divided.

Installment Seven.

"Where have you two been?" Niamh asked, a frown on her face, when her father answered the phone.

"Condo shopping with your Aunt Susan and Uncle Paul in Florida," he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Were you ever going to tell me about that? They're moving to Florida? Why? They haven't been in South Carolina that long..."

"We told you about the trip." She could hear him conferring with her mother in the background.

"No, Dad, you didn't."

"Yes, Niamh, I'm sure we did."

"I would remember if you had."

"Your mother told you."

"No." She paused, laughing to herself and rubbing a hand across her cheek. Her parents were forever forgetting to tell her about such things, most of them all relatively important, and later claiming that they had shared the information ages ago in some obscure, invented phone conversation. "Okay, whatever, this isn't worth arguing about. Next time, just keep your cell-phone on, alright?"

"Yes ma'am." She could imagine him saluting the air in front of him.

"Cut it out." She kept a giggle at bay. "Seriously Daddy, I have something I really need to speak with you guys about."

"Do you want me to get Mom on the phone too?"

"Yeah. That'd be great."

While she waited to hear her mother's voice on another receiver, Niamh settled herself down into the space between the toilet and the bath and drew her knees up tight to her body. With her free hand she was tracing patterns on the tiled floor with her wand. She knew she had made the right decision by joining the Order, but she was still worried about what her parents would say. Especially her mother. Despite her mother's keen understanding of the wizarding world, Niamh seriously doubted she would be thrilled to hear that Niamh was about to put her life on the line to stop a maniac purist trying to take over British wizarding society. In all honesty, Niamh was shocked at her own decision. She knew it was the right one to make, she could feel it in her gut, and she knew that she had a lot to offer the Order. But in spite of that, she'd never imagined herself joining what realistically amounted to an army. She would never have enlisted in the United States Armed forces or Navy, or for that matter, anything of that sort. This just seemed...so different to her. It was something she believed in.

"Hey pumpkin," her mother's voice drifted across the line. Niamh's heart swelled.

"I, uh...I'm not quite sure where to begin with this. Uhm." Niamh paused and forced herself to take a long, slow, controlled breath. In. And out. Again, In. And out.

"Nee, is everything alright?" her father asked, the only thing across the line was breathing.

"Everything is fine, I'm more than fine." She shook her head, trying to force the details into place. She knew honesty was the best policy--straightforward, the facts, nothing less.

"What did you want to talk about sweetheart?" Her mother's voice soothed across the line, instantly making her feel much better. Although Niamh was, in large part concerned about her mother's reaction, even more so than her father's, an even larger part of her knew that her mother was always on her side, always supporting her decisions. Everything would be fine.

"I'm not sure what you guys are hearing at home, but here in the UK, the top news stories are almost always about the return of Lord Voldemort."

"We're not hearing much about him," her father began, this was his territory, "and what we are hearing has been largely sugar-coated by the media. But I've been getting the Daily Prophet and a few of the smaller wizard publications from Britain and Ireland since you moved, so I have a pretty good idea of what's going on. Or at least, what the British Ministry is willing to admit is happening." She smiled to herself. Her father was skeptical of the government when it came to honesty in matters such as this. And Niamh didn't blame him; she knew how much lying was going on, especially after her talk with Professor Dumbledore.

Niamh's father was pretty liberal as far as wizards were concerned, especially for someone of his generation. It was where she'd gotten her liberal tendencies from. After living through the 60s and 70s in America as a young adult, even as a young wizard, it would seem difficult for him to be anything but liberal. But many of her friends' parents were not nearly as liberal as hers. Many of her friends weren't as liberal as she was. It seemed, to some extent, her family was a special case. She appreciated her parents' liberalness, she'd learned a lot from them. Like the value of life, and that human beings were human beings, regardless of race, creed, color, or blood-purity. The way they had raised her was a major factor in her decision to join the Order, because she believed so vehemently in what they were fighting for. In a world where things like blood-purity weren't an issue in inter-personal relations. In some ways, Niamh couldn't understand it at all. She couldn't get her mind around how anyone could look at a person and see those things, color and purity, they weren't even in her frame of reference. She knew it was something she had to fight against. On some level, she knew it was something her parents would be proud of, even if they feared for her life. The realization eased some of the tension in her chest.

"Well, although he's still operating mostly underground, he's definitely an ever-growing threat to life here. Do you, uhm, do you remember the Order of the Phoenix? Do you know anything about it?"

"I believe so. They organized to resist Lord Voldemort back in the 80s, during the first war, am I right?"

"Yeah. They organized back in the late 70s to resist Voldemort's rise. They had a pretty large membership back then, but for the most part they disbanded after Voldemort's fall. Today, they have reformed, once again to resist the threat Voldemort presents to the wizarding world, both in Britain, and abroad." Niamh took a quiet breath. "Yesterday, Albus Dumbledore approached me, asking if I would be able to help them." She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, it sounded like her mother. "It turns out that they need help with International Relations, especially with America, and Fred & George's family thought I would be just the help they needed. Professor Dumbledore agreed."

"Are you saying that--" Her mother's voice was higher than usual, strained. She did not finish her question.

"After a long talk with Professor Dumbledore about my potential role in the Order, I agreed to join. Now, before you start freaking out, Mom, they are going to keep my role undercover for as long as possible. That's one of the reasons I'm such a great candidate for this job, no one here knows who I am because I grew up in America and I haven't been here long. The Order is working to keep their entire operation secret...in fact, the only reason I'm allowed to talk to you is because I'm sitting in the bathroom with the room imperviated and I'm using a Muggle telephone to communicate with you. I will not be in direct combat situations or anything of the like, I'm just an envoy, trying to open up the lines of communication between Britain and America, trying to make the Magical Legislature see Voldemort as a threat that we must arm ourselves against before it's too late."

"You practiced that speech didn't you?" Her father laughed. It was not the reaction she expected. "You have it written down next to you, don't you?"

"Well...yes. But. Dad! That's not the point." She bristled at his comment. This was not funny.

"Padraig," her mother intoned.

"I'm sorry Nee, that wasn't appropriate." She could tell he was still laughing to himself. A few moments of uncomfortable silence followed. She wanted them to say something, anything, even if it meant they yelled at her for being reckless.

"Mom? Dad?" she asked tentatively.

"That's just, a lot to take in at once, sweetheart. I don't know what to say, really." Her mother began.

"You're an adult now, Nee, and these decisions are yours to make. If this is something you believe in, if you feel this is a way you can contribute to society, then you should absolutely pursue this. You made the right choice."

Her parents were big on that. On contributing. On giving back to the world, especially as it had always been so good to her. Niamh knew she was privileged. Her parents never let that escape her understanding of the world. She was aware of what she had, and she was aware that the world wasn't always as kind to others as it had been to her. She was fortunate. And she felt it was her responsibility to return what she could. Until recently that had always seemed like such an abstract concept to her. Giving back. But when she looked into Albus Dumbledore's eyes the night before, she knew she'd found the answer to that equation.

"Really? You mean that?"

"What else would you like us to say, Niamh? You are not a child anymore. And you live half-way across the globe. Like your father said, these decisions are yours to make, this is your life now." Her mother's tone was short and tight. Niamh knew that she meant every word, but that did not make the words any easier to speak.

"So you're...you're okay with this?"

"I guess we'll have to be." Her mother sighed and then fell silent.

"Yes, Niamh, we're okay with this. I'm proud of you. This is a good thing you're doing--" his sentence broke off abruptly. "Just be careful, all right?" He'd lost the calm, his voice now edged with something like sadness.

"Oooo!" She exclaimed, jumping a little and pressing her hand to the pocket of her jeans.

"What?"

"Oh, shit, sorry guys! I didn't realize the time. I have to run, I have a meeting in London right about now!" She jumped to her feet and reached for the bathroom door, pulling it open before reaching into her pocket to remove a Galleon as she exited the room.

The Galleon was no longer hot. It only glowed with heat for a brief moment, which was why she had been instructed to keep it in her pocket at all times. She would need to sense the heat in order to know that she was being summoned. Writing on the Galleon would change, indicating where she was needed. This time, the serial number had changed to a series of ones and twos. She was scheduled to be at Grimmauld Place. This was just a test run. Her meeting had been scheduled the night before. The Galleon's heat was only a brief reminder.

Niamh smiled as she flipped the fake coin over in her hand. It was quite good. She had been highly impressed when she learned that Dumbledore took his cues from Hermione, the young witch she'd met the evening previous. She was only entering her 6^th year of wizarding school, her use of the Protean charm was highly impressive. Niamh liked the girl a bit more every time she thought back on the story Dumbledore told her. The girl had pluck. The girl reminded her, in many ways, of a younger version of herself. Although, Niamh mused, laughing to herself, she was certainly not pulling off a Protean charm back when she was 16--not even close.

Slipping into an old, faded, grass green robe to cover her holey jeans and tank top, Niamh grabbed her messenger bag and pushed her wand into one of the inside pockets. As she neared the fire-place she pulled the hood up to cover her hair (she hated when it got whirled around in the Floo), and grabbed a handful of Floor Powder off the dish on the mantle. Grimmauld Place, she said clearly, before green flames leapt up around her.

***

"...You must understand, Miss Cassidy, we are operating entirely outside of the Ministry. This is why I can only offer you a modicum of assistance; you will have to do a majority of the work on your own, just as Charlie has. Both he and I are here to offer you direction and advice as much as possible, but we can not do a great deal more without risking trouble."

"I understand, sir. I understand completely."

Niamh nodded and put down the quill she had been using to take notes. There were blue ink stains on the sides of her fingers, and she was concentrating on trying to remove them when Sirius Black poked his head through the door. When Professor Dumbledore waved Sirius into the room--who entered followed closely by Remus Lupin, Bill Weasley, and his parents--she realized the meeting was officially over. She exhaled loudly, her heart pounding inside her chest with a confusing combination of fear and anticipation. She had her first assignment for the Order of the Phoenix. She was really doing it.

Part of her still didn't believe the past few days had been real--from the moment Fred and George apparated in her apartment, to the moment her first official meeting ended, and she had her first official assignment burned into the tracks of her mind. Another part of her was so hyper-aware of the reality she had just involved herself in it made her sick with nerves, with excitement, with abject fear. As she tried to sift through the myriad thoughts tripping around inside her brain, concentrating on her ink-stained fingers for cover, she began to realize why Fred and George had been so intent on keeping her apart from this side of their lives. Nothing about this was simple, or comfortable, or safe.

Charlie clapped a hand on Niamh's shoulder, and she leaned back in her seat, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. She returned the smile he offered her, and as he slid past her seat, he squeezed her shoulder warmly. Her smile grew wider at the warm feeling that washed over her with his simple gesture. Niamh loved Shirley dearly, and she had begun to form important friendships in Dublin, and even in London, most especially with Fred and George. But there was just something about feeling a part of a family that was difficult to duplicate. She had missed that feeling, an ocean away from the only family she'd really ever known. The easy, open acceptance of the Weasley family, and the Order of the Phoenix was the closest thing to family she'd felt in months. It was something she was beginning to realize she truly needed. Perhaps in a way, she needed the Order as much as the Order needed her.

When Niamh looked up from the table, the kids were thundering down the stairs and into the kitchen. Both Harry and Ron smiled and waved when she caught their eye. But Hermione merely narrowed her eyes slightly, and looked away, lips pursed. Quickly, she caught hold of Ginny's hand and pulled her into the kitchen, away from the boys, who were heading toward the table. The twins burst into the room next, quite literally, and charged toward the table, knocking Ron and Harry away from the seats closest to Niamh in the nick of time.

"So?" George asked after a few moments of silence passed between the group of them.

"So, what?" She smiled to bite back a small laugh.

"You know--"

"What we mean."

"No, boys, I don't know what you mean." They edged forward on their seats toward her, getting frustrated.

"What's your assignment?" They asked together.

"You know I can't talk about that here," Niamh answered calmly, no longer teasing them. There were too many others around, especially children, whom Niamh had been instructed (repeatedly) were not to be informed of any Order activity, under any circumstance.

"What? Why? We're all in the Order--" George started.

"Yeah, who are we going to tell anyway?" Fred finished.

"Not here," she said again firmly, this time tilting her chin in the direction of Ron and Harry.

Niamh watched as the twins glanced over their shoulders at the pair of younger boys--Ron was talking with Charlie, who had returned to his seat, while Harry sat completely still, staring darkly at the edge of the dining table. Harry's stormy look was a far cry from the smile on his face when he entered the kitchen and Niamh wondered what could have changed in the past few moments to merit such a shift. Ron glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye, and upon noticing his friend's downcast expression he simply sighed and turned his attention reluctantly back to his older brother. Sirius was gazing at Harry, Niamh noticed, and she felt herself blush when Sirius caught her watching him. She looked away in a rush.

"What's up with him?"

"What do you mean?" asked George.

"She means what's the story with Harry," Fred stated simply, having had watched her watching Harry.

"Yeah," she said softly, slowly raising her eyes until they found Harry again, hoping no one else noticed. She felt awkward, being so curious about him. He was probably sick and tired of people being curious about him. But she couldn't help it. He was, after all, The Boy Who Lived.

"Oh. Harry. It's a long story, that one." George said gravely.

"I know that, I just mean...he was happy when he came in here and everything...and look at him now..." Both boys turned simultaneously to look at Harry. "Oh yeah, really smooth you two." She rolled her eyes.

"He's been pretty moody lately. I mean, he's been moody for the last year or so, but it's gotten worse ever since the mess at the Department of Mysteries. He used to just get cranky and shout at people, now he gets like this sometimes...quiet, you know, won't talk to anyone," offered Fred, even though Niamh had no idea what had gone on at the Department of Mysteries.

"...Stares at inanimate objects darkly." George laughed a bit, even though it wasn't really very funny.

"What happened at the Department of Mysteries?" Niamh asked.

"We'll, ehm, we'll tell you another time." Fred said, leaning back in his seat as his mother whisked in between he and Niamh to place a heavily laden plate on the table in front of her.

"I hope you like Tofu Curry!" said Mrs. Weasley, excitedly.

Niamh smiled back at her. She didn't have the heart to mention that she was terribly picky when it came to how she ate her tofu. The trembling glutinous mass on the table before her, piled far too high for any one person, looked sort of frightening. The tofu had been hewn into large chunks, and was tinged with the slightly red-orange color of curry, but it reminded her more of Jell-O than it did of any of her favorite tofu dishes. She liked her Tofu firm, well pressed, diced into small pieces, and hidden amongst tons of veggies and rice or noodles. Finishing this pile of tofu--even just making a dent in it--without magical assistance was going to be a challenge.

When Niamh looked up from her plate the table was covered in food: bowls of veggies and potatoes, plates piled with sandwich bread, and a few roast chickens in the middle with white sauce and gravy in boats on the side. Mrs. Weasley could whip up a fantastic feast, that was for sure. Although Niamh's mother was a fairly good cook, Niamh was certainly not attached to some distant idea of 'home cooking,' and with the added challenge of the chef being non-Magical, dinner in the Cassidy house on Long Island was usually simple. For the most part, she didn't miss her mother's cooking, and even if she did, Niamh was certain Mrs. Weasley's cooking would make more than a good enough substitute. What Niamh missed while she was living abroad was far different than home cooking, no, it was simple things, like Skippy Peanut Butter and Oreos and Mountain Dew. Blackcurrant juice and fruit gums and Mikado biscuits were lovely, but they just weren't the same.

As soon as everyone else was served, Niamh took her first apprehensive bite of the tofu curry, and chewed gingerly for a few seconds before trying to gulp it down quickly. It wasn't so much the taste as it was the texture which Niamh found unpleasant. Generally, tofu tasted like whatever you managed to cook it in, but good texture was more illusive. Over-pressing tofu made it too firm and it could sometimes feel like small bricks of home-made play-dough in your mouth. Under-pressing tofu left it feeling somewhere between a sponge and Jell-O, neither of which were pleasant sensations at dinner time. This tofu was vastly under-pressed. As she swallowed another large mouthful--hoping to finish as much as she could as quickly as possible in order to avoid the nausea inducing texture--she struggled to avoid grimacing. The next large mouthful was no more pleasant, and perhaps, even less so. The more she thought about how gross the tofu felt, the grosser it began to feel, like an awful carousel going faster and faster. Worse was the fact that she felt terrible not enjoying the food, Mrs. Weasley had gone to so much effort to prepare this dish for her. And here she was choking it down, instead of appreciating it. She placed her fork down gingerly, letting it rest beside her plate, and brought her hands together in her lap, gazing down at them softly. Her own mother had never figured out how to prepare tofu either. Niamh should have been used to it by then.

A voice drew Niamh's attention away from her hands, "What's the matter, Miss Cassidy, not enjoying your food?" When she caught Sirius' eyes, they were twinkling darkly as he spoke.

"Oh no, it's wonderful." She smiled awkwardly and nodded, drawing her back straight and reaching, once again, for her fork.

"You haven't eaten very much of it, are you feeling a bit peaky?" Sirius continued.

Niamh bit down on her lip as she tried to keep a straight face, swallowing another mouthful, "No, I'm feeling just fine, Mr. Black." She felt her muscles tightening, and her left hand was clenching the arm of the chair. She didn't notice her gradually whitening knuckles until Fred put a hand on top of hers. She looked down at her fingers for only a moment before Sirius began speaking, again.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right? You've hardly touched your food," he continued.

"Oh trust me, I'm fine."
"Then do you not like your food?"

"Honestly, it's wonderful, I'm enjoying it a great deal. Just because I'm not shoveling food down my throat like I'm a human vacuum doesn't mean..." She trailed off, not realizing edge to her voice was more sour than sarcastic. Sirius ignored her direct jab, which almost frustrated her more than the fact that he continued the conversation.

"There's plenty of other veg here that you could eat instead...just in case you don't like the Tofu Curry that Molly put so much effort into preparing." Niamh grumbled as he pushed the subject just a little too far. For a moment she sat in silence, trying to decide upon the best response.

"He's just teasing you," Fred whispered to her.

"Oh, I know," she responded.

"Doesn't seem like you do..." he added, her knuckles were still white.

By the second attempt to continue the conversation, and the strange glint in his eye, Niamh had been able to tell that Sirius thought he was just teasing her. But he still made her uncomfortable. He was a convicted criminal for god's sake, how else was she supposed to feel around him? And really, she didn't find any of it funny. Not amusing
in the least. He could really end up hurting someone's feelings at the rate he was going, which Niamh thought was more cruel than humorous. It took her only a few seconds more to figure out what to say, and as she looked across the table into his dark eyes, her eyes lit wickedly with a sense of mischief. She would best him yet.

"No, Mr. Black, this Tofu Curry is really amazing. In fact, I think you should try some yourself, just so you can see, since you seem so concerned." She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken challenge--beat that, Black.

"Please, call me Sirius," he responded, trying to buy himself some time. She knew he would try to change the subject. It wouldn't work. He'd need to do much better than that to distract her.

Sirius's face paled as Niamh reached for her wand and very quickly conjured a small plate, onto which she began to heap as much tofu as possible, all the while smiling at him smugly. As she levitated the plate toward him, Sirius swallowed slowly and she could see his jaw tighten. She could tell he was working over-time trying to figure out
some way to escape his punishment, in fact, she could almost see steam coming out of his ears from the effort. But all too quickly the plate was in front of him. Niamh had to put a great deal of effort into not laughing at him as he stared at the jello-y mass suspiciously. From the looks of the way he'd torn into his food (as if he were some kind of animal) Niamh could tell he was a meat lover--he'd hardly even touched his vegetables at all. He was not going to enjoy the tofu. In fact, he'd like it even less than she did, and that was a very comforting thought. Niamh knew she had won this battle, small as it may have been.

"Eat up, Sirius," she said deliberately, "there's plenty more here where that came from. Molly served me far more than I can eat alone." Her smile was winning, and her eyelashes felt heavy as she blinked at him very innocently.

*****

Niamh was beginning to feel warm. More than warm, in fact, she was really quite hot. Between the Butterbeers she'd slowly been consuming all night and the shot of firewhiskey she'd downed simply because Bill Weasley didn't believe she would, she was beginning to sweat inside her robes. It had been ages since Niamh had worn robes for any length of time, and she simply wasn't used to all that extra fabric.

Niamh knew she was what a polite person would refer to as 'well endowed.' Niamh thought of herself as 'top-heavy,' and for the most part she was tired of it. Sure, big breasts got attention, but usually only from the sort of people she wished would stay far, far away. And sure, once in a while she liked the way they filled out certain tops. But in general they made clothes shopping an awful pain. Beside that, they were heavy, and at 22, she was more than tired of carrying them around with her every day. Still, for the most part, in her day to day, Niamh generally forgot about her breasts. They were big. And that was that. Even if she didn't like it, she'd accepted it.

Somewhat unfortunately Niamh often forgot that other people weren't quite as used to her breasts as she was. Illogical assumption to make, yes. But it just wasn't part of her thought process. So when Niamh had left the house earlier that evening, she wasn't particularly aware of how dramatically low cut her white tank-top appeared. And really, she hadn't planned on removing her robes anyway. But suddenly, she was so hot that she couldn't imagine keeping the extra layers of fabric on any longer. And in her haste to cool off, it didn't really occur to her that by removing her robes she would look a little underdressed (and that had nothing to do with the formality of the event).

Later she would blame her inhibitions on the firewhiskey, but at the time her body temperature seemed more important than the fact that her tank top wasn't exactly the best style option for a girl in the mixed company of strangers who she actually wanted to respect her. Quickly she unhooked the top few hooks on her robes, and when that didn't provide enough ventilation, she opted to shed the robe entirely. It wasn't until she felt quite a few pairs of eyes freeze on her chest that she even realized what she'd done. Immediately, her cheeks flushed as the realization washed over her. Reflexively she looked down and took hold of the top of her tank-top, hoisting it up as high as she could, looking first down, and then off to the side, ultimately focusing on the arm of the chair directly to her right and willing the redness in her cheeks to recede.

After a few deep breaths, Niamh gathered herself and looked up once again. People were still looking at her, but this time, their looks were mostly of concern or confusion. Mrs. Weasley was watching her the most intently, it seemed, her head tilted slightly to the side.

"Are you alright, Miss Cassidy?" Niamh almost groaned out loud when she heard Sirius' voice. If anything, she had expected to hear Mrs. Weasley's voice.

"Is that your only line?" she snapped in return.

This time Niamh was well aware of the biting sarcasm in her tone. She whipped around to face him and sent a withering look his way. And this time, Sirius seemed completely taken back, he recoiled. It took him a few moments to respond.

"I'm sorry, I--" he paused. It appeared he was actually unsure of what to say.

"Don't listen to a word he says, Miss Cassidy, Sirius thinks he's quite the comedian. As you can see, that's not entirely the case." Remus smiled softly at Niamh and instantly she felt more at ease. "He doesn't mean any harm."

Although Niamh did not know Remus Lupin very well yet, she liked him. He made her feel comfortable, at home. It was as if he were the polar opposite of Sirius Black. That thought made Niamh smile slightly: it was quite clear, even from the limited interaction she had witnessed, that the two men were the closest of friends.

Niamh realized that Sirius was still watching her, though now, he remained completely silent. She was beginning to feel badly for her sarcastic snap. Perhaps, all of Sirius' teasing was simply a misguided attempt at making her feel more comfortable in Grimmauld Place. Seriously misguided. It was not his fault that his past made her so uncomfortable. (Well, perhaps it was his fault, as it was in fact, his past.) Everyone else seemed to trust the man implicitly, including Albus Dumbledore, and perhaps it was time for her to allow him the same courtesy. If she wanted people to trust her, she would have to trust them first, she realized. She was the only stranger in the room.

"Now, Remus, you make me sound like a complete hack. I do have a sense of humor, you know."

"I don't know if I'd call that a sense of humor, Sirius..." Remus shot him what Niamh understood as a meaningful look, which immediately silenced the words Sirius had already opened his mouth to speak. His jaw closed silently.

"In other words, you're not funny, so you better quit taking the mickey out of the new girl," George laughed aloud as he finished his sentence. Sirius forced a laugh as well, and to Niamh it sounded almost like a bark. The sound caught her off guard and she looked over at him once again.

"I'm sorry Miss Cassidy; I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." He seemed sincere.

As sincere as a criminal can be, she thought, immediately shaking her head to dislodge the unwelcome thought. It seemed, as much as she really wanted to trust him, it was hard to push aside her preconceived notions. Especially since no one had given her a good reason to believe anything else. Other than the fact that he didn't seem like a hardened criminal, Niamh had no evidence to prove her assumptions otherwise untrue.

"Please, call me Niamh," she said softly, attempting to accept his apology gracefully, without acknowledging the subject directly.

"All right then, Niamh." Sirius nodded, then fell mercifully silent.

"So, Niamh, what brought you here to London?" asked Remus.

"Work, mostly."

"Tell us about what you do, Niamh," Bill prompted, interested in what life was like inside a muggle bank. "I work in banking as well, but the bank I work at is strictly a magical institution."

"I'm sure, for the most part, our businesses are much the same," Niamh began, before adjusting in her chair in order to sit up straighter and focus on Bill, in an attempt to ignore all the eyes glued on her. "Although, you probably see an awful lot more gold floating around than I do. We deal mostly in credit--sometimes I feel like it's all imaginary. These huge figures come across my desk, hundreds of billions of dollars in a single loan or something, and I just cannot get my mind around it. It seems like a game, because none of it is tangible. Wizard money is so much more tangible, it feels so much more real." A smile briefly crossed her face as a thought occurred to her, "And, we don't break curses or seek ancient fortunes or secret treasures. It's a lot more conservative. Or in other words: much more boring."

"What exactly is your job?" Harry spoke up for the first time all night. She turned to face him as she answered.

"Well, I work in the marketing department of a smaller division of an extremely large bank called Treasury Services. My job is to help think up, and eventually execute, ideas for promoting our services to current or potential clients of the bank. I write the copy, or text, for advertisements, and create graphics. Sometimes I get to do fun stuff, like coming up with the overall scheme for a campaign, but mostly, I get stuck doing the boring little stuff that everyone else is too busy or important to do. Life of the new girl," she sighed. "To be honest, it's hard to explain a lot of what I do, because that side of my life is so far flung from the wizarding world. Especially here in London, where muggle and magical lives are generally so distinct from one another. In my job, we use a lot of equipment and technology that are simply not a part of magical life, like computers and the internet." Everyone looked at her blankly when she mentioned the last two items, everyone except for Harry.

"My cousin Dudley," he shuddered, "has a computer. Actually, he has two. He broke the screen on the first one when he was upset, so my Aunt and Uncle bought him a brand new one."

"You seem so fond of him..." She winked.

"Oh, I am. He's basically my best mate." Harry rolled his eyes. "Really, he's a spoiled rotten, pushy git."

"I have a cousin like that." Niamh shuddered for effect. "I can't stand to be around her, even my Mom and Dad can't stand her. And what makes it so much worse is the fact that she's only 7!" Niamh almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Adults hating 7 year old relatives. But it was all true. "She's just so spoiled and manipulative."

"Just think, her best years are still ahead of her." Fred snickered.

"Please, don't remind me." This time she shuddered for real. "...So, Harry, how old is your cousin? Hopefully his best years are long behind him."

"Dudley is my age, he turned 16 about a month before I did. Unfortunately, he's got plenty of years ahead of him, it seems."

"Not if he doesn't drop a few stone!" Ron snorted.

"Fair point." Harry smiled widely, his teeth showing between parted thin lips. "And that is exactly why I'm not encouraging him to lose any weight, that is."

"Come on now, he can't be that bad, can he? I mean, I hate my cousin, but I don't wish early death on her."

"Did you see the gleam in her eye? She's lying, that one!" Sirius butted in, the laugh like a bark surfacing once again. Niamh felt slightly less amused than everyone else seemed to be.

"ANYWAY. Harry, do you see your cousin often?" Niamh placed her hands on the arms of her chair and pressed herself up, twisting a bit to face Harry, and folding her legs up underneath her before sitting once again.

"Not any more, thank god. Unfortunately, I lived with my Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley until I was eleven, and old enough to go to Hogwarts. After that, at least, I only had to spend summer holidays with them. This year I only went back to Surrey for a few weeks, then the Weasleys rescued me and brought me back here to stay until the start of next term." At this statement, George puffed up and brushed his knuckles across his chest.

The conversation continued from there, and only once or twice did Niamh find herself becoming distracted by the prominent scar on Harry's forehead. Although she would rather not have noticed the scar at all--because it always sparked a million long chains of thought tangling themselves up in her head and distracting her from the conversation completely--she was quite glad that she'd only gotten lost inside her head a few times that night. In fairness, she told herself, he is The Boy Who Lived: a real magical celebrity, a historical figure, even. It wasn't so bad that she was kind of awed to be in his company. Really, she was doing quite well in controlling herself, and in treating him like a regular guy.

And he was, for the most part, a regular guy. Sure, there were some extraordinary events in his past, even in his recent past. But he was a typical teenager, as far as Niamh could tell. In a strange way, she felt really happy to see him so regular, so normal. She assumed the slightly protective, maternal feelings she had toward Harry were quite normal--feelings most people (women especially) felt when it came to him. It was good to know that despite his difficult past, he was doing very well. Very well, indeed.

Niamh didn't realize how long the conversation had been dragging on until she actually heard a head hit the table. When she looked toward the source of the sound, she saw it was Ginny Weasley who had succumbed to sleep, she was out cold. When Niamh glanced at her watch to read the time she noticed it going slightly haywire. It took her a second to realize that the battery powering the watch had probably been affected by the magical energy in the house. This was a problem she was having more and more frequently--one she rarely had in America because so much of the wizard world she had been a part of, was equally a part of the muggle world--and she was going to have to sort out some kind of solution. Perhaps she could come up with some other method of powering the watch that wouldn't be as susceptible to heavy magical fields.

"Stupid muggle contraption," she muttered. "What time is it?" She did not look up when she spoke.

"Eet is nearly midnight," came the answer from a flowery foreign voice Niamh had never heard before. When Niamh looked toward the door to see its source, she spotted a young woman so beautiful it seemed difficult for her to quantify that beauty in her head, or even, to come up with an appropriate adjective.

"Uh. Thanks."

"Who is 'zis?" the young woman asked, gesturing gracefully with her hand, looking down her nose at Niamh as she crossed the room.

Niamh rose from her seat, wincing as she became aware of the fact that her feet had fallen asleep while she had been sitting on them. As she rose, the other girl looked her over quickly, but carefully, measuring her worth through her appearance. This was a look Niamh was quite accustomed to, being a female, and having lived in New York City (one of the most judgmental places on earth) for years. As Niamh looked down at her scandalously low cut plain white tank top, and her battered, hole filled jeans, she realized she did not look as impressive as she could have hoped for such a situation. Between her less-than-classy outfit and the pained look that flashed across her face, Niamh was quite sure she could imagine how poor of a first impression she had just given.

Reflexively she ran a hand through the length of her hair from her forehead, over her crown, and down the back. As her red locks swung forward again, they shielded her eyes for a moment and only then did she take an appraising glance of the other young woman. No matter how the cookie crumbled, Niamh realized, this girl won. She was taller, thinner, more beautiful, and strangely hypnotizing. If Niamh had been worried about the uncomfortable attention she was receiving before, she would not have to worry about it any longer. This girl captivated the entire room. Niamh could have turned cartwheels at that very moment and no one else--except of course, Ms. Judgmental across the room--would have noticed.

"Hi. I'm Niamh Cassidy, I just joined the Order." Niamh offered a hand to the other girl, who took it tentatively. Niamh was not impressed by her less than firm handshake.

"I am Fleur Delacour, I 'ave been a member for some time now."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Fleur," Niamh said, taking back her hand and returning to her seat. She received no response.

Fleur swept across the room. A long narrow skirt pooled on the floor and trailed the ground behind her as she moved gracefully toward the other side of the table. Attention, which has previously been on her, the new girl, was now fixed entirely upon Ms. Delacour. Especially the male attention. Niamh was perplexed by the girl. Everyone seemed happy to see her, despite the initial impression that the girl was haughty and self-involved. It seemed, Niamh would have to try and trust everyone else's opinion of the girl, instead of her own. That appeared to be happening a lot lately.

Fleur came to a stop near Bill Weasley, who stood and pressed a small kiss against her lips before letting her take his seat at the table. Conversation resumed, although this time the focus was on Fleur, which allowed Niamh a moment to sit back and observe. Bill had gone into the kitchen to make tea for Fleur, who by all appearances was his girlfriend. Charlie had conjured another chair just behind Fleur for Bill to use when he returned. Everyone else was watching intently as she spoke of her long, taxing day at Gringotts. Quickly, Niamh lost interest in the conversation, and tired of observing as the entire room sat quiet and still listening to the young woman. In the instant that Fleur finally fell silent, Niamh jumped in to start another conversation. She worked at a bank all day long, at least 5 days a week--talking of banking in her free time was, in her opinion, overkill. Not to mention boring.

"So, Fleur, where are you from?" Everyone seemed shocked to hear her voice again. As though they had forgotten she was there. Oddly enough, the look Niamh received from Hermione was strangely conciliatory--she looked relieved to see someone besides Fleur speaking--Niamh hadn't received a look that was even remotely kind from Hermione in all of the time she'd spent at Grimmauld Place.

"I grew up in 'ze South of France," she said, looking Niamh in the eye. "You, 'owever, must be an American." Although the movement was only slight, Niamh noticed Fleur's eyes roll.

"Yes, I grew up in New York. But I moved to London in May." It took a lot of effort for Niamh not to rise at the condescending tone in Fleur's voice as she said 'American,' Niamh was tired of being judged based on the reputation of a few of her countrymen. "Have you ever been to America?"

Fleur laughed aloud, "Of course not. Why on earth would I go 'zere?"

Niamh felt frustration rising from her stomach into her chest, tightening her muscles. She sat up straighter in her chair. It was tempting to throw a barb at Fleur about the reputation the French had where she came from, but she knew it was childish. She didn't want to give anyone in the room reason to dislike her, clearly, there was enough of that already, just based upon the country of her origin.

When no one else spoke after a few moments, Niamh broke the silence, "Look, it's getting late. I'd better head home." Slipping her arms back into her robes, she stood and reached for her bag. "Do you have any Floo Powder?"

"Miss Cassidy, it's far too late for you to be traveling!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and rushing toward the fire.

"Please, Molly, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. It's just a short trip from here, and..." Niamh watched helplessly as Mrs. Weasley shot her husband a meaningful look.

"Really, Miss Cassidy, it's very late, if something were to go wrong...No, no, you must stay here with us for the night. We can make up a bed on the couch."

"I don't want to be any trouble."

"Honestly, Niamh, it's no trouble." Sirius rose to his feet as well. "I'll show you to the drawing room now, if you'd like. We'll make up the couch there." Niamh half expected him to wiggle his eyebrows at her, just to be obnoxious. She was so busy thinking of the perfect response for that situation that she didn't speak to object quickly enough. "It's settled then." Sirius smiled kindly, and a bit triumphantly, and gestured for her to follow him.

"Ron, Harry, Hermione, you should be heading to bed now as well. It's very late." Mrs. Weasley turned to face the twins. "Boys, could you help your sister upstairs? I don't want to wake her, she looks so peaceful..."

Ginny was still fast asleep at the table, despite all the commotion around her. Although Niamh could tell the boys were tempted to do something slightly mischievous, they restrained themselves, and like the wonderful big brothers she suspected they were, they quietly hoisted her into their arms and headed for the stairwell. Behind the twins followed Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Sirius behind them. Niamh paused as she left the table and thanked everyone before saying goodnight. She hung back for a second, unsure of her decision, but when Sirius looked over his shoulder at her, she hurried after him up two flights of stairs to the drawing room, knowing that really, she had no other choice.

"I hope the couch is comfortable," Sirius spoke softly as he finished conjuring bedding for Niamh.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said as she slipped out of her shoes. Just then, a sudden movement in the shadows caused her to jump and squeal.

"Who's there?!" Sirius called, suddenly at sharp attention, his wand held out before him. "Oh, it's you Kreacher." The tone of his voice was one of slight disgust. "Don't worry about him, Niamh, he's just the batty old house-elf my parents left behind."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. This house used to belong to my Mum and Dad. Since I'm the last Black, it was left to me when they died. It's awful large for just myself, so I donated it to Dumbledore for the Order. My parents are rolling in their graves as we speak. ...It's a bit of a long story, really, and I'm sure you don't want to hear it. Anyway. Kreacher is a bit of a nutter, and he's more trouble than he's worth, but he knows too much about the Order to be given clothes."

"I see." She nodded as she sat on the couch turned bed.

"You'd do best to ignore him." He walked toward the door. "Get out of here, toe-rag! Leave the girl alone." He gestured for Kreacher to leave ahead of him.

"Filthy, ginger-haired, mudblood lover," Kreacher muttered, loudly enough for both Sirius and Niamh to hear him. His comment earned him a well placed kick to the backside from Sirius.

"I'd watch it if I were you. She's an American, she'll hex you to pieces." Sirius laughed a bit at his last comment, but turned and paused when he reached the door frame. "Sleep well, Niamh."

"Thank you, Sirius, you too."

As Niamh settled deeper into the couch and cocooned herself in the bedding Sirius had conjured, she tried to avoid thinking about the eerie darkness of the room around her. It would be a long night if she kept seeing things in the shadows--she'd never get to sleep--and she knew she wanted to be awake bright and early so she could sneak out of the house before she could be judged by Fleur or 'teased' by Sirius again. One night of it had been enough for quite some time.