Ad Vitam

A/N: I know this is kind of short chapter, but I promise next one will be way longer. I'd be glad on hearing yours suggestions to the story:-) But for now....
Read and enjoy!

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The ceiling of the Great Hall mimicked the first night of September's sky, reds,oranges,
pinks and purples fading into a regal dark blue. Hermione looked up to see a few stars twinkling above her in the dark streaks.

At least it wasn't raining.

She turned her gaze to the rest of the hall. The House banners had been taken down for their annual cleansing at the end of last term but each was now back where it belonged: proudly hanging from the rafters above their respective tables.

Everything was prepared for the Fall term.

The Great Hall was clean, as were the corridors, classrooms, common rooms, and dorm
rooms, thanks to Flich and the elves.

Professors' lesson plans were neatly stacked on their desks, ready and waiting for lessons to be taught and papers to be assigned.

The Great Hall, as previously stated, was in pristine condition, the floating candles all drifting at a uniform height and the gold table settings glistening in their light.

Hermione sighed.

She could almost imagine that it would be her friends that would be coming through those double doors in a few moments.

She fidgeted in her seat and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

And she was nervous. She could admit it now. Oh, it wasn't because she was going to be teaching the next day, she was sure she'd do well with that. And it wasn't because she was year in the past; she was here for a reason. And it wasn't even because she had a newly found power over the castle.

No, she could thank Minerva McGonagall for her current state.

"Dear Merlin," the Scot sighed as she and Hermione walked the corridors to the Great Hall. "I cannot believe it is almost over. Thank the gods."

"'Thank the god's that what is over Professor?" Hermione asked. Should I be worried about something? she thought.

"It's Minerva," the woman replied with a smile as she pushed open the staff door to the Hall. "We are colleagues, my dear. Making nice with other professors is encouraged here."

"Yes, of course, Minerva."

Going to have to watch yourself on that one, Hermione; despite the fact that it feels odd.

"Right then, you had asked what I was referring to. This will be the final year of four boys who have dubbed themselves 'the Marauders'."

Hermione felt her heart stop and the blood drain from her face.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Hermione's mind supplied her with a lie:

"Oh yes, sorry, just remembering something I've forgotten to do."

"I hope it wasn't too terribly important."

"Oh, no, nothing life threatening."

"Good. I know how awful it is to forget something significant. You just simply cannot believe that escaped your mind…"

"Who are these boys? These 'Marauders'? Anyone I need to keep an eye out for?" she asked, attempting to play her part. McGonagall seemed to buy it; maybe she was a better actress than she thought.

"Probably, dear. They are vicious pranksters, and as a new professor you can be sure they'll try to pull one over on you…"

As McGonagall went on to list, in fairly descriptive detail, the pranks the Marauders had play throughout the years, and on whom, Hermione tuned her out.

I wasn't supposed to come back this far. They were supposed to be finished with school by now.

One error in her time traveling calculations, a few turns too many of the hour glass, and now she reaped the consequences. Consequences that included having to teach ones James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Lily Evans.

Oh, and Snape. Didn't that just make for a lovely game of 'Let's-See-How-Many-People-We-Know-In-the-Future-We-Can-Meet-In-the-Past'.

But the more Hermione thought about it, the more she thought it was to her advantage. At least now she had Snape and Wormtail close at hand and didn't have to search the outside world for them. If they weren't already Death Eaters, maybe she could steer them away from Voldemort, and if they were, perhaps she could just take care of them now so they did no further damage.

Minerva's voice brought her back to reality.

"Yes, you will most definitely want to look out for those boys, and punish them accordingly whenever you see fit. They're Gryffindor's all, but as much as I love my cubs, I cannot wait until they are gone from Hogwarts forever."

Hermione tilted her head back to the ceiling as she absently swished the wine in her goblet and sighed again.

The older students would be entering in a moment. Minerva had already left to wait for the first years on the front steps.

Once again she thought back to the many Sortings she had attended, she didn't think any had had quite such nice weather as this evening's did.

Hermione glanced up and down the Head Table. There were few faces she did not recognize. Those she did were from her own school days, twenty years into the future. Thus they were younger versions than the ones she knew. The Divination professor, however, was different, a woman Hermione had yet to be introduced to. It appeared as though Trelawney had yet to have been hired.

To her left sat Dumbledore and to her right that obnoxious figure of Horace Slughorn, Potions professor and Head of Slytherin. Hermione mentally rolled her eyes at the thought of him. He had been boring her with his incredibly dull brand of conversation for the past fifteen minutes. Thankfully he was now annoying – engaging Sprout in an agricultural dialogue while attempting to display his horrible misguided horticultural knowledge.

She had already an invitation to the 'Slug Club', just as she had in her own time.

"Grimaldi. Grimaldi. Hmmm…" he had murmured when they had first been introduced. "Where have I heard that name before…"

"You haven't." she answered.

"No. No, I have…" his face brightened with the illumination of the bulb above his head. "I've got it! You're from the house of Grimaldi are you not?"

"No, I'm not."

She was ignored as the wide man continued his dissertation. "I visited Monaco this past summer. Wonderful city. Magnificent architecture. That would mean you are muggle-born, correct?"

"Incorrect."

"This is splendid1 I've never met a muggle-born professor before, nor so young of a professor in general. You must have worked terribly hard to reach where you are. Tell me, what was it like?"

"Horace!" Dumbledore had chuckled, "The Lady has been denying your allegations from the beginning. Let her speak "

Hermione had pasted on a fake smile for the night and turned it on Slughorn.

"Really, Horace. I am neither from Monaco nor muggle-born," she had decided against telling people of her true heritage. It wouldn't do to be a muggle-born now, not when she needed all the help she could get in identifying Voldemort's followers. "Though you are in the proper region. And yes, I have worked fairly hard to become a professor at such a young age."

"Marvelous! You must come to my next club meeting and tell me all about it! I'm sure you'd enjoy the gathering!"

Hermione's fake smile got marginally wider at the invitation, as was expected when one was invited to something another found interested.

"I will think about it," she had promised before Dumbledore led her to the next professor to meet.

Oh that man is obnoxious. Though whether the thought was in reference to Slughorn for being himself or Dumbledore for not saving her sooner, she didn't know.

Above her, the clouds rolled over the ceiling, blanketing the blues with grays and the stars with mist.

"My dear, calm yourself. It won't do to have the children notice a difference between the sky they've left outside and the sky they see in here. Change it quickly; I can hear the students now." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement, lending to the belief that he knew exactly what had caused her mood to change.

Hermione looked up and gasped at the change of the ceiling's fresco. "Did I do that?"

He too turned his eyes to the sky.

"Yes, my dear. But you are nervous – it is understandable." His gaze returned to her and he gave her a kindly smile. "Trust in yourself. All will be well."

And in the light of his grandfatherly gaze she found herself nodding.

"Good. Good." He nodded and clasped her left hand in his own.

As the voices out side the double doors swelled, the Headmaster turned back to face them. And with a nod, the doors flew open of their own accord and the students flooded through the broken damn like waves.

Hermione looked down to her hand.

Hm. A Lemon Drop from the Headmaster. Imagine that.

With a predatory smile Hermione too turned to the crowd.

This wouldn't be so bad. If she could handle Fred and George she could handle the Marauders. And no one could be worse to teach than Neville Longbottom. And years of experience with an older Snape would help her in dealing with the younger one.

She was Hermione Granger, and she was on a mission.

The students didn't know what they were in for.

Let the games begin.

A/N: next chapter will be up by the end of this Weekend, I'm waiting it back from my beta :-)