Author's Note: Thank you to Gueneviere for reading and reviewing!

Sorry about the delay on this chapter; something came up. You know how it is.

I'd like to mention that this set of stories now has its own webpage, Defense Against the Heart's Arts, at the following link. NOTE: WHEN TYPING THIS LINK INTO YOUR BROWSER, DO NOT PUT ANY SPACES IN.

http:// menolly . mark . googlepages . com / home

Enjoy!

Menolly

Chapter Four: Checkmate

Lupin stepped up to the mirror again, and tapped it with his wand, whispering, "Kingsley Shacklebolt," as he did so. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him. She was hovering just behind him, peering over his shoulder, and making him exceedingly uncomfortable. He turned around, raised an eyebrow at her, and noticed that she had to stand on her tiptoes to get a glimpse of the mirror over him.

"Sorry," she murmured, biting her lip. Lupin shrugged.

"It's an ordinary two-way communication mirror," he informed her, moving aside slightly to let her get closer. "The only difference with this one is that only a member of the Order can use it. It won't respond to promptings from anyone else." He indicated a large, ornate seal in the far corner of the mirror; the mark of the Order. "Dumbledore's work."

"But suppose someone used a polyjuice potion, and pretended to be one of the members of the Order?" insisted Hermione. "Would it work for them?"

Lupin sighed. "You sound like Moody," he muttered, "always assuming that the world is out to get us."

Hermione widened her eyes at him. "Well," she began, reasonably, "it is."

Lupin had to agree that she had a point, there. "Yes, well," he replied, "no, actually, it couldn't be used by anyone outside of the Order. It uses a magical signature recognition system, and doesn't depend on faces or tones of voice. Every wand has an individual, invisible signature, and each of our wands has one that this mirror recognizes. Therefore, it will only react to one of our wands. The catch is, obviously, if one of us is apprehended by the Death Eaters. It's safer than most methods, though."

"Excuse me, Remus." A deep, pleasant voice broke into Hermione and Lupin's conversation. "But I am on duty, so I'll have to interrupt you. Gotta make it quick." Kingsley Shacklebolt's face had appeared in the mirror, glancing occasionally back over his shoulder as if checking to see who was listening. "I'm not supposed to spend long periods of time away from the house."

"Of course." Lupin nodded towards Hermione. "Miss Granger just wanted to make sure that everything was all right at home."

"Right as rain," said Kingsley, too quickly. Hermione frowned.

Seeing the wary look in Kingsley's smiling face, Lupin decided not to comment, and pretended not to notice the uneasiness. "Marvelous," he said, "very good. We'll check in with you in a couple of days, then. Just contact me if you need anything."

Kingsley nodded. "Yeah," he said, in a way that implied very clearly that he wouldn't be contacting him for any reason. "You two take care."

"Wait, Mr-!" Hermione stammered, but Kingsley's face flicked out of existence even as she spoke, and the mirror's surface reflected only Lupin's calm expression, and Hermione's agitated one. Hermione turned on Lupin, biting her lip and crossing her arms over her chest in concern. "You don't suppose he would hide anything from us, would he? I mean, in the interests of the Order. Can we…can we really trust his assessment?"

Lupin waved an impatient hand at her. "Of course we can," he insisted, wishing that for once, Hermione hadn't been astute enough to pick up Kingsley's distressed nuances. He had absolutely no idea what the trouble was, but he knew that if Hermione convinced herself that everything wasn't okay at home, he would be back at square one with her, and it would be another long night of guarding the exits for him.

This time, however, Hermione seemed willing to accept his promise that Kingsley was telling the truth. She shook her head, as if trying to compose herself, and then nodded resolutely. "Okay," she said. "So…what now?"

Lupin stared at her, uncomprehending. "I beg your pardon?"

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked a second time, with a little shrug. "Anymore windows to fix or fireplaces to charm? What can I do to help?"

In some confusion, Lupin watched her, realizing that she was expecting him to find something for her to do with herself. To be completely honest, he realized, he wasn't used to having guests, or at least, to entertaining anyone other than members of the Order, who were almost always on some sort of business, with the intention of completing a certain task. It had never occurred to him that he would have to find some way for Hermione to occupy herself. Why should he? She was essentially a grown woman, after all. Surely she could occupy herself somewhere quietly, couldn't she?

"Ah, no," he said, "no, there aren't any more windows, we've gotten them all. Actually, I think security's quite sufficient for the moment. I can't think of anything we haven't done."

"Oh," said Hermione, looking a bit disappointed. "Well, all right, then. I'll just…go downstairs, shall I? I think I'll come and make dinner later, too." She gave an empty dish on the floor by the bed a cursory, uncertain look, then smiled at Lupin, and headed out of the bedroom, and down the stairs again.

Lupin rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. He was all too aware that he'd been alone for too long, and yet that realization kept hitting him anew at odd and inopportune moments. It made him feel very silly, very old, and very uncomfortable, none o f which were feelings that he thought he should have to experience in his own home, on his own ground. That girl did things to his head that a man his age…

Abruptly discontinuing that line of thought, Lupin strode from the room, determined to focus his energies and disconcerting thoughts on something more worthwhile.

Several hours later, Lupin found himself buried waist deep in a pile of Daily Prophets. He was skimming article after article, attempting pick out suspicious statements by Prophet reporters. Tonks had informed Mad Eye Moody weeks ago that she thought there may have been a spy amongst the wizarding journalists, who periodically announced the capture of a Death Eater who was still very much at large, for the sake of throwing the Order, and the wizarding community off of the scent. Moody had, as he very often did, passed the task of ferreting out the spy on to Lupin, as it didn't require any confrontational activity, and Moody seemed to fancy himself the Order's new leader, by way of his being the oldest and most apparently experienced with abuse of the Dark Arts.

Lupin didn't honestly mind. Sirius may have objected to being out of the line of fire, but Lupin liked the idea of keeping himself in one piece, and still being useful to the Order.

And while you're here, said an annoyingly persistent voice in the back of his mind, you're useful to her, too.

Thoughts of Hermione drew Lupin's attention away from the papers, which weren't particularly illuminating. He wasn't helpful to her, he told himself with a grimace. He couldn't even seem to find something about which to have a conversation with her. She was probably bored to tears, and he hadn't bothered to do a thing about it, other than to make her do a bit of work on his windows. For that matter, what had she been doing all this time?

Glad of the distraction, Lupin rose, and made his way to the hidden basement entrance. He could hear the clicking of Hermione's knitting needles as he descended the stairs, and, as he came around the corner towards the guest room, he saw them hanging in mid-air, holding up half of an unfinished, scarlet-red…something. It would probably be easier to determine what it was supposed to be when it was finished.

For a moment, he didn't' see Hermione at all. She wasn't next to her needles, and she wasn't sitting on the couch where he'd seen her previously. It was only when he went right up the couch and glanced behind it that he found her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her chin in her hands, looking extremely focused. In front of her was a very old-fashioned wizard chess board,

Hermione looked up, and went slightly pink. "Sorry, Professor," she said, pushing the chess board away from her. "I just found it, and I hadn't played in so long that I thought I just might try to play against the board for a little bit."
Lupin snorted. "Be my guest," he said. "If it's been sitting down here all of these years, it's nothing that I'd miss." Walking around the back of the couch, he sat down on the other side of the board, and looked it over. Hermione seemed to be winning, but not by a more than a margin. All of her pieces, which, rather than black,were a very half-hearted shade of dull gray, were still on the board, but she had only managed to capture two of the dusty, blue/white pawns that were apparently being controlled by her magical opponent. Lupin blew on one of them, and it became a little more clearly white, as a puff of strangely-scented dust erupted off of it in a tiny cloud. "It's been years since I've played, myself."

"Ron's excellent at it," said Hermione, shaking her head and smiling reminiscently. "Harry can't ever beat him. They play all the time, but they get so involved that they never seem to let me have a turn."

"I imagine Ron enjoys that. There isn't much that Harry gets bested at." Lupin pushed at one of the bishops absently, and the board gave off a second, indignant puff of smoky dust. The piece didn't budge.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hermione retorted, snorting, but not maliciously. "Harry's an excellent wizard, but he's lacking in a lot of departments. Chess is only one of them, and not the greatest, might I add."

Startled, Lupin looked up, and gave her a very searching look. "What departments might those be?" he asked sharply.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open, and Lupin realized all too late that the tone he'd let creep into what he'd meant to be an innocent question was entirely too revealing. And yet, Hermione must have known that he would take her comment that way. After all, what could she possibly have meant, other than to insinuate that she knew things about Harry's…performance that in departments other than those of magical defense? Was she teasing him?

"I…that's not…gracious, Professor." Hermione was turning multiple colors, going from white, to red, to vaguely purple, as if her face couldn't figure out which emotion it wanted to display. Then, almost bizarrely, she laughed. "It's not very nice to joke with me like that. I thought you were serious for a moment."

Lupin blinked. He'd thought she was serious for a moment, too. What exactly were they talking about? He forced himself to laugh, too, and although it sounded a bit hollow to him, she seemed mollified by his apparent humor. "Sorry," he said. "Hard to resist."

Hermione pointed at a space on the board, and one of her pawns swaggered confidently forward. The board seemed to think for a moment, and then sent out one of it's rooks, which charged the pawn with an echoing roar, and flung it off of the board on to the floor beside Hermione. Lupin saw Hermione wince. "I'll never get used to the way they do that," she muttered. "Mum's an avid chess player, but obviously the pieces we have back home don't go after each other's blood quite like that."

Lupin grinned. "When I was at school, we used to gang up all together, the four of us against the board, and just watch our pieces pick the other ones off one by one. A bit bloodthirsty perhaps," he added, as Hermione wrinkled her nose with distaste, "but boys, I suppose, will be boys."

"I wouldn't' know anything about that," she replied sarcastically. Lupin laughed.

"I don't suppose I could play?" he asked, gesturing at the white pieces. "You could probably beat me a lot more easily than you could beat the board, and the game might not last very long, but I've always found it to be more fun to play against a living opponent."

Hermione nodded. "Sure," she said. "That is, if you're not busy."

When Lupin attempted, for the second time, to take control of the white pieces, the board reluctantly relinquished them to his command, and he began to move them a bit closer to Hermione's side, taking a more offensive line than the board had been. Hermione, in turn, moved most of hers around the king a nd queen, and refused to remove any of the pieces that stood right in front of them, as if expecting that if she didn't make any aggressive maneuvers, Lupin wouldn't be able to make any himself.

"Didn't Ron ever teach you that you can't play a defensive game of chess?" asked Lupin, as his pawn took her bishop with a hollow wooden thunk. "You have to attack, be forceful, or else you'll get cornered."

"Oh," said Hermione sweetly, pointing at a space across from Lupin's bishop. One of her rooks rushed forward and tackled the bishop. "Sorry, Professor. Is that better"

"Yes," said Lupin, frowning as he noticed that she had lined herself up directly with his queen, although they were many, many spaces across the board from each other. "That's…much better."

They played on like that for several minutes, until Lupin was forced to admit that Hermione's apparently defensive tactics were giving him a very hard time. Just as he was wondering whether or not he should call it off and admit defeat gracefully, rather than lose to a former student, Hermione spoke up.

"You know," she said, looking him directly in the eye, and only coloring slightly this time. "I really wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't know what?" asked Lupin, although he thought he already knew.
"Wouldn't know about Harry's performance in other departments," she said, quite bluntly. Lupin hoped desperately that his face wasn't displaying the warmth of relief that statement brought to his heart.