divided.

Installment Five.

"No," George said loudly, without thought. Everyone was staring.

"No, what? No, you don't have an American friend?" Dumbledore asked, the metered tone of his voice beginning to grate on their nerves.

Fred and George remained silent, ignoring the room, attention fixed on one another, communicating with their eyes. They didn't need words. Really, they didn't even need the eye contact. Instinctively, they both knew what the other was thinking, mostly because they were both thinking the same thing.

No. No, they would not bring Niamh into this. It was too risky. They couldn't place her in so much danger. Of anyone they knew, anyone at all, she was probably the very safest--an American essentially unknown to British wizarding society, always moving between locations, always able to pick up and move back to America if things got too bad--they couldn't live with themselves if they took that away from her. She was on the outside of this part of their life for a reason, and they had every intention of keeping her there. Because they cared.

"No. We have an American friend." Fred looked back toward the front of the room, carefully avoiding Dumbledore's eyes.

"We just don't think it's a good idea to involve her in this." It was spoken softly, almost into the table.

"Why shouldn't we speak to her if she can help?" The tone of his voice still painfully measured, still grating.

"We've only just met her, we don't know her very well yet and... We can't even tell you what her magical skills are like--she could be total crap! She didn't even go to school full time like we did," George continued. Dumbledore caught his eye.

"No, she wouldn't have done. Most American students would only study magic for half days, however, I assure this places them at no disadvantage--they study a great deal longer than British students do, beginning their magical education at the age of five."

There was silence around the room. George couldn't break the eye contact. Everyone kept staring, slightly awed, and the conversation remained between the twins and Dumbledore alone. The others could tell there was something going on behind the conversation. No one could put a finger on it directly, but all they knew it had to do with Dumbledore. He knew something. He was pushing the conversation for a reason.

"Tell me, honestly, why you don't want to ask Niamh to help us."

When Dumbledore used her name, they knew trying to lie again would be fruitless. He would shoot holes in anything untrue that they said. He knew more than they could quite fathom, and in its own way, the conversation he was engaging them in was merely a courtesy. There was a larger plan to everything around them, it seemed.

"Because no one knows who she is--"

"Because she's safe now and--" They started at once, almost drowning each other out.

"You both know that's entirely untrue." Dumbledore was right, frustratingly so. They didn't reply. "No one is safe, not from an evil of this magnitude."

"We know, but--" Fred began.

"Fred, I know you want to protect her from the dangers associated with resisting Lord Voldemort, but as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I would have hoped that you would believe not resisting him is the far more dangerous course." Both boys looked down at their hands. "At this point in the battle, we cannot risk falling behind. We must keep ahead of Lord Voldemort if at all possible. And we must take large risks in doing so.

"I know that both of you understand the importance of international cooperation in this fight...it could save your lives, and the lives of those you care about most. And I know you understand the necessity of assistance in international relations, you know intimately how busy your brother and I have been.

"I am not asking you to force a friend into harm's way, and your loyalty to this young woman is admirable, but unless you have a serious objection on the basis of her character, I would appreciate it if you let me speak with her tonight."

"Tonight?" they asked in unison.

"Yes, tonight. I assure you both that there will be no undue pressure placed upon her, but I would like to speak with her about the Order, and our plight. She will be given every opportunity to turn us down, and if she would like, I will erase the memory, and she can go on living her life as though nothing has happened. ...Will you contact her, and bring her here tonight so that I may speak with her?"

They thought carefully before Fred replied, "If you can assure us that her identity, and her role in the Order will remain as closely guarded as possible, we'll do our best to bring her here tonight."

"Although I can make no guarantees about her anonymity, it will be one of our highest priorities, as keeping her role discreet will help to keep the Order and its operations under wraps and that is, as you know, one of our constant concerns."

"All right," George agreed.

"Fred?"

"Yes, all right. What would you like us to do?"

"Do you know where Niamh is right now?"

"Well...not exactly. I can make a fair guess, though."

"I know for sure she's not in London tonight. She's in Dublin." George stood taller as he answered.

"She's probably at her flat. If not, her cousin, Shirley will know where she is."

"Have you been to this apartment before?"

"Once."

"Do you remember it?"

"Yes." Affirmative nods.

"Can you safely apparate there? Or shall I make two portkeys?"

"Two?"

"The second will be used to bring her back here."

"B-but, wait...how? She can't see the house."

"I'm well ahead of you, my boy," he grinned triumphantly, "as Secret Keeper, I have written down the address on a slip of parchment. You will give this to her when it is time to leave, she will read it and remember it, then you will destroy the parchment. After you have destroyed the parchment, you will be able to use the portkey to return here to Grimmauld Place."

"I understand."

"Well, can you safely apparate there?" He prodded, smiling again.

"Yes, we can," Fred said strongly, wanting to get it all over with. Everyone was staring.

Quickly, Dumbledore conjured a strange looking pot, almost like a very thin cauldron, suspended over a platform by a wire cage. The boys stared at it in confusion. They'd seen something like it once before, they were sure, but they couldn't pinpoint where or when. No one else in the room seemed to recognize it.

"Portus," he spoke softly, almost under his breath, concentrating closely on the pot type thing. He looked up, "Here. If she agrees, give this to her after you've explained the situation." From his sleeve he removed a small slip of parchment, folded into a square. "As soon as she has memorized it, destroy the parchment. You may then use the fondue pot to return here. Do you have any questions?"

"N-no. I don't think so."

"Well then, I look forward to meeting Miss Cassidy."

***

CRACK.

SCREAM. CLATTER.

"What the?" Niamh asked the empty bedroom around her. There was a commotion in the kitchen. "Shirley?! Is everything okay?" She called out as she abandoned her book and got up, heading toward the door. "Shirley?" she called again, having received no answer. "What's going on out there?"

"FUCK IF I KNOW!" A beat. "Bollocks! I'm going to have to put this all in the bin now." She growled loudly.

"Ooops?" Phrased as a question. A masculine voice.

"Is Aidan here?" The accent didn't sound Irish, but Aidan was from Armagh and his accent was a bit different. Still it didn't sound Northern Irish either. Niamh couldn't imagine who else would be there at 8.30 pm on a Thursday evening.

"Uhm. No. It's..." she trailed off, then spoke to whomever was there with her, "who are you?"

"Fred! George!" Niamh exclaimed as she emerged from the hallway and caught sight of them from behind. "What on earth are you doing here?" They turned to face her. "...With a fondue pot? Is that mine?"

"Fondue pot?" they asked at once.

"Yeah. The red thing that you're holding...what the?" She looked at them quizzically and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Portkey." George said simply.

"How did they get here? What is going on?!" Shirley seemed frustrated. "I don't understand! They just appeared out of nowhere. I...wh...ugh." She dug her hands into her hair.

"I'm sorry Shirley, I didn't...I should have explained apparating earlier, I just didn't think you would. Whatever. I'm sorry, I should have warned you something like this was any kind of possibility."

"Appa-what?" More than just confused, she sounded exasperated.

"Seriously, Shirley, I'm really sorry. I know that all of this change, so suddenly, is a lot for you. I should have told you about this earlier."

"Stop apologizing and explain." Her arms were crossed over her chest.

"Apparating is a magical form of travel. Instead of flying on a broom or moving through the Floo Network--remember that?--to get from point A to point B, licensed witches and wizards can apparate. On the most basic level, when you apparate, you disappear from point A and instantly reappear in point B."

"It's a little bit more complex than that," said George, indignantly.

"Yes, I know, George." Dry and forceful. "But right now doesn't seem to be the time for a full blown lesson in magical transportation." She shook her head and looked back at Shirley. "Have you ever seen Star Trek? You know, 'Beam me up Scotty'? That's what I always think of when I think of apparating. Teleporting from one place to another."

"That's kind of cool," Shirley offered tentatively, gradually seeming less frustrated.

"Yeah, actually it is. I was so excited to get my license when I turned 17. It can save a lot of time and effort if you know how to do it right." Niamh shot a look toward the boys, who were still in the habit of apparating for every little thing--a habit that drove her slightly batty and often, reminded her of just how young the boys really were.

"Uhm, Niamh, do you mind if we have a chat in private? It's kind of important." Fred was shifting nervously from foot to foot, hugging the fondue pot and looking mostly at the ground.

"No, that's fine. Is...is everything okay?" She shot Shirley an apologetic look and lead the pair of boys toward the back garden. When they were outside, she sealed the sliding door and the small canopy they stood under with impervious charms and turned to face the boys. "What's going on?"

"You should, uhm, take a seat," Fred suggested, still looking nervous. George seemed only marginally more comfortable as his eyes shifted over their surroundings before he conjured an armchair for her.

"So?" Their nerves were beginning to rub off on her. Her thoughts were darting around inside her mind, searching for any possible explanation for their behavior. For the sudden apparating, the portkey, and the obvious discomfort. She had begun to fidget with the claddagh ring on her right ring finger.

"We have something really important to ask you. But before we ask you anything, though, we want to make sure that you understand you can say no. At any time, for any reason, you can say no," Fred began.

"In fact, we encourage it," George added. It seemed cheeky to Niamh, but he didn't smile at all.

"Just. Please, think about all of this really carefully, because--"

"Think about what carefully? My god, you two are killing me! Spill it."

"I know this might be hard for you to believe, but as the Second War with Voldemort begins, Fred and I have become members of the revived Order of the Phoenix." Niamh gasped. Her heart was pounding. She knew from the look on his face that he meant every word, and things were clicking into place at a frightening pace. "Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order, has sent us to ask for your help in fighting this war. He would like for you to join the Order."

Her eyes lit up, and Fred's body jolted forward slightly as he suddenly interrupted, "It's not glamorous Niamh. Not even a little bit. Please, just--"

"Let him finish," she said very seriously, ignoring the content of his outburst carefully. She wanted to insist that she understood, that she was neither a child nor a fool, but she knew quarrelling would get them nowhere.

"We want you to know that we aren't here seeking your help voluntarily. Honestly, we'd both prefer to keep you entirely outside of this part of our lives. You're much safer that way. And I just, I don't know how we'll live with ourselves if this mess ends up getting you hurt, or worse, killed. But we've come anyway, because this is about something much bigger than either of us, and because Professor Dumbledore left us with no other choice." George paused, still standing directly before her chair, and tore his eyes away from hers, rubbing desperately at his temples, as though trying to fight the voice in his head telling him to obliviate her and leave.

There was silence for a while, neither boy speaking, or even looking directly at her anymore. Niamh didn't know if it was the right time for questions. They were both very clearly uncomfortable with the position they had been placed in, between herself and the Order. She didn't want to seem as if she weren't taking the weight of the situation to heart, but her gut was telling her this was all happening for a reason. She wanted to know more, to understand the situation more clearly, and to be able to make an informed decision. She knew in matters such as these, her gut reaction could not be the only factor in her decision making process.

Eventually, Niamh couldn't take it anymore, so she nudged the conversation along in the calmest voice possible, "How can I help the Order?"

"Niamh, please don't rush into this blindl--"

"Fred, calm the fuck down. God. I'm not rushing into anything. I haven't even made a decision." Niamh stopped to take a deep breath. Her heart was pounding but Fred was beginning to make her blood boil, no matter how good his intentions. She hated being treated like she was fragile, mentally or physically. "I am simply asking what you were sent here for. What does Albus Dumbledore think I can possibly offer to the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure of all the details. We'll leave those to Professor Dumbledore to explain. We know generally, that you'd be involved in International Relations, especially between America and Great Britain, but that's all."

"And we know that you could die. You are putting your life on the line if you join the Order, and you, and George and I too, we'll all have to live with that every single day."

"Okay, now you're bothering me. She's not thick, Fred, she gets it."

"Thank you, George."

"Is there anything else you need to know?"

"Is there anything else you two know, that you can tell me?" Her knees were bobbing up and down. She couldn't really stop them; too much else was going on inside her head.

"The Portkey will take us back to Order Headquarters. There Professor Dumbledore will explain everything to you in detail. You'll have every opportunity to turn him down, in which case he'll obliviate you, and you can go on living your life like nothing has happened. ...Don't make that face at me, Niamh, I'm just trying to...oh, never mind. In any case. You'll learn more about the situation back at Headquarters, where you can say yay or nay. After that, your guess is as good as mine."

Niamh took another long, slow breath, exhaling through puckered lips. "I'm in."

The boys looked at each other briefly as Niamh rose out of her chair, repeating the sentence softly, but firmly. They looked in her eyes and saw quiet determination. She had made her decision. In their hearts they knew, no matter what Dumbledore said, she was 'in.' In their hearts they knew, as uncomfortable as they felt with the situation, this was the way things were meant to work out. Niamh offered something to the Order that no one they knew could provide. And she was smart and brave and best of all, sly. She was the best thing for the Order, even if maybe, in some way, the Order wasn't the best thing for her.

From a pocket, Fred produced a small, folded slip of parchment. Both boys watched it as it transferred from his fingers to Niamh's. Without asking any questions, she unfolded the parchment, it trembled slightly between her fingers, and when she noticed the movement, she squeezed it tightly between her fingertips. Her lips moved, silently pronouncing the words she read. She looked up curiously after she finished.

"The address of the Order?" Her voice was low.

"Yes. Do you have it memorized?"

"Number Twelve Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes?"

"Yes. Memorized." George removed the parchment from between her fingers, and placing the tip of his wand to it, muttered incendio. It glowed with flame only briefly before it burnt out.

"Let's go." Fred held out the fondue pot/portkey. A smirk flickered across Niamh's face.

"Wait a second. I can't just disappear from the backyard without telling Shirley I'm leaving. And besides, I can't meet Albus Dumbledore dressed like this." She gestured to the sweatpants barely hanging onto her hips and the white men's undershirt through which a dark bra could be seen.

"Are you kidding me?" George almost laughed.

"Are you kidding me?" She jutted one of her hips out to the side. "I'm not meeting one of the most influential wizards in history in my pajamas. I look like a bum. For christ's sake, George, he's on the Chocolate Frog cards!"

"Ugh. Girls." He rolled his eyes playfully. "Alright, go ahead, but make it snappy."

***

"Conversely, if we--"

"Ouch!" The exclamation was louder than she would have liked. "Fred, you're on my toes," this time she hissed under her breath.

Quickly, he jumped off her toes and landed off balance, accidentally slamming forcefully into the back of Tonks's chair. The impact caused her to pitch forward and knock over several goblets of water which immediately soaked the rolls of parchment spread out across the center of the table. She squealed some kind of unidentifiable sound, and reached forward, attempting to clean up the mess she'd created, succeeding only in making the whole thing much worse.

"Ooops?" George offered.

"Well. It seems the only thing you two have to offer the Order," Snape scowled, "is insubstantial jokes and unseemly interruptions, Mr. Weasley."

George growled audibly, and Fred reached up to grab hold of the back of his jumper. It pulled as George started to lunge, but recognizing the tension, he stopped his forward motion. Niamh stood closely to the boys, eyes glued to Snape, who did nothing but stare sourly at her. She would not be intimidated.

"What's lodged up his ass?" She spoke out the side of her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with Snape.

She heard a snicker rise from the man seated in front of her, and the sound distracted her. Quickly, the man twisted around in his seat to look at her. His hair brushed across his cheek as he turned, before he swiped it away from his face. He smiled at her before speaking.

"Something beastly."

For an instant he seemed charming--with his long dark hair, quick wit, and the rakish grin that spread into his eyes--and she smiled back at him. Until something shuddered into place inside her brain and she had to tear her eyes away. He was a criminal. It didn't seem logical, that such a wanted fugitive would be welcome in the Order of the Phoenix. But she just knew it was him. Sirius Black. She was sure she'd seen his face on posters around Diagon Alley, even recently. Hadn't he turned his back on the Order and betrayed his best friends to Lord Voldemort?

Suddenly, Dumbledore swept over and placed a hand on her elbow. "Boys, you may take your seats again, thank you for your help." Immediately the boys acted on his suggestion, crossing behind the head of the table toward two empty seats. Their physical absence made Niamh feel distinctly out of place. Everyone was looking at her. "Miss Cassidy, I'd like you to come with me, please."

His hand moved from her elbow to the small of her back and he directed her toward the back of the room. They crossed behind the table and the crowds standing there parted respectfully, allowing them easy passage toward the door to the kitchen. Niamh looked up into his kind blue eyes just as they reached the threshold.

"Excuse me, sir, but...was that Sirius Black? Isn't he--" Dumbledore smiled down at her.

"Everyone here has my utmost trust and confidence, just as you do, Miss Cassidy." And she knew there would be nothing more said on the subject of Sirius Black for some time. "Now I have to ask you to be silent and walk lightly through this hallway. We don't want to incite any of the portraits." As they entered the hallway silently, his smile took on a light of what she could only identify as amusement.