Note: More Halloween goodness, as promised! enjoy!

Mine Protector
Chapter 8: The Dungeon of Doom Re-visited

Sirius stared at his image in the mirror; that face that looked back still startled him, every time. He lifted a finger to trace the faint lines that were permenantly etched into the corner of both eyes. Smile lines--what a weird phrase. There was history here, no doubt, but not much of it was spent smiling.

In Azkaban, there had been no mirrors. Neither the dementors nor the prisoners had any need for them, so why would there be? After escaping, the mental image Sirius had of himself was still fixed at age 21--when he had been full-faced and beset with a pair of wide, pretty-boy eyes. Once during his initial period of hiding-out, he'd been delusional enough to crawl on all fours over to a puddle, still thinking himself in animagi form. He'd bowed his head to lap up some refreshment, not even aware he was human until he saw his very own face coming towards him from the water's reflective surface.

He'd nearly run from what he'd seen--a shrunken ghoul of a man, his face so hollowed that his jaw-bones could have been used as carving knives, eyes that seemed to comprehend nothing.

He thought he'd be that appalling non-man forever, but Harry--protecting Harry--gave his shattered life a focus these last three years, and plenty of rest, paired with good meals, had done him wonders. He almost resembled his 21-year old self again. Older, of course, his face chiseled as only an adult's can be, but that horrible, vacant expression--the shell of him that was left by the Dementors--seemed to be gone, for now.

Though deep in thought, Sirius was aware of Hermione's wavering, unfocused reflection, which was located just behind him in the mirror. She didn't realize he had caught on to her presence, and watched him openly. Her hands were on her hips, and she had her feet planted in what was almost a defensive stance. Noticing this, he felt a little heaviness threaten to burden his shoulders; she seemed scared of him, or wary, at the very least. But he didn't know why.

He did know that he felt the need to un-do her systematic defenses. He had no idea where such defenses originated from, but toyed with the notion that they had something to do with her muggle-born heritage, and perhaps the fact that she seemed quite mature for her age figured in, too. Yes. . .she was bright, strong, and young--clearly capable of watching over herself--but there was something threatening to come apart under that serious demeanor.

He wondered if she might need saving from something. . . something that had nothing to do with him.

---

She waited in the doorway several minutes before Sirius realized she was there. He turned away from the mirror and faced her, smoothing down the robes he was wearing--apparantly, it would take nothing less than Halloween to get him into proper wizarding clothes. The robe itself was clearly a royal garment, though ancient and shabby; it was black silk with silver buttons, and an impressivly thick mantle of blue-fox fur covered much of the chest and shoulders.

"I take it this is a new look for you," she mused, noticing that his hair had been brushed back from his forehead like a slick crow's-wing, revealing a slight widow's peak.

"It's the Prince Dracula look. You like?"

She nodded her approval and finally moved from the doorway; the tip of her sword dragged a path on the floorboards as she did so. Sirius noticed, saying "Joan of Arc, right?" And she nodded, admittedly pleased that he'd guessed correctly.

"So Harry said you'd asked for me?" she ventured, trying to get down to business.

"Hmm?" He appeared distracted, searching across his desktop for something, then suddenly snapped out of it. "Here we are! Ah, yes. . .I need some help with. . .well, it's rather personal. I hope you don't mind."

"What is it?" she asked, curious now.

He broke out in laughter, which jolted her. "Don't look so serious!" he exclaimed. "I just need some help with this. . ." he held a bottle of black nail polish out to her. She took it and turned it over in her hands, quite uncertain. Noticing her expression, he explained: "Harry and I spent near and hour trying to apply that gunk and made nothing but a mess. We thought that you might be more familiar with applying it."

She nodded. "Sure, but why not just paint your nails with a cosmetic color wand? They sell them at Zonkos. Two sickles, I think."

"They were sold out," he said, and took a seat at the little round tea-table that sat before his fireplace, watching her expectantly.

She sat down across from him and shook the polish bottle vigorously, understanding that he didn't feel foolish about wearing nail polish, but about his inability to apply it--simple as it looked. "Spread you hand flat on the table," she said, "fingers apart." He did as told and she began applying the polish in thin, even strokes, noticing that his fingernails were well-kept--wide and square. He seemed interested in what she was doing, and even she had to admit that there was something soothing about polishing nails with the real stuff, rather than tapping color out with a simple cosmetic wand. She also noticed--though she tried not too--that his hands were broad and sturdy; strong, rather than possessing the smooth elegance of Severus Snape's.

She finished the right hand and, out of habit, bowed her head to blow on the wet polish.

"Does that make it dry?" he asked softly, in wonder, and the breath between her lips died away.

She straightened up, nonchalant. "In theory," she said. "It's just something muggles do, but I don't know that it really speeds the drying process." She started on his left hand and he began speaking again.

"It's good to be back at Hogwart's, you know. What I was younger I felt this was the only place I had family--much the same way Harry feels, I imagine."

She looked up from his hand, and saw that his face was far-off, clearly wrapped up in some memory. "What happened to your own family?" The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

"Dead, mostly," he said, looking unmoved. "My father died when I was ten, and my mother was quite ill for most of her life, and passed soon after I was imprisoned. My brother Virgil is dead, as well."

"Do you miss him?" Her voice quivered a little. -Stop it!...- she told herself frantically. -He'll become suspicious...he'll wonder why you're nosing...-

But he seemed quite oblivious, in fact, and only said: "I wish I did, but we were never close . . .we had different mothers, you see. I think he always resented me for that fact."

Different mothers? She suddenly wanted to ask a million questions--about her own father, about the grandparents she had never met--but she held herself back to herself to a single one: "But why? Having a different mother wasn't you fault."

He chuckled a little. "No, it was my father's fault. Virgil's mother died when he was seven, and I was born exactly four months after that. The Blacks are a lousy bunch of no-goods, Hermione . . . .imagine that, my own mother was my father's mistress *long* before she was his wife."

Hermione's head was reeling. She was learning more about her family in this one sitting than she had in the last fifteen years. She sat back in her chair, hard. It was almost too much to take. One more word and she would spill everything to him.

"These look good," Sirius said, studying his fingernails. "You have a talent for this."

"Hardly," she said, shrugging, but at the same time letting out a sigh of internal relief, grateful he had changed the subject. "It's just something you pick up."

"Now there's only one thing left to do. . ." he stood and walked over to the fireplace, picking up a small vial off the mantle. "A Halloween Haggarding potion," he said. "Prepared by yours-truly." With that he tipped the vial into his mouth and swallowed, letting off a brief shudder before doubling over completely, heaving as if he were about to go into seizures.

Hermione jumped up and hurried over to him, clutching at his arm. "Are you allright? Are you? Answer me!" she commanded, and he stood upright and smiled--his face an absolute horror.

She couldn't help but back away in revulsion. "Oooh ick!" she exclaimed. "You look...terrible!"

He laughed. "That good, is it?" His normally handsome face looked like a twisted old root, dry and pinched, and there were two dark hollows where his eyes should have been. His complexion was gray and mottled, and even his voice seemed different--raspy, somehow.

"Yes," she nodded. "You look just like a Prince of Darkness."

"Excellent," he said, and practiced sneering as he did so. "Now tell me, Hermione. . .how adept are you at using that sword?"

---

Twenty minutes later, Hermione found herself deep in the Dungeon of Doom, hiding behind a large iron maiden. Several rat skeletons littered the floor, and a sleek, dust-covered coffin sat in the middle of the floor, raised on a high dias. -What on earth have I gotten myself into...?- she wondered. The stolen sword was readied in her hands, and she flexed her grip around the hilt; tightening, then relaxing. . .tighten, relax. . .

She couldn't deny that she was itching to swing it at something. The adrenaline in her body had her back tightened up like a set of piano-strings.

Murmurs sounded from out in the hallway, and she pushed herself flat against the wall, hoping that the iron maiden hid her from view. The door creaked open, hesitant at first, then swung wide. Through the iron bars, Hermione saw several sets of feet shuffle through the door, then lifted her gaze until they settled on a very pale-faced group of Hufflepuffs.

Ron was leading them, and look quite relaxed as he opened his arms wide and boomed: "Welcome to the Crypt of Prince Dracula!"

The door swung shut, locking itself, and the Hufflepuffs jumped in unison.

"As you may know, Prince Dracula was a righteously bad Dark Wizard who lived in the 1200's," Ron said, surveying the room. "A Irish muggle named Bram Stoker wrote a book about him that, unfortunatly, made the Prince look like a romantic, simpering git." A few of the Hufflepuffs laughed uneasily at this, and Ron gave them a severe look. "See these rat carcasses?" he kicked one, and it skittered across the floor, causing the students to jump once more. "Legend has it that the body of Dracula is entombed in this very room. . .that he clings to life by draining blood off rats."

One of the first-year girls actually squeaked out loud at this, and though a few of the boys laughed as if she were silly, many others looked as if they shared her concern--judging by their white, drawn faces.

"Oh, and another thing. . ." Ron paused dramatically, and Hermione smiled to herself. He was good at this. "On Halloween. . .they say Dracula re-gains his powers completely, and goes on the hunt. . .for BLOOD!"

The coffin began to creak open behind him, and the Hufflepuffs collectively screamed, dashing for the exit, then pounded frantically on the door when realized it was locked.

Sirius' hand, pale and spider-like, inched out of the coffin and lifted the lid off completely. He arose from its silken lining and turned his horrific, withered face towards the students.

"Noooo!" one of the boys wailed, looking as if he might wet himself, but Sirius only opened his mouth in a silent hiss, revealing a mouthful of steely fangs that were brighter than moonlight.

That was Hermione's cue. Dramatically, she leapt out from behind the iron maiden, sword in hand. She stopped in front of the students and spread her arms out protectively. "Stay back," she told them. They stared at her in wonderment, eyes goggling from their wan faces.

"AWAY HELL-DEMON!" she shouted, advancing towards Sirius with a speed that seemed to catch him off guard. She raised the sword and slashed it deftly in his direction, missing his face by mere inches. He stumbled in surprise, still hissing, and she bounded on top of the coffin.

"Hermione. . .?" she heard Ron say, clearly baffled.

Sirius swooped for her ankles, but she jumped out of reach, then sprung back off the coffin, tossing her sword in the air at the same time. Her landing was light. Quick as a flash, she reached behind her back and caught the sword, then twirled it around twice and brought it down mercilessly, aiming straight for the vampire's eyes.

The Hufflepuffs screamed in terror, and Sirius thrust forward to ward off her attack, his hands circling around her wrists like a pair of vice-clamps. They stood like that for several seconds, their arms raised up in show-down as they glared at each other, eye to eye. Ever so slowly, he bent her wrists back, wrenching them until she had no choice but to drop the sword. It fell on the stone floor with an angry clatter, and Hermione let out an authentic scream when the vampire dropped her arms and bent her back at the waist cruelly, baring his terrible fangs for all the Hufflepuffs to see.

"Go!" she pleaded. "Save yourselves!" Her words were cut off when Sirius chomped into her neck gracelessly. Blood burbled from the wound and poured out over her shirt and armor in little warm rivulets. At that same moment, the door to the dungeon magically unlocked and the Hufflepuffs bolted out, still screaming.

---

Hermione started giggling as soon as they left. Sirius still had his teeth in her neck, and was biting as if he meant it.

"Ouch!" she yelped, swatting his back. He let go of her and pulled away, a wide grin on his horrifc face. His hands remained on her waist, and he squeezed her a little, looking quite excited.

"Those must have been some play-acting classes you took!" he said, impressed. "I really thought you might skewer me with that sword."

"Ehrm..." she said, shrugging. In truth, she had studied both sword-play and knife-throwing two summers ago, training with an Italian circus for over a month.

"Don't be modest," he said. "You were fantastic!" He squeezed her a second time, his wide fingers encircling her waist. She gulped audibly and he looked down at them, then--as if surprised to see he was touching her--promptly dropped both arms back to his sides.

Hermione studied the lengths of her arms casually. The fake blood from Zonkos was already started to fade away. She picked up the sword and re-inserted it into her belt, then tucked a few stray curls behind her ear. "Shouldn't a new group be coming now?" she asked.

Sirius cracked open the door and peered out into the dungeon hallway. "I don't see anyone," he said. "But it's dark. . . wait, I think I hear a commotion up ahead."

"Probably just more frightened first years," Hermione suggested.

"No, I don't think so. . ." Sirius listened for several more seconds. "I heard Minerva's voice. I think something may be wrong."

Hermione stood up straight and adjusted her armor, looking for all the world like a real Joan of Arc going off into battle. "Let's go find out," she said, and they left the empty crypt together.

---

Ron was having a pretty good time leading frightened students through the dungeon, and he expected the kids were having fun, too. They had looking appropriately fearful when Harry had jumped out with his ax, but even with the blue-toned beard, he still looked like Harry Potter, and the effects didn't last long. The three witches from MacBeth had memorized several lines from the play, and the Hufflepuffs had politely stayed around their cauldrons long enough to hear them recite the whole "Boil, boil, toil and trouble" speech. But there was something not-very-scary about seeing three witches dressed up as...well, witches. In fact, Ron almost worried the students were getting bored, but by the time they survived Hagrid's room full of real, live blast-ended screwts, he could sense that fear--the real stuff--was finally coursing through their systems.

Sirius's Dracula Crypt had been the most effective at putting a good dose of fright into them, no questions asked. In fact, it was almost too effective, you might say. The terrified Hufflepuffs had fled down the hall ahead of Ron, and he soon lost them in the maze of corridors. "Get..back here, you. .stupid idiots!" Ron hollered, out of breath from chasing after them. He leaned forward and slapped his hands to his knees, collecting himself. That's when the curse hit him from behind.

"Stupefy!" Someone boomed, and Ron felt the curse graze his ear, sending him flat-out against the wall, and nearly breaking his nose in the process.

"You missed," another voice said, and Ron's eyes cleared enough to see two towering figures before him, both dressed in black, hooded robes. Both figures were silent for a moment, but the larger one began to slowly roll up his sleeve, then finally thrust his arm out for Ron to see.

Even in the dark, Ron could make out the outlines of the dark mark.

That's when he began yelling at the top of his lungs.

---

By the time Sirius and Hermione reached Ron, a small crowd had gathered around him, including McGonagall, Hagrid, and Dumbledore--who was dressed, oddly enough, in a striped nightshirt and matching cap. Harry rushed in from the other direction, panting loudly. "What happened?" he asked.

"There are death-eaters in the school, that's what!" Ron hollered, his face blazing. "They tried to stun me and then ran off when I called for help."

"Death-eaters in the school? Are you sure, Ron?" McGonagall looked skeptical. "It is halloween, after all. Perhaps someone was trying to give you a fright?"

"Well it bloody well worked!" Ron said, angry that no one was taking him seriously.

"Even if it was just a student dressed up, it doesn't change the fact that Ron was attacked," Sirius said, patting Ron's back in support, a gesture that made Ron flash him a grateful look.

McGonagall, on the other hand, looked bewildered. "Sirius? Is that you under that hideous face?"

"Um, yes," he said, looking sheepish.

McGonagall sighed. "Perhaps its time we shut down the Dungeon for the night. What do you say, Dumbledore?"

Amazingly, he pouted a little--as if he was not at *all* reading to stop the festivities--but quickly resolved himself. "Quite right, Minerva. The older students will want to start the music and dancing soon, anyhow."

After much discussion, they all broke up in to groups to gather up the rest of the students and teachers, wanting to clear out the dugeon as quickly as possible. By the time they were finished, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all found themselves back in Sirius' private quarters, drinking hot chocolate on his large, comfortable sofa.

"We're missing the dance, you know," Harry said, pulling at his beard thoughtfully.

Hermione snorted. "And it's a good thing, too. Hagrid is dee-jaying."

Sirius looked at them thoughtfully from his desk. "Ron, do you think someone was genuinely trying to hurt you?" His face was back to normal, thankfully, but he seemed nevertheless troubled when he spoke.

Ron shrugged. "I expect so. But then again, it was Halloween. I may feel differently about it in the morning."

Hermione yawned. "Speaking of morning, I think I'm going to check in for the night." She rose and stretched, glad to finally be free of that heavy breast-plate.

"Erm...Hermione, could I have a word outside?" Sirius asked, and Ron and Harry looked on curiously as he led her by the arm out the door, shutting it behind him.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at his profile. Now that he was back to normal, he seemed somehow more noticeably handsome than before. Remembering the warm touch of his lips on her neck, just before he bit in with those fangs, caused her to shiver slightly. Horrified at the turn her thoughts were taking, she scolded herself ferociously. -Your uncle!...He's your uncle!-

-Half-uncle...- a little voice answered back, sounding smug.

"Could you. ." Sirius paused, looking shy. "do you think you could teach me some of that sword-play, sometime?"

She smiled. "Sure. There's nothing to it."

He laughed a little, then reached out to put a finger to her chin--only a slight touch, and a fatherly one, at that, but it made her suck in her breath. She felt quite suddenly self-conscious. "You're always underestimating yourself," he said, his voice grave. "Don't do that."

"Okay," she said simply.

"And another thing," he began, looking a little concerned now. "Have you been feeling well?"

She stepped back, baffled. "Yes? Why do you ask."

"Your voice," he said, his expression still one of worry. "It seems husky...more so than usual."

She shook her head. "I don't know why." And she didn't--but was quite overcome with a sudden, sinking feeling that she *should* know why.

"Might want to see Pomfrey," he suggested, then gave her a little wave and stepped back into his quarters.

She was half-way back to the Gryffindor tower before she remembered: She'd been back at Hogwart's for almost three months, and had forgotten to take her VesClotho.

********************

Just one more note: Now that I'm sort of heading towards one of the bigger "conflicts" in the piece, I really would like more feedback from you guys. Do you like where the piece is headed? Is this going where you expected it to? Is there anything you would *like* to see develop? (or not?). I would appreciate your thoughts on these matters. =)
thanks!