II

Author's Notes: For this chapter, I have somewhat altered the time line presented in the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. It was necessary for the flow of the story.

Her necessities shrunken and safely tucked away within the inner pockets of her robes, Hermione focused on her destination with intense determination. She closed her eyes and waited for the light squeezing that accompanied Apparition. In no time at all, she found herself standing in front of a familiar faded wooden sign with two arrows pointing in opposite directions: to the right, Hogsmeade, and to the left, Hogwarts. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione turned left and briskly began the trek to the place she'd once called home.

She was within a few steps of the school's grounds when she slowed her pace. Gradually Hermione replayed the events of the last few weeks over in her mind. As promised, Ron had indeed gathered the entire Weasley clan to deliver the bombshell of their separation and the forthcoming dissolution of their fifteen-year union. While he did not go into the more intimate details regarding the nature of their split, Ron assured his family that not only was it amicable, but it was his idea entirely. While his parents and a few of his siblings were stunned, Harry and Ginny appeared less than surprised and took the announcement in stride, quickly pronouncing that not only did they fully support the couple's decision, but Hermione would always be a part of the family no matter what her last name. After a few terse words from Ron to the others regarding the mother of his children, the rest of the Weasleys followed the Potters' shining example and agreed with their sentiment with minimal reluctance.

The talks with Hermione's parents and the children went smoothly, though Hugo and Rose would certainly need some time to adjust. Beforehand, on Minerva's advice, Hermione and Ron had penned a letter to each of the children asking how they would feel if their mummy worked at the school. Hugo didn't seem to mind one way or the other, so long as Hermione wasn't waiting in the wings to pounce and fuss over him whenever it struck her fancy. He had his reputation to consider; there would be no coddling in the public eye for him. Rose, on the other hand, was utterly delighted at the thought of having her mummy so close. Days later, Headmistress Vector granted Ron and Hermione permission to bring the kids home for the weekend so they could carefully break the news to them in a more comfortable and familiar environment.

Hermione was abruptly wrenched from her recollections, having reached the school's gates, nearly colliding with them. She extended her hand and touched the unyielding wrought iron to steady herself. Hogwarts was just as she remembered it being from the days of her youth: the castle dominated the evening sky, the titian glow of the setting sun illuminating its towers and battlements.

Removing her wand from the leather sheath covertly tucked up her sleeve, Hermione touched its tip to the gargantuan lock securing the gates and whispered the password Headmistress Vector had provided. After a metallic clank, the entrance gates swung forward with a heavy groan. As she passed between the winged-boar-topped pillars, the sloping lawns that led to the Forbidden Forrest caught her eye. Nearby stood Hagrid's cabin, the familiar crossbow and galoshes still hanging from the half giant's front door.

The gates having closed and locked themselves once more, Hermione continued to follow the path leading to the front entrance of Hogwarts. Her booted feet making contact with the first of the stone steps seemed to summon Minerva McGonagall; the Transfiguration professor greeted her with a swift hug before promptly guiding her through the Entry Hall. The two women exchanged pleasantries as they made their way through the corridors en route to the Headmistress' office.

Professor Vector was warm and welcoming to her formerly-favourite Arithmancy student and wasted no time outlining once more all the ins and outs of the position. With all the proper contracts signed, the Headmistress excused herself to oversee dinner in the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall showed Hermione the office and private chambers she would be using before inviting her to tea later in the week. Soon, she too departed for dinner, and Hermione was left to her own devices.

After unpacking her things and meticulously arranging her office and tutoring area, Hermione decided to clear her head and do some exploring to reacquaint herself with the school. While most everyone was having their evening meal, her children included, Hermione found she did not possess the desire to dine.

Not much had changed since her time as a student; a great deal of the school was just as she remembered it, though it did not seem as large and looming. The staircases still shifted at random intervals, the ever-present trick stair waiting for an unsuspecting student to forget to jump it. Peeves could be seen swooping from room to room, making trouble whenever it struck his fancy. Painted wizards and witches moved freely between various portraits while ghosts chatted amicably about the fresh crop of firsties.

Hermione was plucked from her trip down memory lane when she looked up to see where her roaming had taken her and came face to face with her close friend, Neville Longbottom.

"Fancy meeting you here," Neville smiled knowingly, eyes sparkling with mirth as he lazily opened the door for her.

"Wha...How did you know it was me?" she questioned in surprise.

"Would you believe me if I said, 'My inner eye'?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Become a master of Divination in your spare time, have you?" she quipped.

Neville snorted at her impertinence and motioned for her to enter.

Hermione did so with a half-hearted smile and sagging shoulders.

Neville seemed to read her body language perfectly and offered her the perfect universal solution to any problem, handed down from generation to generation. "Fancy a cuppa?"

Hermione nodded gratefully. While Neville summoned a house-elf and ordered tea service, Hermione flittered around the room in a futile attempt to keep her anxiety at bay. She had not visited with Neville in several weeks. The last thing she wanted to do was dump all her emotional baggage on him the moment she sat down.

The tea arrived within minutes. Neville fixed them both up, passed a cup to her and took a seat on his sofa, commenting on the soothing properties of the dandelion-nettle blend. Hermione accepted the offered cup but did not join him, choosing instead to continue to pace the length of the room.

"What's the ginger-haired menace done to muck things up this time?"

Hermione shook her head. "I wish it were that simple."

"All right, come tell Auntie Neville all about your wee problem," he placated soothingly, budging over to make room for her, patting the place beside him.

Hermione sighed in defeat and wondered if she was truly that transparent. "Problem? I don't have a problem; I have bloody problems. Plural," she moaned, flouncing onto the settee after placing her tea on the table in front of her.

Neville nodded in empathy and reached for a hip flask hidden within his teaching robes. "Let's warm up that tea a bit, shall we," he said as he leaned forward and poured a liberal amount of something black and viscous into her cup, vaguely resembling tar.

Hermione quirked her eyebrow and said, "I can see you'll be a terrible influence on me, Neville. I've only just arrived, and already I'm in the bottle."

He laughed heartily while adding double the dosage to his own tea. "Hardly! You aren't the first to indulge in a nip every now and then, and you certainly won't be the last. Just wait till you start working with those little blighters on a daily basis. Then you'll understand why Trelawney's always pissed."

Hermione cast a sideways glance at him and took a large gulp of the concoction. Immediately she started to splutter and cough.

Neville gave her a slap on the back to help ease her fit. "Easy there! In the future, I would suggest smaller sips until you become accustomed to the kick."

She heeded his advice and continued to sample the strange brew with caution. "Do I dare ask what in blazes is in this?"

"A true gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he said with mock severity.

Hermione raised a quizzical brow but did not press the nature of his comment. Instead, she returned to the aforementioned subject. "Apparently I've made a muck-up this time, and Ron is likely to be a candidate for sainthood."

"Ronald Weasley, patron saint of arachnophobes!"

Hermione almost inhaled her tea. Neville always kept her in stitches no matter what the occasion. "Are you certain you weren't sorted incorrectly? You've damn near become my Agony Aunt and comedic relief," she teased, playfully swatting his hand.

Neville rolled his eyes clear to the back of his head. "Right! Because really, everyone knows Gryffindor is the new Hufflepuff. Sentimental, funny, brave and foolish practically go hand in hand these days," he deadpanned.

Hermione waited a fraction of a beat before bountifully breaking into a genuine fit of giggles. She had not been this amused in quite some time. Just as her laughter reached its pinnacle, she heard what sounded plainly to be a derisive snort from the direction of Neville's bedchamber.

Placing her hand on her chest to quell her girlish sniggers, Hermione cocked her head to one side and puzzled aloud, "What in Circe's name was that?"

Neville cleared his throat in a pale imitation of Umbridge, stilling Hermione's attempt to rise from her seat. "Not to worry, sweets. I'm sure it was nothing. You know how this draughty, old castle is ... what with ... the continuous settling over time and all," he said haltingly.

Hermione pinned him with her most suspicious yet piercing look and hummed, "Umm-hmm. Absolutely dreadful, Neville! If you were sitting a N.E.W.T. in cock-and-bull right this very moment, I have no doubt you would be unequivocally marked T for Troll. That was perhaps the most pitiful excuse for a diversionary tactic ever."

Neville appeared slightly put out by her assessment of his abilities in the skilful art of fibbery. Nevertheless, he forged ahead like a trooper preparing for a final confrontation. "Hermione, really, it was nothing."

Hermione managed to wriggle out of his grasp and stood facing the entrance in question, a measure of befuddlement in her sepia-toned eyes. Allowing the cobwebs to clear and the cogs to turn, Hermione postulated the possibilities with well-meant surety.

"You little sneak!" she bubbled excitedly after mentally ticking off the most ridiculous of her notions. "After all these years, you finally replaced the dearly departed Trevor, didn't you?"

Before Neville could open his mouth to confirm or deny her deduction, a muffled, 'Not bloody likely!' issued from within his bedchamber.

Hermione rounded on an owl-eyed Neville, her mouth agape and cheeks stained with mortification as she came to the next logical conclusion in her arsenal of explanations.

"Merlin! I am terribly sorry, Neville. I ... I feel like such a bullish, inconsiderate fool," Hermione stammered in a rush. "Here I am, completely oblivious, barging in on what could have been an intimate moment between you and ... oh, my word, is that Hannah in there?" she finished in a high-pitched squeak.

The reply she received, a distinct, 'Really not bloody likely,' came not from Neville's lips, but was decidedly male in origin.

The crimson flush of Hermione's cheeks threatened to spread to the whole of her body as she whispered with averted eyes, "Is there something you need to tell me, Neville?"

Neville ran his left hand through his fringe, brushing it from his face, and exhaled in deeply despondent defeat. "It's not what you're thinking; I can guarantee you that."

Hermione reached for Neville's hands, lacing her friend's fingers with hers as she searched his aubergine eyes for an applicable answer for the evening's follies.

"Whatever it is, I won't tell a soul," she assured him lovingly, the promises of time-tested friendship entwined within her words.

Neville nodded and withdrew his hands from Hermione's, opting instead to offer her his arm.

Warmly accepting his proffered appendage, Hermione permitted her childhood friend to guide her toward the mystery that lay just beyond the open door of the room where Neville slept.

Halting in front of the rough mahogany grain of the vertical jambs, Neville turned to her before they crossed over the threshold. "Just so you know, you weren't even close," he intoned with a wink and a beaming smile.

Hermione buried her face in Neville's shoulder in a futile attempt to stave off some of the laughter that threatened to break free.

As they made their way into the room, Neville used his unencumbered hand to pull his wand from the pocket of his robes, whispering a soft Lumos. Instantly the room flooded with a warm, muted light, and both Hermione and Neville needed a bit so their eyes could adjust to the change.

"Well, have a look-see," Neville invited.

Hermione eased her arm free from Neville's and walked around the room, inspecting the nooks and crannies. He had always been a tidy fellow, and it showed throughout his apartments, right down to the very bed on which he slept...a place for everything, and everything in its place. It was tastefully decorated in lush, earthy tones and had a very homey feel to it. There were Muggle and wizard photographs peppering the room's various surfaces. The windowsill housed several potted plants, a few of which the origin she could not discern on sight alone.

"All right, I'll bite. What exactly am I missing?" she asked, her curiosity further piqued when she could not find anything out of the ordinary.

No sooner than Neville's lips parted to reply to her question, a silken baritone filled with rancour spoke instead.

"Well, well, well ... someone owl the Prophet; the know-it-all really doesn't know it all."

Hermione's head instantly snapped in the direction of the venomous voice she'd known since the age of eleven. There on the wall closest to the door, in his Headmaster's portrait, hung none other than Professor Severus Snape.

Hermione opened and promptly closed her mouth several times, addled at having suddenly lost the ability to verbalize her quickly-changing range of emotions.

"Ha!" Professor Snape's portrait exclaimed. "It appears I won our friendly wager after all, Longbottom. I've done what no man before me has managed to accomplish: the skillfully-snarky Severus Snape has rendered the garrulous Granger comprehensively speechless."

"Weasley," Neville corrected, hearing a whump that sounded vaguely similar to a sack of pixies falling to the ground.

"Speechless and unconscious, apparently," Snape jibed. "Either way, the terms were clear, and don't think I'll be letting you sidestep your obligation to me."

Neville leaned over Hermione's collapsed form and cast a few diagnostic spells, making certain she had not sustained any serious injuries. "You say that as if going back on my word were even a remote possibility," he said, his voice laden with exasperation.

"Yes, well ... it's moments like this when one can only say: Professor Snape. In Longbottom's bedchamber. With the portrait," he announced straight-faced before erupting into uncharacteristically riotous laughter at his own cleverness.

Neville shook his head but smiled at the Professor's clever quip as he bent once again and scooped Hermione's limp form from the stone floor, cradling her in his arms. Firmly securing her against his chest, he turned to Professor Snape.

"I think that's enough Cluedo for you," Neville said light-heartedly and exited his rooms, carrying his fainting fare to her quarters just down the hall.