"Here we are, dear." Minerva McGonagall flung open the door and gestured for Hermione to precede her.

Hermione stepped through the doorway and turned slowly, surveying her new rooms. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt to learn that she would be living in Ravenclaw Tower. It was a relief, certainly, not to have been led to the dungeons. Now that she knew who still lived in the Potion Master's quarters, though, she felt somewhat guilty about that relief. Not only does he have to live down there, he's for all intents and purposes a prisoner. Logic told her that his rooms couldn't be too inhospitable, or Horace Slughorn would never have put up with them when he'd been Potions Master the first time. Still …

She put the image of Professor Snape trapped in an underground cell of his own choice firmly aside, and looked around. They stood in a large sitting room with three big windows looking out over the grounds. One of them had a deep window seat that could have been expressly designed for long afternoons reading. The walls were lined with shelves for her books, and two comfortable-looking armchairs sat before the fireplace. There was even a fat cushion for Crookshanks, who she'd let out of his carrier as soon as they'd gone through the Hogwarts Gates. He had stalked off in the direction of the kitchens, but Hermione knew that he'd find her when he wanted to.

"It's lovely," she said honestly. And I'll be close to Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector.

A door opened onto a small bedroom, almost filled by a lovely big bed that left just enough room for a wardrobe and another door, this one to an en suite.

"You can of course change the decor to whatever suits you," Minerva said. "I doubt you'll have any trouble with the necessary transfigurations, but if you do, just let me know. Or ask the Room of Requirement, if you'd prefer."

"Thank you." Hermione ran a hand over the dustless shelves. "Tilney has kept things spotless." She was certain the house elf was listening. "Minerva, can I ask for your advice?"

"You can always ask," Minerva said, a hint of reproach in her tone.

What did I — oh. "I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I've been spending a lot of time with my parents, since … everything." Since I found them in Australia, restored their memories, and explained that we'd all been in life-threatening danger for twelve months. "I've picked up Muggle habits. What I meant to say was, I would like your advice on what to wear."

"Teaching robes are mandatory," Minerva said.

"I know, but …" Hermione looked down at the scuffed toes of her sneakers. "Is this room protected against eavesdropping?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Of course. It wouldn't do for the students to be able to spy on their teachers in their private moments, would it? And don't think a few won't try it."

"What about other teachers, or house elves?" Hermione asked. "Teachers apart from you, and Madam Pomfrey, if you see what I mean."

"I do." The Headmistress's gaze sharpened. "And you're wise to be cautious."

"Okay, then." Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "Someone said to me that I should dress more formally, when I teach. To create distance between myself and my students, since I'm so young." She shrugged. "But I don't want to intimidate my students."

"A little intimidation is a good thing," Minerva said. "You never needed additional motivation to try your best, but think of some of your fellow students."

"I am," Hermione said simply. "I'm thinking of Neville. He would have done so much better if he hadn't been so terrified. His work in Potions improved beyond measure when he was taught by Professor Slughorn, and he was brilliant at charms when it was Harry teaching him, with the rest of Dumbledore's Army."

"Then if you have a class full of Neville Longbottoms, you'll know how to handle them," Minerva said a bit sharply.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to imply …" Hermione trailed off. I did, though. I did mean to imply that Minerva was one of the teachers who didn't get the best from Neville.

"And what if you have a class with one Neville Longbottom, a couple of Draco Malfoys, a Crabbe, a Weasley of any description, and a Hermione Granger?" Minerva asked. "How do you think that class would go, if you model your teaching of that class on what would be best for the student with the least confidence, who needs the most gentle encouragement and the least discipline?"

Hermione imagined Fred and George Weasley being told kindly that they were making a good effort, and just needed to focus their attentions a little more on their class-work. "Yes. I see."

The Headmistress's expression softened. "You will find your own way, Hermione. No-one is expecting you to be Professor Snape, or Professor Slughorn, or me. Since I know you, I know you've spent a great deal of time thinking about teaching since I sent my first owl. Think of the teachers you believe got the best from their students, all their students, but more importantly, think about why."

Hermione nodded. "And my clothes?"

Minerva smiled a little. "You will have to answer that question for yourself, my dear. What you wear as a teacher should reflect the kind of teacher you wish to be. Once you have determined exactly what that is, you will know what to wear." She looked around the room again. "I'll leave you to settle in. Tilney will help you move your things from your previous home."

Left alone in her new rooms, Hermione wandered around for a few moments before calling for Tilney. Your previous home had given her a pang. She liked her flat, small though it was. It was the first place she'd ever lived that was entirely her own, not her parents' home, not school, not the Burrow, not Grimmauld Place … she'd found it, she'd signed the lease in her own name, she'd chosen every item of furniture and she alone had decided where to put them.

Decorating the rooms chosen for her by Minerva McGonagall wasn't quite the same, and until she'd looked around at what would now be her home, Hermione hadn't realised quite how much that would matter to her.

Taking her wand from her pocket, she pointed it at the nearest armchair and Transfigured it from brown leather to tan suede. There. The rooms were hers now, she'd put her mark on them. Tucking her wand away again, she called for Tilney, and began the task of moving in.

With Tilney's help, it didn't take long. The house elf zipped back and forth between Hermione's flat and her new rooms, bringing boxes each time, until Hermione had almost stopped jumping with each crack! of Apparition. By the time all her belongings had arrived in Hogwarts she had half her books shelved.

"Tilney can be doing that, miss," the house elf said reproachfully.

"I know," Hermione said. "But I have a particular order that I want them in, and it would take a long time to explain it. It would be much more helpful for you to unpack my clothes and things."

That mollified Tilney, and in a remarkably short period of time Hermione was completely unpacked. She Vanished the empty boxes with a flick of her wand and a muttered Evanesco.

"Will miss be wanting anything else?" Tilney asked.

Hermione checked her watch. The afternoon had flown by. On a normal day, it would be nearly time for dinner. However, she had never been at Hogwarts before the first day of the year. "Do teachers eat in the Great Hall over the summer?"

"Some do, and some do not, miss. If miss is wanting to have her dinner in the Great Hall, it will be Tilney's pleasure to bring her everything and anything she wishes."

A large part of Hermione wanted to ask Tilney to bring her dinner to her rooms and put off taking her seat at the head table for the first time until, perhaps, breakfast. That part, however, was drowned out by the sensible Hufflepuffish part of her that knew it would only be harder the longer she waited, and by the strong Gryffindor desire to face the challenge as soon as she could, and prove herself. "Thank you. And Tilney — you do the laundry with your magic, don't you?"

"Tilney is allowed to —"

"I know, I know, I'm just asking," Hermione said quickly. "I only wondered — if I need new clothes, is that something you can help me with?"

"Tilney could fetch the clothes for miss." The elf paused. "If miss was being very clear that the clothes were for miss, and not for Tilney."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Am I ever going to live down S.P.E.W? "Look, Tilney. I hereby declare that no item of clothing of mine, or in my possession however temporary, that I ask you to pick up, carry, fetch or do anything else to, is a gift to you, unless I specifically say otherwise. Alright?"

Tilney looked much relieved. "Tilney thanks you, miss."

"So you can pick up my shopping, but you can't create new clothes for me?"

"That would take a wand, miss."

And house elves are forbidden wands, although with a bit of teaching and their natural magic they'd be able to do extraordinary things. Which was exactly why they were forbidden, of course. Can't have our servants realise they are our magical equals.

She sighed. One thing at a time. "Of course. I'm sorry, Tilney, I should have realised. It's just that you're all so good at things that it takes me a wand to do, I thought that maybe there were other things you could do."

"Miss will be getting new clothes?" Tilney asked hopefully.

Hermione's mouth twisted a little wryly. "You too? Everyone thinks I need a new wardrobe."

"Is good for witches and wizards to look like witches and wizards," Tilney said firmly.

"Yes, I suppose so." Hermione flopped down in the newly-tan armchair. "The problem is, I don't know what that wardrobe should be."

"Tilney can help with that, miss!" The house elf vanished and was back before the noise of her Disapparition had faded. Her arms were filled with slim books about the size of the magazines Hermione was familiar with from the Muggle world.

When Tilney held them out to her and she took them, Hermione realised that they were magazines, with stylishly-dressed witches and wizards gazing from the covers in a variety of poses. "Fashion magazines! Tilney, you're brilliant! These are just what I need!"

Hermione spent a happy half-an-hour flipping through the magazines, happy to have something to take her mind off all her questions about Professor Snape and his unexpected liveliness. Most of what she saw was far too ornate for her tastes, and decidedly impractical, especially in a Potions classroom. I suppose these magazines bear as much resemblance to what witches and wizards wear for their every-day as the same sort of magazines in the Muggle world bear to what Mum and Dad wear to work. Still, there was one sleek green robe that wouldn't have looked out of place at an expensive Muggle restaurant that gave her a few ideas, although she wouldn't be wearing Slytherin colours, thank you very much.

And actually, since I'm not Head of a House and unlikely to be so for quite a few years, I'd better rule out any House colours at all. Although the House colours in a different tone would probably be alright. After all, Minerva wears green all the time, even when she was Head of Gryffindor and not the Headmistress.

The magazines slid to the floor as Crookshanks leapt onto her lap. He headbutted her hand and she scratched behind his ears. "Hello, you. Find anything interesting?"

He mewed an answer, and Hermione wished for the umpteenth time she could understand him, the way Sirius Black had. She'd never had any doubt that Crookshanks was extremely intelligent, of course, but after his extraordinary feats the year Sirius Black had come into their lives, she'd made sure to keep him fully informed of what was going on.

If only he could do the same. "I met someone interesting today," she said carefully, mindful that she hadn't set her own wards against accidental or deliberate eavesdropping yet. "I'll tell you all about it later. Oh, and I think I need to get new clothes. Apart from that, nothing happened." She stroked him. "How about you? Do you like our new home?"

He jumped from her lap and for a moment Hermione thought he was going to demonstrate his disapproval by stalking from the room, but instead he trotted over to the window-seat and jumped up. Selecting a cushion, he settled himself regally, bushy tail curled around his paws.

"Meets with your approval, then. Good." Hermione gathered the magazines and set them down beside the chair. "And now I have to go to dinner. Would you like to come?" He gave a slow blink, and stayed where he was. "Alright then. Accio teaching robes!"

They sailed to her hand with a flap and a flutter and she settled them over her shoulders.

Teaching robes weren't really all that different to student robes, or to the formal robes she'd worn to graduate or to receive her Order of Merlin — it was just a question of a little more length and the detailing — but they felt very heavy as Hermione made her way down to the Great Hall and she had to keep stopping herself from adjusting them. It was a very long walk from the doors to the teacher's table, as long as the walk up to the Sorting Hat had felt on her very first day, and just as she had then, Hermione kept repeating to herself you belong here, you belong here.

Minerva McGonagall thinks you belong here.

And then, surprising thought, Professor Snape thinks you belong here.

He'd been sarcastic, mocking and acerbic — but he'd wanted to look over her lesson plans, and he'd offered her advice. Hermione couldn't imagine that Professor Snape would have any hesitation in telling her she should resign and go home, if that's what he thought.

She raised her chin a little, smiling, as she climbed the few steps to the platform holding the high table. You belong here.

And then her jaw dropped.

"Hermione!" Ron Weasley cried, and seized her in a bear-hug. "Blimey, I didn't expect to see you here!"