divided.

It had been a week and Niamh had spent more nights on the couch in Grimmauld Place than she had in her Hyde Park hotel suite. She felt mildly guilty, as the company was paying for the suite while she was working in the London office, and she wasn't really using it except for quick changes of clothes, but she knew there was no other way. Grimmauld Place, as dank and creepy as it could be, had begun to feel like home, where she had a load of sibling figures to tease, who teased her in return, and a mother who cooked dinner every night. In Grimmauld Place she felt like she belonged. In the hotel suite she felt alone.

She'd been working crazy hours, getting to the office at six am for a head start on her workday, working at the bank straight through until 2pm, with barely a break to use the bathroom, and spending her afternoons working on her assignment for the Order, sometimes not returning home until late evening. There were days where she was out of the working, for more than 14 hours.

By Friday, she was thoroughly exhausted. When her boss at Chase sent her home at 1pm, he cited the heavy circles below Niamh's eyes and the droop of her shoulders as she shuffled around the office, resisting the effort required to actually walk. Niamh did not protest the request that she start her weekend early, and rest up for the week to come. Mostly because she was too tired to form the words.

Her exhaustion, all the early hours at Chase, all the late nights out and about in London and Godric's Hollow and what felt like a million other British Wizarding bastions, they would be worth it. In truth, they would almost be worth it already, if it weren't for the fact that she had no one to share her success with. She looked forward to returning to the house. There, she had a scheduled meeting with Dumbledore and Charlie. There, she had plenty of people to share her triumph with. Then, then it would seem worth it.

But first, before she could celebrate, she would need to return to the house. And then perhaps squeeze in a nap before her meeting. Otherwise she'd never have the energy to enjoy the burgeoning fruits of her labor.

It was an immense comfort to return to a boisterous and crowded Grimmauld Place. The sense of home, like the warmth of firewhiskey, spread through her chest at the sound of debate in the kitchen, footsteps in the sitting room and one of the boys shouting some silly song at the top of his lungs to irritate Ginny. Niamh didn't even poke her head into the kitchen to say hello to everyone, just snuck up the stairs in search of an empty, quiet bedroom where she could take a nap completely uninterrupted. By the time she'd reached the top floor, she found relative silence, the sounds of the house more of a hum than a chatter. Sirius had the only bedroom on the floor, and she knew he'd never begrudge her the solitude, so she slipped in and closed the door, breathing in his scent as she climbed into his bed, too tired to bother even peeling off her shoes. Just the knowledge that there were people around was more than enough to make her comfortable, at ease. Their sounds would lull her to sleep.

***

It was Buckbeak who woke her. Well, technically, Buckbeak's alternating hoofs and talons across the floor above her head woke her: he was kept in a room in the attic directly above Sirius' bedroom. Niamh knew this was, in part, because of the connection Sirius felt to the animal. He did not want to be too far. But it was also practical. Hippogriffs weren't exactly the cleanliest or most graceful creatures she'd ever seen, so it couldn't be left loose in the house--not if anyone liked it free of feathers and other waste, or if they valued any of the more fragile possessions that were kept about. Beyond those practical concerns, however, was the fact that although no one expressed it, they did not much like Buckbeak as a house-pet. Sirius was really the only one who cared for the animal, so he needed to be more readily in contact with the animal. Niamh admired his dedication to the beast, she wasn't sure she had it in her to love an animal quite that much, especially one so large and ornery.

Sitting up slowly, she rubbed at her eyes, wondering how long she'd slept. It was hard to guess the time of day because it always seemed dimmer inside Grimmauld Place--more like evening, or winter--no matter the conditions outside. Her watch was a muggle contraption which was of no use inside the Black Household, with all of its magical shields and charms and enchantments. The battery in her watch was simply overwhelmed, a fact she'd been forced to become accustomed to. There was too much magic in the house for most of her muggle contraptions, from her cellular phone to her PDA. So, without her watch, she could only guess at the time based on Buckbeak's agitated behavior. It was probably nearly time for Sirius to feed him, which would put them somewhere around 5pm.

She was shocked when the bedroom door burst open to reveal an aggravated Harry, huffing and pushing his hair back off his forehead. Although she was still fully clothed, instinct told her to yank the blankets up in front of her. With her hands under her chin, blanket clutched tightly, she met Harry's equally surprised eyes.

"You're not Sirius," he said. She could hear the forced calm in his voice.

"No, I'm not."

"Is he here?"

"No, I'm alone," she said as her eyes darted around the room, just in case. Slowly she released her vice grip on the edges of the blanket.

"I didn't know you were here," Harry offered, calming down and slouching against the door frame.

"My boss sent me home from work early. He said I looked awful and overtired, so I came back here, but everyone was busy when I got back so I just, I snuck up here cause I thought Sirius' room would be the most quiet so I could take a nap alone and," she could hear herself rambling, but it was tough to stop the words from continuing to pour forth. "I've just been working so much lately, and..."

"Uh, Niamh?" he asked tentatively as he walked into the room.

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling." A snarky smile cracked across his face. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Your point?" she asked, raising a defiant eyebrow at him.

"Oh, nothing," he said, freezing up suddenly, strangely, and changing the subject. "So, eh, you haven't seen Sirius, then?"

Niamh had been about to answer when Buckbeak gave a bloodcurdling cry from the attic. Both Niamh and Harry cringed and covered their ears with their hands. They remained still and silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, as if afraid the moment they dropped their hands Buckbeak would unleash another painful screech.

"No, I haven't," she said when they finally felt safe enough to drop their hands, "I came in and passed out pretty much right away. Why, do you need him?"

"No, but no one can find him, and if he doesn't feed Buckbeak soon we'll all be deaf."

***

"I can't believe I let him talk me into this," Niamh muttered to herself as she bowed very slowly, maintaining eye-contact with the beast. "I am such a push-over," she said more loudly as she rose up and stepped forward uncomfortably to pet Buckbeak a few times. "I don't do wildlife."

Harry snickered in response.

"Oh stop it. You know what I meant."

"I'm not entirely sure I did, Niamh, what exactly were you saying?"

"Fuck you," she shoved Harry toward Buckbeak, "Feed the beast so we can get out of here."

Buckbeak squawked. She recoiled.

"You should be nice to Buckbeak." A smile cracked across his face. "Ask Draco Malfoy what happens when you're not."

"Who is Draco Malfoy?"

"A rich pureblood git whose father is a Death Eater. He's a Slytherin in my year at school." He paused, looking over his shoulder at Niamh as he threw a pair of rats in Buckbeak's direction. "He said some nasty things to Buckbeak once, and paid the price with a pretty serious gash on his arm."

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind..." she trailed off nervously and began to back even further away from Buckbeak.

"That's actually why we have Buckbeak here, all cooped up inside," Harry began as Niamh settled into a seated position against the wall nearest the door. "It's another big, long, convoluted story--"

"Sounds like you've got a lot of those in your past," she offered, a tone to her voice she didn't entirely recognize, somewhere between sympathetic and cagey, uncomfortable. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to continue. She did not want to pity him.

Harry continued, seemingly unfazed by her reaction, "Draco's father had Buckbeak condemned to death. Hermione and I managed to save him from execution and then Sirius used him to escape from Hogwarts, where he had finally been captured and was waiting for the Dementor's Kiss."

Niamh felt a cold chill run down her spine at the thought of the Dementor's Kiss. She'd never actually encountered a Dementor, only studied them in school, but she knew enough to have a healthy fear of them, to understand the horror of the Kiss. She could scarcely imagine what it must have been like to face that reality, as Sirius had, but she knew she'd never ask him what it was like either. Niamh had never really thought about what kind of punishment Sirius faced, hearing about it added another shade to the darkness in his past.

Still, Harry continued, as though if he stopped, it would become too much to go on, "That's why Buckbeak can't be free, or even domesticated but allowed outdoors, he has to be hidden. Just like Sirius has to be hidden. They're both fugitives from the law."

Harry turned to look at her then, and she offered a soft smile, unsure of what to say in the moment. She watched him dump the remainder of the rats onto the floor and pet Buckbeak's neck as he bent down to snatch another limp carcass. The he turned away from the beast and crossed the room to slide to the floor next to Niamh.

"I can't even imagine..." she said softly, barely above a whisper.

"It was awful. I'd just found out he was my godfather, that he wasn't the maniacal, mass-murdering Death Eater that everyone had told me he was. He even invited me to live with him. And I had to watch the Dementors attack him, and I couldn't stop them. I thought I was going to watch him die. I thought I was going to die there, with him. It was like I'd just been given back my family, and this time, I would remember seeing it robbed from me."

The story didn't make a great deal of sense to Niamh. There were huge narrative holes, back-story that she hadn't yet become privy to. What she did get a sense of, however, was the intimacy of the story. She could hear the breaking, just at the edge of Harry's voice, the constant hesitancy, like he wasn't sure if he should form the next word. He did not speak these words often, if ever. Which was no great shock. She could only imagine how many people took interest in his life, how painful it would be to share these stories with the wrong people, only to have them painted across the cover of the Daily Prophet, or tossed about the cafeteria like silly rumors.

She leaned closer to Harry, touching his shoulder with her own.

"I've never talked about that with anyone besides Ron and Hermione," he revealed.

"I'm honored you shared that with me," she whispered this time.

"It's good to talk about it," he sighed, "I hold in a lot of stuff."

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't be sharing much if I had so many over-eager ears around me. I'm reluctant to share and my life doesn't end up in the gossip pages."

"You can share with me," he offered, "At least then I wouldn't always be the one."

"I know that," she smiled, "You guys have really made me feel at home here. I needed that more than I even realized. I mean, I live with my cousin in Dublin but she's a Muggle, and this part of my life is so alien to her. The rest of my family over here doesn't even know about my magical life. I missed being understood."

"I know exactly what you mean," he laughed a little, "My muggle family, who I live with for most of the summer, they are so far from anything magical...they look at me like I'm from another planet. It's kind of nice to be around people who know where you're coming from."

"Sirius!"

The name came bellowing up the stairs. It was the first time Niamh had ever heard Remus raise his voice. She knew immediately, instinctively, that something was wrong. Harry tensed up. They heard footsteps on the stairs, heavy, labored.

"I've never heard Professor Lupin sound like that," Harry started.

"Neither have I," continued Niamh.

"Something is going on," he stated suspiciously.

"I wonder what's wrong..."

Harry stood first, scrambling to his feet and leaving the soiled rat-bag behind as he darted out of the room to the stairs.

"You know, when I say 'beastly' I mean that in the nicest possible way," Niamh said as she tossed a broad--if a bit forced--smile toward Buckbeak before followed Harry out the door to find out what was going on.

"Is Sirius in there?" Remus asked forcefully.

"No," Harry said, she noticed he'd crossed his arms over his chest and was standing particularly straight and tall, eyebrows knit together.

"Are you two hiding him?" Remus continued, looking at Niamh, still climbing the last few stairs.

"Why would we do that?" she asked, confused.

Without an answer, Remus pushed past them and into the room. It was empty save of course for Buckbeak and the old rat bag, and that was immediately evident. There weren't any places to hide in there.

"What is going on?" Niamh asked, Remus' urgency making her feel very uneasy.

"I just need to talk to Sirius, and he's disappeared off somewhere to sulk. No one can find him, and we've searched high and low...if he left the house we have a big problem," he added the last bit almost as if it were an afterthought, or something he shouldn't have said aloud.

"He wouldn't," Harry said, fear washing white across his face. His look clearly said something different than his words had. "He can't have done," the words were whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. He shot Niamh a desperate look, she did not know what to do.

"If he's not up here, then he's not in the house." Remus stormed out of the room toward the stairs. "Dammit, Sirius."

"What's wrong, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, his voice higher than usual.

"Harry, I can't," he began, but did not finish the sentence.

They followed in Remus' wake as he hurried down the stairs, patchy robes billowing out around him in an almost menacing manner. Niamh had never seen him in this state, and from the look on Harry's face, neither had he. Niamh knew that Sirius was not allowed to leave the house; she'd heard Sirius bemoan the fact more times than she could count. But she'd never expected him to actually disobey Dumbledore's rules and leave the house...if he had, something terrible must have happened. Very suddenly panic began to swell up inside her chest. If it was something Remus couldn't talk about with Harry, it involved the Order. If it involved the Order, if Sirius had left the house...someone was hurt or lost or dying, and she didn't know if she was ready to deal with something like that just yet.

***

An hour later Sirius still hadn't turned up. The house was buzzing with restrained energy. Everyone was concerned about Sirius, scared for him, even. Harry most of all. He'd spent most of his time sitting at the kitchen table chatting Niamh's ear off, and she'd happily obliged him. It gave her something else to focus on, helped distract her from the fear churning in her stomach.

They still hadn't heard from the Twins either, which was making Niamh feel even worse. All attempts to contact them had failed, and no one knew where they could be. They were supposed to be at the shop, but none of their staff had seen them in hours. Somehow, Niamh's brain had convinced her that the Twins were in a ditch somewhere, dying, and Sirius had gone to save them. Obviously, this was entirely illogical; someone would have told her if that was the case. But no one was giving her any information, and she was beginning to understand what it was like to be Harry, or Ron, or Hermione--aware of everything going on around them, but painfully uninformed, left with only their imaginations to find the answers. Niamh just couldn't understand why no one would tell her what was going on, what had sparked Sirius' disappearance...she was an adult, and an Order member, she deserved to know.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Harry's constant chatter was giving her a headache, and her thumbs were beginning to bleed from all the nervous cuticle picking she'd done. She had to get up, get out...do something. Like hunt Remus down and force him to explain himself. But first, she would sit in the back garden and inhale as many Cloves and she could, hoping the exercise would calm her enough to keep her from exploding all over an innocent bystander.

The garden was cool for a late August evening. In an attempt to keep hidden from the rest of the household, Niamh walked to the far corner of the garden, settling in amongst strangled bushes, out of any sightlines from the house. She knew that no one ever really came to the back garden--Niamh had learned she was the only person in the house who sought it's solace--but just in case someone suddenly did, she didn't want to been seen. Everyone was understandably on edge, a testament to Sirius' importance to the household, but if Niamh didn't get away, she was going to lose it. She was already feeling edgy enough; she did not need anyone else's nervous energy to feed off of, to make things worse.

Too impatient to search her pockets to find a lighter, Niamh brought the tip of her wand to the clove poised between her lips where a small blue flame leapt to life. As she inhaled, long and deep, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back until it came to rest against the garden wall behind her. Continuing to take long slow drags on her cigarette, she focused on her breathing, willing herself to force everything from her mind. This was a difficult task for Niamh, too type A to ever really succeed at any form of meditation.

It was a few minutes before Niamh noticed that she was not alone in the garden. A cool, wet feeling pressing against the underside of her right hand brought her back to reality. She jumped up, nearly screaming at the sudden contact, calming only slightly when she realized it was the nose of a dog, and not some vastly more intimidating or dangerous wild magical creature. Still, for a few moments she was unsure of whether or not to sit back down, wondering if dog was friendly, or rabid, or any number of disquieting things her imagination could conjure up. Despite the gentle look in his eyes, there was a wildness in his form that made him difficult to read. But when he nuzzled her palm with his nose again, and allowed her to pet him, she felt calm melt over her body, warm and liquid, until she felt powerless to resist the urge to return to the ground.

Again nestled amongst the withering plant life, Niamh reached for the dog, craving the comfort of running her fingers over his sides, feeling the breathing under his skin and the silkiness of his fur. She'd never had pets of her own as a child because of her mother's severe allergies, but she'd grown to love dogs through her Aunt Susan and Uncle Paul, who'd had two in her lifetime. Strangely enough, this dog looked like a cross between their black Newfoundland Jiffy and their chocolate Lab Charsey, which was perhaps why she'd decided to trust him.

Yet, when she reached for the dog, her fingers instead found the roughness of crisp wool under her fingers. Startled, she felt the urge to scream again as she whipped around to see Sirius sitting next to her. Scream with frustration, with joy, with utter fear, with confusion...she wasn't sure which. Sirius seemed to know before she did that the scream was there, at the back of her throat, because he swiftly covered her mouth with his hand and didn't release until she'd shot him a nasty look and nearly bitten a chunk of flesh out of the pad of his hand.

"You're an animagus," she hissed with a bitterness she had not expected to hear in her voice.

"Uh..."

"Thanks for telling me." She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to look at him as she continued, "You know, everyone in the house is freaking out. No one knew where you were, they think you left the house, and..." She was too angry to continue coherently, and more importantly, confused at the state of her own emotions. "You're an asshole."

Niamh rose to her feet, her body taught, and shot him one last nasty look before she moved to stride away. Sirius caught her hand before she could move more than half a step and she froze, heart in her throat, before turning slowly to stare down at the space where his fingers tangled into her own.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he said, his voice soft and apologetic, as she found it hard to look away from his hand. "I just needed to be alone, and you were asleep in my room, so I didn't want to disturb you...I didn't know how else to get away."

"It's not me you should be worried about," she intoned, pulling her hand free of his grip and taking another step back.

"Your godson is a wreck and...and Remus is in a right state...I've never seen him like this. Never-mind everyone else in there who cares about you."

"Sometimes I wonder," he whispered.

"I heard that. And let me just tell you, this is a piss poor way of testing everyone's affection for you."

"I'm not--" he cut off, looking up at her with pain laced through his gaze. Suddenly, she felt badly for what she'd said. "I wouldn't."

"I know..." she trailed off, sinking to the ground again, if possible feeling even worse than she had when she'd first escaped the house. "Look, what I said was out of line. I don't even know why I said half of it, the words just kind of...came out."

They sat in silence for moments that seemed to stretch into days. It was not specifically awkward, but Niamh found that once again she could not stop fidgeting: biting her lower lip and picking at her ravaged cuticles. She could hear Sirius breathing very deliberately, like he thought he could siphon off his emotions through the passage of air into and out of his mouth. Unspoken words hung between them as though suspended in corn syrup, sinking slowly through the viscous liquid, taunting them with their presence.

"You're bleeding," Sirius spoke first, tentatively.

"I am?" She paused, glancing at her hands, only then noticing that she'd begun to bleed pretty steadily from the middle finger on her left hand. "Oh, yeah," she sighed.

"I'm sorry," he offered, less tentatively.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, looking up, although this time with considerably less acid in her tone, less judgment too.

"I wasn't. I'm sure you've noticed by now thinking isn't always my strongest suit." She smiled at him, the soft hum of laughter just behind her lips. "I was upset and I needed to get away, before I did something REALLY daft."

"What happened?"

More silence. Sirius wouldn't even look her in the eye. This time he was the one with eyes fixed on his hands.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I understand..."

"No, no. I want to tell you, I just, I'm not sure if I'm allowed to. I didn't stay long enough to find out how classified the information was..." he trailed off. She had been right. It was related to the Order. "You won't say anything, right?" He met her eyes once again, and although the hurt was still there, this time diffused by something she could not read, it was more distant.

"Of course not."

"They're sending Remus underground."

"They're what?"

"They're sending Remus underground, you know, to live amongst the Werewolves."

She froze. She'd known, all along, that there was something about Remus, something more than met the eye. But she'd never have guessed he was a werewolf. God, no wonder he seemed so panicked before, she thought, not only was Sirius missing, but he's about to be sent into a pretty hostile situation.

Niamh did not know a great deal about werewolves in Great Britain, but if they were anything like those in America, they were generally an unsavory and dangerous bunch. Which was clearly why Remus never mentioned his condition--because the reputation that preceded it was much too powerful for most people to ever overcome. It was a standard by which no one would ever want to be judged. And Remus most certainly did not conform to that standard.

"Wow..." almost inaudible, "He uh...I mean, when? Why?"

"In a few days. The werewolves are a vulnerable population. Most of them aren't so bad, but with the kinds of freedoms Voldemort promises them...it's tempting. And we think some of the more moderate werewolves are being bullied by the more extreme ones, like Fenrir Greyback, who has already partnered with Voldemort. Remus is going to try and preach our message, keep people from joining Voldemort, because if too many werewolves turn...well, you know how dangerous that could be."

"Will it be very dangerous for Remus to go underground?"

"Incredibly so, he'll be gone for months having almost no contact with anyone outside of the werewolf community, which is dangerous enough in itself. But if any of the wrong people get wind of what he's doing...it's certain death."

She could read the fear in his eyes like she was reading a book. Remus was Sirius' rock. Sirius feared for more than Remus' safety underground, for more than his friend's life. Remus was unsafe no matter where he was, he could lose his life at any given moment. They all could. What Sirius truly feared was going it alone. Was having to face days and weeks and months at a time without Remus to center him, to keep him from losing his mind.

"But it's not just his safety you're worried about," she said, inviting him to open up to her. She wanted to help him.

"Of course not." He raked his hands through his hair, a distraught look flashing across his face before he could conceal it from her. "I'm worried about how this is going to affect Harry...Remus and I have been family to him lately, and Remus won't even be able to tell him the truth, he's just going to disappear... I'm worried about how this is going to affect me...which is selfish, I know. But he's just, he's the only one here who really knows me, who really understands me...he keeps me from going over the edge, you know?"

"I do." She nodded solemnly.

"I know this isn't about me. But I don't have much in my life right now, and I'll have even less when Harry and the kids go back to Hogwarts...without an overturned conviction I'm trapped. And now Remus is leaving me behind..."

She reached toward him, as he sat cross legged in front of her, and placed a hand on his knee hoping to offer some comfort. She did not know what to say, did not know if there was anything to be said at all, and so she said nothing. Eventually Sirius covered her hand with his own, and when he regained his composure he looked up at her again.

"Thanks," he whispered, his words slightly strangled.

"Don't worry about it."

They sat there, again in silence, for a few moments more. This time the silence was warmer, more companionable, no longer loaded with words unspoken. She was glad to have found him. Had any of the kids found him, they would not have been able to offer the sort of support he needed--he would not have even been able to tell them what was upsetting him so deeply. And Niamh didn't get the impression that Sirius was keen on sharing with any of the other adults in the house, or in the Order. She wasn't even entirely sure why he'd chosen to lean on her, and could only guess that in the days since she'd revealed her painful secret to him, something in their relationship had shifted. Trust had been established in a place where once there had only been discomfort. It was nice to trust someone that way again. She felt as if she'd been holding onto her secrets--bits and pieces of herself here and there, hidden from various people--for far too long.

"We should go inside," he said, rising to his feet and offering a hand to help her up, which she accepted.

It had been a tumultuous few hours, and Niamh was glad to see them come to an end, although in her heart she knew there would be no concrete end to the upheaval in her life, not for quite some time.