Hermione and Co. belong to Ms. Rowling, not me. I'm making not a cent from this fanfic.
Please please please keep the responses coming!

Authors Note: This next chapter is a flashback into Helena/Hermione's past . It removes us away from the present storyline a bit, but I'll think you'll agree with me when I say this chapter is pretty important in terms of the overall story-arc. Tell me what you think!
(by the way, I'm awful at titles. Please forgive...)

Mine Protector
Chapter 3: "The Dam Breaks"

Cornelius Fudge was a busy, busy man. Already this morning he'd had a meeting with the dementors at Azkaban, played scrabble with some goblins at the leaky cauldron, and had his daily deep-tissue massage at the the Ministry Country Club. And now he was back at the office, waiting around for Albus Dumbledore--who was late, of course--while trying to put up with an impudent, snip of a girl who insisted on being interviewed for a Ministry position, of all things! She'd come knocking at his door just as he was tucking into his favorite lunch--beef wellington, cooked rare--claiming that she'd made an appointment to see him weeks ago. If she hadn't been wearing a rather tight little chiffon halter dress, Fudge would have sent her promptly away.

"Hear now, Miss...." Fudge faltered, then glanced back down at the girl's resume, clearing his throat. "Miss Black, I'm afraid the Ministry can't accept your application at this time. Mostly because...well, there's lots of reasons...but primarily due to the fact that--"

"Please, sir," the girl said, her voice firm. "Just tell me the truth." She had dark green eyes and a rather smokey, confident gaze, but Fudge noticed that her hands were trembling a bit--she'd been trying to hide them in the folds of her dress for the last few minutes.

Fudge paused, then gave her the once-over. -Looks quite a bit like her murdering Uncle, actually,- he thought, tilting back in his chair casually. -Except for those smashing tits, of course.- The girl had delightfully rosy skin, and even as he looked her up and down, he saw a blush develop high on her cheeks and move south toward her neckline, right to the very spot at which he was staring. She straightened up suddenly, placing her hands flat on the rim of his desk. "Look, Mr. Fudge," she began. "I've grown tired of waiting. I just want to know--will you let me into Aurortor's Training or not?

Fudge threw back his head, laughing loudly, and the girl widened her eyes in response, clearly bewildered. "My dear girl, why on earth do you even want to BE an Auror? You're pretty, young, and talented. Got a sweetheart, I'm sure. Right?" The girl's face turned brilliant crimson at this, and she seemed quite on the verge of losing her temper.

"Sir, I'm sure if you actually read my application, you'd see that I am far too busy and serious about my future to dally with boys!" With that, she slapped her hand on his desk, hard--it certainly wasn't trembling now.

Oops. Fudge decided he had better back off; he certained didn't want his name carried back to the Headmaster on this girl's sharp, acidic tounge. He looked down at the girl's application. -Helena Black- he read, fighting the urge to smirk. -Graduate of the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry pending this June....Head Girl....Top of class.....Age, Seventeen years- Ah! Now he had her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Black. Only those age eighteen and older can enter Aurortor's training. It's policy."

She bit her lip, looking concerned, and Fudge surpressed a smile; this was something his little minx hadn't counted on.

"But Sir, as you can see from my application, I began Hogwart's at the age of ten instead of the usual eleven. I have the same training as all the eighteen-year olds in my class."

"That may be, but there's still the matter of ministry policy."

Fudge saw some of the steely nerve drain out of her further. She sighed and ran a hand through her long, dark hair--clearly trying to find a loophole in his words. -If you want to convince me, deary...you've got your hand on the wrong person...and in the wrong place..- he through wryly, not bothering to hide his smile.

"I have a letter from Dumbledore," she said desperately. "He wrote a personal recommendation. Will you at least read it?"

"I'll bring it up at our next council meeting," he said, trying to look sympathetic. "But, I must tell you that the Aurortor trainers rarely consider female applicants...this has nothing to do with how the Ministry feels, mind you, but the Aurors claim to have had limited success in training girls in the field.....quite unfortunate, really..."

The girl looked suddenly quite sad, and Fudge broke off his little speech. No, it wasn't sadness that shadowed over her, but something that looked more like resignation. Fudge realized, with a tiny bit of shame, that she had probably heard nothing but bad news during the whole of her short life. She was related to Sirius Black, after all--a notorious dark wizard if there ever was one. And to top things off, he'd heard the girl was convinced that her own parents had been killed by Voldemort, when everyone--muggle and wizard alike--knew that Virgil and Abby Black had died tragically when a storm took their house down. -So that's what it is...- he thought, finally putting the pieces together. -She wants to be an Auror...restore the family name...find justice for her parents, as well..- Fudge could understand her position. But understanding her didn't mean he could bend the rules, even if she was a saucy young thing.

"I'm sorry, Miss Black," Fudge finally said, his voice a little softer now. "I'm afraid you're out of luck."

---

Helena couldn't believe what a fool she'd been. She'd spent all week filling out tedious applications, and most of her seventh year researching Auror training and skills in the restricted section of the library; she'd had her hair done in Hogsmeade, bought an expensive new dress, and spent several hours on the Knight Bus...all to come out to London and meet with Cornelius Fudge. And the real topper was that she still had two exams to take before she officially graduated! -All that work...- she thought bitterly -..and he treated me like nothing...like a joke!- She plopped down on the stairs in the middle of the Ministry lobby, located in a towering atrium that was filled with piped-in Phoenix song and a great deal of giant, tropical plantlife. Many wizards were hurrying up and down the stairs, looking very hassled and business-like, and quite a few shot her unpleasant looks for having the nerve to set herself down in the middle of traffic.

"Feeling down, Miss Black?" a familiar voice suddenly asked, startling her out of her hopeless reflection. She looked up, momentarly blinded by all the sunlight that filled the lobby, and then realized she was looking into the face of her headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

She leaped up immeadiatly, smoothing down her dress, wishing she'd worn her school robes--or at least her Head Girl badge. "Sir!" she bleated helplessly. "I know it's a school day-- but if you remember, you gave me permission to come here today..I had an interview, you see.."

"Don't trouble yourself, Helena--I remember," he said, offering her a warm smile. "But I gather that the interview didn't go as you had planned. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sulking about on the steps on the Ministry, would you?"

Helena felt her face burn in agony. She should have left Fudge's office with her head held high, she knew; it wasn't like her to admit defeat so easily. "Your assumptions are correct, headmaster," she said, her tone respectful. "I'm afraid I had my hopes up."

"Helena, if you're not in a hurry to get back to Hogwarts--"

"No sir," Helena interrupted, shaking her head vigorously. "I don't think I can even think about going back until I've had a bit of time to clear my head. I...I hope that's okay with you."

"Actually, Miss Black," Dumbledore continued, and though his voice was kind, his eyes suggested a hint of amusement. "I thought it might be nice for us to have a bit of lunch before you head out. I know of a cafe down the street that makes divine curry."

Helena swallowed back her surprise. She almost asked him if he hadn't ought to get up to see Fudge first--seeing as how the man had been waiting for him for over an hour--but then remembered how the letch had looked her over with his wee, swine eyes. "I love curry," she answered, smiling for the first time all day. "How did you know?"

---

Dumbledore suspected that by the time she'd munched on a good bit of biryani and malai kofta--washed down with plenty of mango juice--Helena's spirits were significatly lifted. She seemed delighted, too, to see him order a whole tandoori chicken and devour it without the aid of utensils, a linen napkin tucked into his robes. They talked about American muggle cinema during their lunch, and she looked positively dizzy with supressed joy when he claimed that she resembled a young Lauren Bacall. "...Just put your lips together and blow," she quipped, laughing, then confessed that she'd always had a mad crush on Peter Sellers, despite his quirkiness.

"Quirkiness, my dear," he began, closing his eyes. "Is, at times, one's best virtue."

She grinned openly, and he reflected silently on the tall, studious girl before him. Helena Black was one of his most special pupils, one that he had watched particularly close during all her years at Hogwarts. Certainly, Dumbledore tried to see the best in all his students, though it was hard to look past the canoodlings of a few Slytherins, at times. But Helena he'd always taken a special interest in, partly because she was so very bright. It was no surprise that--with a mind like hers--she'd ended up in Ravenclaw, and had been appointed Head Girl during her seventh year. McGongall claimed that Helena's transfiguration skills were near-equal to her own, and even Severus Snape begrudgingly admitted that she had a unique gift with cauldrons. Yes, it was a pleasure to see a star like Helena glow so brightly--but her brightness wasn't why Dumbledore had kept careful tabs on her all these years.

Once, during a particularly engaging conversation with the school sorting-hat (yes, the old hat really was an insufferable gossip--on days when he needed a lift, Dumblebore liked to tuck it down over his ears and let it dish for a while), he'd learned that Helena had been especially hard to sort out during her first year "What a mind on that child!" the hat said gleefully. "And courage in spades! Though a bit insure of herself for Gryffindor, I think. Really, the girl has enough ambition to wipe Slytherins clear off the slate, but that Hufflepuff sense of humility tilts the scale in the other direction..." Dumbledore wasn't surprised to hear of Helena's near four-way tie between the Hogwart's houses; many children were, after all, difficult to sort out. In his experience, Dumbledore found that those who possessed the all four qualities notorious to the emblems of Hogwart's often made the best students; they were fair-minded and popular, and possessed a type of flexible thinking that comes from having an innate, multi-faceted character.

On the other hand, these same Renaissance children--the bright stars of Hogwarts--were often tugged in dangerously different directions by their own constantly conflicted will. They perched themselves on top the pinnacle of perfection, which meant that it was easier for a vigorous wind to blow them off course. And if they had an unstable upbringing, this tended to only exaserbate the problem. Dumbledore had seen it happen before--sometimes with only mild consequences, but also--though very rarely--with the most horrific play of events thinkable...the most extreme exmample being the case with Tom Riddle, of course.

"Your food isn't too spicy, is it professor?" Helena asked, tugging at her napkin uncertainly--almost as if she sensed that he was mentally assessing her. That was another of her more notable gifts--a keen sense of intuition.

"Not at all, Helena. I was just thinking about the meeting with Fudge I'm to have this afternoon. I'm sure he's quite upset with my tardiness by now."

Helena nodded carefully. "He did strike me as a little....distracted."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, cooling his palate with a long swallow of mango juice. "We have a special arrangement to work out for next year's fall term. There's a very unique student who will be enrolling at that time."

Helena looked faintly honored at being worthy of Dumbledore's business issues. She tried to think of a way to ask him for more details without appearing nosy, but before she could, he spoke again, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Tell me, Helena," he began. "You were at the Ministry to inquire into Auror Training. Am I correct?"

"Yes," she said, her face falling at once. Dumbledore wondered, not for the first time, if her earnest, eager-to-please exterior wasn't a facade for a more melancholy, almost sullen young lady.

"I gather from your expression that your day did not go as planned," he prompted, his voice gentle but even.

"No...no one told me I had to be eighteen," she stammered, seeming on the verge of frustrated tears. Her food, which only moments ago she had been tucking into with gusto, was pushed aside, forgotten. "Or that being female would put me at such a disadvantage."

Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "Why, I'm surprised that Cornelius would be such a stickler for regulation. Even as Minister, he's been known to make exceptions from time to time," he said, but didn't sound particularly surprised at Helena's revelation, as if he'd known all along how Fudge would react to the prospect of placing a young witch into the Ministry's highly selective Aurorship program.

Helena reacted to his words with hot tears; they slipped down to her jaw-line in a steady stream, but she made no effort to wipe them away. Nor did she sob outloud. If anything, she seemed to grow more resolute--she sat up straight and began re-arranging her utensils, very business-like, assuming that Dumbledore had said his piece and would now be on his way, leaving to finally catch his meeting with Fudge.

But she was wrong. Dumbledore was not finished, and had no intention of leaving. "Miss Black, there is not one current student at Hogwart's who can match you in the fields of charms, potions, and transfiguration. And your skills at Arithmancy and herbology are equally impressive. And if my memory serves me correctly--and I have no reason to give up on it now--the only student who tops you at anything is perhaps Charlie Weasley, with his knack for unusual creatures." Not surprisingly, Helena remained un-moved by his speech. These were the same things she'd heard in all her years at Hogwarts. The best this, the best that...

But Dumbledore still wasn't finished, and he leaned over as if to speak directly into her face: "With all these talents and gifts, you could do anything you wanted with your life--in the muggle or magic world--but instead you tell me that you want to be an Auror....an unforgiving, dangerous, medium-wage paying job. Am I right?"

Helena blinked. "Right," she replied.

"Why?"

The word hung there like an unintelligible curse. Why? It was a question that Helena hadn't even entertained until now. She tried to begin simply. "Because..." she began, choosing her words with care. "It's a noble thing to do. To protect and serve, so to speak. To monitor the world for evil in its variety of disguises, fighting the dark arts...it's what ever witch or wizard wants to do in some fashion, isn't it?"

Dumbledore's face searched hers. "That's an idealistic notion, Miss Black. One that I admire greatly..." he trailed off, then began again, his voice serious once more. "But are you sure you don't have a more personal agenda?"

"I...I'm not sure what you mean, professor," she said, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"As the only member of the Black family who walks this earth freely, isn't it quite possible that you'd like to acquire the Auror skills necessary to track down Lord Voldemort...so that you might be the one who finally kills him?"

Helena felt as if she'd been slapped, or perhaps doused with a pail of ice-water. The professor's voice wasn't unkind, but she felt accused, nonetheless...as well as suddenly flushed with a sweeping sensation of guilt. She felt mango juice rising at the back of her throat, fruity and sour. "Voldemort's dead," she intoned, rather short of breath.

"We both know that's not true," Dumbledore said softly, leaning back in his chair and staring at her for a long, long moment, which made her feel as if she'd suddenly disappointed him. -Ha- she thought. -This is pretty rich...I disappoint a teacher for the first time in my life, and it just has to be the headmaster-. At the same time, though, she felt like Dumbledore's words meant that he actually believed the same thing she'd been convinced of her whole life: that Voldemort HAD killed her parents..that their death wasn't the freak accident everyone made it out to be. At this sudden insight, she felt a tiny bit of hope explode at the base of her ribcage.

"Is it wrong, then..." she whispered, searching his face intently. "Is it wrong to want a killer brought to justice...to want to avenge the murder of my parents?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting justice, Helena," he said, quite grave. "But vengence is another matter entirely. Vengence is what warped Voldemort into the Dark Lord we remember today."

She wrinkled her nose, quizzical. "How?"

"Voldemort was once my student," he began, and Helena had the distinct feeling that she was about to hear a story that Dumbledore hadn't spoke of in a very long time. "And thoughts of revenge consumed him....revenge against the parents who abandoned him, and against the students who mocked him for his mixed-blood. Soon his revenge was aimed at the muggle world at large, and when that wasn't enough, he turned on the wizarding community--terrorizing the very people who brought him to power."

Helena shook her head, as if trying to ward off his words. "But what you're saying....I would never do those things! I don't want revenge against muggles or wizards or anyone else--I just want Voldemort dead and in the ground! I want every ugly nightmare I've had of him wiped clean from my mind, and I want him to pay...pay TENFOLD for all those who died at his hand!" She gasped and let out a thin wail, knowing she was close to sobbing openly for the first time in ages--something she hadn't let herself do since she'd seen the wreckage of her family's house ten years ago. Her shoulders and arms were quaking, and she tried desperatly to hold herself in, feeling as if some horrible torrent of ugliness would soon burst her skin open wide. She clasped both hands over her mouth to block out the agony, fully aware that all others in the restaurant had their eyes on her. "I just want to rest," she said, her hands muffling her words. "Just rest. That's all, I swear."

"For now..." Dumbledore said, not at all alarmed by her outburst. "But where do you go after that? What's there left to be done once the Darkest wizard to walk this earth is brought down?

And at this, Helena was spent of all words.