"Ron!" Hermione hugged him back. Merlin, it's good to be back to normal with him. After two years they'd mutually accepted that their romantic relationship wasn't working for either of them. That had been followed by a period of awkwardness that had been just awful, but thankfully that was now far behind them. Friends again, like we used to be. "What are you doing here?"

"Teaching!"

"Teaching?" She pulled back a little to see if he was serious.

"Always the tone of surprise," he said, laughing. "I'm —"

"Ahem," Minerva said pointedly, and when they turned she gave a meaningful glance to the empty seats at the end of the table.

Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her in that direction. "Sit with me, I'll tell you all about it."

Sometimes Hermione felt as if three-quarters of her life had been spent being dragged somewhere by either Ron or Harry in the pursuit of some madcap scheme, but since in this case it was in pursuit of dinner, and she'd had every intention of sitting with Ron and hearing all about it, she didn't protest.

She took the seat next to Professor Flitwick and Ron sat on her other side. "Professor Flitwick," she said. "I'm so glad to see you."

He rose slightly from his seat and offered her a gentlemanly half-bow. "And I you, Professor Granger. And Professor Weasley, of course."

Ron grinned at him. "Hullo. I've got a dozen questions for you, Professor, but of you don't mind, I'll save them for office hours."

"I'd be delighted for you to save them," Flitwick said.

Hermione's stomach gave a low rumble and she eyed the still-empty serving dishes longingly. "Do we ask for what we want, when there aren't students here, or …?"

"The house elves will serve when all the teachers who are expected have arrived," Flitwick said. "Of course, there's no rule against asking for an appetiser."

Hermione looked up and down the table. All the plates in front of the teachers — the other teachers, she reminded herself — were empty. "No, that's — I can wait." Her stomach gave another growl, and she felt herself blush.

Flitwick gave Hermione a twinkling smile. "I myself would very much like to order a dish I learnt of just last year, but it's supposed to be shared. Would you and Professor Weasley help me out?"

"Absolutely," Ron said fervently.

"Excellent." Flitwick addressed his plate. "Please bring me some 'nachos'."

When it appeared a second later, the serve of nachos was absolutely perfect — not even the best Muggle Mexican restaurant could have done better. The cheese glistened with just exactly the right amount of melt, the avocado and sour cream sparkled with freshness and the steam rising from the dish brought the tantalising scent of perfectly-cooked beef and spices.

Ron reached out eagerly while Flitwick was still gazing at the food with a beatific smile. Hermione grabbed his wrist. "Professor Flitwick, where did you come across nachos?"

"Zagreb," Flitwick said. He plucked a corn-chip up as delicately and precisely as he wielded his wand and scooped up an equal measure of each ingredient.

"So teachers can order any food they want?" Hermione asked. Now Flitwick had started, she released Ron to do the same.

"Absolutely." Flitwick selected another corn-chip carefully. "You'd be wise, however, to give the house elves advance warning of any special foods you might like. Otherwise you'll have a bit of a wait."

"Doesn't that make a lot of extra work for them?"

"There aren't so very many of us," Flitwick pointed out. "And part of their magic is to keep meals ready no matter how early they're prepared."

The demands of Hermione's stomach would no longer be denied. She scraped a portion of the nachos onto her plate with her fork and began to eat.

"And the leftovers?" Ron asked.

"The house elves eat them," Flitwick explained.

Ron grinned. "Brilliant! I can order all my favourites and not feel guilty about it."

Flitwick chuckled. "Indeed."

Once she'd got a few mouthfuls down, Hermione's stomach stopped protesting and she could think about things other than her hunger. "So you're teaching, Ron? What are you teaching?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Ron said proudly.

"Defence Against — but Ron! That position is still cursed!"

Ron leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. "That's why I'm here. Me and Harry. Partly to teach the course and mostly to break the curse."

"Harry?" Hermione stared at him. "Harry's teaching D.A.D.A with you?"

"Yeah, brilliant, isn't it? We're on official leave from the Aurors. He'll get here tomorrow. We'll each teach half the time, and work on the curse half the time." He studied her. "You don't look particularly enthusiastic."

"No, Ron, it's just —" Hermione tried to find words that were both tactful and true. "I mean, this curse, it's really old. Dumbledore couldn't break it."

"Dumbledore couldn't kill Mouldyshorts, either, but we did," Ron pointed out.

Hermione paused, fork halfway to her mouth, and then set it down. "That's true. Dumbledore said the position has been cursed ever since he refused it to Tom Riddle. But he's quite, quite dead, and still, no-one can hold the position for more than a year."

Ron nodded. "Which means either it isn't Tom Riddle's curse …"

"Or it's embedded in an object!"

"There before you, Hermione," Ron said. "I am an Auror now."

"I know." Hermione looked down at her plate, excitement disappearing as quickly as if it had never been. "I just … I'm sorry, Ron. I know you know your job."

He nudged her. "You just can't help being a know-it-all?"

Hermione smiled, and nodded, and ignored the sudden ache in her throat. I can't help being a know-it-all. But what had she'd ever been, all the way through their school years, but the know-it-all?

And now Harry and Ron are Aurors and privy to secrets I can't share … now I'm the know-nothing.

It was pointless to feel hurt. In fact, she'd planned it this way. Harry and Ron going off to train to be Aurors, and Hermione herself taking a sharp turn to go back to Hogwarts for her final year even though they wanted her to join them. Time for them to stand on their own two feet, she'd thought, knowing that if she went with them everything would be exactly the same, at least as far as the boys leaning on Hermione to do anything that involved books.

"I'd like to help, though," she offered.

Ron grinned at her. "That will be brilliant. You, me and Harry … Neville, Luna and Ginny — Dumbledore's Army rides again!"

Hermione stared at him. "Neville and …"

"Hello, Hermione," said a familiar dreamy voice.

Hermione turned to see Luna Lovegood, dressed in pink and silver with an elaborate necklace of what seemed to be silver foil and cutlery, smiling across the table at her. Behind her stood loomed the huge bulk of Hagrid, looking larger and wilder than ever in contrast.

"I'm glad to see you're here," Luna said matter-of-factly as she made her way around the table to take the seat next to Ron.

"I'm glad to see you!" Hermione said. "And you, Hagrid."

He beamed down at all of them. "Almost like old times, isn't it? Except you're up here, instead of down there." His smile dimmed a little. "And we're missing a few, o'course."

Not quite as many as you might think. Hermione felt a trickle of her earlier anger at Severus Snape. Hagrid had been as guilt-ridden as anyone to learn how they'd misjudged Snape. I should know better than to judge by what things look like, me, the half-giant had sobbed. If anyone should know that, I should.

Luna cocked her head to one side. "Hermione? Have you got a Wrackspurt?"

Hermione made herself smile. "No. It's just — what Hagrid said. It's like old times, except it isn't."

"I miss everyone too." Luna paused. "Not Voldemort, of course. Not even a Billigype could make nostalgic for him."

"A … Billigype?" Hermione asked.

"Haven't you heard of them? I suppose they are very rare in this part of the country. They live in the spines of photograph albums, you see, although they prefer warm climates. Then when someone looks at the pictures in the album the Billigype sends out powerfully strong feelings of sadness and nostalgia until you can't help but cry."

"I'm not sure I really want to know," Ron said, "but what do the Billigypes do then?"

"Nothing," Luna said serenely.

"That's a relief," Hermione said. "But what are you doing here, Luna? Are you teaching, too?"

Luna turned wide eyes on her. "Are you teaching? I suppose that was obvious, wasn't it, with you sitting up here. No, I'm helping Hagrid a bit, while I work on my thesis on Thestrals. I wanted to do it on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, of course."

"Of course," Ron said a bit sarcastically, but he said it quietly.

"And I'm helping Hagrid with his classes."

"Oh, good." Hermione was relieved to think that there'd be someone to moderate Hagrid's tendency to overlook some of the more dangerous aspects of the creatures he loved so much. And he'll make sure she doesn't start teaching the students about any creatures that don't actually exist.

It was a very clever arrangement that Minerva McGonagall had created, almost Slytherin in its subtlety.

"Here's Neville, at last," Ron said happily as a familiar tall figure strode through the doors. "I think he needs another Rememberall if he's ever going to get to meals on time."

"He's just happy in his work," Luna said. "Don't worry, Ron. Once the term starts, they won't wait meals for the staff."

Hermione waved to Neville as he reached their end of the hall and his face lit up as he took in who was sitting there.

Hagrid stood up. "I'll move along, Neville, so you can sit with your friends."

"You're our friend, too, Hagrid." Luna tugged on his arm. "Please sit next to me, or I'll be sad."

Hagrid smiled. "Well, alright then. You don't mind, Neville?"

"Of course I don't." Neville took the end seat. "Sorry I'm late, the mandrakes were having a party and I lost track of time."

Hermione leaned forward to see him past Hagrid. "Are you doing your Mastery in Herbology?"

Neville grinned. "Did it last year. Now I'm doing some experimental cross-breeding, and Professor Sprout is teaching me how to teach." He lowered his voice. "She says I'm good at it, too. She wants me to take over when she retires."

"I bet you're brilliant at it," Ron said, and then addressed his plate. "Fish and chips. And sausages. And roast beef, with gravy and everything else. And —"

"Ron, you'll never eat all that," Hermione protested.

He grinned. "House elves get the left-overs, remember? Don't you want the poor house elves to be well fed? And I'll have toad-in-the-hole as well, thanks."

Hermione ordered Shepherd's Pie. "I bet you're a brilliant teacher, too, Neville. You'll have to give Ron and I some tips."

"Nah, I reckon Harry and I know what we're about," Ron said with his mouth full. "We'll just do what Remus Lupin did, except without the 'turning into a wolf every full moon' part."

Hermione sighed. "It's not that simple, Ron. I've been reading up about educational theory — "

"Of course you have," Ron said fondly.

"It's important! In the Muggle world, people go to university for years to learn how to be teachers. You can't just wander into a classroom and think that because you know the spells, you know how to teach them as well!"

"If you couldn't, Professor McGonagall wouldn't have hired us, don't you think?" Ron speared a sausage with his fork. "She started teaching when she was younger than we are, did you know?"

"So did Professor Snape," Luna put in.

"I'm not sure Professor Snape is the best example," Neville said. "Although you'd look quite good in dramatic black, swooping around, Hermione."

Ron shrugged. "Anyway, we'll muddle through. We always do, after all."

"Well, I want to hear any tips you get from Professor Sprout, Neville," Hermione said. "Can I come down to the greenhouses tomorrow?"

Neville gave a broad smile. "That'd be super. I've got some Chinese Chomping Cabbages to show you."

Hermione turned her attention to her meal. Ron and Harry probably would manage to muddle through. They'd have their star power to quell any tendency towards disrespect by the older students — and not just because Harry was The Boy Who Lived. Since they'd finished their training and become fully-fledged Aurors, they'd had any number of front pages in The Quibbler and The Prophet for successful raids, dramatic arrests, and heroic deeds.

While I brewed and researched quietly in my lab. Although the thought of the attention Harry and Ron got made Hermione shudder, she had to admit it would be useful to her now.

Ron nudged her, and Hermione realised the meal was over. "Let's go to the staff-room," he suggested.

"Why?"

"Because we can! We're staff, now. Haven't you ever wondered what they get up to in there?"

"Oh, all sorts of decadence and debauchery, I assure you," Flitwick said merrily. "Why, sometimes we even play checkers."

Ron deflated a bit. "Oh."

Hermione leaned closer to him and whispered, "I think we — all the old D.A — should go and have a look at the Room of Requirement."

"But we've seen that!" Ron protested.

Hermione kicked him in the ankle. "I really think it's a good idea."

"Ow!" He rubbed his ankle. "Alright, then. Why?"

Hermione glanced down the table at Minerva McGonagall, who had managed to re-assemble all the leaders of Dumbledore's Army at Hogwarts, who had a man hiding in the dungeons who the whole world thought was dead, and who had all but told Hermione that there was something secretly wrong with Professor Snape. "Tell you later."

Author's Note: The idea that the jinx on the D.A.D.A position continued after Voldemort's death is another divergence from canon.