"Happy New Year!"

Noisemakers could be heard all around the courtyard, the events of three years previous forgotten, for once, as they celebrated the arrival of the year two thousand. The big two-triple-oh. It was amazing that after all that had happened, they had made it this far, but it was an accomplishment that the three of them wished had gained a little less publicity. Never again would they be students of Hogwarts, though when they thought about it, they never really were. A student, in their opinion, signified the learning process of a child, someone who was gaining knowledge from an adult, a superior. They had never been children. Not after they turned eleven, at least. They had even been deprived of their last year of schooling, but they were immediately rewarded with enough propositions that finishing their education seemed unimportant for the three that wanted to move on with life.

But these thoughts were completely out of their heads as they hugged and exchanged kisses on the cheek, wine glasses positioned carefully in their hands as they all watched the fireworks erupt into the cloudy night sky. No stars could be seen behind the thick grey of the clouds; all they could make out was the thin crescent of an extraordinarily bright moon.

From their position on the grounds of Hogsmeade, the three friends had a perfect view of the firework show, even though it was coming from the school grounds. Each year, the new year celebrations got wilder and wilder, and it felt great being a little crazy after the tension of a lifelong war. Smiles could be seen on their faces more often, and more prominently. They weren't stuck in a throng of unhappiness, and although they couldn't exactly be normal, they were content in the presence of each other.

"George did a great job on these, mate," said the youngest of the three appreciatively, his black hair sticking up in the most ridiculous places as his turned his luminescent green eyes on the boy next to him.

"If there's anything he can do well, it's charms," agreed the female, staring at the sky where the firework finale had taken place. "I don't know what charm he could have used to produce such dexterous results."

The two boys rolled their eyes at her large vocabulary, seeing that three glasses of wine had obviously done nothing to affect her bookish ways. The annoyance was all in good fun, of course – as were the swats she 'rewarded' them with. The three had been friends since they started school together, and their bond was amazingly strong. After all they had been through with each other, they were fairly certain that nothing could tear them apart.

"Yes, and that's why you teach Potions, not Charms, Hermione," said the redheaded boy, staring at her admiringly despite his joking words. At the age of twenty (and in her case, twenty-one), only Harry had found a lifelong partner, if the band on his left ring finger was any indication. His relationship with Ginny had flared after she left school, and they immediately married after her graduation, not wanting to regret not doing so if any remaining Death Eaters got hold of either of them. Hermione, however, had ended her relationship with Ron after a measly month with him, deciding that she would focus on her career rather than a romantic companion. Ron had never given up hope, not even three years later when she showed no signs of withdrawing her decision.

Hermione smiled affectionately at him, though not the sort of affection he wished he could get from her. He knew she was dedicated to teaching the kids at Hogwarts – especially since this was her first year doing so – but he couldn't shake off the urge to kiss her one last time. Though he was content in his job as a curse breaker at Gringott's, he longed to have a wife and produce a family. Harry and Ginny, happily married, had decided to wait a few more years before having children, especially since both were happy in their jobs. Ginny was a writer for The Quibbler, the most popular magazine of the age. Harry, despite his vehement protests of working at the Ministry, had taken a surprising post as an Unspeakable. His wish to be an Auror died along with Voldemort, and he no longer wished to have anything to do with Dark wizards. In more precise terms, he had grumbled one evening over rice pudding, "If anything happens that's bigger than this last war, just lock me in my room and keep me out of it!" His explanation for becoming an Unspeakable, when his wife and best friends asked, was due to the fact that nobody knew anything about him. He had 'received enough publicity for six lifetimes, thanks', and wanted a job where nobody could delve any further into his life. Hermione was happy to see him happy, even if he was a bit cranky at times.

The three friends walked back to the castle (Ginny was out with Luna and Parvati, her closest friends), arms linked and smiles lingering over their lips. Though it was custom for Hogwarts teachers to celebrate the holiday in the teachers' lounge or on the grounds, Hermione snuck off to see her two best friends, away from all the staff and students staying for the holidays.

"Happy New Year, Ron, Hermione."

She decided that she would do it every year, for them to be able to bond and cherish those few moments of their past where they had had nothing but innocent bliss with each other.

"Happy New Year, Harry."


Her lips curled in amusement at the familiar scrawl on the parchment. Harry's letters always amused her, and she always loved a chance to respond. However, now was not one of those times, as her fifth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were about to come for class. Teaching Potions was definitely a great choice of hers; she had always thought that if she were to teach at Hogwarts, she would take over the Arithmancy or Defense position, never thinking that she could replace the infamous Severus Snape. When he died, though, and was replaced by a paranoid, over-emotional Slughorn, she knew she had to come and save the students. After all, she was the only one who could even attempt to compare to Professor Snape's greatness, and when she received a letter (though the handwriting didn't look like Headmistress McGonagall's) asking to take over the position – due to a mysterious accident ending Slughorn's life – she had readily agreed. It beat working in an office, that was for sure.

She smiled as the fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds entered her classroom. She had a lesson plan already formed in her head, and she was excited for this particular lesson. When Professor Snape had taught it to her, she had been enthusiastic but not enticed, due to his way of distributing the lesson. As much as she respected her predecessor, she intended to be a much livelier teacher.

"Good morning, students."

"Good morning, Professor Granger."

Hermione smiled. These students were just young enough to recognize her from school. Had she participated in her seventh year of schooling, she would have seen these children as second years, so for her sixth year she had witnessed their sorting.

"Today, I have a very exciting lesson planned. Has anyone ever heard of the Elixir of Light?" One timid hand went up, and Hermione smiled down at Patricia Simms encouragingly. The Ravenclaw was like a mental carbon copy of Hermione; eager, intelligent, observant. She would have made a great warrior had she been older, and the second the thought entered Hermione's mind, she scolded herself. "Alright, does anyone know what the Elixir of Light is, or what it is used for?" Hermione looked down at Patricia expectantly, but it was the hand of a Hufflepuff boy that caught her attention. "Yes, Mr. Hepburn?"

The boy blushed, obviously thinking that she wasn't going to actually call on him, but shook his head nonetheless and said in a shy voice, "Does it – erm – physically diminish all traces of darkness, like those from a dark curse, from a person?" His voice steadily grew stronger as he spoke, and Hermione's eyes lit up with pride.

"Very good!" she said proudly. "Ten points to Hufflepuff." Hepburn blushed again, but when the girl next to him patted him on the back, he seemed to stick out his chest with slightly more confidence.

As the lesson progressed, Hermione explained that they weren't going to actually brew the Elixir of Light, because it was a fairly new potion – created the year before – and they were simply going to research it for a few days before moving on to another concept. She didn't dare teach her students such a powerful breach of magic, at least not anyone younger than their seventh year. And even then, she was saving that lesson for the end of the year, when they were leaving the confines and security of school to become real adults.

As her fifth years filed out, Hermione acknowledged that it was time for lunch. She had had a big breakfast, though, and decided to skip lunch in favor of some research for next week's sixth year class. She walked behind her desk, heading for the tall, wooden bookshelf that held all her favorite volumes, locked with a spell that could only be opened by her hand. She quickly unlocked it, scanning the tomes for a text about Amortentia. She was planning on presenting it to her sixth years, but as was her custom, she wanted to provide a bit of background information. That was odd, though; she didn't seem to have her text with her.

Shrugging, she figured she could simply head down to Professor Binns' classroom. The ghost never attended meals, and if he was too thick to realize that he was a ghost, then he would certainly be too thick to ask why she wanted an ancient tome about the strongest love potion. That could, after all, cause some awkward questions.


He sat in the horrendous orange armchair that stood by the stairs, his eyes fixated on the closed door. Thoughts were overcoming his mind; none of fear about the time that was coming, but thoughts of distress nonetheless. He knew why he had done it, why it was necessary, but that didn't make him feel any more comfortable. The only consolation was knowing that everyone assumed Horace Slughorn's death was an accident. Nobody would, of course, investigate him personally, but he was glad to see that nobody would be falsely accused of killing Hogwarts' least potent Potions Master. And he would definitely know how potent each and every one of Hogwarts' Potions Masters were. Although, looking back, killing the walrus had been ridiculously easy. Slughorn trusted anyone if they claimed to have great connections with people who mattered, and pretending to be Wizzet Gismo, the 'famous Seer from Asia' had been a piece of cake. There was no Wizzet Gismo, but Slughorn didn't know that. All he had to do was spout out some ridiculous story about Slughorn's supposed future, and he had shared a firewhiskey or two with the old codger. Slipping in some rat poison hadn't been hard when Slughorn had excused himself to use the loo, and ten minutes after he had told Slughorn some of the things he could 'see', the man would never even have a future again.

Sure, he felt guilty. What normal person wouldn't, after committing such a heartless crime so easily? It wasn't the first time he had killed, but it was the first time he had done it to someone who was against the Dark side. But, he reasoned with himself, it was completely necessary. He had to get Hermione Granger to teach at Hogwarts. It was crucial, it was a matter of the utmost importance. He had strict orders from his three – four, he admitted grudgingly – instructors, and he had every intention of completing their request. He knew how important it was. He smirked slightly, remembering her eager response to his forged letter. She had responded not even an hour after he had owled her. He used a school owl, and tried his best to write like the Headmistress would. She didn't seem suspicious, to his imminent relief.

There was a knock on the door, and he quickly transformed. After doing so, he sat at his desk, silvery hands folded together. He pulled himself together quickly, adopting a lost, bored expression on his face. With a swish of his hand, notes from the last class period appeared on the board and he was ready. "Come in," he droned, the tone of his voice feeling hollow. But he was used to it by now.

The door slowly creaked open, and there she was, the girl that he had just been thinking about. He refrained from smiling, but found himself frowning again. Her arrival had just made things a lot easier for him, since he wasn't sure how he was going to corner her. At the same time though, he knew that tonight would be the night where he was disposed of. After so long…

"Hello, professor," she said cheerfully, quite the contrast to his own lifeless voice. She smiled, but he had to pretend that he didn't see it. After all, that was what he was best at, manipulating people. Lying. And it killed him. Balthazar H. Binns was a fraud, and even Dumbledore didn't know it. Neither did Armando Dippet, or Phineas Nigellus Black, or any of the previous Headmasters since Balthazar was a part of Hogwarts school.

"Good evening, Professor Grayhenge," he said dully, looking past her to the notes on the board as though he were truly focused on them. The morning sunshine poured through the window exuberantly, and he hated people thinking he was an unobservant sod. And faking names all the time was torture. He couldn't even count all the times he had almost called Harry Potter by his real last name, instead of some other 'P' name. Perkins, Porter, and Parker could only be used so many times in a span of seven – well, six – years.

She spoke again. "Erm, good morning," she said uncomfortably, probably because she didn't want to just humor him. Balthazar held back a smirk. "I was wondering if you have any books on the history of Amortentia, Professor? I need to know, for next week's lesson."

Balthazar did have such a book, and he nodded in a falsely absent-minded way. Floating away from his desk and chair, he beckoned with a silent hand for Hermione to follow him up the stairs of the classroom that led into his office. He saw her bewildered face out of the corner of his eye, and almost laughed. The poor girl had no idea that innocent old Professor Binns ever migrated away from his desk. He watched her climb up the stairs, putting one leg in front of the other, and hating how he couldn't do that in anyone's company. Not even the house-elves. He didn't bother summoning them for food; he didn't need it.

"Over there, Professor Grungy." He pointed to a book on a shelf, since he couldn't pull it down himself in his transparent state. As Hermione pulled it down, she whispered a few soft words of gratitude and hurried out his office door. He watched her for a few seconds, before coming to his senses and realizing that this was quite possibly the only chance he would get in a very long time to confront her. He shifted back to his regular, solid state, took a deep breath, and called her back.

"Professor Granger!"

Perhaps it was the fact that he had said her name correctly that made the poor girl stop in her tracks, but she turned around, book clutched tightly in her hand as though she thought someone would steal it in his own classroom, and let her jaw drop as she drunk in the sight of the school's only ghost professor as a solid human being.

"Where – where is Professor Binns?" she asked, her voice not quite as steady as she probably would have liked. Balthazar sighed. He knew that she probably wouldn't just accept the fact that he wasn't a ghost just by seeing the proof, but that didn't mean that he was eagerly awaiting the conversation that was to come. Why had he been left with the mission? He hated confronting people, but he had waited so long for this moment that he wasn't going to pass it up.

"I am Professor Binns," he said honestly, and his voice was much stronger than the professor that droned on in the classroom. She must have agreed, if the disbelieving look on her face said anything to him. "Well, actually, I am Professor Balthazar H. Dinger Hartford Fredson Puckle Gellson Mortévo Laverne Jenkins Wyatt Binns," he corrected, knowing this was doing nothing for the girl's patience. To her credit, she wasn't crying or screaming or breaking things or accusing him of lying; she seemed to be digesting the fact that Professor Binns wasn't really a ghost. He would have been shocked too, if he hadn't seen more amazing things in his one thousand years of existence.

"What's the H for?" she asked after a pregnant silence, and Balthazar chuckled at her question, glad that his mission involved someone without an extremely sensitive personality.

"Hogwarts," he shrugged, quickly conjuring a chair as her knees buckled. She probably would have looked gratified, if she wasn't paler than the sun outside. He wondered what her interpretation of that would be. Balthazar Hogwarts Binns. Due to the whole being alive for a thousand years thing, who better to teach History of Magic than himself? She didn't know his age yet, but she would. And when he told her, he was prepared to conjure up a wet washrag for her too.

"Hog – no– Hogwarts?" she repeated weakly, her regained confidence faltering as the wheels turned in her head regarding the significance of this entire ordeal. "Were you, perhaps, named after the school?"

The hopefulness in her voice broke Balthazar's heart, or what was left of it after one thousand years. He shook his head, about to place a comforting hand on her knee before he realized that such a gesture would probably frighten her even more. "The school was named after me." And he handed the damp washrag to her, in case she needed it. It never hurt to be prepared.

Hermione stared at the proffered washrag blankly, processing his words, before shaking her head resolutely. Her disbelief seemed to be replaced by anger and indignation, two emotions which Balthazar had predicted but not looked forward to. A sharp intake of breath was all the warning he had before Hermione began to lash out at him.

"That would mean you're over one thousand years old!" she pointed out, and it was an undeniable truth. "Magical beings may get old, Binns, but they don't get that old. That doesn't explain how you're a ghost and a human, and quite frankly I don't believe that you could have gotten away with this little scheme for so long. Why are you trying to screw up my head? Is this because I took your precious book?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "If you want your stupid tome back, you can take it." She actually threw the book at him, and he barely mumbled an 'ow' before she continued, not even realizing her own abuse of the book. "I SAID TAKE IT!" she bellowed, louder than Balthazar would ever guess her little form was capable of. She was livid, and he felt terrible about what he had to do. He only hoped she would be willing to do it.

"Hermione, please," he said, hating that he was reduced to begging just because of the stubbornness of a twenty-year-old female. Well, a twenty-year-old female who was crucial in preventing everything that had happened over the last thirty years, that is. This didn't console Balthazar. "If you'll hear me out, and you still don't want to believe me, then I'll let you throw books at me." The last part was said with a slight scowl and a rubbing on his face where she had hit him. Her blush was apology enough, and figured that she was inviting him to continue.

He took a deep breath, avoiding her eyes as he began his tale. "Do you remember what I told you in your second year, Hermione?" He could only hope she knew what he was referring to.

She did. With perfect citation, she repeated his words from over seven years ago. "You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

Balthazar marveled at the witch's memory. He only remembered such a thing because he was used to memorizing things for hundreds of years at a time. Nodding to indicate that she was indeed correct, he continued. "I grew up with Helga, Rowena, Salazar, and Gryffindor." He spat the fourth name in contempt, before shaking his head and moving forward. "In fact, I knew the three – erm – four of them so well, that they named the school after me." Even he could hear how unrealistic his story sounded. With a hint of dread at the thought that Hermione would think he was telling tall tales, he continued.

"I had two older brothers and a little sister. I loved my little sister above anybody else. I cherished her, and she cherished me. My sister was Helga Hufflepuff." Talking about this wasn't as easy as he thought; it had been a thousand years, yes, but three of these people were the most important ones in his life and he was here while they had died long ago. "Before you say that our last names aren't the same, and therefore we can't be siblings, she was married. Helga married a man named Hector Hufflepuff. I was the best man at their wedding."

A smile appeared on his face as he remembered the memory, and the look on Hermione's face was one of sympathy. She seemed to be on the path of believing him already, which was fantastic. She knew from experience how hard it was to lose one's most important people, and having to go without those people for over a thousand years had to have been torture.

Finishing his moment of sentimentality, Balthazar cleared his throat. "Rowena…" His eyes glazed over, and Hermione ironically handed him the wet washrag. He took it, chuckling slightly. "Rowena was my wife. We married shortly before Hogwarts was created, and Helga, her best friend, was our maid of honor. We had a son. Marcel was one hundred and sixteen when he died, and I was so proud to be able to have seen him live his life fully. Though, his death, after Rowena's, was terrible. She died of a broken heart, because I had to leave. I had to leave to complete the mission, I – I loved her so much, Hermione. I still do. I haven't been with a woman since." This was utterly ridiculous, since he was alive for so long. But he loved Rowena that much, and Hermione could appreciate that.

"Then Salazar…" He stopped at the look of disgust on his much younger companion's face. He could easily interpret her expression. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said pleadingly, "Hermione, don't judge Salazar for Tom Riddle's mistakes. Salazar made some bad decisions, like creating the chamber, and he had some strong opinions about Muggles. But remember what age we all lived in. Magical beings were detested and killed for being what they were. Salazar was angered by that. I have long since forgiven him for his mistakes."

Hermione sighed; she knew the whole deal with redemption. She had thought Professor Snape was a traitor, but had readily forgiven him as she learned about the true man that he was. She had forgiven Draco Malfoy for his mistakes as well. Hermione knew about forgiveness. She nodded, even as it was a somewhat painful gesture for her to fathom, even as her mouth was dry, even as she wanted to wake up from this ludicrous dream.

"Anyhow," Balthazar continued, at her nod, "Salazar was – he was my best friend. You and Potter? Try that tenfold. I loved Helga, I loved Rowena, but Salazar … our bond was absolutely indescribable."

Hermione smiled at the reminiscent light in Balthazar's eyes, and stood up to engulf the old man in a hug. She realized – unlike Harry or Ron in this situation – how hard it truly was for him to talk about his past to her. She could appreciate that he missed his companions dearly. But one thought lingered in her mind. He hadn't said anything about Gryffindor.

"And Godric?" she asked, hesitant to break the thick silence. She almost regretted it; Balthazar's face contorted into one of pure, unadulterated loathing.

"Listen to me, Hermione," he said angrily. "I have nothing against you, or Potter, or Potter's dad, or any other student who was ever sorted into that house. But Godric Gryffindor … he killed Salazar." Balthazar punched the side of the chair, a single angry tear tracking down his face. "I got along with him fine, the five of us were great friends, but Merlin! When Gryffindor and Salazar got into the argument, Salazar left the school. Within a year, Gryffindor tracked him down and murdered him. He bloody murdered my best friend! This was after I had learned my mission, after Rowena had died, after Helga had moved to Ireland or someplace with her husband. This was when it was me and Salazar and Gryffindor left. After that, I – I killed him. I couldn't take it, I was naïve, I killed him, he who killed my best friend."

The anguish in his voice cut through Hermione's heart, and she reached over and hugged him again. He let loose, and finally, after what was literally a thousand years without mourning for his loved ones, he cried on Hermione's shoulder, ignoring her soothing words as he let out a millennium's worth of emotions.

After he composed himself and apologized about sixteen times, she ventured another question. She was still dumbstruck about this entire situation, even if she now believed him, and questions were swarming her mind. "So you're immortal? How is that possible, unless – did you use Horcruxes? Why do you have ten last names? What is this mission? Why are you telling me? How did you get away with it?"

She paused there to inhale breath and before she could rant even further, Balthazar used a hand to indicate that he was going to speak. "Firstly, I think it'd be prudent to address your immortality question. Yes, I am immortal. I am an Absentis Amoveo, which means 'mission shifter' in Latin." Hermione wondered why everything in the wizarding world translated to Latin and idly thought that she should learn the language. "I am one of three Absentis Amoveo in all of Wizarding history. I would know, after all." They both grinned at that.

"Absentis Amoveo only exist if one has a mission to complete, but my immortality occurs because my mission was to be completed over a century after my present time. In the instance of a mission being accomplished within a normal lifespan, one does not need these powers. Obviously, I did. So, no, I do not use Horcruxes and I swear to Merlin that I never will. We are not told what are mission is, we don't even know that we are Absentis Amoveo until we are basically supposed to die, and then stay alive. We only know what our mission is once it is supposed to take place, so I didn't know about my mission until last week. I'll tell you, it was a very suspenseful thousand years." Another grin. "Anyway, Absentis Amoveoare given the power to shape-shift into ghosts whenever they please, to keep up the pretense of being dead after a hundred or so years, since that's usually around the time of a wizarding death. I have ten last names because I had no desire to stay in ghost form for my whole life, and it would have been suspicious if there was a Balthazar Binns for a thousand years. So I made up a new alias every hundred years, going back to Binns for this century."

While that explanation had been thorough enough to satisfy Hermione's curiosity, they both knew what question hung in the air.

What is the mission?


Intriguing, I hope! Not to fear – things become clearer very soon. I hope I can avoid the clichés in these upcoming chapters, but I have faith. Stay tuned and review!