Hello everyone! Just wanted to say a huge thank you for all the support the fic has gotten so far!

I also wanted to give a special thank you to reader Honoria Granger, who caught some pretty embarrassing spelling mistakes in the last chapter. Oops! I've been able to edit them out of the A03 version but I just can't work out how to do it in this one, so I'm sorry about that. Please rest assured that I am aware of the mistake and will be more careful in future!

I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hermione woke up to her first day as Charms Professor bright and early.

She was up and out of bed in no time at all. She hadn't slept much anyway, being far too excited for the day ahead. And of course she was; she had been working towards this day for years.

Her first day. She recited it over and over as she pulled on her trousers. Sometimes in her head, sometimes aloud, and sometimes to Crookshanks. He did not seem particularly impressed. What he seemed was grumpy. As an inventor and an academic, she had usually kept her own hours. He did not understand why his mother suddenly had to get out of bed, where she had been doing a very good job of keeping him warm. Pulling on her robes, she scratched the dear orange cat under his chin until his sulking abated.

It was a Friday. On Fridays, she taught first years in the mornings, fourth years after lunch, and her NEWTS class in the evenings. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws for the first years, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs for the fourth years. Hermione had noticed that most of her timetable looked like that. Only in the NEWTS class would Slytherins and Gryffindors be mixed together. Hermione hoped that one day that could change, but she remembered all too well how poorly Slytherins and Gryffindors had gotten along even before the war. Considering everything that had happened, the day when all the Houses could mingle together was probably far off in the future.

Last night she had prepared a smart briefcase with all of her teaching equipment (her textbooks, binder, a spare wand, a few potions in case anyone hurt themselves) and left it right by the door. She checked everything over twice before she finally accepted that she was ready.

She practically ran down the stairs to breakfast, only to find that the Great Hall was deserted. Hermione had hoped that some of the other teachers might be there, at least. She had wanted to go over her lesson plans with them, ask if they had any advice to share. But it was early. No matter, Hermione thought as she sipped at her tea. What would last minute consultations do except make her feel even more nervous, anyway? She had to have faith in her abilities. Minerva believed in her.

By the time she set off for the Charms classroom, she was grinning fit to burst.

Most of all, she was looking forward to her NEWTS class. They would be the cream of the crop. NEWTS was where the really exceptional students would get to spread their wings. The thought of what they might be able to achieve was really exciting.

The fourth years, she knew, would probably be trouble. This wasn't to say that some of them wouldn't be gifted, talented witches and wizards; she was sure they would be. But when she looked back on her fourth year at Hogwarts, it had been absolute chaos. Harry and Ron had been at one another's throats all year, and she and Ron hadn't been much better. The stresses of the Tournament had probably made things worse than what they'd needed to be, but still. Many of them would be trying to find themselves, struggling to understand the many difficult parts of growing up. It was a challenging time in a young person's life. As a teacher, she might not know exactly what was going on, or who fancied who, but it would be naive to think that some of their interpersonal problems might not come to class with them. She would have to be particularly understanding with them.

But more than the others, it was her class with the first years that had her worried. She remembered how clueless she had been at that age, how little she had known about what she could do. The only thing she really expected was that they would try their best and listen to her instructions. This was their first class, after all. For some of them, the muggleborns, this could be the first time they had ever used their wands. No, more than that, this might be the first time they had ever consciously used magic at all.

God, they must be so nervous. The purebloods and halfbloods had no idea what it was like, being so new to all this. Looking back, she honestly had no idea how she had coped. Leaving her family behind for most of the year, surrounded by strangers, bombarded with so much information. But Hermione had always been a sponge. As long as she was learning something new, loneliness couldn't have much power over her.

She would do whatever she could to help the students feel comfortable with their new lives.

Hermione stepped into her classroom.

The Charms classroom was not as large as she'd remembered it, but it was still very impressive to look at. Dark panelled and lined with long benches along the walls, it was starkly different from any other classroom in the castle. It resembled a courtroom more than anything else. Only the faint scratchings of runes and charmwork from students (and teachers, she suspected) of years gone by would have raised muggle suspicions that this wasn't an ordinary room.

Hermione frowned. As a classroom, this wouldn't have been her first choice. She hadn't thought anything of it as a student, but as an adult, having a Charms room made up of flammable materials just seemed like poor judgement. If she asked Minerva to move the classroom, how would she react? She got the sense that that might be asking for too much. This had served as the Charms room for over a century. One step at a time, Hermione.

Resting her briefcase against the wall behind the teachers podium, she took a walk around. The windows that backed the podium lent a little warmth. Hmph. Not actual warmth, apparently. She could feel the chill emanating from the glass. It was only September. The children might not notice it much now, but by December, they would be freezing. That would not do.

With a quick bit of wandwork she enchanted her shoes with an airwalking charm. She stepped up into the air, walked back and forth as though on an invisible staircase, and in doing so was able to make her way ten feet in the air with no real difficulty.

She turned her attention to the windows. Even a quick glance told her that the windows had been enchanted to keep out the worst of the cold, but it must have been a long time ago. Flitwick had goblin heritage, so he might simply have been too hardy to notice, but the enchantments needed renewing.

This would be the trickiest bit of charmwork she'd done since being reunited with her wand. She took it slowly; meticulously following through every movement so as not to startle it. She needn't have worried. It was as if they had never been separated. The wand was ready and eager to work. The glass glowed amber at the fixture; too warm. She attuned the charm just a little further and held her hand against the glass. Much better. But then, she mused, there was no reason she couldn't improve things while she was here. If the window could keep out the cold, surely it could keep out the heat too? This room got hot in summer. She remembered that all too well. There was no reason the glass couldn't hold another few charms, as long as she was careful.

She was too preoccupied by these thoughts to hear the sound of two dozen children filing into the room behind her. And so the first sight the first-years of Hogwarts had of their Charms teacher was of her standing calmly on thin air, ten feet up, one hand on her hip while pointing and gesturing with her wand. She was muttering to herself.

Her reputation as a war hero had already made some of them a little apprehensive. This, in addition to her black teachers robes and her completely unexplained levitation, made for quite an intimidating sight. One of the children gave a little squeak as they came in.

Hermione finally turned around.

"Oh. Good morning, class."

With one voice, the children replied, "Good morning, Professor Granger."

She alighted down onto solid ground and with a firm wand-wave at her shoes, stayed there. The children were standing and staring. Awe and respect was on all their faces, and someone turned and whispered something to someone. It sounded a lot like, "See, I told you!"

Resolutely ignoring this, she said, "Everyone take your seats and bring out your textbooks. Have you all read chapter one?"

The children replied that yes, they had.

"Wonderful. Today we are working on," and she turned to point her wand at the blackboard, which promptly began to spell out the words winguardium leviosa. "A very simple levitation charm. You would be surprised at how often it comes in handy."

Despite her misgivings, the first year Charms class went smoothly. As she'd predicted, the fourth years were a little more spirited. She'd had to make it very clear that she would not be answering any questions about the War, the hunt for the Horcruxes, any of it, before they focussed on their work.

As a whole, the students were quiet, obedient, and everyone seemed to have a better grasp of the theory than she had hoped. The common problem she saw was a lack of confidence. Unfortunately it was a widespread issue; it was almost as pronounced in her NEWTs class as it was with the first-years. The students were withdrawn, nervous with handling their wands, and wary of each other. Inexperience accounted for most of it, but her instincts told her that it was more than that. It didn't take a genius to see why. It was about halfway through her NEWTs class that Hermione decided that one of her goals as a Professor would be to make the children feel as safe as possible; and not only in her classroom, but in the entire castle. She knew it would take time before they trusted her - discounting those who hero worshipped her because of the war, of course - but it would be time well spent. She wanted her students to be as capable, as confident, as she could possibly make them.

Overall, she was pleased. Her biggest worries hadn't happened. Yet. No-one had been injured. The students might not be talking to one another very much, but she hadn't heard any name-calling either. Just as importantly, she had remained calm through the whole thing. She knew she had a temper. She found people less gifted than herself frustrating. A part of her had been frightened that some of that might come to the fore with her students. Somehow, it hadn't. If a student was slow, it was because their curiosity hadn't been nurtured enough, or because they hadn't been corrected properly when they made a mistake. They were children. No child struggled on purpose.

And through the whole day, she remembered the bad as well as the good. If Flitwick was to be her example of how to teach, she had examples of how not to teach as well. Never would she show favouritism. Never would a student feel unwelcome in her class.

It was not long after her last class of the day had ended when there was a knock at the door of her classroom. This was odd, not only because the homework she'd set had been simple enough that none of the students should really need help with it, but because most people would have better things to do on a Friday night than visit a classroom.

"Come in!" She called out, waving her wand and cleaning up the telltale signs that a young wizard had gotten distracted while trying a capacious extremis.

Hermione turned and saw Neville Longbottom leaning on the door frame, looking perfectly at ease. God, he'd grown tall.

"Hermione Granger, Head of Gryffindor House, eh?" He said with a smile, hands in the pockets of his robes.

Oh. That. She'd meant to talk to Neville privately, but with everything else, she'd forgotten. "Oh, Neville, I honestly am so sorry. I swear I never meant to-"

Hermione's apologies were broken mid-sentence by Neville crossing the room to fold her in a tight hug.

"You are an absolute angel, thank you, right when I needed you!" Neville's voice in her ear sent little shivers up and down her spine.

"I- really? You're not upset at all?"

Neville put her at arms length and looked her right in the face. "Yes, really! Hannah's due any minute now, and Lana told us just last week that she wants to be the Minister for Magic, so there's that-"

Hermione's head was reeling. "Lana, your daughter? How old is she?"

"Three this September." Neville said cheerfully. "They grow up fast, don't they? Anyway, Hannah says she really needs me. Me being at Hogwarts so much was fine when we just had the one, but Hannah's feet are swelling up, and her back's always hurting and, you know, when the baby comes-" He blushed. "She says she'll feel a lot better if I'm at home more."

Hermione looked into his honest, kind face and saw just how happy he was. That handshake when Minerva had announced the news had been genuine after all. Neville simply didn't have a jealous bone in his body. Or an ambitious one.

Putting the last of her guilt to rest, Hermione hedged, "Well, if you're sure you don't mind..."

Neville beamed at her. "You're the best, Hermione. So, Minerva said I had to show you your duties. We should get started now, don't you think? I know you like getting a head start on things!"

At this proclamation, Neville took her by the hand, and Hermione spent the rest of the evening being dragged around Hogwarts by the delighted and energetic Herbology Professor. The most important he showed her was probably the Head of Gryffindor House Office. With a warning about the enchanted doorknob, he pulled her into the room she would spend a sizeable chunk of her career in.

Hermione was delighted with it. The office was warm, comfortable, and decorated with a truly obnoxious amount of crimson and gold. It was also filled with pictures of them all. To help her feel 'settled in', apparently. Neville summoned a House Elf to bring them a pot of tea, and they spent a while going through them together, laughing at and with their younger selves.

While she rifled through the desk and started happily planning her organisation system, Neville took the opportunity to give her a colossal book terrifyingly titled, 'The Worrees and Responsybylitees of a Hoggwarts Heade of Howse'. Hermione felt the colour drain from her face at the sight of it.

Neville rushed to assure her. "There's not too much, really, and you were always so clever you'll be fine, I always have to make these lists or I just lose track so you can use one of mine if you like-?"

At this, he pointed to the blackboard that dominated almost an entire wall. She had seen it, but had sort of been hoping it would have nothing to do with her. In a series of strange squiggles and looping arrows, it laid out a schedule that made her wish, not for the first time, for her old Timeturner.

"Anyway," he filled the aghast silence by saying, "on Friday nights, the Heads of House meet together for drinks in the Club Room. It's not compulsory or anything, but it's a tradition, and they care a lot about tradition."

Today was Friday, and the sun had long since gone down. Feeling unease curdle in the pit of her stomach, she asked delicately, "What time does the Club usually meet, Neville?"

He quickly checked the clock on the wall, and a look of absolute horror dawned on his face.

Some things never changed. "Don't worry about it Neville, I'm too tired anyway-" And she was tired. It had been a wonderful day, but she could feel exhaustion rearing its ugly head. And then there was the rest of the week to consider. She had her Head of House duties to plan for. She'd sort of assumed that being a Head of House was only what she'd seen as a student; giving out and detracting points, disciplining students, looking after the Quidditch team. Apparently the role was a lot more involved than what she'd thought.

She'd stay long enough to finish her cup of tea, maybe ask Neville a few very pointed questions about the Head of House position, then call it a night.

Neville wasn't listening, however. "If we go right now, we'll just make it! Everyone's dying to meet you."

And with that, Hermione was pulled out of the office and down the winding stairs at breakneck speed.

He took her, of all places, to the Astronomy tower, and Hermione had to restrain the very unkind urge to ask him if he had gotten lost. But he bolted right up the stairs with complete confidence and stopped when he came to a portrait made up of constellations.

Hermione stood beside him, eager for a chance to catch her breath. The portrait was… well, it was wrong. There was Leo, with his starry tail held high. But instead of Virgo or Ursa, beside him was a serpentine chain. Ophiuchus, the Snake. And beside the snake was a winged cluster, and last of all a great beast with sweeping claws. A badger. The four Houses.

Neville said to the portrait, "We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided." And with barely a creak, the portrait swung open.

He stood back to let her through, and she stepped into a warm, richly appointed room. A roaring double fire-place took up most of one wall, and the walls were lined with portraits. In one corner was a chess set, in the other a table and playing cards.

And of course, in various poses of impatience, there were the Head of Houses.

She couldn't help but notice that they were all wearing evening wear. Professor Flint was immaculate in sapphire blue robes over a tailored muggle suit. Grubbly-Plank sat by the fire in an immense, very old-looking witches hat and fine black robes. She was puffing away on her pipe and the smoke hung in the air. It was not an unpleasant smell. In one corner of the room, Lucius Malfoy sat in a wingback chair. He was resplendent in grey, his cane propped upright against the chair. On his breast was a heavy serpent broach. In his hand was a glass; it was nearly empty.

"Sorry we're late everyone!" Neville said as Flint came forward to shake her hand, and Lucius rose from his chair. "I had to show Hermione her office and everything."

They made chit-chat for a little while before she noticed that Flint was staring at her. Specifically, he was staring at her robes. The longer he looked, the angrier he seemed to be.

Professor Flint's mustachios were quivering with outrage. "Neville, did you not even allow the lady time to change? Professor Granger is wearing the same clothes she wore at breakfast."

Neville became flustered. "Um, I forgot-"

Tiberius spluttered. Hermione assured him that she didn't mind. She loved her Professor's robes. They made her feel like part of the staff and besides, they had pockets. Grubbly-Plank laughed at this and Tiberius calmed down, though he still didn't look happy.

"Come now, Tiberius." Lucius drawled. "He remembered to bring her here, did he not? That shows real improvement."

Neville flushed.

For a moment Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to hex the potions teacher, but then she caught the self-deprecating grin growing on Neville's face. It was all in good fun, apparently. Surprise filled her, and she decided not to make snap judgements. She was new here. Colleagues poked fun at one another all the time. Besides, Neville wasn't the shy boy she had once known. He could take care of himself if he needed to.

She studied the room, starting with the person most foreign to her: the Ravenclaw Head of House. She was equally impressed by him and wary of him, and she couldn't help but wonder why such a world renowned wizard would settle for a position at Hogwarts. Like her, teaching must be his passion. Now that she had a chance to see him a little closer, she found that Professor Flint was not as old as she had imagined him. His tweed suit, his great, elaborately curled moustache and his slicked-down… it was all very deceiving. He was, at most, only ten years her senior.

"Go on, Neville, show her around." Grubbly-Plank said kindly.

Neville remembered himself and gestured for her to follow. Hermione fell into step behind him.

"Right. So, since I'm the outgoing Head, I have to take you through it all. These are the Founders of the Club, you have to say hello to them first." Neville led her to the fireplace. Hanging directly above it was a grand old portrait of four witches and wizards, all grey haired and very important. It was impossible to say who belonged to which House. They seemed to be paying the real world no attention at all, and were deep in conversation with each other. Only when Neville gave a pointed cough did they turn to look at her.

She had never felt very confident with talking to portraits, so she kept it simple. "Hello. I'm Hermione Granger."

The four founding Heads gave dignified nods, then resumed their discussion. Hermione thought it was a terrible shame. She would have liked to get to know them.

Neville saw that she was disappointed, and said, "Don't mind them. They were the same with me at first. Portraits like to pretend they have loads going on."

Neville drew her further around the room, pointing out particularly significant portraits as he went. He pointed out Snape's portrait; mercifully empty.

Seeing how relieved she looked, Neville smiled sadly, "He's never there anyway. Apparently he only ever came to the Club once while he was, uh, alive."

"That's probably for the best." Hermione said. Snape was a hero. He had done his part to bring about Voldemort's downfall. That didn't mean she wanted to see him. Hermione had never forgotten that his last words had been a last selfish grab for Lily Potter rather than an apology for all the cruelty he had inflicted on them over the years.

When she judged that they were far enough away, and that Tiberius was making enough noise to grant them some privacy, she asked under her breath, "What about him?"

Neville understood straight away. "Who, Lucius? He's not too bad, really. I wasn't happy when McGonagall brought him on. Practically no-one was. But he's a pretty good teacher. Doesn't pick on the muggleborns like Snape used to. Brews all sorts of potions for Hannah."

Hermione thought to herself that it was pretty sad that a teacher not using his power to torment his students was seen as such a rare thing. She also knew that as far as Neville was concerned, anyone who helped Hannah in any way could probably do no wrong. She couldn't expect any sort of unbiased opinion on the Potions Professor from Neville.

Tour complete, Neville said his goodbyes with a vigorous handshake and repeated thanks. Hermione immediately wished that he wouldn't leave. He was the only one out of all of them she knew well, and she suddenly felt very silly to be with these people for no other reason than because Neville Longbottom had said that it was tradition.

As the door swung shut behind him, Grubbly-Plank said, "Well, Neville finally found someone to take the job off his hands, didn't he?"

Flint gave Hermione a friendly wink. "The lad is cleverer than he lets on."

"Good for him." Grubbly-Plank said emphatically. "He has his priorities straight, that one. Always has." Her tone was fond, and Hermione realised she liked Grubbly-Plank very much.

The Hufflepuff went on, "How was your first day?"

Challenging. Inspiring. Everything she had ever wanted, and more. Today she'd seen a child cast his very first spell. She'd helped another at least get the wand movements right, which was a very good start. She'd met her NEWTs class and discussed their plans for the future. She felt like she had done more tangible good today than in a fortnight of writing and researching. It was a truly incredible feeling, and she hoped she would never take it for granted.

"It was lovely, thank you."

Tiberius spoke up, "How did you find the students? Not too unruly, I trust? Should you run into any difficulty, we are all at your disposal. Indeed, that is half the Head's club purpose. Whatever our differences, we can all rely on each other in a crisis."

Hermione couldn't help it. She looked over to Lucius. Whatever our differences, we can all rely on each other...

Hermione didn't know Lucius Malfoy beyond conjecture and the very little experience she'd had with him. Of those experiences only one of them, the return of her wand, had shown her any good in him, even if it was by far the most personal interaction they had had. So she didn't understand him enough to even make an educated guess as to what he was thinking or how he was feeling. But he was turning red, and she hoped that it meant he was ashamed. Ashamed that Tiberius thought he was a better man than what he was? Or ashamed that it had taken him so many years to begin to make amends?

Regardless of the reason, red was not a good colour for a man of his complexion.

The Potions Professor rose to leave in a single smooth motion. "You all carry on, it is late."

Hermione tried to hide that she was watching him by engaging Grubbly-Plank in a conversation about a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Hatstall that had happened during the Sorting.

The Arithmancy Professor, oddly, had no intentions of letting Lucius leave. Across the room, Flint was trying to pour more sherry into Lucius' glass in an attempt to convince him that, "No, really Lucius old boy, no-one will notice, you're a potioneer, aren't you? Brew a few sober-ups-"

Lucius tried to step around him, "I have a mountain of homework to mark, Tiberius, really, I must go-"

"Nonsense! Just last week, you had us all up until three in the morning; Neville desperate to go home to his wife, and poor Grubbly-Plank dancing all night, and I, forced to drink until I couldn't bear another drop-"

"I had a lovely time." Grubbly-Plank said.

"What a fascinating recollection of events." Lucius said, coming to a stop. "Completely divorced from reality, of course, but fascinating nonetheless."

"Oh come now, Lucius, it's not even midnight, I've never seen you retire so early-" As he spoke, the Ravenclaw was moving his fingers, ever so slightly, and Lucius' glass was filling up.

He did not notice. "It is half-past one. Tiberius. This imagination of yours, how helpful you must find it in all your inventions-!"

The two of them launched headlong into a good-hearted quarrel, and within a minute Lucius was drinking absently from his glass, and Tiberius was trying to goad him, without any prospect of success, into playing a game of wizard chess with him.

"They're silly boys." Grubbly-Plank said. Her voice was very quiet, and only Hermione could hear her. "But they're not that bad."

Hermione could only laugh at the idea of Lucius Malfoy being a 'boy', and at the sound of her laughter both of the men turned to face her. She raised her chin up, as if to say, what are you looking at? and the wizards dove straight back into their argument, albeit in slightly lower voices. Lucius' grey eyes were warm, and Hermione saw that he had a friend.

Grubbly-Plank went on in her matter of fact way; "I was worried that when dear Neville left us, I might be the only sensible one left, but you don't seem to have changed all that much from when I taught you, Hermione."

Encouraged by this sort of normal conversation, Hermione sat by Grubbly-Plank and listened to her talk about all the wonderful places she'd been, and all the fantastic creatures she'd seen in her many years. The older witch was a gold-mine of knowledge and experience, and while Hermione was exhausted when she finally left the Head Club room before dawn, she knew the night had been productive.

Hermione drew the covers over her, smiling as Crookshanks immediately planted himself on his favourite spot; right between her feet. The old cat's purrs filled the air, growing louder and louder. Hermione found herself drifting off.

While totally unexpected, tonight had also been a lot of fun.

Hmm, what do you all think of the Head Club? Did you enjoy the chapter? Leave your thoughts in a review, maybe? ;) See you in about a week for the next one, and thanks again for reading!