Author's Note: Here's another chapter, for kicks. Only three left and a short epilogue after this!


Chapter 11: Weepy Weasleylessness

"Good morning, Hermione," McGonagall said warmly, as Hermione sat down at the Head Table, wearing slacks and a black vest over a white and blue striped button up underneath her full, black robes.

Hermione widened her eyes in surprise but quickly narrowed them again to a normal size. Why should it be strange to her that McGonagall called her by her first name? After all, they were colleag - she stopped herself mid-thought. She couldn't even think that she was equals with McGonagall. The thought was too staggering. She was the woman who had honed Hermione's abilities and guided her down the path of success. There was no way that anyone could mistake them for equals. Yet, anyway. It was probably just too strange for her to call her by her new title.

"G'morning, Professor," Hermione replied kindly.

"And good morning to you, Longbottom," McGonagall said, eyeing Neville's glee with wariness.

Alright, so maybe she liked Hermione a bit more than Neville, even though she knew the Headmistress respected him just the same.

"Good morning, Professor," Neville replied with a grin, plopping himself down next to Hermione. "And good morning, Hermione. I'm so relieved you're here."

Hermione didn't miss the shake of head McGonagall aimed at Neville, but that didn't let him spoil his mood.

"Did you sleep in your quarters last night?" Neville asked, immediately munching on a piece of toast. "Or are you commuting?"

"I slept here last night," Hermione said. "My quarters are beautifully decorated. The old professor must have had good taste."

"Actually, your accommodations haven't been in-use in over ten years," McGonagall said. "We have a wide variety of lodgings available. I didn't think you would appreciate his taste, so I put you where Remus stayed at his brief time here."

"Really?" Hermione asked excitedly, thinking back to the shelved walls, filled with bookcases and various devices used for defense purposes. "I could definitely see it having been his style. Thank you so much for the thought."

"It's not a problem," McGonagall sniffed, a smile threatening to spill onto her face again.

"You think you'll be staying in them then?" Neville asked with a grin.

"I'll still keep my flat, I think, because I love my flat, and it's right on the outskirts of London," she said thoughtfully. "But it would be convenient to stay here while teaching. While Oliver's busy, anyway."

She blushed as she mentioned the last thing, but neither McGonagall nor Neville seemed to care much about that.

"So I heard you and Mr. Weasley put on quite a display on Saturday," McGonagall said, quirking her eyebrow at Hermione.

She blushed even deeper. Did McGonagall think she was showboating? Oh Gods, she hoped not.

"No need to look so distressed, Hermione," McGonagall said with a smile. "I heard students talking about whether it'd be difficult to grow wings on inanimate objects. I didn't even mind that they'd been practicing magic in the hallways, because I was too busy awarding a Ravenclaw student ten points for managing to grow wings on his textbook and another ten points when it actually flew around the room. It's good to see students interested in their studies."

"I heard about it, too," Neville said through a full mouth, much to the disgust of McGonagall. He swallowed before he continued. "Flitwick got caught on the way here this morning by a couple of third years who asked him how to charm a watch to tell them if they're late or not."

"Oh, dear," she said, biting her lip. "Perhaps I should have taken some questions. I don't want to weigh anyone else down."

"Don't be silly," McGonagall said, dismissing her. "It is a credit to an educator when a student wants to know more. It is our duty to nurture such behavior."

"Well," Hermione said, smiling into her bowl of cereal. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit excited. I'd forgotten how exhilarating it can be to show some practical magic. Makes all the theory you learn worth it."

"Doesn't seem to help any less people from dozing off in my course when we're not in one of the greenhouses actually working with plants," Neville said. "So if you learn the secret of keeping students attentive during lecture, please pass it on."

She smiled weakly at poor Neville, who looked miserable at the thought.

After breakfast, Hermione stopped by her quarters to grab a few things and put them in a bag, before she headed off to the classroom. When she arrived, about a minute early, students were already seated in the room, and judging by the color of their ties and the clear division of green on one side and red on the other, she knew that some rivalries died harder than others.

As she walked through the center aisle and set her bag down on the table, she smiled at the group before her.

"Good morning, everyone!" she bellowed. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic, but don't think that means I lack experience defending against the Dark Arts. I received the Order of Merlin, first class for my contribution in the war against Voldemort and have ample experience both dueling against Deatheaters and other dark wizards, as well as being on the wrong end of some particularly nasty Unforgivables.

"This doesn't mean I'm the most qualified of people to take the post, but I'm nothing if not stubborn, so you're stuck with me. For a bit, at least. I'm sorry you've lost your professor due to some rather peculiar circumstances, but never fear. I will do my best to provide you the adequate support you need in order to pass your O.W.L. examinations. You've been studying for them for five years now, and I'll try my best not to muck things up in the two months prior to sitting for them."

She was glad when she got a few laughs, and she sat down on the desk in the front of the room. "The Headmistress has told me where you are in your revisions, so we shall continue from there. But before we do, does anyone have any questions for me?"

A timid hand was raised from a Gryffindor boy in the middle.

"Yes, Mister...?"

"Finkey. Thomas Finkey," he said. "Professor, do you reckon that the Patronus Charm is going to be on the exam? Because we haven't learned it yet."

She smiled warmly at him and shook her head. "No, Mr. Finkey. It was on the exam when I took mine, but examinations have since then been revised to be more fair, a better reflection of your realistic abilities at this point. The Patronus Charm is a bit too complex to be expected of fifth years to perform, so it's been moved to the N.E. , although it bears more weight there instead of serving as a sort of bonus like it did here. If you gain a score of 'Acceptable' or above on your O.W.L., you'll be learning it next year. Anyone else?"

No one else raised their hand.

"Excellent," she said, smiling at them. "Stand up, everyone."

The students did as they were told, and Hermione swept her wand across the room, causing all the desks and chairs to fly up toward the ceiling, where they hovered like the candles in the Great Hall. Some students, who didn't have their wands on their person, grabbed at them before the desks got too high up to reach.

"Today, we're going to be focusing on 'Protego' and variations thereof. You might be wondering why it's necessary to learn variations of the basic shielding spell, but there's a simple explanation. Can anyone tell me?"

A Slytherin girl with jet black hair and porcelain skin raised her hand.

"Miss...?" Hermione asked apologetically.

"Parkinson," she replied timidly.

"Relation to Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side.

"She's my sister," she replie hesitantly, as if she was wondering whether Hermione would have prejudice against her. It was clear that Pansy had mentioned her name once or twice.

"Good, good," Hermione replied. "So...?"

"'Protego' shields against basic spells, but in order to shield against more complex curses, charms, or spells, the shield must be specific to the magical components and properties that make up the spell it's defending against," she said.

"Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin!" Hermione said, smiling at the girl, who flashed a timid smile back at her.

It felt so strange to be uttering those words, she had to admit.

"So we now know that casting an effective shield requires the caster to be aware of what they're protecting against, as well as have quick enough reflexes in order to counter it. Can anyone tell me one way in which you might be able to tell what spell is being fired at you?"

A Gryffindor girl raised her hand. Hermione pointed to her.

"Miss...?"

"Terrell," she replied. "You can tell by the motion which they make when they cast the spell."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Hermione said. "Can anyone tell me another way?"

A Slytherin boy raised his hand. She pointed to him.

"Blake Woods," he said. "And you can tell by the color of what they're firing at you. If you're far enough away to where it's not too late to protect against it, at that point."

"Five points to Slytherin, and excellent point Mr. Woods," she said, as the rest of the class laughed. "There's one more way. Anyone?"

No one raised their hand.

Hermione twirled her wand around her hands, a smile creeping onto her face.

"You're overthinking this," she said with a laugh. "If I'm a dark witch, and I yell out the incantation for Fiendfyre, how can you tell that it's a Fiendfyre, before you see the light jet out of the wand, before you see the flames?"

"By hearing you yell the incantation?" asked a Gryffindor up front.

"Excellent!" she exclaimed. "So now I'm going to demonstrate to you, a few of the basic variations on 'Protego,' and then you're going to pair up and practice. So who's going to volunteer to curse, charm, or transfigure your Professor?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "I know you've all been fantasizing about getting the opportunity since the first time a professor announced a pop quiz."

Everyone laughed, and a few people raised their hands bravely.

She smiled at the group and picked Parkinson, since she'd been the first to answer her question. Hermione backed up to give her some room and raised her wand.

"Send anything you want at me that's not a basic spell - anything at all," she said with an encouraging smile.

Hermione watched as the girl began to move her hand in a triangular motion, and she recognized the wandwork before the girl even had a chance to finish, before she even said the curse, before the yellow jet erupted from her wand, and Hermione raised a glowing yellow shield before the predictable light flew out of her wand and toward Hermione.

It bounced back, and the students scattered to avoid it.

"Another ten points to Slytherin for such an advanced bone deformation curse, Miss Parkinson," Hermione said, grinning at the girl, who seemed to be embarrassed that she hadn't even gotten the curse out before Hermione had predicted it. "You should consider going into healing." The girl gave her a small grin through red cheeks. "But back to the lesson. Let's start with defending against biologically-aimed curses!"

The students, who were impressed with Hermione's abilities, spent the rest of the class defending against various spells excitedly.

By the end of the class, the students were all successful, and she awarded both houses points for it. They were so pleased with the lesson that she only got a few groans of complaint when she assigned them all to make outlines of their entire first year of Defense education in pairs, something which she knew would be beneficial but would take them several hours, even with partners. They didn't even mind that she mandated they pair up with a member of the opposite house.

After lunch, two more lessons (one of them a double), and some lesson planning, she walked to the Great Hall with much more confidence than she'd had coming in this morning, especially when she heard Pansy Parkinson's sister, a Slytherin prefect, mention to one of the younger students that she learned a lot in the Defense lesson, assuring her that Hermione wasn't biased against Slytherins.

She sat down at the table between McGonagall and Neville, a broad grin on her face.

"Heard some of the students talking about your lesson today," Neville said, patting her on the back. "Great job."

"Thank you," she replied. "Fred told me that the students would respect my experience and appreciate my thoroughness, but I didn't think they'd actually like me. I can't wait to tell him."

Neville chuckled at her. "What did Wood say when you told him you'd be teaching?"

"He was encouraging as well," she said, trying to draw anything memorable out of the letter she received. To be honest, she'd just sort of skimmed it. She was busy preparing for her lessons already by the time she got 'round to owling.

"That's good," Neville said taking a sip out of his goblet. "Are you going to tell him how it went?"

"I suppose," she said, a bit irritated at Neville's insistence on questioning her about this. "But I'll wait until he gets back on Friday. He's too busy training to be worried about me, I'm sure."

Neville opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. He squirmed for something else to say, until he finally landed on a new topic. "So can I see your quarters tonight? I've only seen mine and Flitwick's. Don't ask me about why I was at Flitwick's, by the way. It's kind of an embarrassing story."

She furrowed her brows and smiled in confusion, nodding slowly, as she tried to imagine an embarrassing scenario which would lead to Neville being in Flitwick's quarters. Her mind didn't have to work too hard before she shut the idea down, because of how many disturbing ideas flittered through her head.

"Alright," she said slowly. "But no, sorry, I'm probably going to be late tonight. I've standing plans."

"Oh yeah?" Neville asked. "Game night is this Friday, right? Or did we move it because Wood's coming back that day?"

"What?" she asked distractedly. "No, it's still Friday, and Oliver and I will be there. Fred and I are going to the Muggle cinema to see a comedy film. He's really fond of this American bloke, who just kind of screams at everyone. I don't see the appeal, but it's his turn to pick. But he's treating me to dinner afterward, so I don't mind."

"Have fun," Neville said, although it looked like he wanted to say something else.

Hermione picked at her food, knowing that she'd be eating something else soon enough anyway, and feeling annoyed again.

"When did you become so nosy?" she asked him, trying her best to sound neutral instead of like a passive aggressive bitch.

He smiled at her oddly. "I'm not particularly nosy, Hermione. It's that you've put me in a bit of an awkward situation as your friend."

"How's that?" she asked curiously, not following his train of thought at all.

"If you were doing something outright wrong, I could take a stand against it. But since you're not, I'm trying to keep you from doing it. But it's hard when what you're doing isn't the problem, but what you're feeling is," he said, looking thoughtfully at her. "I guess it's sort of hard to explain."

But he didn't need to. She knew exactly what he meant. He thought that she was developing feelings for Fred, and even though she knew this, and knew how he felt about her, she was nurturing those feelings by spending so much time with him. If she wasn't developing feelings for him, it'd be just like all the time she spent with Neville or Ron, which didn't make her feel nausea-inducingly guilty, like she felt when she snuck into Oliver's bed late at night because she was spending her entire evening with Fred. They never did anything. Not even close to it. But the fact of the matter was that she'd thought about it.

She tried to assure Oliver that the two months they spent apart had only been a temporary setback, a hiatus, and that things were back to how they were before, and on some level, she was right. He was just as sweet and caring as he always had been. He owled her every day while away, sent thoughtful gifts to her parents, tried to have a good relationship with her friends, and was as good as boyfriends came. It was part of why she fell in love with him. On the other hand, during the two months apart, she'd spent just as much time with Fred Weasley as she had over the past year, but there had been that moment when things clicked for her, and she saw him as a man rather than just an intelligent prankster.

And then she'd been attracted to him and his sweetness, his kindness, his humor, and she'd laughed like she'd never laughed before, and felt hot like she'd never felt hot. Her entire world had been lit on fire, even through her sadness and her loss, and her longing for the man she loved.

Then, she'd gotten back together with Oliver, and she spent three months hoping that things would go back to how they were before. But they didn't. She spent more time with Fred, found excuses to see him at his store, lied about having something interesting to tell him so they could have dinner together, lied about Oliver having practice and lied to Oliver about having to work late. She felt sick to her stomach when she thought about it. She needn't have lied to Oliver. After the initial jealousy, he'd become fine with her hanging out with Fred again. So all she should have told him was that she'd be spending time with him, working on product development like she technically was. But she'd lied about it, because she knew on some level even that was just an excuse to laugh with him, to talk to him, to share her day with him.

She'd felt it coming on for a while, but she was still confused. Oliver had been the love of her life for so long, and she felt like she'd died when he ended things. But now that she had him back, it wasn't enough. He hadn't been the one to change. He'd just made the mistake of telling Fred it was okay to give things a shot, to show her how much better her life was, with him in it.

And now she had the best of both worlds. She had a new best friend, who she yearned to touch and spend her day with, and a boyfriend who was kind, considerate, and stable. But it was starting to become evident that that wasn't what she wanted, and it wasn't fair.

That's where Neville came in. The wizard, who'd once again not been given enough credit for his sheer intellect, served as her conscience, poking at her to remember what it was she had chosen.

Still, she loved Oliver. There was no denying that. It had never changed. She still loved Oliver, and the thought of losing him was gut-wrenching. But the thought of doing what she was doing to Fred, knowing how he felt about her, now aware of the longing glances he sent her, and the pain and misery she caused him, that was so much worse.

So she tried to imagine her life without late nights with Fred and movie nights with Fred, and she felt horrible. Then she imagined how it felt when Fred had held her, kissed her, smiled at her, and she had to stop, because that thought made her feel horrible as well.

She sighed.

"Neville, I know exactly what you're saying," she admitted sulkily. "I just dunno what to do about it."

"Just follow your heart," he said smiling brightly at her.

She tossed her head back and laughed. There were no words to be said in reply.

She was sitting on an uncomfortable steel stool, grading tests while her elbows rested on the icy steel table. As exhilarating as her week had been so far, she was anxious for it to be the next day and get her final classes for the week over with so that she could see all her friends at game night. It'd been a while since they had all been there. Last week she hadn't been able to go because of meetings with McGonagall, the week before that, Neville and Ginny had been absent, and the week before that, Neville and Ron had been gone. It'd been almost a month since they'd all gotten together in a group, and although she realized that she still saw her friends more often than most people did, a part of her mind was still used to seeing them every day.

She'd spent six years seeing them all the time. Then afterward, she'd spent every day with Ron, and she nearly saw Ginny and Harry and Neville every day as well, through Ron. Then she and Ron had split up, severing her connection to the Auror realm, and her time with them was decreased to once a week. Then she continued to be promoted, Ginny's career in Quidditch took off, and Neville started teaching, and she rarely ever saw them. It was then that they all decided to implement the weekly game night, with the promise to be there at least once a month, even if constraints stopped them coming each and every single week.

Plus, Oliver would be coming back tomorrow, and she was going to meet with him after lunch, since she didn't have any classes. She wasn't sure if the doubts about their relationship had been a manifestation of him being away an extended time, or if it was the accumulation of months of realizations that her feelings had changed. She was anxious to see which.


"You look uncomfortable," Fred said in the midst of chopping potions ingredients.

"I'd transfigure the stool to something more comfortable, but I'm worried the residual magic would affect something else you're working on," she said, dropping her quill and frowning. "You need to get more comfortable stools."

"We don't usually sit on them for prolonged periods," he said, putting his elbows on the tall table, and bending over to rest his head on his hands. "Or ever, really. We just stand."

She wanted to retort, but she couldn't think of anything valid to say. It was Hermione who was invading his workspace, not the other way around. He didn't work in her office and complain about the furniture. She knew his words to be true, as he'd only sat down for a few seconds the entire three hours she'd been here.

He sized her up with a knowing smile on his face, his eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable grading papers in your office or your flat?"

She frowned, stood up, and started gathering her papers. "You're right."

And he was right. She would definitely be more comfortable. And she wouldn't have to deal with George popping in every now and then to grab something while he worked in the inner, normally hidden lab, only obstructed by the walls around the open archway.

She was squeezing the annoying rubber stopper into her bottle of ink and hadn't noticed him disappear upstairs until he was back again and standing behind her. She turned, fully aware of how much closer than necessary he was standing to her, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" she asked, unable to look away from his softened smile and gentle eyes.

"A pillow," he replied, "for the stool."

He put it down on the stool, and she took that as his way of saying that he didn't want her to go, even though she was uncomfortable. He liked being in the same room as her as much as she liked being in the same room as him, even when they were working on their own things.

"So," he said, as she went back to grading and he went back to potions. "Oliver gets back tomorrow, doesn't he?"

"He does," she confirmed, chewing on her quill.

"He's been gone something like three weeks, hasn't he?" he continued softly.

"Has it been that long?" she murmured absentmindedly, marking through another incorrect response. "I guess I haven't noticed since he still owls every day."

"Have anything fun planned for his return?" he pried.

She paused what she was doing and furrowed her eyebrows. "Should I have? We're going to Gin and Harry's tomorrow, if that counts."

He merely laughed in response.

"Speaking of," she said slowly, swallowing. "I know we usually do movies on Mondays, but... since Oliver's got a week off before his next match..."

"No worries," he replied, not looking the least bit distressed or upset, like she had expected. "Owl me when you're free next, yeah? Or just pop by."

"Okay..." she said, her frown deepening.

This was definitely bad. Neville had been dead on. She was upset that Fred wasn't upset. And that was downright crazy, considering her boyfriend who she hadn't seen in three weeks would have the week off. Why wasn't she more excited about that, instead of upset about this?

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Yeah," she replied. "I best be going, though. I have class in the morning."

"I'll walk you out," he said with a smile, waiting until she had gathered her papers again and walking her up to the ceiling hatch on the second floor. It was less annoying to disapparate from the roof than it was for him to unward the front door, then deal with any passers-by, and not get any privacy while saying goodbye.

She put her bag over her shoulder and stood at the ladder that had descended. She looked at him, his smiling face, his shining hazel eyes, his bright red hair, which had grown a bit longer but still stuck up and out to the side. She loved the light blue, striped shirt he was wearing, underneath a dark brown, almost black vest. His shirt was pulled up to his elbows, showing tone on his forearms. His large hands were perfect for potions, and for lots of other things, she knew, as she remembered things she probably ought not remember as vividly as she did. She knew she wouldn't see him for a few days, and for some reason, even a week without him felt crappier to her than three without her boyfriend.

She reached out and hugged him, leaning her head against his broad chest, squeezing him around the middle. His arms reflexively wrapped around hers, one around the small of her waist and one around her upper back, his arm curving upward to push her head further into his chest. He bent his head down against the side of her head, and she nuzzled into his neck in a way that was more familiar than it should have been.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered, without a trace of laughter or joking.

"It's just a few days," she said, trying to convince herself of that as well. "If you really wanted to, no one would mind if you came to game night tomorrow."

He pulled her at arms' length and smiled sadly, shaking his head. She knew that's not what he meant, but there wasn't much else for her to say, not before she'd spoken with Oliver.

He stared into her eyes and bent down, as if he was going to kiss her, and she stood frozen, staring at his lips, unable to look away but unable to move in either direction. Then a tiny laugh escaped his lips, bitter and pathetic, and he let her go completely.

"Have a good lesson tomorrow," he said, fake laughter coming out of the fake smile he'd just plastered onto his lips.

"Thanks," she said, climbing up the ladder with her bag over her shoulder. "Tell George I said bye."

"Bye, Hermione," called George as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared into the other workspace there.

Hermione and Fred shared a silent laugh, and she disapparated, with a POP!