It just sort of happened. Hermione had looked up one day and realized that she'd finished her list, completed her life plan. She'd taken her N.E.W.T.s, apprenticed to Snape, worked in the research wing of St. Mungo's, managed an apothecary, and become a professor at Hogwarts. In that order.

She was fifty years old, and she'd hardly noticed the time passing. Of course, it passed differently for her than it had for her parents, seeing as she'd likely live another hundred years without much difficulty (barring the rise of another dark lord, and possibly even then since "Auror" had not been on her list).

In the beginning, when she was still an apprentice, she'd expected to marry and have children. That hadn't officially been on the list, that had just been a given. Nobody had caught her eye, though; not really. She'd dated. She'd even been engaged to Ron for awhile. Then she'd been busy with her work for St. Mungo's, helping Snape with his apothecary on the weekends sometimes.

She'd risen to head of her division quickly, and had just as quickly grown bored. After fifteen years in research, she'd been glad for the change when Snape wanted her to take over management of his apothecary so that he could return to his post at Hogwarts. And then she'd grown bored with that, too. She'd been glad to pass that on to her own apprentice, Harry's daughter Lily, when Snape offered her the Potions position.

She hadn't grown bored of Hogwarts yet. The students were always up to something, Peeves was a source of inexhaustible annoyance, and the other professors were amusingly easy to manipulate when it came to office politics. She had brewing for the hospital wing in the evenings, classes to hold, office hours to keep. There were summers for research and papers and academic conferences.

She wondered if she was satisfied with her life, if that was why there wasn't anything left on her list. Every step of the way, she'd always been looking forward to the next thing. What could she do that would be more interesting, more engaging, more challenging? Who could she work with next? Where would she be? She'd never set out to end up at Hogwarts again. It was like circling back to where she started. But she felt... settled. She was happy at Hogwarts.

"No, hear me out," a student around the corner said. Hermione narrowed her eyes, stepping over against the wall to listen first before she took points and sent them on their way. It was well after curfew. "I researched it."

"You researched it?"

"Ravenclaw, remember?"

That would be Clarissa Gibson, then.

"Even for you, this is ridiculous."

"I had the book for a different project, alright?"

"Alright, fine. Tell me."

"They're in love."

"They're definitely not."

"Hear me out, I said."

"Fine. Right."

"If you look back, like I did, you'll see that they haven't really been apart since the war."

"Have so. She—"

"Stop it!"

"Sorry."

"Right. As I was about to point out: Even when she was at St. Mungo's, she still worked at his apothecary on the weekends. I know because my Uncle Farley was her apprentice. She made him work weekends there, too."

So Gibson was on about her. Of course she was. The fifth years always took more of an interest; fifth year was when they covered the war in History of Magic. Pairing her with the headmaster was an odd twist, though. His unending love of and loyalty to Lily Potter (exaggerated by the press, he and Harry had both told her) was thoroughly covered in the history books.

"So?"

That was definitely Florence Biggs with her, a Gryffindor. They'd be a dangerous duo if they ever tried to get up to mischief. Snape had once observed that they were like Hermione herself broken into two—both studious and serious, but one with her Gryffindor stubborn streak and the other with her Ravenclaw bookishness.

"So, then she was the one to take over his shop when he came back here. And then as soon as a spot opened up, he offered her the job."

"I think you're wrong."

"I—"

"It's the other way around."

"Can't be."

"Course it is."

"He's in love with Lily Potter. It's in the book."

"He was in love with her. Ages ago."

"It's in the book."

"Didn't you even listen to what you just told me, though? He's been keeping her close for decades."

"Because she's brilliant."

"Which is probably why he loves her."

"Then why—"

"My, my. Aren't we out late?" It was Snape's voice, and Hermione startled like she was the student he'd just caught gossiping in an alcove after midnight.

"Headmaster…" Gibson said. Hermione could practically hear the girl speaking to her shoes.

"Ten points from each of you. Now back to your common rooms. Quickly, now. If I hear you dallied—and I will hear about it—it will be detention."

Hermione smiled. He'd mellowed significantly since the war. Also, she was fairly certain he hadn't heard what they were talking about.

The girls' footsteps hurried off in the opposite direction. Hermione was still smiling to herself when Snape stepped around the corner—of course he'd known she was there. His look was intense, introspective. She realized in the space of a blink that he'd overheard at least as much as she had.

"I hadn't realized…" he started, and then cleared his throat.

"They put a lot of work into that theory, hm?" she said, hoping to brush it off. She'd just realized why she'd so eagerly jumped each time he'd asked her to, each time he'd given her a new project. It had started during her damned apprenticeship, probably before she'd even been engaged to Ron.

"Hermione."

She blinked. He hadn't called her by her given name since he'd gotten out of St. Mungo's after the war.

A/N: The long and short of it is that I couldn't sleep, so I wrote this. There will be a Part II, likely posted a few nights from now when I lose track of those damned counting sheep again.

—M