divided.

Installment Six.

"Who's that in the sitting room with Professor Dumbledore?" Ron asked, ambling into the kitchen as the meeting slowly cleared out.

For the most part, the kitchen had emptied by the time Molly had called up announcing supper. Some of the usual suspects had stuck around, a few interested in meeting the girl Fred and George had been hiding from them, others tempted by Molly's offer of home-cooked food. There were even a few newbies around, most of them still looking wide-eyed, trying to connect with more established members. Remus, Sirius, and the older Weasleys seemed interested in the new company and grateful for the attention (especially that of the female persuasion). Snape only seemed inconvenienced, his eyes constantly darting toward the door as he made deliberate progress across the room.

Suddenly, Snape broke free from the last of his admirers and he swept quickly toward the door without a word. In his haste to escape Grimmauld Place, he nearly knocked Harry to the ground rushing over the threshold between the kitchen and the stairway to the main floor. Harry grunted as the impact caused all the air to rush out of his lungs. Although he was tempted to say something pointed, Harry knew he would only find himself in trouble, so instead he shot an angry look toward Snape's retreating form.

"Look at me like that again, Potter, and you'll find yourself wishing you'd practiced your Occlumency." Harry scowled and rubbed at the sore spot on his chest.

"What's crawled up his arse and--"

"Ronald," Molly said sternly, he needed no more chiding and fell immediately silent.

"Who was that in the sitting room, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, a few moments later as she and Ginny entered the kitchen.

"She's a friend of Fred & George," she answered absently, turning to swirl a spoon around in a large pot. "If all goes to plan, you shall meet her shortly."

Hermione and Ginny caught up with Ron and Harry, who had both been listening to Mrs. Weasley, hoping for a clearer answer to the question they'd all been harboring. As per usual, they had all been attempting to eavesdrop on the Order Meeting, piled around the staircase in the Main Hall. In fact, none of them had seen the girl with Dumbledore in the sitting room. They'd only caught a glimpse of her, walking down the passageway along side him, in their scramble to find hiding places when the door to the Kitchen had so suddenly opened. None of them could identify her as someone they knew, or even knew of. All they knew of her was the swish of her long, dark robes and the red hair that fell down over her shoulders and upper back. Although none of them knew all of the members of the Order, they at least recognized faces. This girl, she was certainly a stranger. And to put it lightly, it was strange to see a stranger at Number Twelve Grimmuald Place.

"She must be the one Mundungus told us about. Mum and Dad were talking about the other night..." whispered Ginny as they all took seats at the table.

"If all goes to what plan?" Harry thought out loud, leaning forward in his seat until his elbows met his knees.

"Oh, yeah, I bet she is," Ron offered, "they met her accidentally on purpose at the Three Broomsticks. I bet Fred and George were so cheesed off."

"They didn't mention it." Hermione cocked her head slightly to the side.

"Of course they didn't. Those two have been keeping secrets lately. And for no good reason, the gits...it's driving me mad." Ron shook his head.

"Something is going on with that girl, if you ask me," Harry said. "Fred and George hiding her from us, then your Mum mentioning a plan...How could we have missed this?"

"I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but you two miss an awful lot around here." Hermione chided, only half-serious. She was getting tired of their constant, vociferous quidditch debates and the way they followed Remus and Sirius about the house all the time. At first it had been quite a nice distraction from the doom and gloom about Grimmauld Place, watching the pair of them make fools of themselves, but the pleasure had worn off quickly. Still, she knew they were coping with everything the best way they knew how: by attempting to completely ignore the fact that they had been wholly stripped of any ability to help fight the battle now underway.

"Shutup, Hermione," Ron muttered, watching his mother place pregnant plates on the table.

"Would you two care to help me?" Mrs. Weasley directed her question the twins, both of whom were pacing concentric circles near the fireplace.

"Yes, mum." They knew better than to turn her down.

As the twins carried stacks of plates and handfuls of goblets to the table, Mrs. Weasley followed with a large platter holding a roast. The twins doubled back and returned again with utensils and serviettes. Just as Mrs. Weasley was straightening up the last of the plates and standing to place her hands on her hips and sigh, Dumbledore's frame darkened the doorway. Almost immediately everyone's attention was glued to his next move. Gracefully he entered the kitchen, then smiled his usual twinkly smile and gestured toward the door.

"I'd like you all to welcome the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, Miss Niamh Cassidy."

A smattering of applause rose around the room, but Fred and George remained markedly silent, their heads hanging, chins to chests. The girl whose form they had only glanced from behind on her way to the sitting room crossed the threshold and entered the kitchen. She looked a bit shocked, and not in the least sure of what to do next, but Dumbledore saved her the thought. He took hold of her elbow and led her toward the kitchen table.

Harry watched as her robes, once again, swished around her. They were black, he noted, with strange stitching at the edges, and patches placed randomly (he could only read one, which said 'CBGB,' something that meant next to nothing to him). The round toes of dark boots with thick yellow stitches around the outside peeked out from under her robes as she stepped, but her hands, which appeared to be knotted together in front of her, remained hidden in the depths of her sleeves. She seemed to be average in height and build, her only truly remarkable feature being her long red hair, as fiery as any Weasley's in its color. As she came closer, tentatively smiling, Harry noticed that her eyes were the same color as his.

"Niamh, these are some members of the Order, Nymphadora Tonks--"

"Tonks," she intoned, smiling, her hair a bright shade of purple.

"Hestia Jones, Alastor Moody, Bill Weasley--who I've heard you already met--Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Mundungus Fletcher, and Bill Weasley." He gestured to each witch and wizard as he pointed them out. In turn, they all smiled or nodded in her direction, indicating welcome. "You already know Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I understand."

"Yes, sir." She smiled at Dumbledore, and then at both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Their warm smiles visibly eased her posture--she dropped her shoulders and took a quiet breath.

"These are two more of the Weasley children, Ron and Ginny, both of whom are students at Hogwarts. Friends of the family, also students at Hogwarts, are Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter."

Silence followed the statement, and Harry felt her eyes quickly scan his face. His fringe recently brushed away from his eyes, Harry knew his scar was visible, and he recognized the instant she caught sight of it. The look that crossed her face was one he'd become quite accustomed to in the years since he'd reentered the wizarding world. She froze for a moment, squinting, as if to assure she was not hallucinating, before taking a quick breath and snapping back into reality. He knew she recognized him, and a wave of nerves washed over him. He never knew how to handle himself in situations such as these.

"Oh. Uhm. Well, hi, everyone. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." She offered a tentative smile as she glanced about the room.

"Oh no," Sirius chortled, "the pleasure is all ours." His reaction made her clam up instantly, her shoulders tightening and her hands flying back together.

"Sorry, Niamh, you'll have to excuse Sirius' behavior. He doesn't get out much." Ever the pacifier, Remus did his best to make her feel welcome. Sirius delivered a swift punch to Remus' shoulder, which opened a floodgate of childish bickering.

"Ignore them," Fred and George said at the same time, rolling their eyes and coming round the table to pull out a chair for her. Unceremoniously, she plopped into the seat.

"You must have forgotten to mention that your brother's best friend, this Harry I've heard so much about, just so happens to be The Boy Who Lived," Niamh said, in what she thought was a low whisper. She narrowed her eyes at the twins dramatically as she spoke, and the moment was not lost on Harry, who had paid attention to little else since she had entered the room.

"We didn't even realize you knew who he was." Fred shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah, how were we supposed to know?"

"Do I look like I didn't go to school? Or perhaps, like I never read a single book about the history of wizardry, in all of my twenty-two years on this planet?" George opened his mouth to reply. "Don't answer that. I don't want to know." She raked her hands through the length of her hair, gripping the ends tightly for a moment before releasing them with a sigh.

Harry was curious about what Niamh was going to say next, especially if it concerned him. He wasn't sure why he cared what she was going to say about him, or what she thought or knew about him. For the past 5 years he had heard it all, essentially, and frankly, he had grown quite tired of people's expectations (or lack thereof) for him. For the most part, Harry despised being The Boy Who Lived--there was an awful lot of pomp and circumstance and not too many perks. Or at least, not enough perks to outweigh the downsides.

And yet, he wanted to hear what she knew. All good things, he hoped. He wanted her to continue talking about him. He wondered what she might have learned of him, both inside and outside of school. Although his knowledge of foreign wizards was limited at best, his knowledge of American wizards was non-existent. That she even knew who he was shocked him in a way. In other ways, the thought made a smile tug at the corner of his lips. It was a strange confidence boost, watching Niamh peek surreptitiously over shoulder at him, her eyes sweeping over his seated form, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she turned back around.

"Molly, this looks positively scrumptious," Dumbledore said, sweeping up the edges of his robes as he tucked himself into the seat at the head of the table.

Harry had nearly forgotten that food was being served, his eavesdropping having distracted him so greatly. He squinched up his face as he turned toward the table, wishing Dumbledore hadn't interrupted Niamh's conversation. As he slid his chair back up to the edge of the table, where a plate was laid out for him, he heard Sirius chuckle.

"Harry, didn't that Aunt of yours ever tell you not to make faces like that? Someday, you might just get stuck that way!" The statement amused Sirius far more than it amused Harry, who could feel everyone's eyes on him once again. Even Niamh's.

"I don't know, Sirius, have you seen that woman's face? I don't think she's ever been in the position to comment," George deadpanned. Molly swatted him at the back of the head as she moved towards and empty seat on the far side of the table.

"That was inappropriate, George," she said earnestly as she sat down.

Harry watched as Sirius shot George and appreciative glance. One that read: 'Inappropriate, perhaps, but damn funny nonetheless.' The pair of them bit back laughter, neither keen on incurring Mrs. Weasley's wrath. People set to serving themselves from the platters at the center of the table. Harry piled mash high, next to a large portion of roast beef, and in the small space left on his plate he squeezed a portion of carrots and parsnips. After dousing everything in a healthy splash of gravy, Harry dug in, almost entirely unaware of his own hunger until he took the first few bites. Only then did it occur to him that he hadn't eaten in almost 7 hours. He found it difficult to eat with decorum, what with an ever widening pit of hunger beginning to open up inside his stomach, but for some reason, Harry still felt himself struggling to do so. And that struggle had begun to absorb nearly all his focus, to the point where he completely lost track of the events and conversations occurring around him. That is, until Mrs. Weasley released a loud, maternal clicking sound from the back of her throat.

"Niamh, you've hardly served yourself anything, no need to be modest dear. This has no doubt been a long day for you, please, eat up. Eat up!" As she spoke, Mrs. Weasley dug into the platter of roast beef with the serving fork, pulling out a portion large enough for several grown men.

"Oh, no, really, Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine."

"No, I insist. I won't have you starve to death under my roof."

"No, honestly, I have all the food I want. Everything is wonderful."

"But you haven't even taken a serving of roast beef." Mrs. Weasley seemed perplexed, still navigating the heavily laden fork towards Niamh's plate. This time, everyone was watching Niamh.

"No, really." The sentence was polite, but now it was very firm. Niamh held one hand out before her, and placed the other over her chest. "I have everything I need."

"But--"

"I don't usually bring it up, because I don't like to make an issue of it, but I don't eat meat, Mrs. Weasley."

"You what?!" Ron's jaw nearly hit the table.

"I'm a vegetarian."

"You don't eat meat?" Ron asked. "H-how?"

Hermione leaned forward and Harry could tell she was about to tutt at him, but Niamh turned to face them, and Hermione froze. A large smile spread slowly across Niamh's face, eventually baring a row of straight, white teeth. She shook her head at him.

"It's not that hard."

"Come off it now." Ron hadn't seemed to register the fact that his commentary could be seen as quite rude. "That's not possible. I mean, its part of every meal!" Niamh just continued to smile.

"Someday, if you'd really like to learn more about it, I can explain things to you in more detail. But let's just say I never enjoyed meat in the first place, so I felt no loss when I stopped eating it entirely." She answered his advance with the ease of a seasoned pro, she didn't even seem to be resisting a desire to rise to his bait. Harry wondered how long it had been since she'd stopped eating meat. With the effortlessness of her answer, he guessed, it must have been quite some time. Ron's mouth was still agape.

"Oh Ron," Hermione sighed, "put your jaw back where it belongs." Niamh giggled a little and directed her smile at Hermione, but as Harry looked on he noticed that Hermione straightened at the gesture, and did not return it.

"Well, I'll try and keep that in mind, so that next time you're over I'll have something prepared for you." Mrs. Weasley returned the roast beef to the serving dish, her cheeks flushed a deep red. Harry was sure he'd never witnessed that before.

"That sounds wonderful." Niamh tried to assure Mrs. Weasley with a warm glance and a nod.

"So, Niamh, tell us about yourself." Sirius said, as most dinners had mostly disappeared, it seemed time once again, for conversation.

****

When Niamh did not answer his question, Sirius found himself feeling increasingly intrigued by the young woman seated before him. He watched her closely as she concentrated on scratching patterns in the left over mushy peas on her plate, willfully silent, face set with a look he could neither recognize nor decode. It struck him then, as he watched her determinedly ignore him, that she reminded him a bit of Lily. The long red hair--hers a brighter red than Lily's by far--and the green eyes--although not nearly the beautiful wide, almond shape Harry now carried on--the determination to ignore him at all costs. It was like being in fifth year again, watching James try to get her attention, and feeling thoroughly confused at her resistance to associate with them.

"I knew Niamh's Grandmother, Beatrice, when she still lived in England. She was still a Bonham back then."

Niamh's head snapped up as he finished the sentence, looking as though she had never heard this information before. Also, Sirius noted wryly, she looked quite grateful for the distraction. Dumbledore smiled down at her and nodded. Sirius' ears had perked up at the mention of her Grandmother's maiden name...the Bonham's were a fairly well known British pureblood family, descendent from Mungo Bonham the founder St. Mungo's Hospital. At first Sirius had been curious as to how Dumbledore could have known about this girl...earlier conversations made it clear to him Fred & George were not his source of information. But with this new tidbit of information, things began to clear up for him, and a new question arose: How did a Bonham end up so far flung that her grandchildren had never known (and were, in turn, unknown to) British Wizarding society?

"She was a student of mine when I was a Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts. Actually, she was one of my very first students, which is why I remember her so well. Although, I must say, Transfiguration was not one of her strong suits." He laughed a bit, and a nostalgic smile flicked across his face and through his eyes. "No, no. Once, she nearly turned me into a duck with a mispronounced incantation and a poorly aimed wand. If I remember correctly, your Grandmother's best subjects were Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts--a bit uncommon for a Hufflepuff, I know. She may not have been wonderful with a wand, but she was bright, and quite intuitive."

"She loved to teach my brother and me about Potion making...all those formulae and such endlessly fascinated us...almost more so than all of her crazy stories about growing up in England." Niamh smiled wistfully, far off in her own memory. "All that potions practice came in handy, too. She was a great baker, which we always though was a plus in a Grandmother. She spoiled us silly with homemade pies and cookies and cakes." It took a few seconds for her to return to the present, it seemed. "She never spoke of you, sir, or at least...not as if she knew you personally."

"That's not surprising. I became a teacher at Hogwarts during her sixth year, so we didn't have much time to get to know each other. I saw her only a few times after she left Hogwarts, the last time being only a few weeks before she left for America. That was when I met your Grandfather--she was just showing him about Wizarding London for the first time. Poor chap, he looked a bit baffled by it all, but he stood by her side and listened intently. He loved her a great deal, he did. And she loved him deeply in return, I could tell. It was then that she told me she was moving to America, both to escape the War with Grindelwald--which was escalating dangerously at that time--and also to seek better opportunities for your Grandfather and their family than Ireland could offer at the time. Your Grandmother and I did not keep in touch, as we were never particularly close. She was a student, and I was merely a teacher... But I do remember her, yes, I remember her quite well." Dumbledore fell quiet, his eyes watching Niamh over the half-moons of his spectacles.

Niamh was watching her peas, once again, although this time her fork was at rest beside her plate, her hands in her lap. Though there were a few hushed conversations around the table, the room was largely silent, everyone watching the young woman inquisitively. Sirius was no exception. If she was aware of their attention, though, she gave no indication. She merely remained silent, looking contemplative. There was a lot on her shoulders, suddenly, and it seemed this reminiscence was bringing back a barrage of overpowering memories for her.

Gently, Niamh pushed her chair away from the table, the heavy wood scraping awkwardly across the rough hewn stone floor as she tried to collect herself gracefully. When she reached her feet, she picked up her dirty plate, and then the twins' and Dumbledore's. Molly looked as though she were about to protest, but a carefully placed hand from Arthur, silenced her speech. Instead Molly rose as well, lifting empty plates from those around her and following Niamh toward the sink.

For someone wearing such clunky boots, her footfalls were incredibly light. Silent, even, Sirius realized, as she crossed the threshold between the dining and cooking areas. But they were not the footsteps of someone timid or shrinking. No, they were the footsteps of a young woman so confident in herself that she did not need to announce her presence--her character--by the sound of her footsteps. There was no clicking of heels, mature and strangely seductive, no thud of boots, powerful and intentionally commanding. And yet, there was no tip-toeing. Merely the confidence to step lightly, subtly and almost secretively, carrying her presence into the world around her through other means.

He watched as she placed the small pile of dishes into the sink, and remained there, resting her hands on the edge of the sink and leaning forward, her head hanging. Her back rose and fell deeply with carefully measured breaths. Molly reached the sink and placed her own pile of dishes beside it. Leaning forward and speaking softly, inaudibly, she placed a warm hand on Niamh's back, rubbing a pattern of maternal circles. They shared a quiet moment, still oblivious to their audience before Niamh turned around with a look of purpose on her face.

"Oh Niamh, dear, please don't trouble yourself with cleaning up, the boys will take care of it."

"No, Mrs. Weasley, I don't want to be a guest in this home." Niamh shook her head. "I'd love to help clean up."

As Niamh began the trip back to the table, Charlie and the twins rose from their seats and reached for dirty plates and half empty platters, lending a hand to the cleaning process. But the gesture was about more than just cleaning, it was about lending a hand to Niamh, trying their best to help her feel more at home in their world. Everyone knew her transition would be difficult, and not a single person left in the room wished for her failure.