divided.

Installment Eight.

Harry awoke suddenly from what had been a rather pleasant dream. He had been sitting around a table in a sunny garden, chatting away with his parents and Niamh, when all of a sudden a giant (a cross between Gwarp and Dudley Dursley) stomped in and ruined it all, waking him with a start. Rubbing at his sleep filled eyes, Harry sat up and fumbled through the belongings scattered on the bedside table looking for his watch. 7.30 am, it read back to him. He flopped backward on the bed. The end of summer holidays was drawing rapidly nearer, and Harry had every intention of taking advantage of every last second of them--that meant sleeping in as much as possible.

After ten minutes of tossing and turning, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to get any more sleep. Initially, as he stared at Ron's sleeping form, the thought of not being able to return to the pleasanter parts of his dream was bothersome. That is, until he realized that one of the pleasanter parts of his dream--Niamh--was probably downstairs. As quietly as possible Harry jumped out of bed and dressed at top speed, making sure not to wake Ron as he headed for the kitchen.

When Harry reached the top of the basement stairwell, he took a moment to compose himself--smoothing down what he could of his hair, taking a deep breath, tugging his ill-fitted clothes into place. As he exhaled, he started casually strolling down the stairs, but when he rounded the corner of the staircase into the kitchen Niamh was nowhere to be seen. Instead, only Ginny and Hermione were there, both seated at the table sipping at cups of tea and talking.

"Morning, Harry," began Ginny when she caught sight of him, "Mum left some things out for breakfast on the dresser over there."

"What are you doing awake so early?" Hermione smiled at him. "If I remember rightly, you were going to have a lie in every morning until September first."

"A giant Dudley burst in and ruined my dream. Couldn't get back to sleep after that," said Harry as he popped two pieces of bread under the grill. "Where's Niamh...and everyone else?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant and only vaguely interested as he leaned back against the counter to wait on his toast.

"Mrs. Weasley is up tidying the drawing room, Sirius is feeding Buckbeak, we haven't seen Professor Lupin yet this morning, and everyone else is, presumably, still sleeping," Hermione answered.

Harry hesitated. Hermione had not answered his question, not really. He really wanted to know where Niamh was. But he didn't want anyone else to know that. Because he knew he'd never hear the end of it. It would be bad enough for Hermione to know, Harry could already tell she didn't like Niamh. But once Hermione knew, Ron and the twins would not be far behind, and they would never shut up. Especially the twins.

Besides, he thought, it's not as if I have a crush on her or anything.

He just thought she was really cool, and anyway, it was nice to have someone new to talk to about things. Everyone at Grimmauld Place knew his problems inside and out, his triumphs too.

"What about Niamh, then, is she upstairs with Mrs. Weasley?" He gave in and asked the question, praying that no one would catch on.

"Niamh left early this morning. Before any of us woke up, actually. Mum said she left a note on the table saying thanks and goodbye and that she hoped to see us all again soon."

Harry turned quickly--under the guise of needing to check his toast--trying to hide the disappointed expression that crossed his face. He had really been looking forward to seeing her this morning. Their conversation the night before had been so nice, and he had been so irritated when Fleur cut it off. He hadn't felt so comfortable talking to someone in a long time.

"Why do you ask, Harry?" Hermione asked, a false innocence to her tone.

Damn her, he thought, damn her for always being so perceptive. Bloody know it all.

"Oh, no reason, really. Just that you didn't mention her, and..." His voice sounded strange, even inside his own head, it seemed much higher than usual.

"Harry and Niamh, sitting in a tree, S-N-O-G--"

"RON!" he bellowed, turning around. Ron had just entered the kitchen, and was standing near the door.

"What? Mate, it's obvious." As he shrugged, Ron's face twisted into a knowing smirk that Harry was tempted to knock off with a right hook. "What are you making me for brekkie? I'd like a cup of tea and some fried eggs..."

"After that little ditty, you haven't a hope of getting me to make a fry up for you." Harry grabbed his buttered toast and headed toward the far side of the table, trying to see if the note Niamh had left was still around.

"Oh come on, Harry, I was just taking the mickey," Ron insisted, throwing two pieces of bread under the grill, which Harry hadn't bothered to turn off in his haste to get out of the kitchen.

"Harry knows that," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He just wishes it didn't cut so close to the bone."

"I'm not talking about this right now, you're all being stupid." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know why you guys think you know everything about me, but--"

"We don't think we know everything about you. All we're saying, is that we know you have a crush on Niamh." Hermione's intellectual cool was about two short steps away from driving Harry crazy. She was like Dumbledore. It could drive him insane.

"Not like anyone in the house would blame you, anyway," Ron offered, "everyone's a bit enamored with her, if you ask me. Well, except of course for Fleur. But she's just used to being the center of everyone's attention."

"And she still is," Hermione rolled her eyes, "you should have seen the look on Niamh's face when Fleur stole all the attention."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry challenged, he didn't like the tone of Hermione's voice.

"It means, I think Niamh is enjoying being the center of attention just as much as Fleur ever did. Maybe more."

"Come off it, Hermione!" Harry snapped.

"Look, Harry, just because you've got a crush--just because you're blinded by her bright red hair and her big green eyes and her 'look-at-me-I'm-so-witty' banter, doesn't mean all of us have to be." Hermione's forced calm broke only for a second, when she allowed herself to growl, "Boys."

"What is your problem?"

"I just don't like her."

"Well, I do."

"Of course you do, Harry. Sirius likes her. You'll do anything he does," she said tartly, then pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

Harry choked on his own breath.

"That was low, Hermione," Ron interjected in Harry's defense.

"Well, it's true," she shot back at Ron before turning to face Harry again. "Doesn't hurt that she looks an awful lot like your mother, as well."

A long silence fell. Harry did not know what to think or say. The idea had not occurred to him, but as he considered Hermione's statement, he began to see a shred of truth. Niamh did resemble his mother, all long red hair and bright green eyes. She wasn't a carbon copy or anything, Harry was sure he would have recognized it right away if she was. But there was a connection there that was undeniable. Perhaps that had been the source of the comfort he felt from her, around her. Perhaps. Harry was hesitant to make as strong a connection as Hermione had. Regardless of who Niamh resembled, Harry knew that was not the only reason he was interested in her. Niamh treated him like a regular person, not like a famed freak, not like a child. Like he was on her level. She really listened when he talked. And, miraculously enough, unlike when he had been around Cho, he did not lose the ability to control his thoughts/speech when he was around Niamh. Or at least, he hadn't done so far.

"Maybe she has red hair and green eyes, but that's the only similarity. I'd have noticed if she looked just like my Mum, Hermione. Besides, what's that got to do with anything?"

"It's just fishy, is all. It makes her too easy to trust, because everyone feels like they already know her." Hermione slumped in her chair. "I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feelings. I just don't like her. And I don't trust her as far as I can throw her (without the use of magic). This is all just too convenient, it smacks of Lord Voldemort's doing."

"Don't you think Dumbledore--"

Harry couldn't even finish his sentence before Hermione began speaking, "He's been wrong before, hasn't he?"

It bothered Harry that Hermione's confidence in Dumbledore had been shaken. Sure, Dumbledore had made some mistakes. He was, after all, a human being. He was bound to make a least a few, despite his seemingly inhuman (above-human) powers. And to be honest, Harry wasn't sure anyone else had a right to feel let down by Dumbledore. In fact, although the information about the Prophecy had been wormed out of him weeks earlier, Harry didn't think anyone had a right to know anything about Dumbledore's mistakes. Those mistakes concerned Harry, and Harry alone. Those mistakes left Harry to carelessly, needlessly, lead his friends into harm's way. To almost get his godfather killed. To land Luna, a completely innocent friend, in St. Mungos, months later still barely clinging to life. Harry had to live with that aftermath, with the real weight of Dumbledore's mistakes. That legacy--that break in confidence--was his burden alone and it bothered him to think that his friends were buying into that burden voluntarily.

"That has nothing to do with this, Hermione. That was completely different. Full stop." He shot her a dirty look, hoping it would communicate the depth of his thoughts on the matter without him having to actually use the words.

"Well, maybe you're right, but...I'm just saying, anything is possible today. And." She fell silent for a second. "I don't want to argue about this. You are welcome to like Niamh, I can't stop you. But you can't force me to change my opinion of her either. Until she proves herself trust-worthy, I'm skeptical. ...And Ron, if you even think about trying to smooth this over by telling Harry I'm 'just jealous,' you'll be belching up slugs for days."

Ron's mouth immediately closed. Even years later, the memory was still fresh.

Hermione rose from her seat, shot a look at Ginny, and stalked out of the room. Ginny hesitated for a second, clearly unsure of which side she wanted to take, eventually scuttled after Hermione, waving to the boys over her shoulder as she left. Harry clenched his jaw tightly for a few moments, breathing deeply though his nose, willing the frustration to recede from his body. Although he did not agree, Harry understood Hermione's concern. It seemed, lately, everyone was a threat. No one knew who to trust any more. In turns, they'd all been suspicious of the wrong people, because it was so hard to know where it was safe to place their faith any longer. But Harry just couldn't believe that someone like Niamh, someone he felt so instantly comfortable around, could be dangerous to the Order. He had to believe she was there to help, and deep down, he didn't think her work for the Order would be the only purpose she'd serve in their lives.

"She is just jealous," Ron said softly, a minute or so after Ginny had left the room.

"The thing is, Ron, I don't think she is." Harry sighed. "I honestly think she doesn't trust Niamh for all the right reasons. Maybe she's right...maybe I'm stupid to trust her, blinded by my...ehm...blinded."

"Fred and George trust her Harry, and I trust their judgment. They're almost impossible to fool, because they know every trick in the book and they've pulled most of them. Besides, Dumbledore trusts her, and so does Charlie and Sirius and Professor Lupin, and my parents, I mean, how much more proof do you need? Hermione is alone on this one."

"Don't be so sure about that, Ron."

"All I'm saying is that I don't think she would have made it so far in, so easily. The Order is different today than it was last time round: smarter, better, ahead of the game. I think everyone trusts her, and I think they trust her for the right reasons." He sniggered. "Even if you only trust her because you think she's blazing hot." Quickly Ron jumped out of his seat, Harry's punch just barely missing his shoulder, and made a run for the kitchen door. "I'm going upstairs to get dressed. Shouldn't you be getting dressed too? Dumbledore will be here soon for your Occlumency lessons."

Reluctantly, Harry rose from his seat and brought the remaining dishes to the kitchen sink. He'd nearly forgotten about his Occlumency lessons. Although they were far more enjoyable now that Dumbledore was teaching him, Harry was still not fond of them. And he knew he'd have a hard time clearing his mind today, thoughts of Niamh swimming around aggressively inside his brain. Hermione had given him quite a lot to think about, even if he stubbornly refused to believe her, even if he had a completely different sense about Niamh. It would be near impossible to clear his mind, and he certainly didn't want Dumbledore to see some of the thoughts he was having about Niamh. In fact, he wanted to keep those entirely to himself. Ron's ditty in the kitchen earlier had been only the tiniest hint of what would follow the instant everyone else knew what was going on inside his head.

***

"You're in an awfully good mood, Sirius. In fact, I don't think I've heard you hum in...well, ever!"

Remus resisted the urge to laugh at his friend, who was humming lightly as he reached repeatedly into a box of live rats, pulled them out and broke their necks before transferring them to the bag he would later use to feed Buckbeak. It was a disgusting task, though Remus understood the sense of responsibility and companionship his friend felt toward the Hippogriff, who had been through a great deal of turmoil with him. Still, he knew something had to be on Sirius' mind to have him in such a jolly mood. It was as if he didn't even realize what he was doing, didn't recognize how disgusting the task actually was. He just continued about his work, humming, with a bounce to his movements Remus hadn't seen in years--decades, even.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Sirius said, his humming a bit softer when he resumed.

"Bollocks."

"Ooo. Remus, that was foul." He sniggered.

"No, Sirius, those rats are foul. What I said was entirely true. You're full of shit."

"Tutt, tutt, Professor Lupin. There's no need for such language. Would you tolerate that from your pupils?"

"I don't have students any longer, Padfoot, the Professor joke is no longer amusing."

Sirius dropped the last dead rat into the soiled, heavily laden bag before heaving it into Kreacher's cupboard for storage. Without making eye contact with Remus, Sirius returned to the kitchen and set about scrubbing his hands clean in the sink. He absolutely despised killing rats, it reminded him all too forcefully of the months he spent in the hills around Hogsmeade, worried sick about his godson and on the run from the Ministry of Magic. But at the same time, he felt a powerful sense of connection to Buckbeak--to whom he believed he owed much of his life and his sanity--even if he was just a hippogriff. So, as long as Buckbeak wanted to eat dead rats, Sirius would kill the rats for him. He could feel Remus' eyes on his back as he lathered his hands a second time, and he was torn between two opposing desires: first, to continue washing his hands and pretend he hadn't a clue what Remus was talking about; and second, to turn around and talk until he was out of breath about what he was so suddenly feeling.

"So, what has you in such a good mood?"

Sirius was actually about to abandon his scrubbing and answer Remus truthfully, when he heard the door to the kitchen swing open as Bill and Charlie Weasley entered. Instead, he chose to lather up for a third time, and ignore the question entirely, acting as though he heard nothing over the rushing water. If he were honest, he wasn't entirely sure why he was in such a good mood. Or at least, he wasn't sure how to articulate what he was feeling and why that had somehow resulted in a the type of good mood so rare, that even he was shocked by his own behavior.

"Sirius, are you humming?" He could swear he detected a smile in Bill's voice. Immediately, he shot a dirty look over his shoulder. He had been right; Bill was smirking smugly in his direction.

Sirius had been about to deny any such behavior when Remus answered for him, "He's been humming for hours now. Why don't you ask him what's behind this sudden change in demeanor?"

"What's with you and the big words, Moony?"

Sirius tried to distract the conversation from himself, although he knew it was likely this technique would not work this time, just as his efforts at distracting Niamh had failed miserably the night before. He shuddered at the thought; he could still feel that disgusting tofu in his mouth. He did, however, have to give the girl credit where credit was due--she had exacted her revenge in the smoothest way possible. There was no way he could have resisted that tofu, and once it was in front of him, there was no way he could have left it unfinished without hurting someone's feelings. He'd painted himself into a corner with his big mouth, and he deserved exactly what he'd gotten (although he'd never admit that to anyone else). He liked that she wouldn't let herself back down, or be intimidated by him.

"You know, you tried to distract the conversation from the topic at hand last night and failed miserably then as well. You're not very good at this lately, Padfoot, it seems, your blistering charm is fading. Or at least, that's the only way I can explain the fact that Niamh saw straight through you, and even managed to best you at your own game."

"She was pretty good, wasn't she?" he asked, eyes bright as he spun around from the sink and dried his hands on his robes, making eye contact with Remus.

"Excellent," Charlie replied. "But you have to figure, if she can keep up with Fred and George, she's got to have one hell of an attitude."

"And a sense of humor!" Bill added, laughing aloud. "I admire anyone who can tolerate Fred and George for more than a few hours at a time. And she hangs around them voluntarily! You know, now I think of it, she might actually be crazy..."

Sirius followed the group of them over to the kitchen table. As he settled into a chair near the fire, he let his mind wander to the evening previous. He had barely begun to recognize the smile that was slowly but insistently tugging at the corners of his lips before he was broken violently from his thoughts by the sound of butterbeer bottles slamming onto the table, glass against wood. When he looked up, he felt three sets of eyes fixed very intently on him, set in determined faces.

Sirius didn't feel ready for the stream of questions he knew was about to be unleashed. Mainly because he was quite sure he wasn't ready to find the answers. But more than that, more than seeking and admitting the truth, he feared the comments that would follow. The others could ask all the questions they wanted, their questions could be avoided. But comments were so final, so real. Once they were out there, that was it. He'd be hard pressed to put them from his mind, and he certainly couldn't erase them from anyone else's mind...not without some serious moral infractions.

"Back to this good humor of yours, Sirius," Charlie began.

"Are we going to need something stronger than butterbeer for this conversation?" asked Bill, mischievously.

Sirius did not appreciate the mischief just then. Bill raised his wand, as if he were about to summon a bottle of firewhiskey, his eyes fixed questioningly on Sirius.

"I don't know what you lads are talking about," Sirius tried once more to avoid the conversation.

"Well then, we'll spell it out for you, Padfoot." This time Remus was very serious. "You have taken an interest in Niamh. It's put you in a particularly sunny humor, and we want you to admit it."

"I, uh--" The sentence died on Sirius' lips.

Suddenly his mouth felt very dry, cottony. He reached for his bottle of butterbeer and took a swig. Had he been so obvious? If he had, if others had realized, had Niamh realized it too? Suddenly, he felt like a teenager all over again. Nervous and unsure of himself, not quite willing to verbalize the truth of how he felt, afraid of what everyone else might already know. It didn't help that the last time he'd taken any sort of interest in anyone, he'd practically been a teenager. He'd been 22 when they chucked him in Azkaban Prison, and looking back on the time, 22 hardly counted as being much more than a teenager. Young and eager, inexperienced, filling the role of heartbreaker-on-a-motorcycle that so many had expected of him. If Sirius were honest, he'd admit that he could scarcely remember ever having taken a real interest in someone--it had been that long.

"Sirius?" Charlie asked.

Sirius shook his head out and took another swallow of his drink. He must have been quiet for quite some time.

"Well. I, eh. Was I that obvious?" He looked at his hands in his lap, picking at dry skin on his left thumb, afraid of the answer. No answer came. "Do you think, ehm, do you think she knows?"

When he finally looked up, it was clear from the looks on their faces that they were torn between feeling sympathetic to his plight, and wanting to tease him mercilessly for a while longer. He knew it would satisfy them deeply to pester him until he was forced to speak the words out loud: 'I have a crush on Niamh. I have a crush on her, and I don't know why, but it is making me feel like a teenager again.' But he also knew that they understood something much deeper about the situation, about the crush. They understood that it was about more than just the surface--the humming and the incessant fluttering at the back of his stomach. It was about wanting to live life again, in a very real, very tangible way. Sirius' life had stagnated for the most part, since he was 22. Feelings like this began to change everything from the inside, out. Feelings like this forced him to engage with the world in a way he hadn't done in about 15 years.

"No. I don't think she knows. Actually, I think she's a bit scared of you," Charlie admitted honestly.

"And can you blame her?" Remus laughed aloud. Sirius didn't find it at all amusing.

"Scared of me? Wh--"

"Come on Sirius, put yourself in her place. The new girl in a group of people who seem to have known each other forever. Dropped into a room full of strangers, one of whom you know to be a convicted criminal. And now, this convicted criminal is teasing you... How comfortable do you think you'd feel?"

"But I'm not a criminal."

"I don't think she knows that," continued Charlie seriously, "did you see the look on her face when she saw you that first night?"

"Wow," Sirius sighed. "Brilliant. I take a shining to a girl, for the first time in as long as I can remember, and she thinks I'm a mass murdering, prison escaping, wanted by the Ministry of Magic, freak."

Silence followed his statement. It took a moment for Sirius to register the fact that he'd just admitted, out loud, to having a crush on the girl. A crush. The word echoed inside his head. It made him feel so juvenile, using that word again. But it was the right word for the situation and he knew it. He was a 36 year old adult male with a crush on a girl. Everyone else seemed to be turning the information around in their heads. He wondered if the admission lived up to their expectations. He wondered what would be said next.

"Well, I'm sure she must know, at least in some way, that there's something off about the whole situation. She must know we wouldn't trust you without reason," Remus offered. Then a broad smile broke across his face. "Would you like us to pass her a note for you, Padfoot? You know, tell her that you like her, ask if she likes you (circle

'yes' or 'no') and then tack on a p.s. that explains that you're not really a criminal?"

"I'm really glad you're all having a laugh at my expense right now." The laughter died down at this statement.

"So. Are you going to do something about it?" asked Bill forcefully.

"It's not that simple."

"You've thought about this a lot already, haven't you?" asked Remus, but Sirius knew Remus already had the answer to his question. This was just a courtesy, a chance for him to begin the conversation on his own.

"All night, and all morning," he admitted solemnly, "I can't get it out of my head. I'd forgotten what this felt like. ...It's far worse than I remember."

"That's because when you were a teenager you never had to work for anything or anyone," Remus said very seriously, without offense, "now you know what it feels like for the rest of us." His smile was soft and more than a bit nostalgic.

"I'm sure you guys don't want to hear everything that's gone through my head in the past twelve hours or so..." He silenced immediately when he heard the kitchen door swinging open. When it revealed Dumbledore, he glanced at the elder wizard briefly and then turned back to the table to finish his sentence, "it's all pretty standard, pretty boring. It boils down to not knowing what I'm supposed to do next."

"Talking about Niamh, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked; an unnervingly kind and knowing smile on his face.

Sirius didn't even bother to ask how Dumbledore knew what they were talking about. The man always knew everything, it seemed, and it had been that way since Sirius had known him. Besides, it was a safe guess that Dumbledore, of all people, would have innately recognized how he felt about Niamh. Sirius had expected as much. And anyway, if Bill and Charlie had picked up on it, it was reasonable to assume almost everyone else on the face of the planet knew about it as well. Sirius tried not to be judgmental, or cruel, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that Bill and Charlie weren't the most sensitive and discerning blokes on the face of the earth. They were, after all, twenty-something males.

"Yes." The answer was simple, unguarded.

"She's a bright girl, very talented. We've barely scratched the surface with her, I think, I'm sure there is a great deal we have yet to see." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he finished his thought, "And I believe she has a lot to offer the Order, and perhaps, even more to offer its members."

"May I ask how you knew about Niamh? ...That is, I mean, the other night, it seemed clear that Fred & George weren't the only people who knew her." Sirius looked into Dumbledore's eyes as he spoke.

"I'm afraid that would take far too long to explain. For now, let us just say that I make it my business to know what is going on with the last children of a very great wizarding family."

"Children?" Remus asked.

"Yes, children. Niamh has a younger brother, Kian, who is a student at a University in Philadelphia. He is a bit older than Fred & George, and he too is a very talented wizard. I'm sure if you asked her, she'd have much to say about Kian, she is very proud of her younger brother and I gather she misses him very dearly."

Sirius felt as if Dumbledore was trying to give him a shove in the right direction. Despite such advice, he wasn't so sure family was the first avenue of discussion he wanted to open up. Talking of her family would be just fine, he was relatively sure that he could listen to her talk about grass growing and it would be fascinating. The problem would arise when he had to talk of his family. He wasn't quite sure he was interested in traversing that road just yet. It was dark, and he viewed it as something of a danger. He'd said more than enough the evening previous while trying to explain Kreacher. He didn't want to say any more on the subject. Not at such an early juncture.

"Well, I must be off," Dumbledore said, hitching up his robes with one hand and reaching for Floo Powder with the other. "Sirius, I feel you'd do well to speak with Harry about Miss Cassidy." And he said nothing more, simply disappeared in a rush of green flame, leaving Sirius feeling more than slightly bewildered by his cryptic statement.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"I believe he is suggesting that you talk to Harry about his little crush before you pursue your own," was all the explanation Remus offered.

"His what?"

"Sirius, are you that thick?" Bill laughed, again. He seemed to be doing an awful lot of that.

"Maybe I am." His eyebrows knotted together. "I didn't realize that Harry...wait, do you think she knows about this too? Do you think she might like him?"

"In all the years I've known you, Padfoot, I've never heard you sound so insecure, forgive me if I take a bit of pleasure in your distress." Remus' voice was soft, even his teasing was generally placid. Sirius couldn't be upset with him if he wanted to; the man was just too level. He did, however, give his friend the most desperate look he could muster. Remus responded, "To be honest, I don't think Niamh picked up on anything. She's too intimidated by you to see the forest for the trees, and Harry is so much younger than she is that I'm quite sure she hasn't looked at him as anything more than a younger sibling type."

Running his hands through his hair, Sirius spoke, "I don't think I've ever felt more foolish or elated in my life. And I'm not sure how I can even feel those two things at the same time...but I do..."