Again, H. and Co. are property of J.K. Rowling. And I'm poor as hell so BACK OFF! =)

Authors Note: This chapter is another lengthy flashback into HG/HB's past. I promise we'll get back to the present after this one. For those who are into fast-paced plot and steamy lovins', I can tell you that it's definitly coming! I just have a compulsion to create complex, fully developed characters/histories first. Thanks for your patience! Meanwhile, keep the comments and responses coming!

Mine Protector
Chapter 3: "An Unexpected Offer"

Helena was sitting on the lawn in front of Hogwarts, her knees tucked up under her chin, looking out over the grounds. In the lake, first and second years were wading in summer-clothes, while most of the upper class students were enjoying a last day of socializing down in Hogsmeade. Helena thought of joining them, but after finishing her last exam that morning, she'd found her spirits oddly deflated. She should be celebrating--she would be graduating in two days, and was even head of her graduating class, at that.

But perhaps she should have spent her seven years at Hogwarts differently. While she was well-liked by other students, she couldn't say she had even a single close friend to call her own--no one to whisper to in the great hall or pass secret notes back and forth with during potions. And she was fully aware that part of the reason she wasn't at Hogsmeade today was because no one had invited her along; her classmates simply expected that Helena Black had her own business to attend to--that was the impression they'd had of her all these years. If she had showed up at the Three Broomsticks, many of the seventh years would have smiled and called her over to join them, and she would have gladly done so. But she also would have sat a few spaces apart from them, sipping slowly on a butterbeer while everyone else exchanged their stories and inside jokes.

Friends or no friends...Helena knew was was really bothering her. She couldn't get Dumbledore's words from the other day out of her head.

-What if he's right....- She thought, chewing on her lower lip. -What if all my goals and successes...all the hard work I've done....what if it's all been in the name of revenge?-

She thought of the child that Voldemort had been, the child Dumbledore had spoken of....but Gods! it was impossible to think of that creature as having once been a child. She had always imagined him as having hatched full blown from the mouth of some hellfire--much like the goddess Venus had been born from forehead of Zeus, except in this case hate was the resulting emotion rather than love.

For the last three days, she'd thought about her outburst--at first deeply ashamed, and then finally focusing on it with sharp analysis. She was smart enough, she ought have known that evil didn't stake its claim on a person from birth, but that the choices a person made set him or her on path of sorts, and that it was how one managed any roadblocks in that path that made up a person's character. All this time, she thought she'd been on a path that would lead her to justice...to great things. But now she wasn't so sure.

She snorted outloud and tore up a chunk of soft turf, almost chucking it towards the throngs of wading first years, but managing to restrain herself at the last second. She'd always fancied herself a nice person, but figured it was time to come clean. -You're NOT always Miss Sunshine and Merryment...- she thought, feeling particuarly vicious and enjoying it for once, too. -....All your good deeds have been a silent plea for everyone to like you...because you know they can't forget the fact that your family is dead and your Uncle a murdering dark wizard...-. The truth was right there in her name: Black.

That was something else Dumbledore had told her....the first thing Voldemort had done, once in power, was to change his name. "But changing a name doesn't make it not so..." he had added, in a way that had at first struck her as cryptic.

Now, though, she thought she was beginning to understand.

---

Helena had made a decision. She was going to seek out Dumbledore for his advice, once and for all. She only prayed that he wouldn't hate her when she told him that she wasn't sure she was capable of leaving vengence behind her. -But I want to try...- she told herself firmly, and marched resolutely towards the statue that marked the headmaster's office. Getting inside would be no trouble, since as Head Girl she had the privledge of knowing his password year-round.

"Licorice Whip" she announced, and the statue glided noiselessly aside, revealing the stairway that led to Dumbledore's quarters.

But the old wizard's office seemed empty. A Phoenix gazed mournfully at her from his perch, looking quite worse for the wear, and a few previous headmasters eyed her curiously from the circular walls.

"Looking for Albus, are you?" one asked politely. He had a pleasantly round face, flushed as if he'd been dipping into the whiskey-barrel.

"Yes," she said, trying to look business-like. "Have you seen him?"

"Sure have!" the man laughed with mirth. "The old goat's right behind you!"

Helena whirled around, nearly stepping on the hem of her own robe, and looked straight into the ancient, lined face of her headmaster. She sighed with a touch of exasperation. The man delighted more in games that it did him good, she was sure.

"I'm quite sorry, Miss Black," he said, as if reading her mind. "It's just a harmless trick Dippett and I like to play on students who are quite obviously in need of a heart-to-heart talk. I hope you'll forgive us."

"This time," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

"Since you're not at Hogsmeade eating your fill of sugar, I presume that you are, in fact, in need of that heart to heart. So let's have at it, shall we?" The headmaster became quite serious as he lowered himself into an armchair near the fireplace, and Helena didn't hesitate to sit herself across from him.

"Professor," she began, trying quickly to sort out the best way to put her thoughts into words. "I've been thinking about our conversation over lunch a few days ago...."

"Well!" he exclaimed, rubbing his beard. "I must confess I've gone over it a few times, as well. Even as Cornelius and I were doing business later that afternoon, I was thinking of you, and hoping that my words weren't too upsetting."

"Not at all! In fact, our conversation made me realize a few things...like that I do think about revenge. All the time, in fact," she confessed, feeling a bright burst of shame. "And that I live my life the way I do for...protection."

"Protection?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you feel you need protection?"

"I don't know," she said helplessly. "Except that a big part of it is because of what my Unc--I mean, Sirius, did...murdering all those muggles. Getting thrown into Azkaban."

Dumbledore appeared thoughtful, and she was a little taken aback when his next words seemed hard. Almost cold, in fact. "Helena, if you're worried that Sirius Black will escape Azkaban, I can assure you that there is no such possibility. Not with the type of security guards Fudge has appointed."

Helena shook her head. "It's not that," she said. "The problem is that I'm a Black too. All my life, people have been afraid to get close to me...because they're worried I've got some of him in me. Or that I'm just plain nutters for thinking that Voldemort did Mum and Dad in." She looked into the fire as she spoke, too afraid to see the expression on Dumbledore's face. But he was quiet for so many minutes that she finally looked over, compelled to see what he was thinkin.

He was uncharacteristically slumped in his chair, hands folded on his lap, not speaking. She shifted uncomfortably, almost wondering if she should leave, but then he finally spoke: "Helena, do you remember the important business I was meeting Fudge about when we last spoke?"

She shrugged, confused. "Yes? You were going to talk about a student who is coming to Hogwarts next year."

He looked at her warmly, which served only to befuddle her further. "How like you to remember!" he said. "But I don't think I ever told you who, in fact, that new student will be, and why the entire Ministry is having to plan carefully to prepare for his arrival."

"No, you didn't." She wondered why Dumbledore was changing the subject. Was it possible that he was so disappointed in her, so disgusted by her confession that he'd decided to carry on with a whole new conversation?

"Well, I can tell you that this student will, like you, be the subject of much attention when he arrives at Hogwarts. His name is known throughout the wizarding world, just as your own is. I imagine he will be quite overwhelmed and scared, too."

Her mind swam momentarily, but then a few bits came into focus. "Not...not Harry Potter?" she murmured, then did a quick bit of math in her brain. Her own parents had died when she was seven. Then a few weeks later Voldemort was defeated by the Boy Who Lived, who was a year old at the time. That was nearly ten years ago, which would today make him....almost eleven.

"Yes, Harry Potter indeed," Dumbledore clarified. And Helena was left to digest this on her own while he contined to sit in silence.

"Professor, I'm afraid I don't see the connection," she said evenly. "Harry Potter is famous! He'll have adoration throughout the wizarding world once he resurfaces into the public's eye. How is that at all like being known as the last breathing relative of Sirius Black?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes, looking as if he'd expected this from her. "The connection, Helena, isn't in the subject of fame. Think further than your own burden, and you'll soon see what I mean."

Helena paused. Of course. The connection should have been obvious. Maybe it always had been secretly alive within her, but she'd never had the courage to say it outloud. She wasn't a Gryffindor, after all. "It's in our parents...they knew each other. And both were murdered by Voldemort."

Dumbledore nodded, then added, "And each couple left behind a single, surviving child. Both of whom must bear the burden of notoriety, as well as the pain of having lost family in an unthinkable fashion."

Helena's eyes filled with unexpected sorrow. "I know how he'll feel," she whispered, clutching at the folds of her robes. And she did. All the gawking he'd face..all the rumors and whispers. Not to mention the unshakeable underbelly of anger, the gnaw of knowing that the one who'd damaged his life still walked free somewhere.

"I know you will," Dumbledore said. "And that's why Harry Potter will need you."

Helena almost laughed, thinking that the headmaster was surely pulling her leg--trying to lighten the mood in the room, maybe. But the grave expression on his face suggested he was dead serious. And how! "But Professor, I'll be gone by the time Harry is here," she said. "I'm graduating tomorrow, remember?"

"I assure you that my memory is still quite sound," he insisted, suddenly laughing. "What I mean when I say that "Harry Potter will need you' is that I hope you will indulge in this old fool's dunderheaded offer, one which I've been meaning to propose you with since our luncheon."

She smiled, quite uncertain. "And what offer is that?"

"That instead of joining the Ministry as an Auror, you'll join me, instead."

Helena was astounded, and very nearly tipped her seat right over into the fire. Was Dumbledore offering her a teaching job here at Hogwarts? Or perhaps some pity position, like the ones he'd given to Hagrid and Filch?

"Let me explain," he continued quickly, quite aware of her confusion. "Fudge and I do business quite often, Helena, but he and I do not always agree in matters of defense. He believes that Voldemort is dead, and that the dark arts are a thing of the past. I, on the other had, believe we must be more prepared now than ever. For I do not doubt, for even a moment, that Voldemort will rise again, stronger than he was before."

Helena crossed her arms against her chest, head reeling. She'd never seen the headmaster with such a hard, determined expression, such a rigid undertone to his voice. She heard his words and believed them, through and through. "What...what do you want me to do?" she stammered, knowing at once that whatever it was, it wouldn't be easy.

"When Harry enters Hogwart's, the wizarding world will be abuzz with word on the Boy Who Lived. I am certain that, wherever he is, the news will catch Voldemort's attention. I can protect him here at the castle, but with limited support from Fudge--and with so many other students to think about--I can only do so much. That is why I've decided I must train an Auror of my own, and place him or her into the Hogwart's student body...disguised as, of all things, an ordinary first year novice..."

Dumbledore paused for a breath, and Helena briefly questioned the man's sanity. An Auror at Hogwarts? Working as the equivalent of a personal bodyguard? Was it possible that the return of Voldemort was THAT close at hand?

Dumbledore didn't give her a chance to ask, but continued on, saying: "There was a special person I had in mind for the job, Helena. Someone very special indeed. But I'm afraid that he is still in Azkaban. Still presumed guilty by all of the wizarding world.

Helena drew in a sharp breath, almost wanting to back quickly away from the headmaster she had so admired during her seven years as a student. Now she knew he MUST be crazy! "My uncle as Harry Potter's protector? You must be mad!" She couldn't help but voice her feelings outloud, even if it was terribly disrespectful--especially coming from her, Head Girl.

"Quite right," he said calmly. "Mad to trust that the Ministry would do right by Black and let him appeal his case. There was nothing to connect Sirius to his crimes beyond circumstancial evidence, but the Ministry was thirsty for someone to blame, Helena...so thirsty."

"You mean to tell me..." she leaned forward, a determined edge to her words. "..that my uncle is innocent?"

He removed his tall, midnight-blue hat and brushed back his hair. "What I can tell you is only that the Sirius I knew was not a killer. I trusted him implicitly. And so did James and Lily Potter...enough to appoint Sirius as Harry Potter's godfather."

Helena felt, for the second or third time that day, that her world had been flip-flopped entirely.

"So you see..." he said, sounding quite rational. "You've lost your own parents--that and being the neice of Harry's godfather makes you kin. If not by blood, then by spirit."

"But I don't even know him..." she said faintly, then trailed off.

"You will, if you accept my offer." Dumbledore's voice was now as it had always been, warm and comforting. "Study as an Auror here at Hogwarts, and at the end of the summer, I'll give you a test--just so we both know you're 'up to snuff', to to speak. If you pass, the job is yours."

Helena was doubtful. "Become an Auror, just like that?"

Outrageous as it seemed, Dumbledore chuckled at this. "Certainly with all the research you've done on Aurorship, you know that it takes several years of field training before an Auror can earn his or her eye."

"Yes, of course," she said automatically, almost as if she were being called on in class by McGonagall.

"Then you can consider seven years of service to me--and to Harry Potter--as that field training. With summers off, of course."

Seven years? Go through Hogwarts all over again, right after her own graduation? It seemed like utter, howlingly mad nonsense.

"Professor," she began, trying to sound gracious. "I think that--"

He raised a hand, cutting her off. "Please, Miss Black. Give me your decision after graduation exercises. I don't want you to accept before thinking the whole thing through."

Helena left his office in a daze. Why had she come to see him in the first place? She couldn't seem to remember.

---

Helena didn't sleep well that night. But what was on her mind wasn't the extraordinary exchange she'd had with the headmaster earlier that day--a fact which surprised even her. Instead, her thoughts kept drifting back to a nightmare she'd often had as a child, especially on nights when she was moved to a new wizard family for foster care. She didn't have the dream now that she was older, but it had always been fresh and real to her, like a blister at the back of her brain...because she didn't think it was a dream at all, but a memory: stark and in full color, rich enough so that she could smell the earthy summer air of that night.

In the memory she was seven, living with her parents in the house that she'd grown up in. It was the house that her father had grown up in too--a large, rambling farmhouse on the edge of a quiet village. She was full of summer energy, and even as her mother had led her to bed, longed to be outside catching fireflies. When she pinched their heads off, they still glowed--a little trick her father had taught her.

Once tucked in bed, her seven-year old self waited several minutes before sneaking back down the long staircase. He parents were in the kitchen, murmuring to each other while drinking hot tea. Good. She crept to the porch and picked up the family cat, Ursula, zipping the unwilling creature into her hooded sweatshirt and making a dash for the garage. Like most wizards, the Black's had no car. Instead, the wall of the garage was lined with racing brooms--her father played chaser in a local league on weekends. Her own broom was tiny and barely rose from the ground--the wizarding world's version of training wheels. She scowled: it would never be fast enough to catch up with the fireflies.

That's how she came to find herself on her father's shooting star, zooming around the chimney in a lopsided circle. She forgot all about the fireflies...just the act of flying was fabulous! Even Ursula, the cat, was peeking out as if enjoying the view. Helena drifted to the treetops, relishing the feeling of the wind on her face, wondering how high a broom could actually go. Could it go all the way into outerspace?

Her flying was interrupted by a slamming door. She'd be caught! Not knowing what else to do, she swooped down and hid in large tree that faced the driveway; peering out through the foilage, she expected that at any minute her father would be marching across the lawn, ready to give her the worst scolding of her short life. She waited and watched. No one moved off the porch, but she could hear voices speaking from the roadside.

"Sirius Black isn't here, Lord," she heard a man say. "This is the older Black's home."

She moved a little further down the branch, trying to see who was talking. Then another man spoke, and she was alarmed to realize he was right beneath her!

"He'll tell his brother we were here," the other man said. He had a strange, silky voice that made her want to hop back on the broom and fly far away. She craned her neck until she saw him, a tall wizard dressed in scarlet robes. He turned his head in her direction and she nearly shouted. She knew that man. She'd seen him in all the papers. He was the Dark Lord....the one that everyone was hiding from, the reason why her parents wouldn't let her out alone after dark.

"I think we'll try a new curse this time," the Dark Lord said, and let out a laugh that gave her sharp goosebumps all over. Even Ursula squirmed free of the sweatshirt and ran up the length of the tree as if to escape it. "MOLTO WINDARO!" he bellowed, and a white light burst from the end of his light, so bright that Helena turned her face into the tree trunk, hiding her eyes in terror.

And then the air was full of a horrible noise, like that of a giant drain being opened. The sucking noise grew until Helena could almost feel it pulling at her. She dared to turn her face back to the house and promptly let out a scream. Lightning crashed down in response, hitting the ground around her parents house at uneven intervals. Then, a giant, wedge-shaped funnel cloud formed over the entire building, and the house unravelled like a stack of popsicle sticks. She saw everything--stairs, beds, bits of broken, glittering glass--travel up the length of the vortex and then spit out the top again. It roared like nothing she'd ever heard in her life, so that even though she was wailing her throat raw, she was deaf to her own screams. Then, with a pop, it disappeared, leaving only obliterated ground in its wake.

"MORSMODRE!"

Right before her eyes, a giant skull exploded in a shower of green sparks, a snake in its mouth. It twinkled over the battered house and remained there, soundless. Helena let out a cry and dropped from the tree. Not caring if the Dark Lord got her...not caring if she broke her legs once she hit the ground, even.

"GO AWAY!" she screamed at the depraved image, tears staining her cheeks. She hit her own face frantically, as if punishing herself for not knowing what to do, then dug through her jeans pockets until she found her wand--a standard, grade-school issue wand much smaller than her parents, but it was all she had.

"GO!" she yelled again, pointing her wand at the skull. It hung there still, and she screamed at it for doing so. Then another word popped into the back of her mind. One she had heard used before. "REDUCTO!"

Insanely, the skull seemed to only twinkle more, as if they were sharing a secret. At this, Helena felt her mind melt away, until it seemed to be only a pinpoint inside her. She felt herself calm, and at the same time, fill up with a kind of odd quiet. "Reducto!" she said again, still shouting though she could scarcely heard her own voice. And with that, the skull vanished, leaving no trace that it had been there at all. Helena noticed, vaguely, that it was raining and thundering for real now, and that she was slowly in the process of getting soaked as she stood there, surveying the remains of her home.

She didn't know how long she stood there, but someone eventually found her. She told everyone who would listen that the Dark Lord had been there that night, that it was the Dark Lord who had caused the storm that destroyed the house. It did no good--without the Dark Mark, the Ministry chalked the event up to mere natural phenomena.

-Because they didn't WANT to know it had been Voldemort- she thought, rolling over in bed. She was surprised that the realization didn't fill her with anger, or fear, for that matter. Instead, she felt oddly resolved.

She had made up her mind.