A/N: I wrote this for the fun of it, and if it seems like the world's first fanfic of a fanfic, then it probably is. It's set fifteen years after Harry, Hermione & Ron graduated, and it owes a lot to the HG/SS fics I keep seeing here. Disclaimer-I own nothing whatsoever except my socks and the occasional Coke can. Here you go.

Chapter One: The New Fifth-Year

"Professor Granger!"

A harried-sounding voice was ringing through the hallways yet again. "Professor Granger, where are-oh." Professor Minerva McGonagall had just located the out-of-breath Potions teacher, who looked as if she'd run up every flight of stairs from the dungeon to the hallway. "What on earth were you doing, then, Hermione?"

"I was just-uh, running, I guess." She was also blushing like a radish.

"A fine year it will be at this school when you don't wind up surprising us all terribly somehow," the older professor observed dryly. "Have you heard that we'll have a new student going into the fifth-year?"

"No, Professor, I haven't." Hermione had never quite mastered not being a know-it-all. "Well, technically, I have now, but I hadn't heard until you just told me."

"Calm down, Hermione, I get it!" the transfigurator protested. "And you've been teaching here for five years, at the least you could call me Minerva."

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall," Hermione sighed, quite defeated. "I guess I've never quite gotten used to your not being my professor and responsible for all of my test grades."

"Even though it's been nearly sixteen years?"

"Exactly." Hermione ruffled the bushy brown hair that still refused to go straight as an adult. "How long'd it take for you to get used to not playing at Quidditch?"

"The Gryffindor team? I thought you knew-I never have." They both laughed cheerfully over that, knowing full well she could have gotten on a broom and Chased at any minute, given half the opportunity. "Oh, well. I suppose it's going to be a good year…little Carrie Wood's going into second year. She's shaping up to be a Keeper just like her father."

"And how about the Weasley twins?" Professor McGonagall shuddered. "Cousins, I mean, but it's so hard to not keep thinking-"

"Of their fathers. Well I know!" The 'twins' in question were a pair of double cousins, the children of Fred and George Weasley, who had neatly married twins themselves. "I sometimes believe their whole existence was just a kind of prank from the greater power."

"I like their shop, though. Bought a lot of the Disappearing Ink Quills last Friday out at Hogsmeade."

"Hermione, you're a professor!" The brown-eyed teacher sheepishly hung her head. "I find that Extra-Super Strength Dungbombs are really more in keeping with our position."

"You honestly use them?"

"Anything to keep students away from the hallways where we store those little secrets, wouldn't you think? The old Dungbombs only lasted for two hours, but these will keep stinking a week. Anyone who says that I'm not proud of the two Weasley brothers is very much mistaken." Professor McGonagall sighed a little tiredly, then, recalling a trio of students wreaking havoc with a scrap of old used parchment and glancing at Hermione. "Their little brother was always the fun one, too. Have you had any owls from Ron yet?"

"Three, asking how to cure burns and spontaneous sprouting of spicules." Professor McGonagall grinned, imagining Ron as a bright red-haired porcupine. "I somehow don't think becoming an Auror was really the right type of work for old Ron, though he writes me that the pay is excellent. If only he'd learn to skirt the hazards."

"And how is Harry?" Hermione smiled, and drew a moving wizard photo from her robe pocket.

"There's he and Ginny and their new baby daughters."

"Aww!" Professor McGonagall looked at the babies, one red- and one quite black-haired. "Twins always did seem to run in the Weasley family. What have they named them?" The young teacher blushed.

"Lily's the redhead, and I believe the dark-haired one's Hermione Potter. They've asked Ron and I to be their godparents, too."

"That's such an honor!"

"I only hope I don't wind up being turned into a squirrel and riding Buckbeak like poor Sirius Black!" The 'squirrel' thing was a private joke between them, too, as the diligent, bushy-tailed squirrel was secretly Hermione's shape whenever she became an Animagus. She hadn't been pleased with it at first, but, as her husband was quick to point out, 'a squirrel's a damn sight better than a crow.' The only odd result was her addiction to nuts' leaving secret caches all around the office whenever she changed back from practicing, which of course, she tried to make her husband find when he was turned into a crow for his own practice. He found that kind of thing funny.

As of the Muggle year 2008 or so, the Ministry had demanded that all faculty follow suit of the new Headmistress by perfecting their skills as Animagi. This was, of course, one of the first laws handed down by Minister of Magic Albus Dumbledore, close friend of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Her promotion had required a new Head of Gryffindor House, and the new Potions mistress was very happy to be nominated.

True, even marriages between Hogwarts teachers were rare, but a marriage between two opposing Heads of House was downright unprecedented. Still, the students were doing fairly well with Professors Snape and Granger-Snape, who for the sake of simplicity was usually just called Granger.

(A/N: Was anyone besides Ms. Hilt expecting that? Ten points to your House if you were.)

"I understand that the new fifth-year is Muggle-born?" Hermione inquired of Headmistress McGonagall.

"Well, we really aren't sure of that, actually. She was kicked out of her last several orphanages for performing what turned out to be magic, except that she's never been trained or taught properly. After the fall of the Dark Lord, we'd been expecting a few of these cases."

"What do you mean?"

"You recall the less-than-savory characters of some of those Death Eaters, Hermione." Professor McGonagall's face was a study in profoundest of human disgust. "It's probably likely that our new fifth-year is the product of an unwilling union-the worst of that old Lucius Malfoy's Muggle-tortures."

"You mean she's probably a half-blood from rape?" Hermione was shocked and immediately drawn into sympathy for the late-started fifth year. "Have they told you her name, even?"

"No, they've just given me this ugly Muggle file." Professor McGonagall opened it on one of the ample straight balustrades, pointing out the list of offenses committed by their new fifth-year. "'Attempting to run away'-twenty-eight times, 'possession of weapons'-twenty-six times, 'forgery'-what's that, Hermione?"

"Writing someone else's signature or handwriting."

"Oh, well, she's done that quite a bit, too, 'possession of illegal alcohol, with or without attempt to sell.' Does that mean she had it and might have wanted to sell it?"

"We can change her tastes to butterbeer, I'm sure." Hermione read down the list, pausing at the child's most unusual crimes. "'Kidnapping and riding of elephants'? Well, maybe we've got that Beater we had needed. Oh, here, 'possession and training of rodents'-thirty-five offenses. Can't a kid keep a pet anymore?"

"Are you really sympathetic to pet rats?" Minerva asked in shock. Hermione looked grim and fingered the scar that corkscrewed up her right wrist.

"I didn't mean it that way, just that maybe she wanted a pet." Professor McGonagall apologetically put an arm around her. "And Wormtail was quite different from the ordinary rat, as I recall. It was only a kidnapping, Professor, you don't need to worry about me forever."

"You were one of my students and you disappeared out of my care. I am always going to worry about you."

"Should I expect to feel the same if it ever happens to one of the new ones?"

"What happened to you won't happen to them, but yes, you will feel responsible."

"I haven't even seen this new kid and I'm already feeling responsible." Minerva smiled.

"That's what your husband would poke fun at, calling it our maternal instinct." She immediately went white, realizing she had just made yet another incredibly tactless remark. Hermione's chronologically thirty-third birthday was approaching and the Granger-Snapes still remained childless. But the young professor just shrugged it all off.

"You know, I think that's why he's so bloody abrasive." Minerva looked quizzical, and she clarified: "Extreme overdose of the maternal instinct."

"Now, Hermione,"

"No, seriously, he's like a mother hen. You should see him around the puppies Hagrid gave us last Christmas, he's worse than a parent."

"I'll never understand why you refer to -them as puppies in the plural sense. They've only got four legs between the three."

"Just because it's three heads doesn't mean it isn't three personalities!"

"You and your liberation front. I remember when you tried to set free all the house-elves and they wouldn't do it. You were always such a-"

Suddenly a loud noise interrupted their conversation. It was as if a massive horn had just blown somewhere off far in one of the corridors, and they knew it meant the start of yet another term.

"I'd better take this, then," Professor McGonagall decided, picking up the new student's folder and gathering all the papers up.

"Wait!" Hermione called. "What's the new student's name?" McGonagall checked the name on the cover.

"Julia… Julia Starcatcher."

'Oh, well, then.' Hermione thought, preparing to meet the throng of nervous first-years. 'I only hope she isn't crazy.'

*****************************

"So, 'ow many pets d'yeh keep in yehr jacket?" Hagrid was asking the tallish new fifth-year, who pulled a smart-looking ferret from her long purple raincoat.

"Well, there's Anthony here in this pocket, plus William and Mary, my white mice. That'll be the lot-in this jacket."

"Aren't yeh the girl after my own 'eart, Julie?" Hagrid shook the new girl's hand warmly, with another of his biggest first-day grins. But his expression grew dark as he noticed the looks that the other kids were throwing her. "But I'm a warnin' ye, ther's been a lot o' unpleasant rumors goin' on about ye. Don't y'take it to 'eart, and if yeh need ta, yeh kin visit me anytime out to me cabin."

"Thanks, Hagrid."

"We kin always talk abou' pets, of school, or summat, especially if all o' them 'pure-bloods' star' makin' a bit o' a fuss. Don' take the buggers seriously, is really what I'm after sayin.'"

"Ah, yes. Non illegitemi carborundum." Hagrid gave Julie a blank look. "It's my motto. In Latin, it means, 'Don't let the bastards get you down.'" Hagrid grinned and warned her:

"Quick! Bes' hurry up, or you'll be late to meet per'fessor Granger!"

"Right then!" She handed him an object and ran off. Only after she was gone did Hagrid unwrap a single, freshly baked cookie. It was the size of his hand-outstretched, that is.

"Oatmeal," he observed in relative wonder. "My fav'rite."

There was a buzz of whispers from the first-years who were all either ten or eleven, as the five-foot-five, wild-haired Starcatcher ambled slowily to the foot of the stairs. One kindly little blond-haired girl went up and spoke to her:

"Hello. I'm Chloe Davies." She had a slight French-ish accent. "What House are you hoping to be Sorted into?"

"Oh, me?" Julie hadn't heard the first word about any sorting. "Well, I d'know, I guess, the red one?" She pointed up at the Hogwarts crest above them on the banner, unconsciously aiming to Gryffindor. "I've always had a fondness for lions, or else I'd choose green. That, and snakes give me the creeps."

"Yeah, those Slytherins freak me out, too. I'd rather be in Hufflepuff like my dad, that's the gold one with the pretty badger. You must be a Muggle-born; otherwise you'd know all the Houses. Want me to explain them to you?" Ridiculous as it was, being explained to by an eleven-year-old, Julie had learned long ago to listen to what kids had to say. She agreed and said 'thank you,' allowing the little blond girl to continue. "The blue one with the bird is Ravenclaw, and that's for if you're really clever, and Hufflepuff's for the kids who try their hardest. Slytherin is for really ambitious ones-" the little girl lowered her voice, "or if you're really sneaky, and the great gold lion on the red one is for Gryffindor. That one's for kids who're really brave. See, I'd want to be in that one, myself, but I don't really think I'm brave enough. You'd get into Gryffindor like that!" she snapped her fingers. "I mean, being quarter-giant and all, and still having the nerve to just go into school. That's really impressive." Julie smiled and ruffled her hair in an expression of frustration but not anger.

"Oh, no, I'm not quarter-giant." 'I don't think,' she was secretly thinking. "I'm really going into fifth year, it's just I started really really late, y'know?" The little girl smiled and looked a little less scared.

"Oh, 'cause I thought that you were Hagrid's cousin!" She pointed up at Julie's wild mess of dark hair, which did indeed in a simple way resemble Hagrid's, in addition to her disparate height. "You must be Julia Starcatcher-then." The words just died on the younger girl's lips and Julie's shoulders sunk fast.

"Look, whatever you've heard about me- well, what you've heard about me's probably true. But I'm not really after any harm, here, I just came because they sent me."

"Oh, my Mom and Dad just said I should be really nice to you," little Chloe Davies explained to the much-older girl. "They said that all the grownups are afraid you might turn out like Lord You-Know-Who."

"Whom?" Julie asked in confusion, but the Professor of Potions at Hogwarts was descending the stair, sending a hush of quiet among the students. Julie looked up, only to realize it had been a profound mistake not to ask for wizard's robes before she'd left Broughton Orphanage. Everyone else was wearing them, and she stuck out like a violet at a funeral. At least her old purple coat had been long, so that they wouldn't see the remade bluejeans, the shirt with different sleeves sewn on, and woven hippie vest dating from her grandmother's time at least. Damnation!

"First-year students and Miss Starcatcher, welcome to your first semester at Hogwarts. I am Professor Granger, and I'll be teaching you in Potions." Hermione was struggling to sound half as austere as she remembered Professor McGonagall's speech to her own class to be. "In a few minutes, you all will be Sorted, into one of four houses where you will live for the remainder of your time here. Your triumphs will earn your House points, while any infraction of the rules will subtract them from your total. The House with the most points at the end of the year will be awarded the House Cup, a prestigious honor and an excuse for very healthy competition-not bloodshed in the corridors." Most of the wizard-born students were grinning, but all of the others, Julia Starcatcher included, looked absolutely petrified. "These doors will open for you into the Great Hall, and you may enter when I return and give the signal. Miss Starcatcher, could I have a word, please?"

Reluctantly but boldly, Julie strode off after her Professor, who opened a door and motioned at her to follow. Instead of being a stern, proper principal's office, it was a cheery mixed-up broom closet. Professor Granger said something silly about 'Accio school robes,' and instantly Julie found herself bombarded with black uniforms.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Professor Granger instantly helped her to her feet, picking out a set of robes with the Gryffindor crest on them. "I thought that you might like to have these old robes, as you've not got some of you own yet, have to take this patch off, though." The professor pointed her wand at the patch and whispered 'Ravelus Stiticus,' which caused the stitches around the border of the patch to neatly unravel.

"Uh, thank you…Professor…but-" Julie held up the wizards' robes curiously, "-how do I put 'em on?"

Moments had Julia Starcatcher garbed in the traditional Hogwarts uniform, which looked quite well with her static black hair, Hermione decided. It reminded her of Harry's, or of Severus'. The student's eyes were a deep shade of brown, and her skin was pale and looked quite Irish. There seemed to be a difference in expression beween cleverness and corruption, which the professor didn't really quite trust. The girl's seeming hope of belonging, however, and educated way of speaking, even in slang, reminded her quite strongly of another girl who once had worn the same robes.

"I'd better fix this, though," the girl said, pointing at her wet and tangly hair. Julie pulled off the elastic and began to brush at the rain-soaked mess furiously. "It'll still be wet but not as messy," she explained to her professor, who mumbled 'Thermos Follicus,' instantly drying Julie's hair where it was. "Cripe! You can do that with this…magic?" Professor Granger-Snape nodded. "Oh, that's great! …except I look like a hedgehog now, don't I?" The mirror wasn't lying. Starcatcher had hair every micron as bushy as Hermione's had been when she herself was a student at Hogwarts. "I give up on it, I really do."

"Oh, don't worry. Just pull it back in a ponytail and nobody'll give it the slightest of thought." Julia looked at her mistrustingly, until the professor indicated her own slightly bushy brown hairdo. "It's worked for me for thirty years." The student grinned and pulled back her hair, mentally making a note to the effects of 'Granger-thirty.'

"Thank you so much, Professor Granger. You teach the Potions class around here?"

"That'd be me, Miss Starcatcher. Do you know abot the Houses and the Sorting?"

"Yeah, a younger kid told me back there. Chloe Davies, I believe her name was."

"Oh, yes, Chloe. I believe I know her parents."

"Pardon me for seeming insubordinate, but you can't have been teaching here that long, ma'am."

"Oh, no, I didn't teach them. Her dad was a few years ahead of me in school, actually."

"Oh, okay, then." Julie looked as though she were about to ask something really innappropriate, but blushed and spit it out. "Professor Granger?"

"Yes?"

"I'd actually like it if you wouldn't call me by my last name-ever." Hermione nodded, and Julie decided to make the whole thing understood. "I know full well that it's not really my last name, and I don't really care that much for my first name, now, either. If you could just refer to me as Julie, I'd appreciate that."

"No problem, Julie. I run into things like that a lot, you know." Well, that was one similarity to Voldemort. "We'd better run, it's almost time to start the Sorting!"