!") and down to Hagrid's squalid hut. Finding him to be asleep.

            "Hello, Fang. HELLO HAGRID."

            He woke with a start and Harry just blurted out, "Did my dad ever have a crush on a teacher?"

            "What – what time is it?"

            "Time for you to give me the answer to MY QUESTION."

            "Oh – sorry. Yes. Your dad never did. I think."

            "OK."

            "But he did like the Hospital mistress. A different one – Madame Hesband. Yes, he used to injure himself all the time just so he could see her."

            "What happened?"

            "He tried to make her love him – using the Muggle romantic way – and he got placed in detention for a whole term – two hours every night. In his first year."

            Oh dear. Harry was not a happy bunny. He trudged back to his common room and tried to think who else could help. Ron – no way. He'd laugh his horrible hair off. Mrs. Weasley - two words: No and Way. Fred and George: hmm. NO.

            Hermione. YES. *I could write her a letter* he thought.

            'To Hermione.' No, no, all wrong.

            'My dear Hermione.' Hmm.

            'Dearest Hermione.'

            'Listen, bitch.'

            'Sorry to bother you.'

            'Hermione,

                        I don't quite know how to explain this. I am having some really weird dreams lately – normally involving Professor McGonagall, pink tutus and kissing in some way. It's like something out of a stupid Muggle film. I often dream that I'm in a fireman's uniform too – it's so odd. It's also odd how her chalky cat smell seems attractive. I'm so worried and you're the only one I can talk to.

            You see, I want to make her want me or I want to stop liking her. I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it. It's so strange. Next thing I know Dumbledore will be taking up ballet and Snape will turn out to be gay. Or a troupe of dancing mushrooms will curse the school, or green and purple tigers will become tame and start making sticky toffee pudding for us all. Or Dobby will find a girlfriend.

            You get the picture.

            All I am saying is we are very close friends. You're the best one I ever had. I would talk to Ron but you of all people know what he is like. (Good luck with that by the way – fingers crossed it works out for you both.) You are the closest friend I have and in this time of need – and possibly insanity – I hope you'll help.

                                                            Harry.'

He looked at the letter one more time and folded it. He sat on the floor for a minute and stared at it. Could he really give this to Hermione? Would she understand? It wasn't like the time Sirius Black was after him, or the Dementers were in school. In a way, this was far, far more serious. If this got out of hand, he could be expelled. *I have to tell her. It's the only way to get this sorted* he thought.

Using the invisibility cloak he crept into the girls' dormitory. He paused and took in the sight of Hermione sleeping – her hair was scattered across the pillow and her eyes were screwed up, the way she always slept. Hitting her head to wake her up, he shoved the letter under her head and watched her while she screamed (luckily no one else woke up), frantically stared round for signs of life, spot the letter and read it. She looked disgusted. But then she looked pitiful and as if she wanted to help him.

            *Go for it*

            "It's me." He took off the cloak and she nearly let out another scream. "It's OK," he soothed. "So – will you help me? I don't know if I can face this on my own."

            "Harry – I would love to help you –"

            "OH THANK YOU!" he yelled, throwing himself on her.

            "WAIT!" she whispered loudly. "I'd love to help – but this is so weird. I'm sorry. I can't – not right now. Give me a day or two and maybe I will."

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R&R please. Please. PLEASE. WITH A CHERRY ON TOP AND ANGELS POURING CHOCOLATE SAUCE OVER IT.