I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or any of the others that go along with the Harry Potter series. They belong to J. K. Rowling. I have written this fanfiction for fun, not profit. I don't have any money. =P

Return to Hogwarts

Chapter 01

Welcome to Hogwarts, Hermione Granger thought cynically. Her eyes surveyed the old castle, and found that nothing had changed. She hadn't expected anything to. Still, as she was ushered inside, somewhere in the back of her mind she felt prickles of excitement and maybe even joy at being back. Her former school and the place where she had met her two best friends... make that best friend, singular, was now her home once more. She avoided thinking of the past, however, as she unpacked her belongings and settled into her new room.

Pictures were put up, clothes were put away, and books were placed upon shelves as she used her first day back to organize everything just so. There was a lot to be said for living alone, and she now had no doubts that having things her way was at the top of the list for Reasons Why.

Her eyes, sometimes hazel, sometimes brown, and sometimes almost pure green, scanned the row of books that were in line neatly on the shelves. A smile touched upon her lips when she saw the books written by Gilderoy Lockhart. Written, but not actually lived by the man. Still, they had fairly decent advice. For all that he was -- an idiot with a good memory charm -- he did have pretty good writing abilities, and he hadn't changed much. Except, of course, for the basic fact that he was not the hero in the books.

But, as were many things, that was all in the past. Former Professor Lockhart was now rebuilding his life, but the funniest part was that though he could master spells that were beyond his reach before, he now could not perform a memory charm for the life of him. And she, Hermione Granger, was now stepping up to take her place as yet another teacher at the Hogwarts School of Wizardry. Since before she was a student there, and after she had graduated, there was always a place in need of filling. Defense Against the Dark Arts couldn't seem to keep a teacher. Rumors flew about how it was cursed, most likely by Severus Snape. Hermione knew why the teachers never lasted, and she doubted any of the reasons had to do with Snape. Certainly, Quirrell's two-faced ways, both literally and figuratively speaking, had not been brought about by Snape! And, she admitted grudgingly, Lupin's leaving also had nothing to do with the greasy-haired professor.

Hermoine snapped out of her thinking and glanced at her muggle clock. Her parents had bought it for her, and though she had much more accurate ways of telling the time, she was still touched by their gesture. Unfortunately, she was not as pleased with the time. She had to change quickly and get to the Great Hall if she was going to make it on time to her own festive dinner. She wasn't sure what to call it, but it was a mix between her welcoming banquet and the sorting of the students. Her students, she thought with a shock. She never thought she would become a teacher, but after she left Hogwarts, she had realized just what she wanted to do -- learn and share what she had learned. Finally, her bossy nature had been an asset, and she soared through college easily. At first, she wasn't sure if she wanted to be a muggle teacher or a witch teacher, but after the first semester at a muggle college, she quickly decided that it wasn't challenging enough.

Slip on the robes, tie this here, and button this there and... viola! She was ready for her first dinner as Professor Granger. Now, to make it on time was a different story. She exited her quarters, which were near the chambers in which her classes were set, and walked demurely by some students who were making their way to the Great Hall, also. She turned corner, and took off at a run. Her feet carried her swiftly through the corridors, past familiar pictures that shouted greetings at her, and made her way up and down some tricky staircases that tried to move beneath her. She made it to the Great Hall in record time, and even managed to smooth her hair down before entering the back way and taking the chair that Professor Dumbledore indicated to her with a nod of his head. She smiled gratefully and tried to be very subtle at the way she labored to catch her breath.

The rest of the professors filled the chairs at the staff table, and then the students started to file in. Hermione had to cover her mouth with a dainty hand when she noticed the Gryffindors and Slytherins giving each other dirty looks already. Yup, things were still the same. Finally, when all the second years and up were seated, the first years were brought in.

The sorting started. And went on. And on. And on. Hermione could've sworn it wasn't this long and, well, boring when she was a student here. Then again, she thought, she didn't have a specific house to which her allegiance was sworn. Or whatever it was that she had gone through when she was sorted to Gryffindor.

Finally, when it was done, there was a sigh of relief to match her own. Curious, she identified the source of the slight sound to her favorite Potions professor. He seemed to have heard her sigh, too, because he was looking at her with a most distasteful look on his face. She was beginning to think that countenance was permanently etched on. She blinked and had to look away. Not even back a day and already she was falling into her old patterns of thinking!

Dumbledore stood and made a few announcements, which were the usual warnings to stay away from the Forbidden Forest and some others. He then cleared his throat. "As we all know, Hogwarts has a tradition of eating up Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers faster than students do chocolate frogs," he started, receiving a few chuckles at the comparison. "I hope that the same does not happen to our new addition, Professor Granger."

Hermione stood up and smiled. Since the accident with Draco Malfoy some years ago, she no longer was afraid to show her teeth. Her hair had settled much (with the help of a charm or two) and she had, much to her dismay, grown a rather large chest. In short, she was everything she despised but wanted to be when she was younger. Thus, it was no surprise to her when some of the male students began to eye her appraisingly. She ignored it.

"I hope we will have a great year," said Hermione sincerely. "I don't expect you to go easy on me because I'm the new teacher, but I won't go easy on you, either." With that said, she smiled again and sat down.

Dumbledore winked at the students. "Professor Granger was a student here not too long ago, so she remembers well what it was like!" He then launched into his string of gibberish words, and the feast commenced.

Later, Hermione wished she hadn't eaten so well. She couldn't remember the last time that she had eaten so much and her stomach was not only twisting, it was also threatening to violently shove all the food back out. If there was one thing she hated, it was being sick. However, one thing she hated more was being babied. So instead of going to Madam Pomfrey, who could've quickly made her feel 100% again, she was curled up in her bed, the cool sheets offering no reprieve. The food had been, as always, excellent. The air around her was so happy. Enough so to make her forget, temporarily, what she wanted to forget.

And then came the pain. Stomachache triggered heartache. Funny, really. Being here, amidst the moving paintings and the ghosts, and, of course, the students and professors, brought back so many memories that she couldn't keep them all out. How it started, how it ran, and how it ended went through her mind again and again.

She threw the covers off of her in one dramatic gesture and made her way over to the window. On nights like these, it always comforted her to stare up at the stars. She perched in a chair that had been placed near the window for those purposes and glanced outside. Apparently even the stars were against her tonight. The normally bright sky was overcast, clouds spreading every way. Great way to start out the year, she thought bitterly.

Still, she was somewhat enthusiastic about the coming year. She had her own students, and she had liked the DAtDA classes when she was a student here. If truth be told, she would've rather taught Transfiguration, but there was no need for a teacher there. Professor McGonagall was still quite well. Minerva, she thought to herself. Professor Dumbl-- Albus, she corrected, had told her that she was a professor here, not a student. And being so entitled her to special privileges, such as being on a first name basis with the staff. Still, she couldn't imagine calling Filch "Argus!" He had become relatively tolerable in her last two years as a student, but he still found every which way to get Harry into trouble that he could think of. Even though it wasn't Harry's fault (Harry certainly hadn't let a basilisk loose on the school), it was clear that Filch still blamed him for the petrifying of Mrs. Norris.

She sighed as she settled back into bed. Glancing at her clock had told her that it was well past midnight, and therefore past her bedtime. She needed her rest. First thing, bright and early, she had a class. Even though her stomach still protested, she settled into bed and pulled the covered over her. "Goodnight, Hogwarts," she whispered.

The next evening she was glad that she had forced herself to ignore the pains in her stomach. She was, to be blunt, tired as hell. Her feet hurt, her head hurt, and her wand hand hurt. Part of it was from the sheer effort that it took not to hex some of the little buggers. She knew that she was much younger than most of the staff (and certainly Professor Binns, who was dead), but really! That was no reason to treat her with anything less than respect.

Or, at least, that was no reason to throw lewd love notes at her.

She wondered briefly if Minerva had gone through this harassment when she was younger. She couldn't imagine any insolent boys throwing notes at the frigid teacher. Hermione herself adored her mentor greatly, but to most others she was strict and unbending.

Hermione wondered just how the other teachers kept up with it all. There were not only seven different levels of students to remember, but also four different houses. It was enough to make her hair frizz.

She made a few turns, intending to skip out on dinner tonight and prop up her feet and promptly smacked into someone. "Oh, excuse me," she said automatically.

"I don't recall you making it a habit to walk into people, Miss Granger," drawled a slow, raspy voice.

Her heart clinched and she looked up into the face of Professor Snape. Severus, she reminded herself. "Not really, generally speaking," she replied, trying her best not to look nervous. She was a little surprised; he hadn't smelled all that bad, in spite of the greasy-hair and the rather nasty looking teeth.

"Well, do be careful from now on," he said, a sneer crossing his face. "I would prefer to be able to travel in the hallways... unmolested."

"Of course... Severus." She threw the his name in there, knowing full well what effect it would have. She didn't care. Molested, of all the nerve!

He scowled, his face twisting even more. "Farewell, Miss Granger." He turned, his cloak billowing out theatrically. She would have rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at his back, but she didn't think it would set a good example for the few students around.

Instead, she managed to get to her room without further incident. "I really must get some more pictures to hang on the walls," she said to herself. The room didn't seem quite so empty when there was noise in it. She did the logical thing then. She selected a CD from her favorite muggle band and popped it in. Our Lady Peace, the band was called, the CD being the new one titled "Gravity."

Leave me alone, the singer's voice echoed in her mind. She wanted to be alone and yet she didn't. Funny that she chose to be a teacher, then. Her eyes traveled over her pictures to one in particular -- of a big, ginger colored cat. Crookshanks. She missed him dearly, and she made up her mind to go into Diagon Alley as soon as she got paid. A new cat wouldn't replace her old friend, but perhaps she could get an owl instead. That would be fairly useful and she had seen Hedwig get pretty friendly. It wasn't the type of pet that would climb up into your lap, but she doubted that she would have much time for an animal like that anyway.

We are, we are all innocent. She smiled at this lyric, a smile of bitter anger. Are we, now? Is there anyone truly innocent anymore? She doubted it. She was not yet 23, but still she had seen so much in her life. The rise and fall of Voldemort, the rise and fall of her heart were some of the things. The rise, fall, and breaking into a million pieces of her heart was more like it. She growled and pushed the forward button on her CD player. Why had she chosen this damn CD? It all was depressing.

When they say you're not that strong, you're not that weak, it's not your fault... she could've broken the CD player. Damn muggles and their damn music! The fact that she was of muggle lineage only served to increase her irritation. At least when a wizard or witch got pissed off at someone of the opposite sex (and sometimes, in some very delicious cases, she thought evilly, at someone of the same sex) a simple hex would do it. Her fine eyebrows drew together in a line. Of course, she thought, it might make some sort of strange, twisted pleasure to have the person squirm every time they heard the song playing.

Vengeful thoughts did not serve her well. Especially when they involved shoving a certain male's head in a room with speakers that blared music proclaiming her detest of him.

She threw herself back on her bed, letting her hair hang over the side. She thought about her day. Other than the offensive note -- where had they learned such language? -- it hadn't been too bad. She guessed, anyway. No one blew anything up, much to her relief. She didn't know if she could handle a Neville.

With those thoughts in mind, she supposed she ought to prepare for tomorrow's classes. After all, she told herself, tomorrow is another day.