divided.

Niamh awoke slowly, in shades, first becoming aware of the dim light filtering across her face past heavy curtains, then feeling the weight of her eyelids protesting awareness, before realizing that she didn't recognize the room around her. Her first instinct was to shoot upright from her bed, but that was quelled by a shooting pain in her head and neck, and the weight of two hands suddenly pressing against her shoulders.

"They told me not to let you move," said the owner of the pair of hands, whom she eventually recognized as Harry.

"They? Where are we?" she asked, her voice barely more than a strained scratching sound.

"Grimmauld Place," he said simply, "we're in the sitting room."

She was too tired, and her body felt too heavy to bother with looking around her. She would take Harry's word for it.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

"No, I...no, I don't." She closed her eyes. Even the dim lighting made them ache.

"You showed up at Fred & George's shop after a date or something, and you passed out. They brought you back here and you've been unconscious ever since. It's about eight in the morning now, we've been trading turns watching you... Well, those of us left in the house, there was a lead or something, and...It's just us non-Order members and Sirius right now." The last sentence seemed bitter, caged. There was a look of reckless desire behind his eyes that she could have sworn she'd seen somewhere before.

Niamh smiled softly, hoping to convey her appreciation of his presence without having to say anything. Her lips and throat felt dry, and the thought of speaking aloud was exhausting. Instead, she turned onto her side and pulled her legs up toward her torso, effectively curling into a fetal position. Harry said nothing, and she was grateful for his silence. It felt good to have someone near her, comforting, even, but she was too tired for conversation, too tired to pretend she was okay.

"Do you think you might be all right if I left you alone for a minute?" he asked after a few more minutes of companionable silence. He smiled softly when he saw a glint of panic slip into her eyes. "Everyone else will want to know you're awake," he added as if to calm her nerves with an explanation. She nodded her head, and he accepted the affirmative, rising slowly from the couch, and looking back at her one last time before he left the room.

Instead of falling back to sleep, Niamh found herself wracking her brain for any memory of what had happened to her the night before. Unfortunately, all her thinking only served to make her feel far worse about the situation. Scared by how terrible she felt, and the complete inability to recall anything from the evening previous, Niamh suddenly found the ratty old rag of what was once a baby blanket clutched in her arm, pressed against the skin of her left cheek. When Niamh realized what happened she felt embarrassed, and quickly stuffed the blanket under the pillow she was resting against. This was not the first time Niamh had accidentally conjured her blanket, in fact, she couldn't count the instances on two hands. She hated the fact that sometimes she still lost control of her magic. When it happened, she always felt like the only adult witch or wizard on the planet who did so. She knew that it only occurred during times of intense stress, or anger, or sadness--moments of incredibly heightened emotion. But that did little to make her feel better about things. 'This is a phase you should have grown out of by now,' she admonished herself, taking a deep breath and hoping the flush in her cheeks would fade before Harry returned. She was lucky she hadn't done something like that in front of him...that would have been vastly more embarrassing.

"Hey, you're awake!" she heard Sirius say, but did not turn to face him.

Niamh resisted the urge to groan. She knew it would have been painful, more painful than it was worth, because unfortunately groaning would not make him go away. In fact, Niamh was quite sure that any sign of weakness or annoyance would only encourage him to stick around, he enjoyed frustrating her far too much.

A steaming mug of something floated into her vision, followed shortly by a small plate bearing what appeared to be dry toast.

"Dry toast and some Pepper Up potion," Sirius explained as he came around the back of the couch. "Drink up." The mug was hovering, insistently, just above her curled up form. "We did a lot of research, and although we can't be certain it will help much, it shouldn't do you any harm."

"Oh thanks, that's reassuring," she snapped with as much sass as she could muster behind her non-existent voice, resisting the urge to wrap a hand around her ragged throat.

"I know, it's not much," he offered, looking at his hands. "But we wanted to try something, and since no one has figured out what's wrong with you yet...Okay, that's not reassuring either..."

Sirius sat down on the coffee table before her. She could hear people shuffling into the room after him, probably Harry and the other kids, they were the only non-Order members she could ever remember seeing around Grimmauld Place. She felt a touch of a foreign emotion she couldn't identify as she watched him pick at the skin on his hands, warmth, maybe. He seemed genuinely sorry that there was not more he could do.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, gradually hoisting herself into a seated position. "It's not your fault I ended up like this."

He looked up, and for a second their eyes met, before she glanced down into the mug of Pepper Up potion.

"I uh, I mixed it with hot cocoa. My mum used to give it to me that way when I was a tyke..." She couldn't help but smile at the idea, her Grandmother used to do the same for her when she was a child. "Ehm..." Sirius began tentatively; Niamh followed his line of vision, heat flooding her cheeks when she saw what had caught his eye, "What is that, exactly?" He pointed.

"Oh god, this is so embarrassing..." She covered her eyes with a free hand. "That, is my blankie." She heard someone, it sounded like Ron, suppress a snicker.

"It appeared in the middle of the night, really suddenly while you were sleeping. I didn't know what it was, so I took it away and...well, it's back again, I guess..."

"I've had it since I was a baby, it's a comfort thing...and as you can see sometimes I conjure it unintentionally."

"That's some pretty powerful magic..." Harry thought aloud.

"No, that's magic out of control. I hate it."

"Yeah, but to conjure something across an ocean?" he added.

"It didn't come from America, it was in my hotel room across town, actually," she explained softly, somehow, even more embarrassed than she already had been.

Although her blankie wasn't exactly a secret, it wasn't her favorite topic of conversation amongst relative strangers either. She cast around in her mind for a subtle way to change the subject, but could find none. So she sat still, sipping at the mug of potion and wishing everyone would stop looking at her. Wishing the couch could swallow her up.

"You still lose control of your magic?" Sirius asked, looking at her with interest.

"Sometimes, yeah. When I'm really upset, or really sad. Honestly, I hate it. It's so embarrassing when it happens." At the very least, she was grateful not to have to explain the blankie anymore.

"How often does it happen?" he asked.

"Rarely. I guess it just depends on the year, depends on what I'm going through at the time." She paused to think. "Whatever happened to me last night must have really screwed with my head, I must have really been going through something while I was unconscious..."

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

"No, nothing before yesterday morning's flight from Dublin to London." She felt the curious expressions of the others around her without even having to look. "It would look a little strange to my employers if I got back and forth from the Dublin and London offices without them ever paying for a flight."

"Could you excuse us, please?" Sirius turned to face the others.

Niamh turned as well, to face them for the first time. With much unintelligible protest, and very obviously against their wishes, Ron, Harry and Ginny shuffled from the room. Sirius waved his wand in the direction of the door and as soon as the three exited, he impervioused the door behind them. Niamh felt distinctly uncomfortable in the dim room, alone with Sirius Black. Despite her best efforts, she had yet to convince herself he was as trustworthy as everyone else seemed to believe he was. Besides, she felt as though around him, she was always on guard, and it was utterly exhausting. She much preferred the company of other Order members, like Remus Lupin or any number of the Weasleys, to the company of this Order member.

"A few pairs of extendable ears are still floating around the house, despite Molly's best efforts to confiscate and dispose of them all," Sirius said, smiling, but the smile vanished quickly. "I want to tell you what we know about last night, in hopes that it will jog your memory."

Niamh settled further into the couch, seeking the back corner where the arm and the back of the couch met. She wanted to curl up there while she listened. It took a suspiciously long time for her to reach the back corner of the couch. Her eyebrows knit together with curiosity as she reached forward for the pillow she had been resting against, it too, seemed much too far away for the size of the couch she was sitting on. Sirius must have noticed her confusion, because he spoke of the couch first.

"I bewitched it to make it deeper, that way you'd have more room. You were tossing and turning pretty violently at one point and I didn't want you to fall off..." He trailed off, and this time, it seemed that he was the one who was embarrassed.

"Well, uhm, thanks." She wasn't sure what to say, but knew saying nothing would have been rude. An awkward silence followed her muted expression of gratitude.

"I, ehm, so...Anyway. Last night."

The thought crossed Niamh's mind to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Sitting alone in a dark room with a strange man. Both of them awkwardly stumbling around conversation, only to talk about 'last night.' When a small giggle accidentally escaped her lips, Sirius let forth a laugh of its own. It seemed his train of thought had traveled in the same direction.

"Sorry," she said, hand to her mouth to suppress any further errant giggles.

"You honestly remember nothing after yesterday morning?" He switched gears swiftly, efficiently. Suddenly he meant business; this was not a side of him she'd witnessed before.

"Nothing." She shook her head.

"Well, I'll tell you what we know, based upon a report Fred and George gave to Professor Dumbledore last night."

Instead of marveling over the fact that whatever she had become involved in that night had drawn the attention of Albus Dumbledore, Niamh found herself wondering at why Sirius still referred to him as Professor. They were both adult males, Sirius was long past his educational years, and had been a colleague of Albus Dumbledore's for some time. They spoke to each other like equals, and yet, Sirius referred to him like a superior.

"You flew into London, presumably on business for the muggle bank you work at, but on your lunch hour you made a visit to a magical pub where you ran into some American bloke named Mario Italiano--Fred & George couldn't agree on whether or not you knew he would be there in advance, and it seems you never directly confirmed either opinion. Either way, you spoke with him for a while, and after that conversation, accepted a date with him that evening. Based upon your research, and your conversation with him, you thought that date would be a way for you to infiltrate the Ambassador's offices. The date was a failure on all accounts--he was insufferable, and he was not nearly as connected as he made himself out to be. You showed up outside Fred & George's shop on Diagon Alley, and raged and stormed at them about the horror of the evening. They claim you believed you had, in fact, made your work even harder by going on the date." Sirius paused.

"And?" Niamh asked, wanting to hear the rest of the story. Because, so far, it was still a story to her. She did not know the ending.

"And that's all there is. That's when you passed out. You were pacing circles, and suddenly you stopped, you couldn't speak, and you just...hit the ground. Fainted dead away. You didn't regain any sort of consciousness until just now, this morning."

Sirius fell silent and gazed at Niamh, as though waiting for the flicker or realization to pass across her face. Niamh stared at the far edge of the couch, closest to Sirius, who remained sitting on the coffee table. She barely registered the fact that Sirius had stopped speaking. No spark of realization lit her countenance, or reached into her eyes.

"Niamh?" Sirius asked, leaning forward and down trying to catch her gaze.

For a short while she allowed the eye contact, searching his eyes for answers she hadn't yet received. She wanted him to have more to offer. His eyes became a darker, stormier shade, and suddenly she snapped back to attention...in those eyes, in that storm, she could see the criminal again. For an instant, she'd forgotten how intensely uncomfortable this man could make her. How the depth of his eyes, just like this, frightened her so completely. There was a passionate lack of control there. And Niamh believed very firmly in control.

"What's wrong?" he asked, watching her recoil from his gaze.

"I--you--"

She couldn't answer. Didn't know what to say. How does one explain a deep seeded fear like that? She did not want to hurt his feelings, not really. How could she tell him that the wildness of his eyes made her fear for her life? It seemed so unreasonable as she heard the words echo around in her head.

"Your eyes." She said simply, "They got..."

"They what?" This time he looked away, as though he sensed her discomfort. She was grateful.

"They got so dark and...and you looked like a..." She would not continue. She could not say the word 'criminal' aloud.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just...you look so lost right now, to watch someone else get hurt by this, and to have to just...sit here. It makes me angry."

She knew he was speaking the truth. Because she recognized that wildness in his eyes as anger. She could scarcely imagine what his temper must be like. It was that anger that killed 13 innocent muggles. That killed Peter Pettigrew. It was that anger, she feared, that could be unleashed at any time. Again she found herself wondering why on earth he was there, sitting in the same room as her, when he belonged in Azkaban prison. All that anger, behind bars, not five feet away from her, unshielded, even by his very own eyes.

She watched him take a deep breath, as if to compose himself. It only helped a little. She could still see the power of his pulse at the base of his neck.

"Is there anything, anything at all that you can remember from last night? Did the story bring anything back?"

"No," she shook her head somberly, wishing she could grasp onto something, because deep down she knew it was all in there somewhere. "Nothing." A few moments of labored silence. "Do you have any ideas?" she asked, finally giving in to the need to find some kind of ending to the story. Even if it was his.

"Well, the general consensus is that your cover has been blown somehow, although that we've yet to sort out, and last night you were attacked by a Death Eater. I think it was simply intended to be a warning to stay out of the way, but there are others who are concerned the attack was meant to be far more malicious and was not carried out properly."

"More malicious?"

"Maybe avada, maybe imperius, no one can be sure."

She appreciated that he did not lie to her. That he gave her the full weight of his honesty. She felt, after what she had been through, and what she would yet go through, that she deserved at least that much.

"So, you don't think it was something that malicious?"

"Based on the evidence, no. I don't think anyone was trying to kill you. I don't think, at this point, anyone could know enough about you...with all the protections in place..." He trailed off for a second. Niamh wondered what protections he was talking about, but did not ask. "But there are those who believe that, yes. Which is why so many people are out right now, trying to track down Mr. Italiano and interrogate him. Personally, I hope Fred & George get to him first..." He smirked.

"Shouldn't it be easy to find Mr. Italiano, won't he be at work this morning?" As a shot of panic rushed through her body, she did not wait for an answer. "Oh Shit!" She exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "What time is it?! I have to get to work!"

Sirius smiled softly and chuckled. "Sit down, Miss Cassidy, you're not going anywhere."

"What time is it?" she repeated insistently.

"It's about 8.30 am, but that's beside the point. We're not letting you go to a muggle office with some kind of magical ailment we know nothing about." She rolled her eyes at him and moved to stand. "We have no way of knowing what other symptoms are going to materialize, we can't risk something bizarre or dangerous happening in front of muggles, between the statute of secrecy and the fact that there'd be no way for them to help you...No, lady, you're staying right here. Right where I can see you."

"This is ridiculous, I'm sure I'll be fine." She put on a fake brave face. She wasn't sure she'd be fine. She was, however, sure that she had no sick days to take. "I'm still in my probationary period at work, I don't have sick days to take."

"I'm sure, Miss Cassidy, that you can come up with something that will convince your bosses they'd be safest if they let you stay home...there must be some kind of muggle ailment that would seem severe enough."

"That's not the point, Mr. Black, the point is that my job is too important to me, too important to the company...there is no one to fill in for me, and my reputation is at risk already." Frustrated, she shook off the hand that Sirius attempted to place on her shoulder. "Don't touch me," she shot at him, shocked by how nasty she sounded but unwilling to apologize. Again, she attempted to stand.

"If anyone understands how difficult it is to be trapped inside a house, inside THIS house, when there are a million more important things to be done outside with the rest of the world, it's me, Miss Cassidy. But I cannot let you leave."

This time she was successful in reaching her feet, and Sirius rose right beside her. By the time he apparated between her and the sitting room door, however, Niamh had realized the err in her ways. Or, rather, Niamh's body had violently notified her of the err in her ways. Sirius was barely able to catch her body as she crumpled to the floor, grasping her head in her hands and moaning in pain.

"See, now, that's why I told you to stay on that sofa," he whispered as he picked her up and carried her back to the sofa with shocking ease. As he stepped away from her, he waved his wand at the door and called after Harry. "Figure out a way around that impervious yet?" he asked, smirking.

"Not yet," Harry admitted, glumly.

"Didn't think so," he smirked again. "Would you mind going to get Miss Cassidy a hot compress for her head?"

"Sure, no problem," Harry replied, rocking back on his heels and smiling at her before turning to leave the room.

"You should rest, Miss Cassidy," he said, waving his wand at the empty mug of Pepper Up potion, which levitated toward him, but leaving the pieces of toast behind. "I'll send Harry up with the hot compress when it's ready." He began to leave the room quietly, but paused in the door way "And don't even think of trying to leave here today. You don't want me to have to tie you down to that couch, now do you?"

Something evil but sprightly glinted in his eyes as he finished his thought, and Niamh looked away sharply, irritated by his attitude and the throbbing pain in her head.

"I will make sure Professor Dumbledore gets the appropriate word to your boss about your whereabouts." He tossed over his shoulder as he made his way down the hall, and the door swung swiftly closed behind him.

***

"Sorry this took so long," Harry said, about twenty minutes later, when he woke Niamh from a shallow and fitful rest with the hot compress.

"That's alright," she said softly, smiling up at him as he pressed it to her forehead with great care. "That feels nice," she sighed as she brought a hand up to the warm, damp facecloth that rested against her clammy skin.

Harry began to back away from the sofa, as carefully as possible, on tip-toe. She looked so peaceful, despite the fact that he knew she probably felt anything but, and he didn't want to disturb her. Besides, she still needed rest. Not that anyone knew if rest would help her, or not. No one knew anything yet, it seemed. But that was just...when you were ill, you rested. It was all they could offer her anymore. Sirius said, at the very least, if she was sleeping she probably wasn't feeling much pain.

"Wait, don't go," she said. He halted, halfway to the door, and turned around. "Would you mind just, staying with me a while? Ya know, keeping me company? This room creeps me out."

"Sure, I can stay," he said very softly, afraid speaking too loud might hurt her somehow.

Niamh scooted deeper into the sofa, with as little movement as possible, to allow room for Harry. Timidly he took a seat in the far corner of the sofa, near her feet. He did his best to avoid sitting on any of Niamh's extremities, both for fear of embarrassing himself, and because it seemed she was in more than enough pain already. As he settled into the couch (which seemed suspiciously roomy) he watched Niamh close her eyes and rest her hand against the compress on her forehead. Her breathing was slow and steady, making a deliberate hollow sound at the back of her throat. Despite the stressful situation, he thought she looked beautiful. Her eyelashes fell darkly against her fair skin and her volumes of red hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her. For a minute, he allowed himself to imagine what his mother might have looked like in the same situation and the thought made his heart constrict painfully with the sudden reminder that he would never know. When Niamh's eyes fluttered open, he forced the thought from his mind, and held quiet eye contact for a moment.
"So, this room 'creeps you out?'" he asked, a half smile tugging at the right corner of his mouth.
"This room doesn't creep you out?" she shot back.

"Not really," he offered hesitantly. She shot him a look that read 'yeah-right.' "Okay, I used to think it was kind of creepy, but I've gotten used to it, I guess. Besides, the whole HOUSE is creepy, Niamh, it's not just the sitting room." He smiled. "Believe it or not, this house was much creepier when I first moved here last summer...it hadn't been lived in by wizards for something like 10 years, and it was full of all kinds of disgusting magical pests and cobwebs and stuff. Me, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins had to help Mrs. Weasley clean it out. ...The doxies in the curtains over there," Niamh's eyes followed as he gestured at the half drawn curtains across the room, "were pretty nasty."

"Why was the house empty for that long?"

"Well, it wasn't totally empty. Kreacher, the house elf, lived here but he's a bit...batty. So, he didn't really worry much about the upkeep of the house. Sirius says he was mostly following crazy orders from his mother."

"Kreacher's mother? I thought he was the only one in the house?"

"Sorry, I meant Sirius' mum. There's a portrait of her in the entrance hall behind curtains, we have to keep them closed because when they open she moans and shouts and wails at us. Calls us blood-traitors and mudbloods and all kinds of ugly things. She's a real charmer."

"Sounds like it." She smiled a little. "I still don't understand how the Order of the Phoenix could be headquartered in such a dark house."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"Oh, just a little."

"Well, when Sirius' Mum died the house was left to him, since he was the only surviving member of his family. When he broke out of Azkaban, the house was his to use, and last year he offered the house to us. It had all sorts of magical protections on it already, because Sirius' dad was a bit paranoid, so that made it a really great location for the Order, especially once Dumbledore became the Secret Keeper. Anyway, I think the irony works in our favor, I mean, who would expect the Order to have such dark headquarters?"

"I suppose you're right."

Niamh had a strange look on her face. Harry wished he could identify it. He didn't know whether or not it was okay to bring it up. If the previous year's foray into the 'dating' world with Cho had taught Harry anything, it was that females were strange creatures. There was an awful lot you could not say to them, and most of it was hardly logical. There were an infinite number of possible linguistic computations for the same idea, and most of them were the wrong choice. In general, he had yet to figure out how to identify the right choice.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hesitantly deciding it was worth a shot.

"As okay as I can be right now," she started, but did not continue.

Harry could tell there was something she wanted to say. However, it seemed she was afraid to bring it up. Although he could not say he knew Niamh well, it had seemed to him--from the short time he'd spent around her--that she feared very little. It was odd to think that she might be afraid to say something to anyone, let alone him.

"Is there something you want to say?"

"I...well..." she paused, and he watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before continuing, "I just don't understand why Sirius Black, of all people, is involved in this. I mean, it's like you said, he escaped from PRISON, and..." Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion, and she stopped speaking.

"You don't know?" he asked, incredulous.

"Don't know what?" she replied.

"Obviously not," he laughed a little, but swallowed the laughter immediately when she shot him a scolding look. "How do I even begin to..." he trailed off, and a solid minute of pregnant silence followed with Niamh watching him expectantly. "I'm going to try and explain this as simply as possible. Sirius was wrongly convicted; he was framed by someone who he thought was his friend."

Harry had expected some kind of reaction. Instead, Niamh remained quite still. She did not even blink. Nor did she make a sound. She just watched him silently, inquisitively, and waited.

"All right, ehm, when they were in secondary school, my Dad and Sirius were best friends, along with Professor Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. They were pretty much inseparable, especially my Dad and Sirius. When my Mum and Dad got married, Sirius was their best man, when I was born, Sirius was made my godfather, and when my Mum and Dad went into hiding from Voldemort, Sirius was supposed to be their secret keeper. Last minute, he convinced my parents to use Peter as their secret keeper, because he thought it would be much safer. He thought that everyone would assume he was their secret keeper, which would put them at risk, because the enemy would know exactly who to go after. Sirius figured, no one would pin Peter as the one for the job, so no one would think to pursue him for the information. Except, Peter was double crossing everyone, and working for Voldemort. He gave away my parents' location and that's how Voldemort found us. When Sirius went after Peter, with the intent of killing him for his betrayal, Peter double crossed him again. See, Peter (like all of my Dad's closest friends) was an unregistered animagus. He killed all those muggles, cut off his own finger to leave behind as evidence, and transfigured into a rat to escape. Obviously, everyone thought Sirius was the culprit, and it was easy to believe, cause his whole family was so dark. ...He didn't even get a trial..."

Through most of the story, Harry was able to maintain his composure. He had learned a tactic, as a child constantly tortured by his cousin, that allowed him to separate himself from situations he was a part of. To participate, but at the same time, to experience the situation as if he were an outsider, simply looking in on it. As he spoke, although he could hear the words coming from his mouth, he felt as though he were somewhere else, watching another messy-haired boy tell Sirius' story. But when he thought of the injustice of it again, of his profound loss, of the life Sirius was robbed of so callously, he drew inside himself again swiftly. He felt the sharp sting of unwanted tears at the back of his eyes. He wasn't sure he could continue.

"Wow," Niamh breathed. "I mean, I knew there had to be some reason, but still, I didn't...I didn't think it would be that..."

"Some reason for what?" Although he was no longer watching from the outside, Harry still felt only vaguely a part of the situation; he was still distracted by thoughts of how much of his life was impacted by one simple choice.

"Well, everyone seemed to trust Sirius so implicitly, but no one ever said why. Logically I knew there had to be a reason, but I just couldn't figure it out...I...I thought he was a criminal, he made me so uncomfortable, he seemed so..."

For some reason, Harry's body decided it was time for a hearty laugh. He wasn't sure what was so funny about the situation, but there he was, practically guffawing. Perhaps to distract himself from the lingering temptation to cry. Perhaps because it was somehow amusing to think that Niamh had thought his Godfather a dangerous fugitive...that explained a lot. Like the way her back had straightened when Sirius asked that they be left alone together. Or the way she was always trying to one up him, like there was something she needed to prove...her unwillingness to be intimidated, or something of the sort.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I can't believe you thought he was a fugitive!"

"That's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

"Everyone thinks he's a fugitive!"

"Everyone except the members of the Order," he countered, "why didn't you just ask?"

"Oh yeah, cause that's an easy question to pose. 'Uh, hey, Sirius...here's something funny, are you a crazy mass-murdering fugitive? Cause that's what I heard...'"

"Come on, you could have asked any one of us."

"I DID ask. I asked Dumbledore, and he said something like 'I trust everyone in this room' or something equally as ineffective at explaining the situation."

"That sounds like Dumbledore." Harry offered a half smile, which slipped into another laugh that he tried to suppress. "Sorry, it's just funny. No wonder you always acted so weird around him."

"Acted weird?" She had closed her eyes, but at Harry's statement, she cracked one open again and fixed it on him. "I acted weird around him? Weird how?"

"Never-mind." He tried to brush it off.

"Oh no you don't, you opened your mouth, now you're going to have to explain yourself." Half teasing, half completely serious, she prodded his leg with her toe. "Let's go, mister."

"I don't know. It's hard to explain...you were just...extra uptight or something."

"Uptight?" She recoiled at the word. "I'm not uptight..."

"Poor choice of words," he said softly, internally smacking himself on the forehead.

'Watch your words around women, you git, Hermione would kick you right now...' He sighed. 'Well, maybe not right now, this is Niamh we're talking about...'

"You just seemed on edge, like there was something that made you uncomfortable, but it was only when he was around, or when he was talking to you. With the rest of us you seemed fine."

Niamh squinched her eyes shut and groaned. Now she looked sort of like she wanted to smack herself on the forehead, but was afraid it would hurt too much considering her current state. For a few seconds she was quiet.

"Okay, remind me not to do that, it hurts..." she said softly, and mostly to herself. He just nodded silently, unsure of whether she was talking the squinching eyes or the groaning. Harry felt himself smile, although she was perhaps not at her best, she looked beautiful to him. "Do you think he knows?" This time both her eyes were open and planted squarely on his, he shivered.

"Oh ehm, I dunno." The question caught him off guard somehow. "Probably not, I guess. Sirius can be a bit thick." He tried to offer a laugh, but this time, even at his bidding, it would not come. "Hey, I'm uh--I've got to go do something, I'll just let you rest now. Yeah."

He stood briskly and made his way out of the room as quickly as possible without looking like he was in a rush to escape her company. He wasn't sure why his heart was suddenly beating so fast, only that it was a feeling he loved and hated, at once--kind of like when he got caught staring at Fleur a little too long and her veela side reeled him in--the tugging at the back of his stomach and the elevated heartbeat that he associated with that moment.