Chapter 3: Hogwarts Express

Hermione felt sick as she stepped through the barrier and onto platform nine and three-quarters. It was hard to tell whether it was nerves or morning sickness, although 'both' was certainly an option. "Is it too late to accidentally miss the train?" she asked wistfully.

"Yes. Come on." Ginny gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be fine."

"You look a bit pale, dear," Molly said, giving her a critical look. "Feeling sick at all? Do you have some plain crackers with you?"

Hermione nodded, smiling ruefully. "And a bottle of water and some bags for being sick into. I'm just starting to wish I could keep this a secret. I can't, of course - I'm not going to be able to go to Potions classes at all, and Professor Lupin said I'd have to sit out some of my Defence and Herbology classes. But I do wish I could put off all the funny looks and everything a bit longer."

"I don't blame you," Ginny said, wincing. "You know, you could have handed your badge back when you got there. That way there wouldn't be so many questions on the train."

"That would have just made things harder for the teachers. I'm doing enough of that already." Hermione shook her head. "Might as well get it over."

"Ginny! Hermione!" Harry was leaning out of a carriage and waving. "Come on, we've got a compartment down here!"

Ginny waved back. "We're coming! Make Ron come and help with the trunks!" Ginny had made it clear that she considered her brothers to be useful beasts of burden at best... Fred had been ordered to come along to deal with Hermione's trunk and Ginny's while Ginny supported Hermione. George had been allowed to stay and mind the shop. "Fred, stop ogling the girls and get the trunks over there." Ignoring Fred's mutter, she brightened and waved. "Hi, Neville! Harry's found us a compartment down this way!"

"Thanks, Ginny!" Neville returned her wave, beaming at both of them. "You need a hand with anything?" Fred promptly annexed him to help with the luggage.

"Now, be careful on the stairs, in case you come over dizzy," Molly said sternly, clearly determined to get some extra fussing in. She had been appalled at the idea of Hermione having a baby alone, but supportive anyway. "And don't eat greasy food. It'll make the nausea worse. Rest as much as you can - you'll get tired easily at first."

"I'll be careful," Hermione said, smiling at her. "Madam Pomfrey's given me lots of instructions already, and I have to go and see her every week. It's going to be quite handy, having a nurse on call."

"Oh, that it is, dear... and don't be shy about asking for potions," Mrs Weasley said firmly. "There's only so much that can be done about the nausea, but things like swollen ankles and so on are best treated early."

"I won't be shy," Hermione said, grinning ruefully. "I hate being uncomfortable. I won't be at all brave about it."

"Good. And write and tell me how things are going," Mrs Weasley said, giving her a damp beam. "Ginny, you keep an eye on her and make sure she eats properly."

"I will, Mum." Ginny shook her head, grinning, and gave her a quick hug. "Go say goodbye to Ickle Ronniekins. He looks ready to strangle Fred."

"Oh, dear..." Mrs Weasley bustled away to intervene; Ron had finally realized that he was significantly bigger than the twins and apparently felt the need to redress a lifetime of grievances.

"I wish I had my badge," Hermione said softly. "It's amazing how well you can hide behind a shield that's only half-an-inch square."

"You'll be fine," Ginny said reassuringly, tugging her past the bickering Weasleys and into the train. "Come on, the sooner we're in our compartment, the fewer people you'll have to see."

Hermione followed, not permitting herself even a glance towards the Prefect's carriage. That was firmly in the past. Harry smiled encouragingly at her as she slipped into the compartment, where Neville was tucking Trevor into his pocket with tender care. "Hi, Neville," she said, feeling very fond of him all of a sudden. Neville, at least, wouldn't be judgemental about her pregnancy. "Your arm's all healed up, then?"

"Mostly." He pulled up his sleeve to exhibit his wand arm. The outer side was heavily marked with purple scars, and his smallest finger had lost the top joint, but it looked otherwise intact. "I've lost a bit of feeling, but it still works. Gran had to get me another wand, though."

"It's looking a lot better," Hermione said, smiling. "What did Mr Ollivander say when you came back again so soon?"

"Told me not to be so careless next time," Neville said, grinning sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, next time you have to drop your wand to save my girlfriend, don't let Ollivander stop you," Harry said, pushing Crookshanks' carrier onto one of the racks - the cat was asleep in a ball of orange fur, Hermione finally having given in and cast a mild sleeping charm on him to make the yowling stop. "I'll buy you a dozen wands if you want them."

Ginny, who'd been leaning out of the compartment to look down the hall, suddenly slammed the door and scowled. "Oh, that utter cow!" she muttered, flopping down on the seat next to Hermione.

"Who's a cow?" Harry asked, promptly claiming the seat next to her.

"McGonagall's only given Hermione's badge to Lavender Brown," Ginny said grumpily. "She gave me the worst smirk when she saw me..."

"Wonderful." Of all the people to have it. Hermione scowled, looking out the window. She and Lavender had never gotten along, and after Ron had dumped her, things had gotten extremely uncomfortable in the girl's dormitory.

"I'll hex her bald if she tries anything," Ginny said vindictively. "Or maybe some horribly disfiguring skin disease."

Harry grinned across at Neville. "Isn't she sweet?" he said in an exaggeratedly fatuous tone. "Sweetly and daintily threatening people right and left. I do like a nice, old-fashioned girl."

"I'll give you a nice, old-fashioned thumping if you keep that up," Ginny said reprovingly, looking rather pleased. "Anyway, we don't have to worry about her yet. Is Ron on the train yet?"

"Just heading up to the Prefect's carriage now," Harry said, looking out of the window. "He's not going to be pleased to see her, is he?"

"No, but serve him right for going out with her in the first place," Ginny muttered, giving Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze.

Neville was giving Hermione a puzzled look. "Hermione, why aren't you a Prefect anymore? Are you going to be too busy studying this year?"

"A bit," Hermione said, smiling at him again. Neville really was terribly sweet. "This is going to be a bit of a busy year for me, even without being a Prefect. It's N.E.W.T.s, of course, and... uhm... I'm going to have a baby."

Neville's mouth dropped open. "What, at school?"

"Well, she'd hardly miss exams, would she?" Luna said vaguely, having just opened the door. She ambled in, sitting down next to Neville. "Hello, Hermione. Hello, Ginny. Hello, Harry. Hello, Neville."

"Hello, Luna," they chorused, and Hermione grinned, feeling very fond of Luna too. She never seemed shocked by anything. "No, I wouldn't miss exams. I've arranged everything with the teachers already. It should be all right."

"That's all right, then." Luna smiled dreamily at her. "You look a little pale. Do you have morning sickness?"

"I'm not sure. It could just be nerves." Hermione smiled ruefully.

"I've got some crystallised ginger if you want it." Luna had one of her brief practical moments. "It's quite good if you feel sick."

Neville was looking bewildered again. "Uhm... Hermione, if it's not rude..." he said hesitantly, "who's the... you know..." He gave her stomach a meaningful look.

"Nobody," Hermione said firmly. "Nobody relevant, anyway."

Neville blushed. "Oh, I see," he mumbled and retired to his corner hastily.

The train whistled, and Ginny leaned across Harry to wave out of the window. "Bye, Mum!" she shouted, as the train began to move. "Bye, Fred! You tell George to send me those treats for Arnold!"

"Will do," Fred shouted back. "See you at Christmas!"

Hermione leaned back in her seat. Well, she'd told someone - two someones.

Only about seven hundred to go.

She had nearly a whole peaceful hour before Lavender appeared, smirking, with a nervous-looking fifth-year Prefect in tow. "Hi, Harry! Hi, Hermione!" she said sweetly. "How are you?"

"Fine," Harry said, sliding down in his seat slightly. Lavender still made him a little nervous, apparently.

"Quite well, thank you," Hermione said with equal sweetness. "And you? Did you... er... have a good holiday?" While we were risking life and limb to save the wizarding world, you smug little cow...

"Fine, thanks." The sweetness got a little more pointed. "I've been seeing Julian Spragg, he left last year. I was so surprised, though, to get a letter last week saying I would be replacing you as a Prefect! How on earth did you lose your badge?"

"I didn't. I gave it up." Hermione folded her hands primly in her lap. "I'm going to be too busy this year."

"Too busy?" Lavender asked disbelievingly. "To be a Prefect? Doing what?"

"I don't really think that's any of your business," said... of all people... Neville. Everyone looked at him, and he drew himself up, giving Lavender a positively annoyed look. "Don't you have to patrol or something?"

Lavender retreated in some confusion. Neville had never been rude to her before - or to anyone, as far as anybody knew. Hermione smiled, and leaned over to give Neville a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for standing up for me," she said affectionately, as he blushed furiously. "Everyone's going to know soon enough, but I really didn't want to have that particular conversation right now."

Neville mumbled something about wanting to help, and Luna beamed at him. "That was very kind of you," she said seriously. "Lavender doesn't like Hermione at all. I'm sure she would have been very rude."

"Probably." Ginny glanced at Hermione, whose irritation must have been showing because she hastily changed the subject. "I like what you've done with your leg, Luna, is it new?"

Luna pulled up her robes a little, examining the enchanted wooden prosthetic that had replaced her right leg from just above the knee. Originally a fairly ordinary-looking leg and foot, like the limb of a marionette, it had now been painted brilliant purple and ornamented with what looked like glued-on glass beads. "Yes, I redecorated it for school," she said rather proudly. "The blue beads avert the Evil Eye."

It was so typical of Luna that Hermione had to look out of the window for a minute until she got herself under control again. (Pregnancy seemed to be turning her into a positive wellspring of ever-ready tears) So many people had been hurt in the war that it felt horribly normal to be talking about Luna's prosthetic leg, or Neville's scars... and it felt wrong that she'd managed to escape without some obviously visible token of her own.

Escaped the war without one, anyway. The victory celebrations had left a very permanent one. Ironic, that.

Not long after that, Ron ambled into the carriage, flopping into the empty seat next to Luna. "Did you know Lavender is a Prefect now?" he asked the compartment in general. "She got your badge, Hermione."

"We know. She stopped by to gloat," Harry said, looking up from the game of wizard chess that he was playing with Ginny and losing quite badly. "Neville told her to piss off."

Ron gave Neville a startled look. "You never," he said, sounding rather impressed.

"Not exactly," Neville said sheepishly. "I told her it was none of her business why Hermione wasn't a Prefect anymore, and didn't she have to patrol or something."

"He was rude about it, too," Ginny said proudly. "He sounded quite cross."

Ron grinned. "Good for you, Neville." He slouched in his seat. "A lot of people were asking questions," he told Hermione, frowning. "I wasn't sure what to say, so I just said it was your business, and they could ask you if they wanted to know."

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Maybe I should just go find Lavender and tell her," she said wryly. "Then she could tell everyone else on the train."

Ron grinned at her. "It has efficiency to recommend it."

"Hold out as long as you can," Harry said, giving her a pained look. "Trust me. You want to put off all the staring and the questions for as long as possible. After dinner, anyway."

Hermione nodded. She remembered what it had been like after Rita Skeeter's article implying that she was some sort of heart-breaking slut. Now that there was actually a potential truth to the accusation, she wasn't at all keen to see it again. "All right. Luna, would you like to play chess? I've got another set." She saw Ron's expression turn sulky and grinned at him. "And no, you can't play, Ron. You always win... and you're a very bad winner. You gloat."

His pride salved by this praise, Ron settled down to a lengthy discussion of some Quidditch team or other with Neville that lasted until the cart came by. Hermione had packed her own lunch - nutrition was important, in her condition - but as usual, the boys loaded up with goodies.

Hermione sniffed. There was the oddest smell, all of a sudden. It smelled like something decaying, almost, and her stomach roiled in protest. "What on earth is that smell?" she asked, looking around.

Ron swallowed his huge mouthful of pumpkin pasty and gave her an inquiring look. "I can't smell anything... unless it's the pasties. You want one? We've got loads..." He held one out.

The sweetish smell of pumpkin, which she'd always quite liked, suddenly seemed to have the horrible force of rotten meat. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the compartment, trampling several feet in her haste to get away from the horrible smell.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asked in alarm, following her out of the compartment. "What is it?"

"Sensitivity to smells is normal in the first trimester," Hermione said weakly, dragging in a lungful of the less-tainted air with a gasp of relief. "Apparently pumpkin isn't... oog... going to be my first dining choice for a while."

"Ohhhhh," Ginny said, relaxing. "Oh, I know about that. Mum couldn't bear the smell of raw meat, when she was pregnant, although she still wanted to eat it. She used to make Dad cook it, Bill says, and hide until it was ready."

Hermione nodded. "Makes sense." She leaned against the window, resting a hand on her stomach. "Ugh... I'll be fine, just keep the door shut and make them eat quickly, all right?"

"Stopping Ron from eating quickly would be harder." Ginny nodded, patting Hermione on the shoulder and ducking back into the compartment. "It's the smell of the pasties," she said, and then the door was shut and sound cut off.

Hermione took a few more deep breaths. That was better. The smell was much fainter out here, and diluted with the smells of cauldron cakes and chocolate, which were much pleasanter. Several younger students pushed past, probably in pursuit of the trolley, and Hermione backed up against the wall, smiling as they bobbed past. It was good to be going back to Hogwarts - good that it was safe to go back, especially for the youngest students.

She heard a door open further along the carriage and looked up, to see dark-green robes and a familiar blond head. Draco's hair wasn't as sleek as it had been, cut much shorter than before and ruffled as if he'd run his hand through it more than once. He looked tired, she thought, and unhappy. He looked around and stiffened when their eyes met. "Granger," he said, looking past her. "Where's the rest of the dream team?" "In the compartment," Hermione said, indicating it with a jerk of her head. "I came out for some air."

Draco stepped out of his own compartment, shutting the door behind him, and moved closer - staying prudently away from the compartment's window, she noticed. "No longer a Prefect, I see," he said coolly. "Why?"

"I gave it up. I won't have time this year." Hermione shrugged. "You aren't either, I see."

Draco snorted. "I'm only being allowed to return to the school on sufferance as it is," he said bitterly. "I certainly wouldn't be trusted with any authority."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose I can see why," she said. "But it doesn't seem quite fair."

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco said with a shrug, as if that were all the explanation required. Which it was, really... Slytherin was an unpopular House to be in, at the moment, and those who had been known to support Voldemort least popular of all... even those who had changed sides, apparently.

"You didn't go for a prosthetic, I see," she said, trying to match his coolness as she looked at the half-empty sleeve that hung at his left side. "If you pinned that up, it wouldn't get in the way so much."

Draco looked down at the arm he'd severed at the elbow with his own wand. "I manage," he said, trying to sound indifferent and almost succeeding.

Hermione nodded. "We're actually having an almost civil conversation," she said dryly. "Hell must be freezing over as we speak."

"Probably... hey, watch it, you little shits!" Draco glared as the scampering first-years pushed past on their way back to their compartment.

Two of them had bought pumpkin pasties. One, bitten into and issuing steam, was waved directly under Hermione's nose as they passed.

"Mch!" Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth and bolted for the toilet at the end of the carriage. She made it, but only just, slamming the door but not having time to lock it before dropping to her knees and revisiting her breakfast with some force. Some time later, when it felt like she must have brought up everything but her toenails, the nausea finally abated. She washed her mouth out with water from the tiny sink, flushed a couple of times, and stepped out of the toilet, feeling a bit shaky. To her surprise, Draco was standing there, looking almost concerned. "That didn't sound particularly healthy," he said dryly. "What brought that on?"

"The pasties," she said grimly. Wonderful. Not someone she'd really wanted to tell about this. "The smell of pumpkin apparently sets off the morning sickness."

His pale eyebrows rose. "Morning sickness?" His eyes dropped to her stomach, then flicked back up to her face. "And you're going back to school anyway?"

"I'm certainly not giving up my N.E.W.T.s for a brief lapse in judgement at a victory party," Hermione said tartly. "I already talked to Professor McGonagall. It's all arranged."

"Huh." Draco smirked. "So Saint Granger isn't quite as pure as all that, after all."

"Not quite, no." Hermione glared at him. "So why are you loitering around here, Malfoy? I doubt you were concerned for my welfare."

"No, I was waiting for my turn." Draco smirked again. "I didn't come out of my compartment to talk to you." He slipped past her into the toilet, closing the door firmly in her face.

"Twerp," Hermione muttered, heading back to the compartment. The door was open, and a strong smell of vanilla was drifting down the corridor.

"Well, it doesn't smell like pumpkin," Harry was saying doubtfully. "I'm not sure if it's an improvement, though - what if vanilla makes her feel sick, too? It's almost strong enough to make me feel sick."

"It's not too bad, actually," Hermione said, entering the compartment to see that the window was open as well. "What happened?"

"Neville tried to get rid of the pumpkin smell," Luna said peaceably. "It's quite a good spell, isn't it?"

"It does smell nice." Hermione smiled at Neville, who looked very embarrassed, and sat down again. "Thanks, Neville."

"Where'd you go, anyway?" Ron asked curiously. "We looked out and you were gone."

"I had to be sick," Hermione said, shrugging as Ron winced. "According to mum, I'll be doing a fair bit of it for the next month or so."

"Was it talking to Draco Malfoy that made you feel sick?" Luna asked with interest. "I saw him through the window just after you ran off."

Harry frowned. "Malfoy's coming back to school? I thought he was confined to the estate or something."

"No, that was his mother. House arrest." Ginny shrugged. "There was a lot of 'given the current situation' and 'extenuating circumstances' when Malfoy was tried, and he got off with a stern warning not to ever do it again."

"That's it?" Ron made a rude noise. "He was a bloody Death Eater. He let them into Hogwarts, and it was because of him that Professor Dumbledore died even if he didn't actually kill him. They shouldn't have let him come back no matter how much he begged."

Hermione glared at him. "Ron, he not only fought with us at the end, he cut off his own arm to get rid of the Dark Mark," she said reproachfully. "What more do you want?"

"His head on a pike?" Ron said, looking mutinous. "He's still Malfoy, even if he chickened out of siding with Voldemort right at the end..."

"He was quite civil when I talked to him... for Malfoy, anyway," Hermione said. "And he's got every right to finish his education, Ron. The Wizengamot found that he'd acted under extreme duress. You can't tell me you wouldn't have at least considered it to save your own mum."

Harry scowled. "I still don't think they should have let him come back to school. He might have helped once he was sure Voldemort would kill him otherwise, but I still don't trust him."

"I think the arm thing was pretty convincing," Neville said quietly. "I mean... he cut it off himself. With his own wand. Could you do that?"

"Well..." Harry was honest enough to look doubtful. A Seeker's arms were his life.

"Did you know Professor Snape is back?" Luna asked brightly, apparently unaware of the quickest way to make Harry explode; or possibly very much aware, you never knew with her. "He's teaching Potions again."

" He's what? Oh, bloody hell, I thought we were finally rid of the bloody great bat!"

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry waved energetically.

"H'lo, Harry!" Hagrid called back, over the heads of scurrying first-years heading for the boats. "You look af'er Hermione! See you up at the castle!"

"Does he know?" Ron asked, carrying Hermione's things as well as his own with a put-upon expression. Ginny had refused to let Hermione carry anything heavier than Pig.

"About you being... you know."

"Professor McGonagall said she was going to tell all the teachers," Hermione said quietly. She was feeling sick again, and it was definitely nerves this time. "Which means the portraits and the ghosts probably know too, which means the whole school will by tomorrow morning."

"Probably." Harry patted her arm gently. "It's going to be hard, but we'll be here."

"If it gets too bad, I'll arrange for someone to streak the Great Hall," Ginny said, grinning.

"You'll do no such thing!" Ron said, horrified. "Who would you ask, anyway?"

Ginny smirked. "You two, obviously, in masks. Hermione's your best friend, except for each other; you owe it to her to protect her."

"Protect her, yes," Ron muttered. "Strip for her, no."

Hermione allowed Harry to help her into the carriage - he was trying to be solicitous, and it was sweet, even if she really didn't need it yet. "Anyway, Ron couldn't, everyone would know it was him."

"How?" Harry asked, scrambling into the carriage after Ginny.

Hermione grinned rather naughtily as Ron shoved Crookshanks onto her lap and climbed in, closing the door behind him. "The Weasley red hair. Even if his head was covered, it'd be obvious who it was."

Harry choked, and Ron went brilliant puce. "Hermione!" he moaned in anguished tones.

Ginny stared at her. "Hermione Granger, how on earth do you know he has... I thought you hadn't..."

"I said he wasn't the baby's father," Hermione said primly, going a little pink. "I never said we hadn't."

The boys were making noises of horrified embarrassment. Ginny ignored them. "But... you're sure he's not..."

"Yes, I'm sure. It was much earlier." Hermione was blushing more now. "And don't try to tell me that you two didn't before we went after that last Horcrux, and we thought we were all going to die."

Ginny went scarlet. "Well... uh... oh, look, we're nearly there!"

Harry and Ron were carefully looking everywhere but at each other. Hermione smiled rather smugly. She'd been sure Harry and Ginny not only had but had continued to do so. Ron would be bound to find out sooner or later, and he was far more protective of Ginny's virtue than any mere brother ought to be. Now Harry could counter with the state of Hermione's own virtue, if it came to an argument, which should shut Ron up nicely. Besides, the opportunity had been much too funny to resist.

By the time she sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was shaking with nerves. Professor Snape was sitting up at the teachers' table... at least, she assumed he was, from the filthy looks Harry was directing at it. She hadn't dared to look. How could she face him? She knew she should drop Potions, and had tentatively suggested as much in her last letter to Professor McGonagall. The Headmistress had sent back such a firm negative that Hermione hadn't dared to bring it up again, and she suspected that Professor Snape had gotten the same response when he'd tried to kick her out of the class as she was sure he would have. She really should try again, though

But it was one of her favourites, especially now that Harry couldn't cheat anymore. If she didn't pass her Potions N.E.W.T., she wouldn't be able to work in the field, and she loved the mystery and the science of it. And it might look suspicious... the last thing she wanted was to hurt him all over again.

She was grateful for the distraction when the doors opened and the usual troop of first-years trotted in, following Professor Sprout like a troop of flapping black ducklings. She herded them up to the stool where the Sorting Hat was waiting, and everyone looked at it expectantly.

The Hat was silent for an uncharacteristically long moment, then the rip near the brim opened.

One thousand years and more ago,

The Sorting first was held,

When Hogwarts stood united,

And the Founders did as well.

The Houses tend to squabble now,

And it's a dreadful shame,

For it would grieve the Founders,

Who gave your Houses' name.

So be brave and venturesome,

Even if you're not in Gryffindor,

Strive for wisdom and for learning,

Though you're not a Ravenclaw,

Ambition and quick thinking,

Need not be in Slytherin,

And a loyal and a loving heart,

House Hufflepuff may not win.

Take care of one another,

We've all been through a lot,

And in your hands and minds and hearts,

Is all the future that we've got.

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "Remember when we were kids and the Hat used to be cheerful?"

"I think losing Professor Dumbledore must have really upset it," Hermione said anxiously. "It's been getting more and more pointed about inter-house unity, too, the last few years."

"Fat chance," Harry muttered, trading glares with Draco Malfoy. Hermione wasn't sure he even noticed that Draco was sitting in a small empty space, none of his fellow Slytherins seeming to want to be associated with him.

"Oh, stop it, Harry," she said in disgust, turning back to the Sorting. The first-years looked rather overawed and filed up in terrified silence when Professor Sprout read their names. "Bainbridge, Morgana" became the first Slytherin, and Hermione elbowed Ron hard in the ribs when he started to hiss. He subsided, giving her a resentful look, as the Slytherins applauded politely.

Without meaning to, she looked up at the teacher's table, to find Professor Snape's dark eyes fixed on her. She blushed, looking down at the table, then looked up to applaud "Canus, Ceridwen" when she became the first new Gryffindor.

She was grateful when the Sorting was over, and she could focus on the feast, even if the flood of smells was a little overwhelming. Her stomach had settled a bit, and she managed a fairly decent meal, although the desserts were much less tempting than usual. She made do with a jam tart, more to have something to do than to eat, because she was sure she'd felt the weight of eyes on her more than once, and couldn't bring herself to look up at the teachers' table again while any other distraction remained.

She had intended to pay close attention to Professor McGonagall's rather terse speech of greeting but found her eyes wandering along the teachers' table instead. It seemed extraordinary that almost all the same faces should be there...Hagrid gave her a surreptitious wave when their eyes met, and Remus Lupin was looking at her a little anxiously - she hoped he wasn't disappointed in her. The Heads of House flanked the Headmistress's seat; Professor Flitwick, looking very old now, was sitting beside Professor Sprout, who was fiddling with her wineglass. On the other side of the Headmistress's chair, the newly appointed Head of Gryffindor was looking around with her usual calm, slightly sleepy expression as Professor McGonagall announced her appointment to a ripple of startled whispers; very few students knew Professor Sinistra well, and nobody had known that the imperturbable Astronomy teacher had once been a Gryffindor.

Hermione doubted that anyone else knew the reason Professor Snape had been made head of House Slytherin at twenty-four was that he had been the only former Slytherin on staff after Slughorn and Pinsworthy retired, and that twice in the past new staff had had to be hired on the basis of House affiliation, lest a House be left Headless. Some people would just never bestir themselves to read Hogwarts: A History.

Beside Sinistra, Professor Snape sat looking down at his plate, twirling his knife between restless fingers. He looked tired, Hermione thought guiltily... her revelation had surely helped to rob him of his sleep. Her presence would surely only make things worse. She would ask him at the first opportunity - if he wanted her to give up Potions, she would somehow convince Professor McGonagall to let her.

"Hey, look!" Harry pointed, smiling suddenly, as a ghost drifted through the large doors, looking around at the gathered students affectionately. "I didn't know he was staying at the school."

Hermione gave the ghost of Albus Dumbledore a little wave, which he returned. "Where else would he go? Nobody could get him away from the school while he was alive, why would he leave now?"

Author's Note: I would like to again thank my betas for all their hard work on Accountable. Harmony, especially, has worked extremely hard to make the story the best it can be, almost from the beginning. Whitehound and Bambu have also offered invaluable support and advice, and for that I thank them.

I appreciate all my reviews, anonymous and otherwise. However, for anyone wishing to criticize my choice of theme, announce their disappointment in my moral character, or attempt to browbeat me into rewriting the story to fit their own personal moral code, I would appreciate being given a means of response that does not force every other reader to endure the discussion as well. My email address is elidyce at gmail com .