divided.

Installment Three.

The phone is ringing. Niamh's brain barely registered what was going on until it was nearly too late. God who the fuck is calling me at this hour? She thought as she rolled over and groped around for the phone. It was nearly 1 pm, but after staying up drinking West Coast Cooler and gossiping with the girls until well after 6 am, 1pm felt like 7am. And Niamh was well convinced that being awake at 7am on a Saturday for no good reason had to be some kind of mortal sin.

"Hello," she answered the phone, her voice raspy from drink and clove cigarettes.

"Did I wake you up?" She heard her mother's voice on the other end of the line, and sat up in her bed. "I thought I waited long enough...It's almost 1pm over there, Niamh, you can't keep sleeping the entire day away." Niamh pretended not to hear her mother's last comment.

"Good-morning, Mom," she intoned.

"Good-morning, Sunshine," was her reply. "So, how was your week? What did you do last night that kept you in bed this late today?"

"Sinead, Shirley and I had a girlie night. Drinks and videos and stuff, you know. We stayed up all night talking. Literally, the sun was rising as we were starting to think about bed."

"You girls." Niamh could hear her mother shaking her head. "So how's work?"

"Work is work. Really busy. I'm breaking my back trying to prove myself to people and get away from Uncle Vince's name. But it's going really well."

"Try not to kill yourself, Niamh, I'm sure you're doing just fine, I'm sure no one thinks you have this job just because of your Uncle. Please, just take care of yourself sweetheart. ...Are you sleeping enough?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm sleeping plenty." Niamh had to smile. Her mother was a bit of a worrier. Niamh being across an ocean certainly wasn't easing her concerns, either.

"So, have you made any new friends?" Another thing her mother worried about, her social life. Every time they spoke Niamh got 20 questions about who she had or had not met.

"Nope. Mostly I've just been spending time with Shirley and Sinead and their friends. And I've been with Aidan a bit too."

"How's Aidan?"

"Good, I guess. I don't know, Mom, I don't really want to talk about him..."

"Why not? Are things not working out well between you two? You need to be careful, I warned you about this, dating in the workplace isn't easy."

"It's not that, Mom. He's a great guy, things are fine. But they're just...oh, never-mind, it's not even worth getting into right now. It's stupid. Aaanyway... I haven't seen Fred and George in a while, which sucks, but I'll be back in London in a few days, so I'll get to see them again then."

"Fred and George?" her mother asked. Niamh could practically hear her mother's eyebrows rise.

"Remember, the twin brothers in London, they own the wizarding joke shop?" She sighed. "I know I told you about them." Her mother was forever having a difficult time keeping track of her friends, repeatedly reminding her who so-and-so was, had become quite annoying over time.

"Oh, yes, yes. The redheads." There was a moment of silence. "How are they doing? Have you spoken to them lately?"

Niamh hadn't seen the twins in about a week. In fact, she hadn't seen them since before she last spoke with her parents on the phone. Both of her parents knew very little about the twins, mainly because Niamh wasn't sure what to tell them, or how to explain the situation. Her father, typically, wasn't too concerned about her friendships. He knew she would be okay given time, and generally, he was the one reassuring Niamh of that fact whenever she started to get down about her current social life. Because he didn't worry so much about it, he rarely asked any specific questions about her social life. Mostly, he liked to hear about work and sports and such, and sometimes he liked to chat about current events, or brag about how wonderful her younger brother was doing at college. Anything he might know about the twins would come through her mother. And with her mother, Niamh was always careful about detailing any relationships she had with men.

Her mother meant well, but Niamh was relatively sure she was beginning to fear she might never have grandchildren, and so, she was beginning to jump the gun. Her mother enjoyed reading into relationships far too much, and invariably, she found a way to make Niamh feel uncomfortable about things. For instance, not long after she'd arrived in Dublin, Niamh had made the mistake of mentioning the fact that she'd had a dinner with her colleague Stephen. For weeks, her mother could ask about nothing else but Stephen. She had been fishing for details that might indicate a relationship, inquiring in a tone of voice that made it clear she was only interested in hearing what color hair her future grandchildren would have. In reality, Niamh and Stephen had met over dinner only once, and then, only to discuss a project they would be working on together. Niamh wasn't attracted to Stephen in the least, besides the fact that he was married with 2 small children.

"When will you be seeing them again?" It was there again, that tone of voice that indicated her mother was reading into things all over again, beginning to imagine little redheads running around their Long Island home, and trying to trick Niamh into offering some kind of information that would corroborate this fact.

"Mom, you're insane!" Niamh laughed. Over the years, she'd become quite accustomed to her mother's fishing. It had begun in High School, and only gotten worse with time. Niamh laughed it off. "They're just friends, Mom, just friends."

"I know that but--"

"No buts, Mom. That is it. Besides, you know I'm seeing Aidan."

"Well it's just that you didn't sound too enthusiastic about Aidan earlier, and--"

"Mom, when I have a relationship I will be sure to tell you about it, no matter how minor it is. Otherwise, you can assume that any men I mention otherwise are nothing more than friends or colleagues."

"I know, I know."

"Anyway. Enough about me and my boring life. Or lack thereof. How's everything at home?"

Finally feeling awake, Niamh settled back into her bed and wrapped herself up tightly in the down comforter that had followed her around the world from her last apartment. Her mother was chattering on about some kind of tap-dancing class that she had been attending with some of her girl-friends, and Niamh was only half listening as she began to debate what to do with her day. They were beginning to run low on groceries in the apartment, but Niamh was in no mood to shop, and she certainly wasn't in the mood for the hour long bus ride that she faced if she chose to go with Shirley to visit her family out in Swords. Really, she just wanted to vegetate in the apartment. She was sure Shirley would bust her chops about it, but she didn't really care. She liked staying in just as much as going out, for the most part, and she was relatively convinced she deserved at least one day a week of absolute nothingness. Besides, her website needed a bit of work, and she couldn't exactly do that from Swords where there was no computer (never-mind dialup access), or from a grocery store.

Just as Niamh was deciding how she'd tell Shirley about her boring, lazy plans for the day, her mother started to say goodbye.

"Do you want to talk to your father?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Alright, sweetie, I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

"Bye."

"Bye." She could hear the phone changing hands.

"Hey Nee."

"Morning, Daddy." She smiled.

"Morning for me, maybe." She could hear him smiling on the other end of the line, teasing her a bit, "But for you? You've slept well into the afternoon. So, how was your week?"

"It was okay. Pretty average, if you ask me."

"Did you put in a lot of hours this week? You know you need to put in plenty of overtime as a new employee, show your dedication and work ethic..." he trailed off.

"I put in a few extra hours, of course--"

"A few? You should put in as many as you can, Niamh, at least 10 if not more."

"And when exactly am I supposed to have a life, Dad?" Her guard flew up quickly, and she shrunk deeper into her covers, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. "I'm putting in as many hours as I can without dying of sleep deprivation and depression."

"I'm just saying--"

"I know what you're just saying, and believe you me, I know how important my first impression is. But it's been 2 months, and I just cannot keep up that kind of pace anymore. I am a human being, I'm sure they understand why I can't be in the office 24 hours a day."

Honestly, Niamh wasn't so sure. In fact, most of the time, she never felt like she had done quite enough. It had been drilled into her practically from birth: you work yourself to the bone, you prove yourself to people, you perform at the highest of levels, you over-achieve no matter what it takes...or you are nothing. Her father meant well, but even after 22 years, he could not understand how very deeply Niamh took his criticism and advice. How much his opinion impacted her. Niamh's fear of failure, her fear of letting her father down even just once, was overwhelming at times. No matter how aware of it she was, no matter how far or fast she ran to get away from it, even just two well placed words from her father could take her back down into that ditch. It was always a fight.

"That's not what I meant, Nee." She could hear him exhale sharply. She knew he had just been trying to help, and she hated how she let him affect her so greatly, but every once in a while she began to feel like an insecure 15 year old again around him.

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. It's been a long week and I...I dunno. I've been feeling a bit homesick lately. And I've been spending too much time in the office without getting nearly enough done. Then there's the fact that I had to obliviate someone the other day, and... I just...I'm overreacting."

"It's alright sweetheart, I understand. Do you want to talk about anything?" he asked softly. "Who did you have to obliviate? What happened? I know how much you hate that."

"Mom told you about Aidan, right?"

"Yes. The new boy you're seeing. He's an Irish Muggle from work, right?"

"Yeah. Well, he showed up at the apartment suddenly two nights ago...kind of forced his way in. I was in the middle of reading my brand new copy of Hogwarts: a History at the time, and--"

"Niamh, tell me you'd dissimulated it as soon as you bought it," her father begged, even though he already knew the answer. "Niamh, you need to do that immediately, you know that. When will you ever learn?"

"I asked myself the same thing right after I stupefied him."

"Was he curious? Did he know what it was?"

"He asked what it was, and he seemed both shocked and confused as he began to read the blurb on the back of the book...I just, I knew I had to do it, no matter how much I didn't want to."

"You did the right thing, Niamh, it would have been much worse if you tried to play it off and left the memory there. You know that. You know you can't risk exposing yourself, or our world. You know what could happen if you left him with those memories. And as much as you don't like to obliviate, doing it the right way, the safest way, is important. You did the right thing," he reassured her, but it did little to ease her conscience.

"I know, Daddy. But I hate it. Knowing it's the right thing doesn't make it any easier to look into his eyes afterwards, to see the empty gaze oblivation leaves behind...I hate it. I always feel like such a monster."

"Someday, Nee, you're going to have to learn to accept this part of your life." As he continued, his voice became even softer. "Or you'll have to choose to abandon one world for another..."

It was a thought that neither one of them liked to entertain. Her father had led a part-time life for 54 years, and his mother had done so before him. It was their life, being part-timers, and the thought of Niamh abandoning it, potentially for the non-wizard world, was a sad one. She would be abandoning a rich family tradition. And really, that was the case no matter what decision she made. So instead, everyone tried to live their lives as though it weren't an option. But there were always moments, moments like these, when it popped its head up over the walls they had built and reminded them it was there. The choice.

"No, Daddy. Stop it; you know I won't ever do that. I'll just have to get used to this." She sighed heavily, and there was silence across the phone line, parties on either side of the ocean thinking quietly.

"Look, let's talk about something else. Do you have a quidditch game tomorrow?" Her father broke the silence quite suddenly, turning the conversation in a completely different direction.

"Yeah, actually, I do. I can't wait. I haven't flown in weeks!"

*****

The Three Broomsticks was bustling with activity. Some people were spread out across the room gathered around old, worn, low tables and chatting in groups, while others were at the bar shouting orders for firewhiskies and pints of mead to a bartender over the constant din. Madame Rosmerta was schmoozing with customers, and a young looking bar-back was holding his wand out, leading a few precariously floating crates full of freshly cleaned pint glasses toward the bar. It seemed crowded for a Tuesday night, but then, the twins were rarely ever in pubs on weeknights, so they wouldn't really know. Besides, the only times they'd been in The Three Broomsticks were back during their Hogwarts days. Now, between living in London and working every day on Diagon Alley, they rarely ever had cause to traipse all the way out to Hogsmeade.

Fred was honestly tempted to move a chair into the path of the bar-back. The kid wasn't paying attention to where he was walking at all, and if he hit the floor, so would all of the pint glasses. What a scene that would make! And he'd be a safe enough distance away to observe the chaos without taking the blame. Besides, only his siblings or his parents would even think to blame him, and none of them were there. Well, George was, but he wouldn't care. He'd laugh just as hard as Fred would, and Fred had a hunch Niamh would join in as well.

"Fred," she hissed sharply as he toyed with the wand in his lap. Perhaps his judgment of her had been wrong. "If you're going to try and trip him up, let me do it, no one will expect it from me!" Or not. Her idea was even better.

But the moment passed too quickly, and by the time Niamh had tried to subtly grab her wand out of her bag, the bar-back had ushered the trays of pint glasses safely onto the top of the bar. Dammit, he was quite sure he heard her mutter under her breath, it brought a smile to his face. She definitely loved mischief, that was for certain, he saw that more and more as he spent time with her. In fact, every time they hung out, Fred got to see a little bit more of her personality.

It was odd. At first, she'd seemed so forthright. So much alike he and George: extroverted and confident, always talking, laughing generously, basking in attention. It seemed like Niamh put herself out there, completely, all the time. And yet, the more time Fred spent around Niamh--the more he learned about her--the more he realized that the forthright, outgoing side she showed upon meeting someone was only the tip of the iceberg. Sure, she was plenty extroverted and mischievous, loud and self-assured. But she was also equal parts thoughtful, introverted, and gentle--she just displayed those traits very differently. She hid those away from people she didn't know or in situations where she felt uncomfortable. Fred could only assume that she hid her vulnerability because of a fear of being hurt, although he couldn't imagine what in her past would have brought her to that point in her life...the point where she hid herself away from the world. But then, he thought, he couldn't really imagine or understand much of her life at all anyway. The multi-facets of her personality were obviously no different.

"So, what do you think of Hogsmeade, Niamh?" Fred asked.

It was her first visit to Hogsmeade. She'd popped up in their shop earlier in the day, holding out a small slip of paper on which she'd drawn a crude representation of an eye, that read "I O U a trip to Hogsmeade, whenever you want it, <3 Fred & George." She swore their owl dropped it off at her suite in Notting Hill a day or so after they'd first met. He maintained there was no possible way Errol could have found her, but she would not budge. And since the shop was nearly empty, as Tuesday afternoons always were, they decided to shut down a bit early and take a "field trip" with Niamh to Hogsmeade, on the condition that she do some intelligence work for them in Zonko's Joke Shop. They'd visited pretty much every shop in the town, and even gone to The Shrieking Shack (which they failed to tell her was not actually haunted, then, or ever, because the look on her face was too priceless), ending their afternoon with a stop into The Three Broomsticks. They'd been there for a few hours by the time they were debating tripping up the unsuspecting barback, laughing and chatting easily, mostly debating the virtues of their national quidditch teams--Niamh supporting her adopted Ireland, and the twins supporting England.

"Are you enjoying Hogsmeade so far?" added George.

"Actually, yeah I am. It's really quaint, and adorable. Although, Zonko's has nothing on you guys!" She winked. "And this pub. Woosh. I'm just loving this place. Besssst pint of mead I've had in a while." She squeezed her eyes shut as she emphasized the word 'best.'

"Pintsssss, more like." George grinned.

"Shutup." She squinched her nose up at him.

"You're pissed," he added.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are not."

"Am too!"

"You said it." He shrugged. She froze, smile still on her face.

"Wait! No! Am not!"

The twins dissolved into hysterical laughter, Fred doubling over in his chair and hugging his stomach, George, mostly keeping his eyes glued on Niamh and watching her reaction, which only made him laugh harder. Niamh was not laughing, although it was obvious it was taking a great deal of effort for her to abstain. She had crossed her arms violently over her chest, and painted an angry pout across her face. Ultimately, instead of looking even remotely serious or hurt, she ended up looking like a spoiled, over-dramatic six-year-old who had just found out the shop was out of her favorite brand of fruit gums. George found this particularly amusing.

"Oh go on. You know it's funny!"

"No, George, it's not," Niamh said, still looking serious.

But it was funny. And it was as if opening her mouth to speak broke the careful seal she'd built over the laughter balled up inside her. She could no longer hold up her angry front. After a few deep breaths, Niamh also dissolved into silent giggles, leaning over, her shoulders shaking with laughter. When she looked up, she froze for a second, a look of shock and confusion on her face.

"Uhm. Who or What is that?" she asked, gesturing subtly with her head off in the distance behind Fred. "When I looked up he was suddenly there, like he appeared out of nowhere...that's kind of shocking considering his size..." she trailed off as the boys casually twisted in their seats.

"Hagrid?" they both said aloud at the same time. He was sitting on the far side of the room.

"Hagrid?" she responded, in kind. "Who is he?"

"Oh, just a friend of ours. He, ehm," Fred paused and gave George a strange look. "He worked at our school as a grounds keeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor."

"How did he get here without us--he's not exactly light on his feet, and he can't use magic..." George hissed at Fred through closed teeth. "Something's fishy..."

"Is he a giant? Aren't giants much bigger and kind of scary looking? I mean, I've never seen a giant before, but I've seen pictures in books, and that's not what giants look like. But I've never seen a wizard that big before, I mean, look at him, he's HUGE--"

"Niamh, breathe between sentences, you're going to pass out." Fred laughed at her. "And no, Hagrid is not a giant. But, he is part giant, which explains his size."

"Fred. This is..."

Before George could finish his sentence, things got even fishier. So fishy, in fact, that the smell could have knocked them over, even from all the way across the room. Suddenly, from the direction of the loos, emerged both of Fred and George's parents. Mrs. Weasley waved excitedly at Hagrid, and she and Mr. Weasley began to pick their way through the crowd toward him.

"Weird," Fred finished his sentence. "Mum and Dad almost never come to the pub. And why were they just coming from the loo? Shouldn't they come in through the front door?"

"Something is going on. I don't like this."

"What are you two talking about? Your parents are here? Where?" Niamh began looking around the room, trying to spot them between the crowds of people; she was having a hard time following the twin's gaze as it moved across the room. "Where?"

"Never-mind. Quick, let's get our things and leave, before they see us."

"Why?" Niamh asked, still seated, not yet reaching for her jacket, although the boys were half way into theirs already.

"Oh. Ehm, we had a row with our Mum this morning, and we're just really not interested in seeing her right now." Fred shot a look toward George.

"Oh yeah. It was really nasty, she was giving out to us over nothing, and we just don't want to--" George was cut off by the sight of his mother and father waving at them from across the room.

"Here we go," said Fred, as he dropped back into his seat unceremoniously. Both of his parents were making their way toward the table.

"Funny seeing you here!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed warmly, yet dramatically, as she arrived at the table, her bright patchwork skirt swishing around her.

"Oh yeah, Mum, a real laugh." George rolled his eyes.

"A real laugh riot, you might say," Fred added.

"Now boys, be nice to your Mother," their Father added, smiling.

"What are you boys doing here?" Mrs. Weasley asked, the twins could both tell she was pretending not to notice to the young woman sitting across the table.

"Oh, you know, just having a pint after work," George answered first, "nothing special."

"The real question is, what are you doing here?" asked Fred.

"Hagrid invited a few of us to come down this evening." Mr. Weasley answered simply, keeping a straight face. "Bill and Charlie are over there as well." Both twins rolled their eyes as they caught sight of their older brothers who had also very suddenly appeared in the pub. They certainly hadn't been sitting with Hagrid two minutes earlier.

"Isn't that convenient." They said in unison. Niamh was just sitting there, silent and confused, watching the conversation unfold before her. Something didn't feel quite right.

"Convenient? Why boys, I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about." Mrs. Weasley smiled sweetly, too sweetly. "Oh!" she exclaimed, placing a hand over her chest. "Why, who is this young lady? I'm so sorry, how rude of me, we haven't met before. I'm the twin's mother, Molly Weasley." She nearly knocked George out of his seat reaching a hand out across the table for Niamh to shake.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley, I'm Niamh Cassidy." Niamh shook her hand politely.

"Oh please, dear, call me Molly."

"Alright, well, it's nice to meet you Molly." Niamh smiled winningly. Parents were her game. Some girls gave good...well...she gave good parent.

"And this is my husband Arthur," she said, gesturing toward her husband just as he reached a hand toward Niamh.

"It's nice to meet you too." They shook heartily.

"We've heard so much about you," Arthur said.

"Only good things, I hope."

"Only good things." He nodded and returned her smile.

"I'm glad I'm finally meeting you, the twins have told me a great deal about you as well. I hear you're interested in Muggle Studies."

"Interested isn't the word..." George muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I find muggles completely fascinating, completely fascinating." He rounded the table and pulled up an empty chair. "The boys told me you grew up with muggles..."

"Great. Here we go."

"Please, join us why don't you," Fred added, sarcastically, very clearly frustrated. The situation was now totally beyond their control.

"Why, that sounds fantastic, Fred!" Molly exclaimed, turning to gesture towards her other sons and Hagrid. "Come here!" she called, excitedly.

Before the boys had the chance to say another word, Charlie, Bill and Hagrid were interrupting Arthur and Niamh's conversation with introductions. Everyone began pulling up chairs, Hagrid even had Charlie conjure a large enough stool for him to sit on. The table was suddenly packed and Hagrid was ordering everyone another round of drinks. Niamh and Arthur were engrossed in a conversation about muggles in America, which everyone else was listening in on, completely ignoring the twins who were both wondering what exactly had just happened, and why they had just been ambushed by half of their family on a quiet night out with a friend.

Both Fred and George were beginning to realize that keeping new friends hidden from the family (especially those of the female persuasion) was going to take a lot more work than they had been prepared for. For Niamh, it was too late; they'd already lost her to the dark side. Or, well, not really the dark side. More like, the figurative dark side. She'd never be theirs alone, again. She'd no longer be this really great girl who didn't know anything about the rest of their life, who they could turn to with whatever, and not feel like her opinion was vested in the interest of everyone, and not just the two of them. And more than they'd have liked to admit, they had become quite accustomed to having someone on the outside, someone who knew nothing of the darkness and depth in their life. She was like an escape to them. And they were both relatively convinced they'd just lost that escape in one fell swoop.