Thanks to those who responded to chapter 5: To those waiting for the "sweet lovins": you'll get a -hint- of that in this chapter...and lots more later, though maybe not what you're expecting!

Once again, I own not one iota of the J.K. Rowling Universe.

Mine Protector
Chapter 6: X Marks the Spot

"I've seen the girl who picks up where I leave off
She's picking her fights like she knows how to win them.
And I've seen her sorting through my memories
What's sweet? What's bitter?
She wants what I can't give her..."

-Rainer Maria (the band, not the poet: I listened to them while writing =] ), "Better Version of Me"



By the time she walked into the potions classroom, Hermione was already mentally exhausted. She'd had Arithmancy for her first class, and had skipped lunch in the Great Hall, wanting instead to avoid her friends and all the hub-bub surrounding Sirius' arrival. Things hadn't been much better in the Prefect's lounge, though. She spent nearly an hour nibbling disinterestedly at some chicken parmarosa while Draco Malfoy and Soukie Rappell, the Slytherin prefects, had smirked over at her from an adjacent corner. Soukie was busy copying Malfoy's history notes while Malfoy himself shuffled a deck of cards over and over again, not moving his eyes off Hermione even once. Vaguely, Hermione toyed with the notion of Malfoy as the possible note-sender.

"Hurry up and finish your lunch, Mudblood," he piped up, quite suddenly. "I won't be able to stomach my own until you get out of here."

-No, impossible...- she decided. Subtlety just wasn't his style.

She didn't meet up with Ron and Harry again until double-potions after lunch. As she expected, they were prattling on about Sirius' arrival, full-force.

"Herm, I'm worried," Harry said, leaning in close. "This morning professor Trelawny predicated that Sirius would face great danger at the school."

"Harry, you've never listened to what that old bat has said before...why on earth would you listen now?" Hermione struggled to maintain a rational tone, but Harry looked unconvinced. When Snape finally entered the dungeon, dampening the students' dialogue to mere whispers, she was actually glad to see him.

-Not that you ever really *mind* seeing him....- her subconscious whispered, and she felt her cheeks go warm. Oh, she knew Snape was unbearable...he had been that way during her own years at Hogwarts, even going so far as to once blame a failed Merrywigge potion on "inferior ancestry"--his own special way of reminding the rest of the class that she was, of course, a member of the infamous Black family.

But, facts were facts, and ever since that summer she had spent in Romania, Hermione had been unable to ignore Snape's superficial resemblance to Viktor Krum. Though both somewhat unconventionally handsome, they shared sharp, angular features, including similar deep-set, glittering eyes, and despite Snape's being much taller and more poised than Krum, she always felt a little fluttering pulse of anticipation run down her spine when he swept his way around the room in that arrogant strut of his.

Thus, she had a habit of promptly quieting down upon his entrance into the classroom; Harry and Ron assumed it was out of fear--the same kind that caused Neville to tremble so forcefully that his stool's uneven legs began to jitter beneath him. But in truth, Hermione feared Snape the least of anyone; Dumbledore had assured her several times of Snape's alligence to the circle, and since she had no reason to question Dumbledore's intentions--strange as they might sometimes seem--she had to trust that Snape's unpleasant demenor was, in part, a facade similar to her own. In fact, as a way of testing the authenticity of Snape's snippiness, she had last year begun to actually talk back to him whenever he insulted one of her fellow Gryffindors. The trick in it was that instead of mouthing off in an angry, impudent fashion, she kept her voice even and steady--even polite and loaded up with respect, to a certain degree. Snape hardly ever took points from Gryffindor when she braved such retorts, as if he were too uncertain of her intentions to do so. With that chipper gloss to her tone of voice, she suspected he was never fully certain as to whether she had purposefully insulted him or not.

Today, however, Hermione thought she might just stay quiet. The look on Snape's face was *murderous*, and she didn't doubt him for one moment when he put his hands on his hips and announced, voice booming:

"If I hear the name 'Sirius Black' from any of you today, I will deduct fifty points from your house. No questions asked."

---

Severus Snape was in a sour mood, and that was putting it mildly. Upon surveying the classroom, he was at least pleased to see that most of the students were taking his threat seriously. The Slytherins looked quite content with their command to not mention Sirius by name--with the possible exception of Malfoy, who clearly had hoped to get in a few digs against the man in Snape's presence. But even if it were attached to a snide comment, Snape was in no mood to hear any mention of Black. The Gryffindors looked quite resentful of this fact, and Harry Potter, in particular, was scowling in Snape's direction, his brow tight and pinched behind his glasses. His friend Weasley looked irritated as well, but was at least trying to hide it by rifling through his bookbag and sorting through scraps of partchment. Snape couldn't help but be somewhat satisfied with both boys' reactions. -Just look at Potter, wishing he could blast the 'Crucio' curse on me at this very moment...- he thought with some level of bitter amusement. -All the times I've saved that drated boys life...and there he sits, not at all grateful.-

The Granger girl, on the other hand, was staring at Snape curiously, a small half-smile twitching on her face. Snape shifted uncomfortably and felt a bit of his authoritative presence wither away. Why did he get the feeling that the girl had cottoned on to the fact that much of his griping and bellowing was, in effect, only meant to keep Potter in line and out of danger? Not only that, but that gaze of hers was so searching...so *adult*...that it made Snape want to leave the room. At times, the expression in her hazel-gray eyes even bordered on that of admiration, and those moments were particularly unbearble.

Ironically enough, the only other person to look at him with something close to admiration had possessed green eyes that were an exact match to Harry Potter's.

Severus knew that Harry had been constantly reminded of his remarkable resemblance to James Potter; both Lupin and Black had marveled at the similarities between then, and Dumbledore had even mentioned the likeness on a few occassions--Lord knows it had done the younger Potter's ego little good. Yet if Harry Potter had only been a replica of his father, Snape would have been able to handle him just fine--with feint intimidation and grand-standing, along with a very real dose of cynicism--just as he handled all other Hogwarts students. But James had been easy going--quick to laugh away his problems and approach life with an even-keeled diplomacy. Harry, on the other hand, had spitfire and fight in his very bones; it was written all over that determined chin of his. And that feistiness wasn't a component of James, but of Lily--through and through.

Trying to shake the distraction from his mind, Snape ordered the class to pair off, putting Malfoy and Potter together, as usual. While the class busied themselves with moving about, he overheard Ron say something about missing Fleur Delacour. Harry shrugged in reply, but mouthed--and even from Snape's position, there was no mistaking this-- "at least we have Sirius".

"That's fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter!" Snape proclaimed loudly, a note of triumph entering his voice.

"What!?" Harry dropped his supplies in shock. "I didn't even SAY anything!"

Snape smiled deviously. "Mr. Potter, I am not blind. I know that you just said the word 'Sirius' to Mr. Weasley."

Harry's mouth dropped open in indignation, as did Ron's. "But you didn't hear me!" he retorted scathingly. "I know you didn't! And while you're at it, why don't you just order me to not THINK of Sirius Black's name?"

Snape reared back a little--there was that fire again, and along with it a potent bit of bittersweetness. He always got a little thrill when reminded of Lily--whom he had been very fond of--but seeing those characteristics reflected in Harry only made Snape hate James more. And Severus knew there was little use in hating the dead; or pining over them, for that matter. He prepared himself to threaten Potter with another fifty point deduction, but before he could open his mouth, the obnoxious Granger girl opened hers first.

"Why is this name issue so important, Professor? You were in the same class with Sirius Black, weren't you?" Snape looked at her in astonishment. "Aren't you happy to see an old school-chum?" she added, quite wide-eyed and innocent.

Snape struggled to collect himself. Who did the Granger imp think she was? He shot her a withering look, and was unnerved when she only shrugged slightly in response, her fingers casually scratching her collarbone, which was just visible beneath the neckline of her robe. Why was it that during these exchanges, he had the distinct feeling that she was lightly scolding him--as if he were a child being naughty?

"Take you seat, Potter," he said through his teeth. He instructed the class to begin cataloging their potion vials, and after ten minutes of their working in silence, he deliberatly made his way to Hermione's seat. She seemed vaguely aware of his approach, but didn't look up; instead, she turned a vial upside down in her hand, making a brief notation with her quill.

"Miss Granger," he hissed, towering over her. She glanced up in response, and for a moment he was alarmed by the fact that he was actually breathing in her clean soap-and-water scent. Her rich, burnished hair was parted unevenly--a detail that made her seem lovely in a botchy, untended way that caused a twitch deep in his groin. He pushed the sensation away by deepening his scowl, but not before briefly wondering why Hermione Granger, of all people, had caused his innards to stir for the first time in years.

"I will take no moralizing from you," he finally said, straighening up. "And by the way....ten points from Gryffindor."

---

Harry couldn't help but whistle a bit as he made his way out of the dungeons. Ron was straggling along next to him, having fun re-creating the strangled expression that had taken over Snape's face when Sirius had entered the great hall.

-Sirius is here...- Harry thought, still quite in disbelief. -Sirius is HERE!- Only one thing was bothering him; Sirius hadn't stopped to greet him personally at breakfast. He had seemed rather busy, though, and the only greeting he had given to any students at all was the tiny salute he'd flashed when he left to his quarters after breakfast. Head suddenly spinning, Harry tried to remember the last time he had even heard from his Godfather.

When Wormtail had been captured by Aurors last spring, he had been discovered quite on the verge of madness. He had been yammering on and on about his mission as the "Dark Lord's Hand", and claimed that his own hand forced him to do atrocious things in the name of Voldemort.

Of course, Harry had remembered that hand. It had been a little gift to Wormtail from the Dark Lord himself. -A little thank you for helping an old friend rise from the Dark Side...- he recalled cynically, biting his lower lip thought.

Pettigrew had confessed his entire life of crime to the Ministry, saying he would tell them anything they wanted as long as they kept Voldemort away from him--even if that meant having to live at Azkaban with the dementors. In reponse, Sirius' case was officially re-tried, and then promptly thrown out for insufficient evidence. Harry's Godfather, who had been running from the Ministry for over two years, was finally a free man.

Not only that, but *Harry* was free. Or so he had thought. As soon as he caught wind of Sirius' appeal, he began imagining a summer without the Dursley's--one in which he and Sirius practiced Quidditch in a hay field and had outdoor cookouts to which Ron and Hermione would be invited. Maybe even a trip to the shore, too.

But it hadn't worked that way. After Harry sent Sirius an owl detailing his own hopes at finally escaping Privet Drive, Sirius had responded with a letter of his own: "I'm so sorry Harry," it had said. "But before I can even think to provide a proper home for you, I have to build one for myself. There are people out there who will still think of me as a monster, and you deserve more than that...."

At the time, Harry had ripped the letter to shreds, feeling, for the very first time, a true, blazing anger towards his Godfather. He deserved more, did he? And yet the Dursley's were the "more" that he was stuck with!

Now, though, Harry recognized that Sirius' letter must have been a diversionary tactic. He had to have plenty of time to prepare to re-enter society, and what better way to do that than teach at Hogwarts? If Dumbledore approved of Sirius, then the minds of those who still feared him might soon be put at ease. For now, Harry decided it was best not to tell anyone that the new Dark Arts professor was actually his very own Godfather.

"Hey, you haven't said a thing since potions," Ron said, looking at him curiously.

Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes, and replied not with words, but with an over-sized grin.

---

By late afternoon, most students were dreading their last classes of the day. Some tried to skip out by hiding out in the bathrooms or sneaking back to the dorms (and were often caught by Filch in the process), but this wasn't the case with the fifth and sixth year Gryffindors, who--despite their initial nervousness over Sirius Black's arrival--couldn't wait to see how their new Defense Against Dark Arts instructor would chalk out.

Harry hadn't seen the class this excited for a new instructor since Mad-Eye Moody, and in that case, the excitement had been for the same reason they were wound up about Sirius--both men were utterly infamous.

Of course in the case of Mad-Eye Moody, there had been more to it than that.

Hermione quickly surveyed the Dark Arts classroom; unlike potions, there was a rousing, tense silence amongst all the students. Feeling as if she stood out, she tried hard to put some spirit into what she was sure was a less-than-thrilled facial expression. When Sirius finally opened the door to the classroom, all heads turned in his direction, and almost fifty sets of eyes widened to the size of dragon eggs. Hermione was positive he would do something dramatic like fly through the doorway on his broom, or perhaps transform into Padfoot and tear a chicken apart with his teeth. But she was wrong--he merely walked through the aisle to the front of the room, shuffling over some papers silently, his head down. The wildest move he made was flash a quick, barely-noticable wink towards the table where she, Harry, and Ron were seated.

He still had on the rebel without a cause leather coat, though.

"So, these are the Gryffindors," he began, then looked up over his paperwork. "I trust you're all here, then?"

The entire room stared back, hushed as door-mice.

Black only smiled, indifferent, and brushed his shaggy hair off his forehead. "A few things about me as a teacher, then," he announced. "I am rather inexperienced in the actual act in instructing defense against the dark arts, I admit...but as most of you know, I am quite good at escaping sticky situations--whether that means running from dementors or dodging our own Cornelius Fudge."

At this, a few students tittered, finally relaxing a bit.

He contiuned: "From what Dumbledore tells me, you've had a variety of Dark Arts professors over the years, and have learned different things from each. Would any of you care to fill me in on the progress you've made up until now?"

Slowly, one by one, hands begin to flag up. Sirius looked pleased. "You there, Mister Weasley..." he said, pointing in Ron's direction.

"Last teacher we had was Snape, sir," Ron said, his ears turning quite red. "He mostly instructed us on the history of defense."

"Ah, I see," Sirius said, looking a bit disappointed. "No practical lessons, then?"

"Not from Snape," Neville chimed in--which was extraodinarly brave, for him. "But Professor Moody showed us the unforgivable curses."

At this, Sirius' eyes darkened dramatically, and Neville looked quite sorry that he'd spoken at all. "Right," Black said, his voice stiff. "Moody."

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look: they assumed that they--including Ron--were the only Hogwart's students aware of the fact that Mad-Eye Moody had been a charlatan, and one hell-bent on delivering Harry to the hands of Voldemort himself. The rest of the student body took it on good faith that Moody had simply fulfilled his one-year tenure and had then left Hogwarts behind.

Hermione decided she had better pipe up: "There was Professor Lupin, sir," she said brightly. "He introduced us to dangerous creatures such as grindylows, boggarts--"

"And werewolves!" Ron added, which promptly earned him swift kicks from either side.

Sirius looked slightly amused. "It sounds like you've had quite a wide variety of lessons," he said, then lowered his voice slightly, sounding more serious. "But it seems as if much of your learning has been based on defending yourselves against creatures and curses, am I right?" Most of the class shrugged half-heartedly, and he continued: "My knowledge of creatures and curses is fair, but limited. Yet what I can teach you has little to do with either." He paused and looked at each Gryffindor face carefully. "Do any of you catch my meaning?"

The class was once again silent. Only Hermione, after some reservation, finally raised her hand.

Sirius looked relieved. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"People," she said simply, and she could sense that Pavarti and Lavender were snickering in the corner, clearly thinking she'd gone 'round the corner. "You want to teach us to defend ourselves against people."

"That's right," he said, looking gratified. "Five points to Gryffindor." He put his paperwork down on a nearby desk and began meandering around the room, taking plenty of time before he spoke again. "It's easy to know when a curse or a creature are dangerous--in most cases, the danger level is immediately perceptable. In the case of people, however..." he paused to give Parvati and Lavender a penetrating stare. "...you can't always tell who is trustworthy."

"Wormtail..." Harry muttered, and Hermione nodded slightly.

"To demonstrate, I would like for us to play a little game," Sirius said, finally centering himself in the middle of the room. Everyone looked at him expectantly, not quite sure where he was taking them, but quite curious to find out. "Lets pretend, for a moment, than I am Voldemort..."
A few people gasped at this his carefree use of you-know-who's name, and Sirius waited for the words to sink in before continuing: "I have the power to make people do my bidding, to put the dark mark on them..." he held up a rubber stamp in the shape of an X. "But I could be anywhere, and so could my followers. How do you know who to trust?"

The reaction he got was nothing less that dumbfoundedness. Slowly, Sirius explained that he wanted them to sit with their eyes closed--head down and palms out--absolutely no peeking allowed. "I am going to put the stamp in somebody's hand," he said, "and that person will act as the Dark Lord. Then we will walk around the room and shake hands with each other, very pleasantly, and the person who is Voldemort will be amongst us, marking those who he comes into contact with. Once five minutes have passed, we will see how many of you are marked, and which of you has hashed out who the Dark Lord is."

There was a surge of excitement in the classroom after his words; while most students weren't too keen on playing "pin the X on the death-eater", they did however like Black's rather unconventional approach to lessons. Therefore they sat quite obediently, eyes hidden and palms out, while listening to Black make his way around the room, preparing some unfortunate student for the role of the you-know-who. Soon enough, they were all sauntering around the room and shaking hands, and having quite a lot of fun while they were at it. Ron himself bolted over to Sirius immediately, his hand outstretched eagerly. Hermione, on the other hand, took her time--she prowled along the edges of the classroom slowly, stopping once to shake the hands of a bored-looking Parvati and Lavender. Most were laughing and enjoying themselves, but soon the five minutes were up and they were back in their seats, now all quite anxious to see which one of them had been playing the role of the Dark Lord.

"It was definitly Weasley!" Seamus shouted. "I saw him practically wrestle to make his way around the entire room!"

"It was not," Ginny said hotly. "It was Colin Creevy!"

"Quiet, quiet..." Sirius said, hushing them with a wave of his hand. "Now lets see...will those of you who have been marked raise your hands?"

At least ten Gryffindors did so, and most of those who didn't gasped in surprise, amazed that the mark had spread so fast amongst them.

"So...for those of you who are still unmarked--any ideas on who our Dark Lord is?"

No one spoke. Both Ron and Colin had been marked, after all.

Hermione hesitated to speak up, but finally could stand the silence no longer. Without raising her hand, she said: "I think it was you, professor."

Several students looked at her in alarm, amazed that she would say such a thing, but Sirius only grinned in pleasure. "And what makes you think I am the culprit?"

She stalled again, but then decided to answer truthfully; she had, after all, been around Black enough times to know that he would recognize any sort of affected ignorance from her. "It was in your body language, sir."

Sirius' eyes brightened. "How so?" he prompted.

"You were walking on the fringes of the circle, approaching no one. You waited for people to come to you."

"Excellent observation, Miss Granger. Five more points to your house." Then he turned to the rest of the class and held out his palm, revealing the stamp had been hidden there. "As you can see," he said, "evil sometimes waits patiently for followers to arrive on their own. I am impressed by your deductive skills, Miss Granger, but may I ask you a question before we continue?"

Hermione started in her chair, feeling quite suddenly nervous. Had she made a mistake in speaking up, drawing attention to herself? "Go ahead," she said finally. She doubted it would do little good to say no now.

"I find it interesting that you noticed me waiting on the edges of the circle. I don't know if you were aware of it, but you too were walking the perimeter of the room...all by yourself."

---

The Hogwarts owlery was located in an abandoned tower at the far end of the castle. It could only be reached through a single door, which looked tiny when compared to the tall stone walls and enormous, cathedral-arched openings that encircled the room. In the criss-crossed rafters above, owls of all shapes and sizes were snoozing quietly in the late-evening sunlight, their beaks tucked under their wings. The air smelled faintly of hay and feathers.

The owlery was where Hermione liked to escape. Being an area that was rarely intruded upon by other students, she could assure herself relative quiet here--especially during the hours just before dinner. Usually, she just picked a patch of floor and spent a half hour or so meditating, always careful to not sit directly under any owls. She also found that it was helpful to have a few 'time outs' during the day in which she could be free from the eyes of staff and students, and the owlery was the prefect place for such retreats.

It was the end of the first week of classes, and Hermione was on the floor of the owlery with her legs crossed beneath her. She had removed her robes and was dressed in a black box-pleated skirt and white button-down shirt, both slightly wrinkled. She didn't know why, but every year it seemed harder and harder to slip into the role of Hermione Granger. It seemed only to reason that the task would become easier in time, so she figured that the real problem was simply this: she was getting tired of the charade.

She shouldn't have based her personality so much on that Ravenclaw girl she had been six years ago. She should have made her daring or flirtatious, instead of a chronic bookworm. But old habits were hard to break, she guessed.

As if reading her mind, Hedwig floated down from the ceiling and settled on Hermione's shoulder, nuzzling her cheek gently.

"Hi dear," she said, holding out a crust of bread that she'd stowed in her pocket just for this occasion. The snowy owl nibbled at it daintly, sitting still so that Hermione could stroke her fluffy neck, repeating the same motion until it became soothing, like a wave that washed rhythmically over sand, and left the shoreline slightly eroded each time.

"Hello Hermione," a male voice said, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Sirius Black in the doorway; he had that same black leather coat on (she was beginning to wonder if he simply preferred it to regular wizarding robes), and had what looked like a cloth-bound journal in his grasp.

"Hi Professor," she replied, and Hedwig rocked on her shoulder once, then took off back into the rafters.

He gave her a funny look. "You can call me Sirius outside of class, you know," he said.

She shrugged non-committedly. "That doesn't seem right."

He look uncomfortable, then finally sat down next to her, spreading his hands against on his knees. Hermione tensed involuntarily at this, but hoped he hadn't noticed. "When I was at Hogwart's I used to come out here to write in my journal," he admitted after a moment, sounding wistful. "I thought I might take up the practice again, now that I'm back." He turned his head and to study her, and the proximety of his face caused her to break out in a thin film of sweat. "I didn't know I'd have company..."

Hermione stiffened a bit. "I don't come out here a lot," she lied. "I just wanted to write Mum about the first week of classes."

He looked amused. "Sure. And that's why you're sitting on the ground with feathers in your hair."

Hermione said nothing, uncertain. How was she supposed to react to his words? Honestly, she hadn't expected him to be such a frank, expressive individual. Why couldn't he be moody and introspective like all the other men with rock-star good looks? Then she could have at least counted on him to prefer the solitude of his own quarters to the smelly old owlery.

"I can't help but feel I've upset you somehow," he went on, and she felt compelled to swivvel her head and meet his gaze, even though she really, really didn't want to. "You've been quite standoffish towards me all week."

She tried to look surprised. "I have?"

He sighed. "You know you have. And I suspect it's been intentional, though I have no idea what I could have done to irritate you."

He was right, of course. Ever since that first Dark Arts class, she had remained quiet around him, barely muttering half-hearted answers even when called on. And whenever Harry and Ron tried to drag her to Sirius' office for afternoon tea she declined, insisting that she had an Arithmancy quiz to study for.

"I thought we were friends, Hermione," he said softly, in a way that made her chest feel miserable and hollow. His eyes were glossy and pleading with her to understand, to befriend him. She had never seen anything like it in her life.

"I am your friend," she said evenly.

He waited for more, and when she offered nothing he rose to his feet again, brushing dirt from the backs of his legs. He smiled faintly and pulled his coat around him, though it was quite warm out. "Almost time for dinner," he said distantly, and slipped the journal into his coat pocket, patting it once or twice as if to make sure it was there.

When he exited through the door, she jumped to her feet so she could watch his retreat, noticing that his stride was long and unfettered--not at all the stride she would expect to see from a man who had been imprisoned for twelve years, and on the run for the last three. All weekend long, those words--"I thought we were friends"--repeated in her mind, sounding for all the world like a long, immutable echo.

---

to be continued
*********************

Whew, it takes a lot of endurance to update so many times in one week. =) Let me know what you think!