Mine Protector Chapter 19: On the Edge of Being

For the next week, Hermione's name was on the lips of almost everyone at Hogwarts. If Rita Skeeter had still owned a set of Quick-Quote-Quills, Hermione's reputation would have never recovered; of this she was sure. As it was, the gossip ratio was still quite staggering: students, old and young alike, were speculating on Hermione's connection to the recent Macnair murder, and their concern over her recent hospitalization had inexplicably dissolved. In fact, a few took her mysterious illness as nothing more than rock-hard evidence that she *was* involved with Macnair's death, especially considering that the illness had befallen her right around the time his murder had been announced. To make matters worse-and despite the fact that Rita Skeeter was officially in 'retirement'-the Daily Prophet still managed to print a rather scathing blurb about the upcoming Inquisition.

THE TOO-PERFECT PREFECT?

//Roland Nott, Sr., who works for the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, has recently named a suspect in the murder of Ministry co-worker Walden Macnair, who last Tuesday was found dead in a empty pasture, located not far from the Village of Hogsmeade. Nott has accused a sixth-year Hogwarts' student, Hermione Granger, of brutally stabbing Macnair to death. An official Inquisition into the matter has been scheduled for Saturday, December 14th.//

//The Muggle-born Miss Granger is a prefect, a starting Quidditch player, and is currently top of her class-but is perhaps best known for being one of Harry Potter's ex-girlfriends. Miss Granger has also been romantically linked to Bulgarian Quidditch seeker Victor Krum. It is not yet known what Miss Granger's connection to Walden Macnair is, though an anonymous Ministry worker has informed the Daily Prophet that, during her third year, Miss Granger was violently opposed to the planned execution of a dangerous hippogriff that was living on school grounds. Coincidentally, Walden Macnair, as a representative from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, was appointed as the hippogriff's executioner. Unfortunately, the hippogriff escaped before it could be disposed of. The creature's whereabouts are still unknown.//

With a single deft gesture, Hermione squashed the clipping into a ball, then casually pushed it to the other side of her porridge bowl. She felt at least a dozen eyes on her as she did this. Was this what life had been like for Harry, on and off this five odd years? Receiving suspicious glances when he was believed to be the Heir of Slytherin, and bracing the whispered rumours during his fourth year, when much of Hogwarts assumed he had hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire? Of course, she had received some dodgy glances around that time too, especially when she had been seen at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum.

"Don't let them get to you," Ginny said softly, and Hermione looked up to see that the girl had sat down across from her, and was now busily buttering toast. Hermione wasn't sure if Ginny was referring to the Daily Prophet article, or the fact that both Harry and Ron had seated themselves a fair distance away from her at breakfast. Ron had flashed a quick, apologetic look in her direction as he did this, but Harry behaved as if she didn't exist.

He had been getting good at that lately.

Hermione sighed and stirred her porridge fitfully, finding that she had no appetite. She and Harry were in desperate need of a one-on-one talk..or even an all-out confrontation, if it came to that. He was quite good at avoiding her while there were masses of fellow students to disappear into, but by the time the Holidays came, he would find it more difficult to throw her off the scent, as they would both be occupying a nearly-empty Gryffindor tower. She would approach him them, if it came to that. Providing that, following the Inquisition, Hermione wouldn't be arrested on charges of murder.

"Are you going home for winter Hols, Gin?" Hermione asked casually, finally giving her porridge spoon a rest, trying to force away a mental image of herself dressed in gray Azkaban robes.

"Erm, no." Ginny said, mid-bite into her toast. "Hardly anyone over fourth year is going home, what with the Wassail, and all."

"Wassail?" Hermione blinked. She had no idea what Ginny was referring to.

"Well, yes. It's all anyone's been able to talk about for weeks." As soon as the words left her mouth, Ginny blushed hotly, dropping her toast. "Of course! Oh.how silly of me. You were still in the hospital wing when the announcement came."

"What announcement?" Hermione was beginning to feel a touch embarrassed. Hospital wing or not, she was definitely out of the social loop these days.

"From Lee Jordan and the twins," Ginny said, grinning. "The Weasley's Wizard Wheezes are officially taking residence in the back-half of Zonko's, and to celebrate the grand opening, they're holding a Wassail on Christmas Eve, in the Hogsmeade Town Square."

Hermione couldn't help but mirror Ginny's grin. "So Fred and George are finally going legit, are they?"

"Yes. Mum and Dad still aren't entirely sold on this business venture, but I think they're both happy that the twins are finally moving out of the Burrow. They were running a laboratory out of Ron's bedroom-explosions at least three times a day, according to Dad." Both girls laughed lightly at this.

"So why a Wassail, then? That seems awfully.traditional, for the twins." Hermione chose her words carefully. She didn't want to outwardly accused Ginny's brothers of being party animals, but at the same time, she didn't really believe that a Fred and George related bash would include nothing more than mild-mannered caroling and bottomless mugs of hot apple cider.

Ginny reddened slightly. "Well, I doubt there will be much actual tradition involved."

Hermione nodded hazily, and returned to stirring her porridge. Trust Fred and George to come up with a good cover for what would probably amount to a debaucherous pub-crawl. That certainly explained why only fifth-years and up were invited-which meant, of course, that Gryffindor tower wouldn't be so empty after all.

"Well then," Hermione said, forcing brightness into her words. "That should be fun. I look forward to it.provided I'm able to attend, that is."

Ginny gave her a mournful look, setting down her goblet long enough to reach across the table and touch her hand. Hermione startled slightly; she had never been as close to Ginny as she was to Ron, but she was suddenly struck with the distinct feeling that the youngest Weasley had full comprehension of the burden she had been carrying these last few days.

"We'll be at the Inquisition, you know. Both Ron and I. The twins are coming, as well, and I know that Dad will make it if he can," Ginny said, squeezing her hand once and letting go.

Hermione swallowed heavily. "What about Harry?"

"He'll come," Ginny said, her expression firm. "And if he doesn't want to, I'm sure Sirius will see to it that he shows up."

Hermione winced slightly at the sound of Sirius' name, and was relieved when Ginny seemed not to notice. Even now, Hermione was aware that Sirius was watching her from the high table. One glace in that direction confirmed her suspicion; he met and held her gaze high, unflinching, a barrage of questions reflected in his dark eyes. She pulled free and dared to look at the opposite end of the high table; Severus was there, but unlike Sirius, he was not looking in Hermione's direction. Instead, he was staring at Sirius himself, regarding the Dark Arts Professor with only slightly-veiled disdain.

Hermione swallowed and forced herself to look away. She had been avoiding both men for several days; after relaying so much of her personal history, she felt all three of them needed some breathing space from each other. She was particularly interested in dodging Sirius, though it was painfully obvious that he was simply dying to speak with her privately. It was written in the foolishly heated glimpses that he peppered her with during mealtimes, and the trilling manner in which he pronounced her name during class. From his lips, it sounded more like the prayer of a man trembling on the verge of ecstasy-Her-my-ooh-neee-causing her to blush clear down to her toes.

She suspected he wanted to discuss what had happened between them in the prefect's bathroom-and all those smoldering glances suggested he was even fantasising about a second go. At this realization, she took a nervous sip of pumpkin juice, blanching at the thick sweetness. She couldn't deny that she had responded to his touch-but during that strange encounter she had been fully unmindful of that fact that it was her half-Uncle who was touching her. And besides that, the invisible person she had been imagining was *not* Sirius.it was Severus.

Severus Snape, who had more or less dismissed her from his life with a single phrase: 'She's always belonged with them'. Belonged to Harry and Ron, he meant, which she in turn interpreted as a revelation of his true feelings. In his eyes she was a child.a Gryffindor. He cared enough to save her life, but he apparently did not care enough to invite her into his.

A fluttery panic seized her heart. So this was what it felt like to be rejected by Severus Snape. Somehow, she hadn't expected it to hurt so much.

She tried to inconspicuously look up at the high table again, using her peripheral vision to study both professors. Of the two, Sirius was undoubtedly the more handsome, with his tan, chiseled features and casually disheveled hair. Not to mention that ever-present leather coat. It was rumoured that Sirius regularly received secret-admirer notes and love- tokens from students, and even a Slytherin or two had been caught lingering around his office with moon-eyed expressions of adoration.

And then there was Snape; he shared the same dark hair color as Sirius, but that was where the resemblance ended. And while memory of Sirius' hands might have given Hermione a shiver, only Snape possessed that single, smoldering gaze capable of triggering a tingle in the center of her navel that quickly traveled to her inner-thighs, where it deepened and radiated all the way down to her ankles. Rather than handsome, Snape was *dangerous*. Even looking at him across the distance of the Great Hall caused her thoughts to spool away; overhead, the enchanted sky was alive with whorls of snow that danced listlessly between the rafters, and Hermione's senses were held somewhere up there, caught in a delicious breeze.

"Are you worried that Snape will dock you for missing Potions last week?" Ginny asked softly, interrupting Hermione's reverie.

"Hmm?" Hermione shook herself back to the table, blinking her eyes rapidly. "Oh, I think I'm in good shape. I have the highest Potions grade of all the sixth-years."

"True. And he *did* save your life with the Belladonna. So I'm pretty sure he knows how sick you were."

Hermione pulled on a strand of hair, thoughtful. It was fair to say that Snape had more or less saved her-or his thorough understanding of poisons and antidotes had saved her, anyway. She was also pretty sure that little Madam Pomfrey didn't have the stones to use poison as a cure for poisoning. This fact served to complicate Hermione's growing attraction for him, however. If she confessed her feelings now, he was sure to dismiss them as the product of some gratitude complex, in which the rescued damsel feels somehow indebted to her heroic rescuer. Yes, that would be just like him, the stubborn git. Come to think of it, she rather resented the fact that he was invading her thoughts like this-especially when she had more pressing concerns, like the Inquisition, and Harry..

"Hermione?"

She looked up at once, her eyes bolting to Ginny's blue ones, which were alight with concern. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"No.but hadn't you better be on to Herbology?"

With sudden alarm, Hermione noticed that most of the Great Hall was empty by this point, and that much of the breakfast dishes had already been cleared.

"Um.of course. I was just on my way."

-----

For the past several years, Hermione must have been too busy tagging after Harry and Ron to notice what a loyal friend Ginny could be. Ignoring the fact that Hermione was the subject of this week's scandal du jour, she had graciously offered to accompany her to Hogsmeade on the last Saturday outing before their pre-holiday exams. Hermione wanted to get some Christmas shopping done, but was more importantly in need of a new outfit appropriate for the Inquisition, which was fast-approaching. Aside from school robes, most of Hermione's clothes were Muggle-made-it only made sense, seeing as how she was known as a Muggle-born witch. But at the Inquisition, she suspected that looking forwardly Muggle-ish could be a giant strike against her; she needed some proper witch's attire. Something that screamed 'Pure-blood conformist', rather than 'Wannabe undercover operative'.

That was how Ginny and Hermione ended up walking to Hogsmeade together, both bundled and swathed in several layers of wool. Ginny's winter cloak was a sunny yellow and black plaid, and against it her hair shined like copper rivets. Hermione admired it silently, wondering why she had chosen a plain, asphalt-gray cloak for herself. Even her muffler was gray. Gray- sheathed girl against a gray-clouded sky. Apparently, her habit of trying to fit in had insured an existence of never standing out. She couldn't help but wonder if it was time to start taking more fashion risks. Her life was already full of other risks-bodily and psychological-so why not commit to some of the more decadent and fun risks, while she was still free to do so?

Because of the recent snowfall, the path to Hogsmeade had been more or less transformed into a steep toboggan chute; drifts rose on both sides to create a shady canopy, and when they entered the village it was more like descending out of a mine-shaft. Once fully emerged, Hermione blinked rapidly in the sudden brightness. The sun was out and the village was crawling with students and visiting shoppers, all of them pink-cheeked and smoky-breathed. Many of the residents had decorated their front gardens with seasonal décor and props; one house, in particular, featured elves on ice-skates who capered about on a frozen pond (magically landscaped, no doubt). Some merchants had tied mistletoe to their lamp-posts, and Ginny laughed merrily at the sight of Lisa Turpin and Terry Boot, who had apparently taken the decorative touch as an invitation to snog in public.

"Where to first, Hermione?" Ginny asked genially, her eyes brightened by the festive air.

"Hmm. How about Gladrags? Might as well get the biggest purchase over with." Hermione studied her little coin purse waveringly. She had plenty of galleons, truth be told, but it didn't seem proper to reveal this particular fact-though compared to Ron, Ginny had always seemed far less concerned about her family's necessary knut-pinching.

"Allow me to lead the way," Ginny said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. "I make an excellent personal shopper."

Hermione had been inside Gladrags before, of course; on those occasions, however, she had always cut a path straight to the serviceable, student work-robes. There were racks and racks of them located near the front cash register, all in varying shades of black and charcoal. Another nearby rack displayed specialty school robes; also usually black, but trimmed with house colors and crests. Hermione already owned one with Gryffindor red trim, which she saved for special dinners and prefect meetings.

"Gah!" Hermione complained, pinching the sleeve of a black robe between her forefingers and rubbing the coarse material with disdain. "I already have dozens of these. Isn't there anything a bit more colorful?"

Ginny looked at her as if she'd started speaking in tongues. "Hermione.this is just one part of the store! There's a whole back room stocked with the latest Witchware fashions. Didn't you know that?"

"Erm, no," Hermione said, dropping the sleeve at once. "If you want to be fashionable in my neighbourhood, you just run down to Next."

Ginny smiled quizzically. "Follow me," she said, making for the archway just beyond the school robes.

Stepping through, Hermione was nearly floored by the sea of garments displayed before her. Even though she wasn't a genuine Muggle-born, she had never really developed a taste for Witch's clothing-and now she remembered why.

-The room runneth over with cinched corsets and sheered bodices.- she thought dryly, eye-balling the nearest rack in hopes that some of the tighter items came with a complimentary vial of smelling salts. Floor- length gowns were clearly the staple here, and the fabric of choice was anything floaty, shimmery, or gossamer-not a sturdy acrylic blend in sight. Hermione was strongly reminded of a Renaissance Fair gone horribly awry.

"Well?" Ginny beamed, too busy fingering a gold-spangled shawl to notice Hermione's growing expression of panic.

"Um.isn't there anything around here that's a bit more...subdued?" Hermione asked, almost choking on her words.

Ginny laughed merrily. "Don't be ill yet, Hermione," she insisted. "My Dad always says that wizards have a tendency to show off around one another. Dramatic flair, if you will. Now if you want to make a good impression at the Inquisition, you need something Witch-tailored, but not too terribly flashy."

Hermione blanched. "Ginny.everything in this room is flashy!"

"Only on first glance," she assured, pushing past the front displays and signaling Hermione to follow. "Now.something like this would be just perfect," she said, voice muffled as she dove forth to wrestle a gown out from a rather crowded rounder.

Hermione studied the suggested dress critically. It was made out of cinnamon coloured crushed velvet, with a burn-out floral design running up and down the sleeves and front panels; the bodice was low-cut and designed to be laced up with silk cording.

"Well.if it weren't for the cleavage-popping bodice, it would be all right, I expect," she finally said, putting the gown back in Ginny's hands.

"Hmm.yes, that is a bit saucy, isn't it?" said Ginny lightly, cramming the dress back with the others. "What about this one? It's just your colour, I think." She held up a second gown, one made of satin that was matte- finished, rather than shiny (much to Hermione's relief). It was a stormy blue colour, tight in the bust but modestly square-necked, with three- quarter length sleeves. Cut on the bias, at mid-thigh the dress split down the front to reveal a second layer of deep lavender silk--sheer enough to be sweet, and only slightly provocative.

"Bingo. This will work," Hermione said firmly, removing the dress from Ginny's grasp.

"You don't want to try it on?"

The thought of having to play dress-up made Hermione itchy. "No. It's my size.and you already know I'm not picky. So let's take it to the register, shall we?"

"Okay," Ginny agreed, but looked a little put out that Hermione had made her decision so quickly.

The dress cost quite a fist-full of galleons, but that didn't stop Hermione from impulsively adding a red, curly lambswool muffler to her order. It went a long way in cheering up the gray expanse of her winter cloak, and both she and Ginny left Gladrags feeling quite gratified.

At a new and popular store, Ike's Impossible Imports, they browsed for Christmas presents. Ginny and Hermione went in together on a three- dimensional jig-saw puzzle for Ron; when completed, the puzzle would stand knee-high and serve as an accurate, cross-section model of Egypt's Great Pyramid. For Harry, Ginny purchased a fancy Quoting-Quill not unlike Rita Skeeter's, which would be useful for class note-taking, and after much inner debate, Hermione finally decided on a book about Hungarian Horntails; the forward was written and autographed by Charlie Weasley himself, and the last chapter actually mentioned Harry's Tri-wizard Cup encounter with a Horntail. Not the most original gift, perhaps, but she had been giving Harry books for years; to buy him a nickel-plated pocket-watch now would look a little dodgy, as if she were attempting to buy back his friendship with elaborate gifts.

"Are we all done, then?" Ginny asked wearily; it seemed that some of her shopping gusto had finally been sapped.

"Almost," Hermione smiled. "I still have to buy you something, though." In actuality, she had noted the gold-spangled shawl that Ginny had been admiring in Gladrags, and had asked the sales-witch to sneak it in with the rest of her purchases.

Ginny blushed. "That's right; I have to find something for you, as well. Shall we split up for a while, then?"

They made plans to meet back at the Three Broomsticks in one hour, which left Hermione with plenty of time to skip over to Honeyduke's, where she procured a large quantity of treacle fudge for Hagrid, and a boxed assortment of sherbet bonbons for Dumbeldore. After deciding on a new brand of sugarless chocolate for Mannie and Ganna, Hermione's shopping spree should have been complete. Instead, she was left with the rather nagging feeling that she had forgotten at least one or two important purchases.

Back at Ike's Impossible Imports, two more items caught her eye, seeming so appropriate that she drained the rest of her coin purse just to buy them. The first was a small token gift for Sirius-more of a joke gift than anything, but fitting for their odd sort of relationship, nonetheless. The second was a slim, polished mahogany box, inlaid with a handsome gold border, and equipped with a voice-activated locking charm-a top-notch security device. When opened, the box revealed a velvet-lined interior that cushioned ten genuine crystal vials. Hermione spent two additional galleons to have the lid engraved so that it read Property of Severus Snape in gold-leaf script.

Now weighed down with packages, Hermione made a quick trip to the post- office; from there, she sent Mannie and Ganna's gift out to Enfield via a large screech owl, along with a letter she'd written the night before that detailed the upcoming Inquisition. She held out little hope that the elderly couple would actually be able to pose as her parents on such short notice, which was fine; Hermione's 'parents', as Muggles, weren't really expected to attend the Inquisition. Muggles were, as a general rule, discouraged from visiting the Ministry at all, even if their offspring happened to be magical. Dumbledore and McGonagall, as Hermione's Headmaster and Head-of-House, would be representing themselves as her Guardians-which were their actual, legal roles as long as school was in session. Once she said goodbye to the screech owl, her cargo only felt a bit less weighty; luckily, the Three Broomsticks was only a few doors down High Street.

Outside, though, she was nearly bowled over by Pansy Parkingson and Blaise Zabini, who were holding several large parcels of their own as they clicked down the cobblestone walk, not bothering to look over their towering loads. Pansy crashed into Hermione's back in what seemed to be a deliberately careless move. "Watch it, Little Miss Mudblood," Pansy snarled, using a tone that would have made a harpy cringe.

Hermione side-stepped the two girls as gracefully as possible, not bothering to bestow either of them with a smart comeback.

"Eww! There's a filthy dog following you, Hermione," Pansy said, wrinkling up her already-pug nose.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded, spinning around. In doing so, she almost stepping on an enormous, shaggy black dog who was panting at her heels. She narrowed her eyes at once; it was Sirius, in Animagus form.

Blaise studied Hermione with cool indifference; unlike Pansy, Blaise had never been openly antagonistic towards her until recently. A slight girl with auburn hair, Blaise was rumoured to be dating Roland Nott, and if that were true, Hermione guessed she probably wasn't up for any awards in caring and benevolence. And as if to prove this, Blaise said: "The dog is probably attracted to her smell, seeing as how they're both in need of a good bath."

Ignoring Blaise, Hermione glared at Snuffles, who was looking up at her and wagging his tail eagerly. "Go away," Hermione hissed, lifting her foot in a threatening motion.

The dog whimpered pitifully, giving her his best, innocent puppy-eyed gaze.

"Were you just about to kick that mutt?" Pansy asked, her eyes wide. "Wow.maybe you really are a murderer!"

"Yes, yes right.because pretending to kick a dog is just as simple as murdering a human. You would see those two acts as similar, wouldn't you Pansy?" Hermione retorted, unable to keep her cool any longer. And with that, she turned on her heel, ignoring Snuffles' little leaps for attention.

"WOOF!" It was no good. The dog was running alongside her now, occasionally darting out to cavort around her legs; to just keep her balance was fast becoming a chore.

"WOOF!" again. The dog stopped a few metres in front of her and bent over his front paws, cocked down as if he would attack. She ignored him and kept walking, aware that a small crowd of people were beginning to stare. Suddenly, a giant rip sounded, and she pulled up short. The Dog.the dog that was SIRIUS.was biting her cloak! Practically mauling it with his canine death-grip!

"Fine!" she exclaimed, hearing a few passersby giggle at her predicament. "I'm going to leave my things in the Three Broomsticks with Ginny," she whispered, pretending to lean over and pet him. "Meet me behind the Shrieking Shack."

In the Three Broomsticks, Ginny looked a little surprised when Hermione dumped her parcels on the nearest chair, but made no move to sit down. "Oh.I meant to send an owl off to my Auntie," Hermione exclaimed, slapping her forehead dramatically. "Can you watch my things while I run back to the post-office?"

"Erm, sure," Ginny said, looking overwhelmed.

"Thank you! I'll be back in ten minutes," she breathed, zipping out of the building before Ginny could say another word. Sirius would be lucky if she allowed him five minutes, after that snack-sized chunk he'd removed from her cloak.

Just in front of the Three Broomsticks, a path split off from High Street, snaking up the hill to the Shrieking Shack. The recently accumulated snow- drifts provided adequate cover along the way, but as she was in no mood for taking chances, Hermione marched a knee-deep path around to the back of the old Haunted House. Snuffles was waiting for her, and his ears and tail perked up when she rounded the building's North side.

"Change. Change right now," Hermione demanded. There was a flux of light and an odd crackling sound, and the dog disappeared. Then Sirius was standing before her, clad in leather boots and coat, a little snow clinging to the gloves that had been, moments before, paws.

"Sorry I resorted to dog-antics," Sirius said, looking not a bit sorry as he gave her a toothy grin. "I had a feeling that the usual 'ask nicely' wouldn't cut it with you, this time."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" She asked, trying to force her tone cold, but unable to push it much further than 'tepid'.

"Where should I start?" He said quietly, extending one gloved hand and bringing his fingers to rest on her cheek-her face being the only visible flesh above her cloak and the new lambswool muffler. "You've barely said two words in class; you avoid me in the halls-though I have to say I've almost become used to that."

She pulled away from his touch, the gesture that was at once fatherly and erotic, wishing it didn't feel good, as it undeniably did. "While we're here I might as well give you your Christmas gift," she said, hastily changing the subject. "Though I'm not sure who needs it more, you or Snuffles."

With that, she dropped a bracelet into his out-stretched hand. It was a simple band of black leather, outfitted with three tiny bells, similar to something a cat might wear as a collar. Sirius stared at it wordlessly for several moments, then finally looked up at her, his eyes hurt and questioning.

"I wasn't sure I saw it before." he said, his voice oddly flat. "But now I do. There's still anger in you, isn't there? That thirst for revenge from your youth that you described.it's still with you, all these years later."

Her mouth dropped open. "Sirius." she said, her heart thudding painfully. "It was.just a joke. You know.the bells are for the whole 'sneaking up on me in the bath' thing. I thought.well.that we might have a good laugh over it."

He stared at her, his brown eyes glossy-not with tears, but with something else. A certain brand of guardedness. "You thought what happened in the bath was funny, then?"

She swallowed. "No. Not really. It was just.a mistake. Just an awkward situation."

He shook his head, high colour fanning over his cheeks. Leaning in close, his mellow-timbered voice went uncharacteristically husky as he said: "It didn't feel awkward at the time.and it didn't feel like a mistake. From the moment I first saw you, right inside this very house, I felt a connection to you. I know it sounds silly-you were so very young, after all. Or I thought you were young, anyway, even though you must have been.what, nineteen? And then I saw you in the bath, and everything changed. So now there's only one thing I know for sure: touching you felt *right*, and in case you didn't know, I've got the memory of your skin worked into every one of my fingertips." He dragged a finger across her brow as if to demonstrate this, creating a trail of heat that seemed to seep into her brain, which at once sent a scorching jolt down to a dozen different body parts, all of them crying out to be touched by that singularly potent fingertip.

"Please stop," she stammered, desperate to keep her body from shuddering. "This can't happen."

He pulled back, taking his hot-gloved hand with him, and then chuckled in a throaty way. "We're not even doing anything, Hermione. All I did was touch your forehead, and you turned up at least twenty degrees. You can insist there's no chemistry between us if you want, but your body tells a different story."

"I'm trapped inside the body of a sixteen-year old girl," she snapped. "What do you expect?"

He laughed, not unkindly, but in a manner she found infuriating, nonetheless. "That excuse might work if you were male, Hermione..then again, I suppose it must have been difficult for you two or three years ago, to have had the mind of a mature woman, and be trapped in a prepubescent body," he said, regarding her curiously.

"Look, Sirius," she began, feeling uncertain. "I'm not denying that you're very physically attractive-no woman in her right mind would deny it, after all. But there are all sorts of reasons why we can't become involved. We both have jobs to do, for one.and then there's Harry to consider-"

"I know," he interrupted, taking on a more somber posture. "That's what I wanted to tell you, actually.that I have no plans to pursue you, despite what occurred between us on that night in the prefect's bathroom."

She stepped back and nearly fell into a snow-drift, her eyes blinking in astonishment. "You have no plans.? Then why all that talk of chemistry?" she sputtered. "Why all that malarkey about how the 'memory of my skin' is in your fingertips?"

"Wow.you were really paying attention to that, weren't you?" he grinned, hair falling over his eyes charmingly as he did so.

"I always pay attention!" she retorted. "It's what I do best, as you should have noticed by now!"

"Calm down, Hermione," he said, pawing her shoulder lightly-a motion that seemed to placate her instantly, much to her own disgust. When had she allowed herself to become so hungry for slight caresses? So desperate for crumbs of flattery?

"That fact that I don't plan to pursue you doesn't mean that I've cut my feelings off.far from it," he continued, his face suddenly shadowed. "But I can't force you into my arms, so that's why I've decided to leave the ball in your court. So if you need me.as a friend, or as something more.just come to me. I promise to do whatever I can." he trailed off, wrapping his arms around his own lean midsection, as if suddenly chilled.

"Very well," she said, trying to look dignified. "We'll begin again then.as friends, shall we?"

"That's fine," he said agreeably, though his words seemed to carry an undercurrent of pain along with them. She reached out to shake his hand, and at the moment they clasped them together, his eyes were swimming with so much tenderness.so much care.that she very nearly sunk down to her knees, overwhelmed by feelings she didn't understand.not at all.

She shook off the discomfort with a nervous laugh. "As your friend, then, I suggest you stop gazing at me ravenously during meals. I think the drool might start to make people wonder."

He actually blushed, then tipped back his head to laugh heartily. She tittered a little herself, then hesitated before offering the crook of her arm. "Want to join me in the Three Broomsticks? Ginny's sure to wonder what's keeping me."

"Don't mind if I do," he said, and began assisting her down the incline in a gentlemanly fashion.

They were on the path towards High Street, murmuring amiably about the upcoming Holidays, when a sharp voice interrupted them.

"Well, it looks as if everything is safe as houses around here. All chummy again, are we?" Harry rounded a snow-drift, hands propped on his hips, his face pale and questioning.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, lunging forward slightly.

"You." Harry glared at Sirius, ignoring her for the time being. "How could you walk with her after she LIED to us? For SIX YEARS, at that!"

Sirius shook his head. "It's not how you think, Harry.she has the best of intentions, she does."

"I don't care," Harry spat, and shot Hermione a look so full of hate that it made her physically ill. Trembling, she leaned against Sirius for brief support, then yanked away as if she'd been burned.

"How much have you been told, Harry?" Hermione asked, sounding as hollow as she felt.

"Everything. He told me everything," Harry pointed at Sirius, glaring. "How you came back to Hogwarts as an Auror, assigned to befriend and look after me. So I know the truth, you see," he said, sounded oddly self- satisfied. "The girl I thought was Hermione never existed and you're a bigger fraud than old Trelawny."

Harry, it's not like that!" She cried, her eyes tearing over. "I am Hermione! I wasn't pretending to BE anyone.when I was with you I was just me-your best friend! You and Ron are the first real friends I made in my life, if you want to know the truth.everything we've done together, all the fantastic adventures we've had-I was with you for every single one! Don't tell me you've forgotten!"

"Quit acting," he said coldly, drawing himself up to full height-which was nearing six feet, these days.

"I'm not acting! Harry.oh Harry," she yammered, her mind spiraling out in conflicting directions. "I admit that I went about it all wrong at first. Remember how haughty I was in our first year, chasing after you, scolding you for breaking the rules? Then the Mountain Troll surprised me, and you and Ron were there, willing to put your own health on the line to save me. We were a team after that. Oh, we were such a great team! Remember? And Harry.oh God Harry I'm so sorry I couldn't stop what happened at the end of the Tri-wizard tournament.I didn't know Barty Crouch Jr. was still alive, otherwise I would have killed him for you. Do you hear me? I would have KILLED him before I would have let anyone hurt you." she broke off into hysterical, chocked panting, dipping forward until she was crouched on the ground. Oddly, some part of her was still sane enough to be grateful that they were out of High Street's view.

Harry looked helplessly at his Godfather. "What's gotten into her?"

Sirius regarded him mildly. "Do you think she's had it easy, these last six years? Do you thinks she really wants to lose your friendship?"

"So you think she'd really care? If she lost me, I mean?" Harry asked in a small voice, speaking as if Hermione weren't even there. And for all accounts, she barely was. A small, alert corner of her mind was recording the exchange word for word, but the rest of her psyche was momentarily adrift.

"Of course she would care. She cares about you as much as I do." Sirius said soothingly.

"I know!" she declared quite suddenly, startling both men. "There's a way to make you see, Harry. I know you don't understand right now," she said, trying to collect herself despite the fact that her face was nearly unrecognizable, swollen and tear-stained. "But I can make you understand, Harry. At least a little. You have to come with me."

Harry barely found the words to protest as Hermione shot forth and clasped onto his arm, leading him away at once. "Sirius, please tell Ginny I had to go back to the castle. And help her with my parcels, will you?" she called over her shoulder, sounding almost fully recovered now.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, tugging at Hermione's grip but finding it powerfully strong.

"We're going to see Dumbledore," she said firmly.

"Why?"

She didn't answer, but only continued to march towards the castle, Harry in tow.

Silently, she prayed that Albus would be in his office, and that he wouldn't mind lending her his Pensieve.

-----

Harry had been angry with Hermione before; after all, she had a long habit of bossiness, and had been the one to send his brand-new Firebolt to McGonagall for a hex-inspection, three years back. But that past anger seemed like nothing when compared to Harry's newly discovered rage, which filled his chest like an unleashed animal, frightening even himself. All these years, she'd been fooling him.fooling everyone. Beneath his rage was disbelief, and further down was undeniable hurt.

And yet he wanted his best friend back. Vaguely, some part of him wondered if he could get his hands on a time-turner. He wanted to go back six months and stop himself from flying to Ilford; he wanted to forget the mysterious woman in the shoddy car, who had reminded him so much of Hermione.

-I was better off not knowing.- he thought fiercely, silently cursing Hermione, Sirius, and even Dumbledore, the man he'd trusted implicitly throughout his life. What would it take for Harry to trust again, after this?

When she had fallen to the ground sobbing, he'd almost felt sorry for her- she looked so much like the Hermione he'd always known, a few loose tangles straying against her cheek, her watery eyes tilted up at him in a gesture of childlike trust. And when she'd been in the hospital, precariously caught between life and death, he actually found himself praying that Snape could save her, and then actually thanking the man when he did, despite the fact that the Potions master still regarded him with open, razor-sharp hostility.

But now she was marching him back to Hogwarts with a new-found determinism, clutching at his arm like an impatient mother, swearing to herself softly. She was exercising a new brand of control against him; now that he was aware of her true age, she was taking advantage of the six year difference, carrying on as if she were in charge. At this, Harry felt his anger re- bloom and take root.

"You don't have to yank me along like a toddler!" he snarled, trying to free himself with very little result. Her hand was white at the knuckles, and as strong as an iron vice on his wrist. "Can't you just let me walk alongside you without all this added humiliation?"

That did it. She dropped his wrist at once, and the strange squall of emotions that was blotting out her features seemed to clear. She paused and gazed at him uncertainly; unspoken words caught in the pulse of her hitching throat.

"Just walk," Harry said simply, his tone almost rational. "And I'll follow, okay?"

When they finally reached Dumbledore's office, Harry was surprised that she knew the password straight-off ('Rice cake'-which struck him as odd), but then again, she would be in on such things, having privately worked for the Headmaster all these years. Once they reached the circular room at the top of the moving staircase, Hermione headed straight for a black cabinet that struck Harry as very familiar.

"What are you doing?" He asked, an edge of anxiety to his voice.

From the cabinet she removed a stone-crafted bowl, the contents glittering and smokey-silver. "This is a Pensieve," she said. "Albus has recorded many of his memories into this little basin-a few of which should hopefully pertain to you and me."

"I already know what a Pensieve is," said Harry flatly. "I've even been inside this one before, actually."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "What did you see?" she asked, sounding more curious than accusatory.

He paused a moment, then finally said: "The Death Eater trials, mostly. Ludo Bagman's, for example. And Barty Crouch's, as well."

At this, Hermione closed her eyes and steadied the basin on a table-top; she appeared to be taking measured, deep breaths. "You saw Barty Crouch's trial?" she croaked, opening her eyes slightly.

"Yes. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"You.you just could have told me," she finally said, and it seemed she was struggling not to give him a scolding.

"Why? Do you think it would have helped you to nab Barty, somehow? Because I can tell you that there was nothing in that memory to suggest his true allegiance to Voldemort-I even felt sorry for the bloke, being put on the rack by his own father and all."

She shook her head faintly. "Point taken. But I never knew you were in the Pensieve.I'm just a little surprised, I guess, to learn that you have secrets of your own."

"Who doesn't?" he asked, giving her a penetrating look.

She looked away. "No one," she mumbled, and then reached up to unclasp her cloak, peeling off layers until she stood in plain dungarees and a cardigan jumper. Without being told, Harry did the same, though like her, he palmed his wa`1nd before shoving the rest of his things aside.

He waited nearby as she began to stir the fluid contents of the Pensieve with her wand. "This may take a moment," she murmured, her eyes glued to the swirling faces that rippled across the surface. A few leaped out of the ether and into full recognition: Harry saw a thatch of Hagrid's beard, a pair of blue eyes that could have belonged to any of the Weasleys, and carousing light off a pair of spectacles that might have been his own.or his father's.

"Okay," she said, and tugged his hand into her own. Together, they reached forth and dipped their double-grasp into the bowl. The scenery shifted; there wasn't a flying, hooked-on-a-fishline sensation of a portkey, but rather a slow fadeout, light shimmering as if off glass, followed by a brief impression of disembodiment.

When they landed, Harry pulled his hand loose, letting it fall to his side. They were standing in the Great Hall, a bright Spring sky mirrored in the ceiling overhead. Students-some of whom Harry recognized-were busying themselves with breakfast, all of them shouting and laughing in a commotion that somehow seemed louder from up here at the high table. Harry turned to Hermione, who was at his side, gazing out at the students impassively.

"What year is this?" he asked.

"1991," she said. "Day after the Quidditch Cup final." Hearing this, Harry noticed that the Slytherin table was in especially raucous spirits, and that they were all garbed in an unusually high concentration of green and silver clothing. He at once recognized a much fawned-over Marcus Flint, who had been Slytherin team captain during his first year.

-So these were the glory days of the Slytherin house.- he thought vaguely, and a turn of his head verified that Snape was indeed looking quite smug from his seat next to Professor Flitwick.

"I received an owl from Slatero, Albus," McGonagall said, raising an eyebrow and looking at the headmaster from over her teacup. "He's apparently decided to leave Durres and make his way back to the U.K."

"Is that a fact?" The headmaster replied, politely dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Is this what we're here for? Random morning chit-chat at the staff table?" Harry asked Hermione, stage-whispering in a way that struck him as quite foolish, considering he'd already been in a Pensieve once, and was fully aware that no one in this time and place could hear him.

"Sorry. It should only be a few minutes now," Hermione said, adjusting her stance. "Since this is Dumbledore's memory, we can't move until he moves," she added, acknowledging the headmaster, at whose back they were standing.

"Oh," Harry said, remembering how he had been sitting next to Dumbledore throughout the memory of the Death Eater trials. He hadn't attempted to get up and move around then, but for some reason this new knowledge that they were stuck in place made him a bit uneasy.

"Shhh," Hermione shushed, for no good reason that he could see. She pointed with her wand in the direction of an approaching student, a girl who was making her way through the crowded aisle rather meekly, politely excusing herself when a Slytherin appeared to intentionally trip her up. As she got closer, Harry's mouth went dry at the incongruity of what he was seeing. It was Hermione-her past self.

Upon more careful inspection, Harry could see differences in her appearance. Most notable was her much darker hair, which was slightly bushy in a manner that reminded Harry of her old fourth-year hair style-or lack thereof. In addition, she seemed a bit thinner than her current self, or perhaps simply a little less fit. In any case, she certainly had a gracelessness that he found very misplaced; twice she seemed to tread and bumble on the hem of her robes, and both times she straightened up and walked onward, her cheeks blazing.

"Ah, here's comes your Head Girl, Professor Flitwick," Dumbledore said, the turn of his head following the past-Hermione's approach.

"You were Head Girl? And a Ravenclaw?" Harry asked, his jaw dropping in astonishment. He felt oddly betrayed by this revelation.

She nodded subtley. "Both of my parents were Ravenclaws," she said. "I always wanted to be like them."

"Good morning, Helena!" Flitwick chirped.

"Helena!?" Harry gave her a mutinous look. "You're name is Helena?"

"No," she said quickly, waving at him as if he were a pesky insect. "Not anymore. But it was then. Now please.quiet down. Watch."

"Hello, Professor," Helena said, nodding in Flitwick's direction. Then she turned to Dumbledore and stepped closer, lowering her voice a few octaves, and Harry involuntarily leaned in to hear her better. "Headmaster? I was wondering if you had that letter of recommendation that I asked you about last week?" she murmured, her head lowered demurely.

"Of course, Helena. I was going to ask Professor Flitwick to deliver it to you at Lunch, but if you'd like it earlier-"

"Oh! No, no.that won't be necessary. Lunch will do just fine. Oh, I can't thank you enough! Thank you!" The Head Girl looked dangerously near wild salaams and curtsies, positively aglow with appreciation. Her hand bolted out and shook Dumbledore's vigorously, and in her enthusiasm she managed to upset a glass of pumpkin juice, making a soggy mess of poor Professor Sprout's robes.

"Gosh, Herm. Laid it on a bit thick in those days, didn't you?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself from looking at Helena with disdain.

Before the present-Hermione could reply, her counterpart straightened up and pulled away from Dumbledore's earshot, clearing her throat in a showy way. "I'd also like to report that I took the initiative in deducting twenty points from the Slytherins; they've been hassling the Ravenclaws all morning," she announced, crossing her arms self-importantly.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, thoroughly taken aback. "You didn't even warn those Slytherins.I saw you walk right past them, and you didn't even say a word as they were tripping you up."

"Oh, Hush," Hermione said, looking grumpy. "It's no use complaining to me now, but you might as well know that I was a bit brutal as Head Girl. Never to anyone's face, of course, but." she trailed off, biting her lip in hesitation.

"But what?" Harry asked, keeping one eye on the unfolding drama; Snape was readily complaining to Flitwick about Helena's tendency to favor her own house when it came to deducting points.

"Well, remember.erm.how I used to defend Percy?"

"Yes," Harry groaned in disgust.

"Let's just say that he more or less copied my old Helena-style, once he was made a Prefect. Though he was less covert with his ruthlessness than I ever was."

"Oh, Hermione," Harry sighed, shaking his head. He watched on as her former self stumbled from the high table dais, then stopped in her tracks to flash a toothy grin in the direction of a tall, muscular boy dressed in Gryffindor robes.

"Isn't that Oliver Wood?" Harry asked, squinting. "And look at the way you're batting your eyes.Holy shit! You were sweet on him, weren't you? And he was only a fourth year!"

Hermione closed her eyes in exasperation. "This is getting more humiliating by the second. I think it's time we moved on," she said, and with a swiping motion of her wand, the scene began to ripple and shift.

When they landed again, they were standing in the middle of a crowded street café; waiters and customers filtered around them, and Harry almost expected to get jostled-but the staff seemed to pass right through them, or move aside as if sensing a foreign presence. This time, Harry remained quiet as he watched Helena and Dumbledore share a lunch together. He wasn't surprised when she began to complain bitterly about Fudge's unwillingness to take her Aurorship application seriously; Sirius had already filled him in on this part.

-This is where it began for her.- he thought, tilting his head to get a better view of the Head Girl that Hermione had once been. The gross display of arse-kissing that he'd witnessed in the Great Hall was nowhere to be seen now; instead, she looked quite frustrated and near tears as she described the failed interview.

A few minutes later, above the din of the café crowd, Harry heard Dumbledore say something that made him question the current function of his ears. "Stop!" he commanded, holding up his wand. The scene froze, and the diners paused over their meals, watery light washing across their faces. "Um.reverse!" he said, ignoring the probing expression that Hermione was giving him. Amazingly, his command worked, and the scene unspooled as if on videotape. After a few seconds he stopped the scene again, then, with a slight wand flick, prompted it back into life.

"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?" Dumbledore asked.

"STOP!" Harry shouted, and the scene froze again. He felt a strange, unbridled sense of incredulity tighten around his chest. "The Black family? Voldemort? And he's called you 'Miss Black' at least twice.this isn't about Sirius, is it? I'm not getting this at all!"

"Let's move on," Hermione said succinctly, and the scene rippled out and changed yet again, allowing Harry no time to protest. When they landed, he recognized Dumbledore's office at once, and saw that the headmaster and Helena were alone yet again, apparently caught up in a deep discussion.

Dumbledore was caught in mid-sentence, but Harry managed to catch most of his words: "--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."

"What?" Harry asked dumbly, thoroughly confused now. He froze the scene and turned to Hermione. "Is Dumbledore talking about me?"

"Yes," she said, seeming uncertain, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"Why was your name known throughout the wizarding world, though? This is the part I don't get. Your name was 'Helena Black'? What's so special about that? Are you a distant relative of Sirius' or something?"

She bit her lip and shook her head faintly, refusing to speak. She prodded the scene into fast-forward for a few seconds, then stopped it again. "I think that this little section may answer your question," she said, sounding weary.

Dumbledore lurched back into speech: "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."

At this mention of what could only be his Godfather, Harry's full attention was drawn to the scene. Helena, however, was reacting to Dumbledore's words with open disbelief.

"My uncle as Harry Potter's protector? You must be mad!" the girl exclaimed, and Hermione paused the scene at once, effectively silencing her past self.

"Your uncle?" Harry asked, watching curiously as Hermione stared at Helena, regarding the girl as if she were a stranger, or perhaps a long- lost friend that she remembered fondly-Harry couldn't tell which. "Sirius is your uncle?"

"Yes."

Harry swallowed, feeling his stomach take on a strange, leaden weight.

"But Sirius doesn't know. He thinks Helena married some American Muggle investment broker. That's what everyone thinks."

"You mean you're not going to tell him?" Harry asked, staring at her in amazement.

"I don't know, Harry," she sighed and bounced on her knees slightly, as if itching to move.

"But why? You're so.well, I would be right pleased if Sirius were *my* uncle. Why aren't you?"

She looked at him sharply, fire suddenly snapping forth in her eyes. "Harry, do you think it was fun, being known as the niece of an infamous dark wizard? The last blood relative of a mad murderer? For most of my life I *hated* Sirius.almost as much as I hated Voldemort. And then when I found out that-"

"Wait!" Harry interrupted. "You hated Voldemort? And you just said his name.you don't usually do that, do you?"

She held his questioning gaze, returning it in a way that was almost.loving. Big-sisterly. It both warmed and discomforted him at once. "Yes, I guess I skipped over that part, didn't I?" she said, pivoting away from the frozen Helena and Dumbledore. "This part.I can describe it without the Pensieve, Harry. If you're willing to listen to me now. You are, aren't you?" She peered at him in a way that struck him as woeful, self-consciously tugging at a ratty length of her hair.

"Of course I'm willing," he said, giving her a small smile.

She smiled back and raised up her wand. "Ready to leave the past?"

At a glimpse of the determined, up-right posture of her neck, and the slight tremble of her hand, he guessed at once what she would tell him once they were freed of the Pensieve. She would reveal that Voldemort had killed her family, and though at one time Harry would have been completely stunned by this turn of events, he found that he wasn't particularly stunned right now. He felt calm. Good, almost.

"Ready," he said. And before she could make for his hand, he reached for hers first.

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

Here's hoping FF.net is up and running for a good solid while, now. =) Thanks to all my regular and not-so-regular reviewers for the helpful commentary and encouragement. After a long vacation I'll be returning to work this week, so the chapter turn-over may slow down a bit. If you're looking for something to read, you might consider my shorter, newer fic, "A Portrait in Silver". Thanks to all.