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Note- Sirius has a raging paternal instinct. I'm warning you of this right now. And see if you can catch the narration quote from Prisoner of Azkaban. Cookies for anyone who does! Virtual cookies!
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Sirius followed Hermione up the stairs and into the small dormitory, heart pounding in his throat. She had to believe him... and yet, so many things he couldnt explain...

"So," the girl said crisply, "this is an important year for you. Youll obviously have much studying to do. First, we should begin with- Nigel...?"

His fingers traced the jagged, broken edges of the small mirror, the marks along the edges of the shattered glass... a sickly rust... dried blood? It was the hand mirror he'd given to Harry to contact him with in times of danger. Smashed, bloody...

"Harry..." he whispered, eyes aching. Why...?

"Oh, that's Harrys," Hermione said quickly, taking the broken frame gingerly from his hands before he had a chance to protest. "I suppose Professor Lupin left it here for him..." There was a trace of embarrassment and sadness in the poor girl's voice, her sweet face dark with some warring emotion. He stood helpless, a hand still reaching out for the mirror, longing impotently to just stroke her hair back and kiss her forehead like a big brother, to give her a good hug and tell her it was all okay, it was all going to be fine, he was back now and he wasn't going away again...

And yet, he didn't. Because he never did.

"Well, I guess- Professor Lupin?!" Sirius tried to keep his jaw from dropping, and had the distinct feeling he had failed miserably. "You mean, Remus Lupin...?" Wonderful. Not only was he in Snivellus' class, he was going to have to be an obedient student to Remus Lupin. His partner in crime and life. The heinous price in returning as fifteen was becoming more and more clear.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, not privy to his thoughts. "Yes..." she said carefully. "He's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again this year. Do you know him, Nigel?"

Sirius sat heavily on one of the four beds, then patted a spot beside him, forgetting for a moment that he was technically fifteen, just remembering that Hermione was a scared little girl putting on a hard face for a cold and harsh world. She was only a sixteen-year-old girl, thrust into the front line of a war for all their lives... and yet she stuck by Harry, loyal to a friendship that could easily be her death. "Hermione," he said seriously, "Hermione... sit down for a minute, I've so much to tell you."

"Um... Nigel?"

Sirius blinked at her for a long moment, baffled as to the bewilderment and trace revulsion on her face. Then, with a pang of utter mortification, it struck him: a transfer student, asking for tutoring, trapping her in a deserted boys' dormitory and inviting her to sit on the bed, snug beside him. It was something not even James would have been desperate enough to pull with a girl. Did boys even still try it? ...Well, there was really no hope for the advancement of the male mind when it came to girls.

"Hermione-" He couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculous picture he must be presenting to the poor prefect. "Hermione, this isn't what it looks like. I've a rather unbelievable story to tell you, if you'll listen."

She sat lightly on the bed across from his, face skeptical at best. "Go on," she said calmly, watching him like she would a rabid animal.

"Okay." Sirius took a deep breath, gathering himself. The moment of truth... it would be easier if he said it all quickly. It always was, with this kind of thing. "My name is not Nigel Evans, I'm not fifteen years old, and I'm not a transfer student."

"Who are you, then?" It was impossible to tell if she were taking him seriously or not, her dark eyes focused on him in scholarly consideration. At worst, she just thought him barmy... that was better than a crazed, hormonal stalker, at least. So he took another deep breath and steeled himself for the worst.

Never say die.

"Sirius Black," he said firmly.

The reaction was immediate. In mere seconds, his collar was digging into the back of his neck, the front of his robes clenched in Hermione's fist with astonishing strength. Though she had failed to even budge him from where he had been sitting, the singular ferocity of the girl was enough to freeze him there.

"How dare you," she whispered, eyes burning cold.

His lips formed her name in silent shock. Never would he have guessed it in Hermione's character to offer bodily harm to another student like this. He'd heard the stories of her slapping Malfoy, but that was a Malfoy, and she'd been provoked past the point of anyone's common sense. Here, even he quailed under the rage in her eyes, shrinking back from her smaller frame.

"Sirius Black was murdered," the girl whispered, eyes flinty and voice ice. "He is dead. I don't understand what you are playing at, but I will not allow this shameless cruelty to harm Harry. If you are one of Voldemort's agents, then I can handle you myself, right here and now. If you are merely playing a terrible practical joke, I will turn you in to Professor Dumbledore before your first class." Her cold voice was beginning to shake, her fingers curling into his wrinkled robes with more and more tenacity. "Sirius was a good man, and Harry loved him very much. I will not allow any more pain to come to him because of your petty tricks."

Struck dumb, Sirius merely stared into her eyes, hands slack by his sides. After what seemed like an eternity, he forced speech past trembling lips.

"You said his name."

"I-I what?" This had surprised Hermione.

"His name! Voldemort!" He could barely suppress a grin of perhaps misplaced pride. "When did you start that, Hermione? The last time I saw you, at Christmas... you still couldn't do it." Sirius smiled fondly, a bit distantly. "I'd bet money Ron still can't... poor Molly would send him after the doxies with a toothbrush if he ever dared."

In the silence that followed, Hermiones fingers uncurled slowly from his collar, the steel in her eyes wavering.

"Prove it," she said softly.

"What...?"

"Prove that you're Sirius Black," she ordered. "Prove it to me sufficiently, and I'll believe you."

Sirius winced, eyes falling to his slack hands. "It's not so easy, Hermione," he whispered. "How can I prove it? There's nothing between me and Harry, or you, or Ron, that Voldemort's spies couldnt know. I could transform for you, but Wormtail knows I'm an Animagus, and it has to be simple enough for dark magics to simulate." His fingers clenched helplessly. "Anything I could think of, someone else knows too, or could have found out. Our code name. My powers. Harry's birthmarks, even. I don't know how to prove myself, Hermione." The plea in his words was tangible, hands spread in supplication. What could he do...?

"Well, humor me," she said crisply, the business back in her voice. "Transform."

With a vertigo of color and blur, he did so. He had made sure the ability had returned with him less than five minutes after he awoke- one could never be too certain. Sirius remained as the great black dog for a few moments, sniffing alertly at the unfamiliar smells drifting through the room. Then his hands found the mussed coverlet again, and he sighed softly, rubbing his eyes reflexively.

Hermione nodded, something unreadable in her eyes. "What was our code name for you?" she asked tonelessly.

"Snuffles," Sirius replied promptly. Silly name... he'd had a Puffskein named Snuffles once, when he was tiny.

"I didn't know anything about Harry having a birthmark. Tell me about it."

Sirius smiled distantly at the memory. "Yeah... it wasn't really anything tremendous, but James insisted that the freckles on his lower back, right there or so-" he poked at the area right above his tailbone, "formed a 'J'. Lily said it was a fishhook, I said it was a shrimp, Moony insisted it was half the Communist flag. Peter thought-" He caught himself, face twisting into a snarl for the few seconds before he could reach composure.

The dormitory subsided into a long silence. His heart pounded uncomfortably in his throat.

"I wish I could be sure." Hermione's voice had lost some of its harshness as she slumped limply on the bed across from his. Her dark eyes surveyed him slowly, her fingers twisting into her robes. "You seem so like him, in everything you say, everything you do... I only wish-" Suddenly, her eyes flashed, and she jumped to her feet, stomping across the floor in evident frustration. "I would say to go to Professor Dumbledore, but he stood right beside you being sorted- besides, he's been fooled before with things like this, poor Professor Moody and all."

"None of the professors took more than a few minutes to convince," Sirius agreed powerlessly. "Besides, I've hoodwinked the Headmaster plenty of times. We stole the entire class list for the year above us and renamed everyone fifth year. All it took was a lookout, some chicory, and the Marauders' M-"

Hermione turned to face him in bewildered curiousity as he swallowed the rest of the word, staring in disbelief into nowhere.

"What is it?"

"I'm so stupid!" Sirius exclaimed, springing to his feet and promptly diving to the floor. "This is Harry's bed, right, his things?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"So stupid-!" He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand and proceeded to rummage through Harry's things. "I cant believe I'm so blasted stupid."

"You shouldn't be going through Harrys luggage, Si- Ni- whoever you are!" Hermione scolded impotently, wringing her hands. "He'll be furious-"

"I'm allowed, I'm his thrice-damned godfather- what in blazes is that boy doing with three Sneak-o-scopes?"

"He keeps getting them as presents," she said lamely. "What are you looking for, anyway?"

"Proof!" Sirius said triumphantly, tugging a scrap of old parchment free with long fingers. "I thought of proof."

Hermione blinked silently at the parchment in his hands, then raised her eyes to his. "The Marauders' Map?" she queried.

"The Marauders' Map!" he confirmed with wild glee. "I'm a bloody Marauder, I can't believe I almost forgot it." He unfurled the faded paper with a flourish, then smoothed it over his hand with a fond sigh. Oh, the memories... "I solemnly swear to do no good," he informed it, then trailed a fingertip in a practiced pattern over its surface.

"I thought the user had to tap their wand tip on the parchment," Hermione observed, obviously intrigued.

"Any other user does," Sirius answered nonchalantly. "I helped make this darling- it knows my touch. Besides, I managed to leave the replacement wand Ollivander gave me in Dumbledore's office. Old man hasn't returned it yet."

Hermione seemed about to protest the rough referral to the Headmaster, but grew distracted by the Map. The web of ink spread under his fingertip, connecting into thousands of rooms and floors as he watched patiently. The poor thing hadn't been used for a while, obviously- it was showing off a bit too much. Probably his influence... but it was all academic.

"Gryffindor Tower, boys' dorm, uh..." He glanced around quickly. "Gryffindor Tower, boys' dorm four."

Hermione watched closely over his shoulder as the selected room enlarged on the parchment. "You can direct it by voice alone?" she queried, impressed.

"Mm. Now..." There was that anxiety again. What if it didn't work, what if something went wrong? What if he was still dead in the eyes of the Map? What if... what if...?!

Two dots. Two red dots.

"Hermione Granger..." he read aloud, pointing. "And right there I am... Sirius Black. And it can't be fooled," he hastened to add. "You saw that with Barty Crouch, right? When he was disguised as Mad-Eye? Can't fool it with Polyjuice or any disguise spells. Moony set this irreversible identification spell on it, found it in the N.E.W.T.s textbook."

"You really are him...?"

Her voice was small, eyes wide like a little girl's. He met her gaze with a kind a smile as he could, loosening his grip on the Map. "Do you believe me, Hermione...?" he asked gently, looking down at her as though he'd never seen anything like her.

"Oh, Sirius...!"

He caught her against his chest more by reflex than anything else, letting the Marauders' Map fall to the bed he'd been sitting on. Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, her entire frame shuddering with effort as she gulped back tears. Sirius held her tightly, petting her hair and making soothing noises. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"Sirius, we've all been so scared..." she whispered into his robes. "Harry... he's been so angry, ever since you... I've never seen him like that. He's been lost, and scared... But he snaps at the smallest things, the strangest things. And then, sometimes, he doesn't react to anything at all..."

"It's all right," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry anymore, Hermione."

She lifted her face with a weak smile, and with a glow in his chest, he brushed the hair back from her cheeks and bestowed a light, paternal kiss to her forehead.

"Oy! Whaddya think y'doing?"

The familiar voice was shaking with absolute fury, an anger he'd never heard there before. It took him a moment to comprehend the source of it all, but as soon as he did, it was difficult to hold back a grin. Ah, the jealous crush.

"H'lo, Ron," he said casually, holding back his mirth.