Author's Note: For the purposes of my sanity, I always put a little note up here. Been doing that since 2004, so I figured why break the trend? That said, please note I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters therein. I wish I did, but alas, I am not JK Rowling. And on that note, I'd also like to add that most of my pairings are not canon. I'm not a fan of the canon pairings in this fandom. I ALWAYS make a note of my pairings in the fanfiction summary area. If ya don't like it, please kindly hit your browser's 'Back' button and have an awesome day. Now—on with the fic!

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Defying Gravity

Chapter One: Invitation to the Past

It had been a few years since Hermione Granger had set foot on the sprawling Hogwarts campus. The last time she'd seen it, it had been practically in ruins, but now, as she stood in front of the large wooden doors that led to the main hall, she felt like a little girl again. It was just as she remembered it from the very first time she'd arrived as a wide-eyed eleven-year-old. She knew from the day the owl arrived that summer that this place and the wonderful people she would meet here would inevitably change her life forever. She just hadn't realized at the time that everything would change quite so much.

"Hermione?" The familiar voice brought an immediate smile to her face. She turned around, craning her neck a bit to look up into the beady eyes of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. She'd never lost contact with Hagrid. Over the last few years, they had exchanged owls regularly. "I didn't think you'd get here until the weekend! Classes don't start until Monday."

Hermione smiled. "I hadn't planned on it," she explained. "But I actually got here a little early because Professor McGonnagal wanted to speak with me before the students arrived. I think most of my things have already-"

"Took them up to the Gryffindor common room m'self," Hagrid told her proudly, poking his chest with a sausage-like index finger. "Everything's all ready for you. Do you need help finding the headmaster's office?"

"I think I remember the way, Hagrid, but thank you," Hermione nodded. "If you want to put some tea on, I can come out to your hut after I speak with her and we can catch up a little bit? It's been ages, hasn't it?"

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "It has." He agreed. His gaze shifted downward, and he kicked at a small pebble with his boot. With the mass of hair shielding his face, Hermione couldn't make out his expression. "Hermione?" He whispered. "I uh... I saw the Prophet. It's a load of codswallop. Really is. But I... I'm sorry about Ron."

Hermione tensed, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She didn't like to think about the Prophet. She'd tried not to pay attention to most everything they'd written since Rita Skeeter smeared her name all over its pages in her fourth year. Things had gone downhill after that. Recently, it had only gotten worse. Harry and Ron had taken jobs with the Ministry shortly after the war, working in the auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Their job was to round up the remaining death eaters. Even with their beloved dark lord gone, a few still clung desperately to the dying cause. After spending a large chunk of her adolescent life in grave danger, Hermione had accepted a much less stressful position, and fallen into a wonderfully comfortable routine. She spent her days at the Ministry, she still got to spend time with her best friend, and she and Ron had made a habit of eating bad Chinese food and watching corny movies at least one night a week. Everything had been perfect until the rug was pulled out from under it all. Everything had been perfect until the day she learned that neither Harry nor Ron would be coming home again.

"They knew what they were getting into, Hagrid," she replied, a bit more harshly than she meant to. She cringed at the sound of her own voice and turned, forcing another small smile as she met his gaze again. "Ron and Harry always did everything together, you know?" She added, a quiet sadness seeping into her voice. "I couldn't have talked him out of it even if I'd tried. Always so stubborn. Both of them..."

"Yeah," Hagrid whispered. Hermione heard a strange noise behind her, and the giant cleared his throat. Was he crying? He wiped at his face with his sleeve just as Hermione turned to look at him again. "Well, you ought to be going. McGonnagal'll be expecting you. Lots to do." Before she could reply, Hagrid spun about, plodding in the direction of his hut near the edge of the forest.

Hermione took a deep breath and returned her gaze to the massive wooden doors. Everything looked as it had when she was younger, but there was still a certain trepidation holding her back. It had been so long since she'd walked these halls, and the last time she'd been on the grounds didn't exactly conjure many fond memories in her mind. She made an attempt to shake the nerves away and then took a step forward, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Her movements were almost automatic, and before she knew it, her feet had carried her up several flights of stairs and around a few corners. She'd only been standing in front of the statue that marked the entrance to the headmistress's office when it opened, and a set of stairs appeared beyond it.

McGonnagal looked just as Hermione remembered her. The war had aged her somewhat, of course. She had quite a few more grey hairs, and when Hermione looked at her just right, she could almost see a sadness there, as though the pain was etched into her very features. She beamed when she saw Hermione and promptly stood up from the chair perched behind her over-sized desk.

"Good to see you, Hermione."

"And you, Professor. Everything looks... It all looks very familiar."

"Ah, yes. Well, the restorations took a bit longer than we expected, as I'm sure you are aware. But, everything is now as it should be, as it always was. For the most part." She paused. For a moment, Hermione thought she might be preparing to say something more, but the silence hung in the air.

She cleared her throat. "I saw Hagrid," she offered, trying to sound cheery. "He said he'd already taken my things to my quarters in the common room. Professor, I, I mean, do you really think it wise? It's barely been five years. Technically, I didn't even graduate. I am honored. Truly, I am. But, don't you think there was someone more qualified for the position?"

"Certainly not," the old woman snapped back. She gestured to a Victorian-era armchair across from her desk. "Hermione, we're trying to build morale here. With everything that has happened, we wanted to bring in some familiar faces. Professor Flitwick is still here, and Professor Binns, of course. I finally convinced Professor Trelawny to return last year, and Hagrid never really left, but we have quite a few spots to fill, you see. Longbottom agreed to take over with the herbology classes, and the greenhouses, of course. He arrived yesterday. And Miss Lovegood has been here for the better part of a week."

"Lovegood? Luna?" Hermione clarified.

McGonnagal gave a short nod and began to scribble something onto a long piece of parchment. Even as she looked up, her hand continued to move. "I offered Bill Weasley your position, actually." She added. "He's graciously accepted the defense against the dark arts job, but declined any further responsibility when I mentioned that I was considering you for my former position."

Hermione balked at the information. "But Professor, he's ten years my senior! Surely a man with his experience would be more qualified for—" She stopped herself again, biting her bottom lip, and forced a sigh instead of finishing her initial thought. "I know he's had a rough time since Fleur took the girls. I haven't been around too much. Molly cries when she sees me," Hermione whispered. It was perhaps a bit more information than the older woman needed to know. She waited as a thick silence seemed to settle in the air between them.

"In any case," McGonnagal continued, clearing her throat a bit louder than was likely necessary, "I am glad to have quite a few familiar faces back on the grounds. I think it will be wonderful for morale, and I have no doubt in your ability, Miss Granger, to tackle the transfiguration classes or lead Gryffindor. As I recall, you knew your books nearly better than I did when you were a child. You will be fine. You wouldn't be here if I didn't think you completely capable of the task at hand. Now," McGonnagal finally dropped her quill, and her head snapped up again. She waved Hermione away and offered her a tight smile. "Go make yourself at home. Dinner will be served at the usual time in the Great Hall. I'm sure you remember?"

"I do."

"Hermione," McGonnagal breathed out. Hermione glanced up, surprised to hear her first name. "I'm sorry about Ron and Harry. I really am."

The meeting left Hermione with far more questions than she had answers. She was back at Hogwarts, but so was Neville, Luna, and Bill. But why them? To boost morale? The thought almost gave her a headache. Could that be the real reason? Who would want them here, really? Neville, Luna, Bill... All had fought valiantly alongside Hermione, Harry, and Ron. But there had been countless others who had fought. Some had died. Hogwarts had been the boiling point of the whole thing, the bloodiest battle of the war with no doubt the longest list of casualties. How would having several constant reminders of that day boost morale for the newly remodeled school? Perhaps she was looking at it wrong?

Lost in her own thoughts, Hermione rounded a corner. The staircases liked to change places on occasion, and she could hear the stones groaning as the shift began. She didn't exactly relish the thought of waiting for them to change back. Unfortunately, she rounded the corner a bit too fast, and her foot slid out from under her as soon as it hit the stone floor again. She lost her balance, lurching backwards and flailed her arms in a feeble attempt to keep herself from falling to her backside, but gravity was winning the battle, and Hermione cursed, slamming her eyes shut as she went down and prepared herself for the painful sting of defeat.

She didn't recognize the pair of hands that wrapped around her arms, but instead of landing on the ground, Hermione found herself standing once more, her legs still somewhat shaky. She turned, her gaze meeting the familiar bright eyes of Bill Weasley.

For a moment, the man said nothing. Hermione opened her mouth to thank him, but for some reason, words wouldn't come out. She felt horrible. She'd been avoiding Molly and the rest of the family since the incident with Ron and Harry had made the paper. Hell, she'd jumped at the chance to work here when she'd gotten McGonnagal's invitation in part because she didn't want to face the awkwardness of passing her father-in-law in the Ministry atrium every morning. Bill had to know. He was Molly and Arthur's oldest son. Despite battling his own demons with Fleur lately, he had to know. She knew how close Bill was with their parents.

"Bill, I—"

"It's okay, Hermione. Just be more careful, alright?" His smile was genuine, and Hermione felt herself relax a little bit.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Hermione?" She took a deep breath. She knew what was coming next. There was a certain tone in a person's voice when they pitied you. Hermione hated it, but she'd heard it a lot lately. She braced herself. At least Bill knew. Bill had been there through the worst of it, and then she had shut him out. She'd shut all of them out. She wondered how angry he was. She wondered what he was going to say. She waited. Seconds ticked by with nothing but silence, but about the time Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, she felt the hand on her shoulder, and the reassuring squeeze it offered, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Thanks, Bill..." She repeated, her voice a bit softer than before.

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Author Note: Yeah, I know. This one is short, but I had to kind of leave it here for now so that everything else plays out when and where I want it to. Please feel free to review. I will have the new chapter up soon!