divided.

Installment Thirteen.

Niamh twisted in front of the mirror uneasily, craning her neck to try and get a look at the back of her dress, at the same time tugging roughly at the front of the full skirt. Although she loved formal dresses and dressing up, as she had since she was a child, her nerves were beginning to get the best of her and she felt incredibly uncomfortable. The strapless dress made her feel too naked on top, the boning in the bodice made her feel too constricted, the volume of the skirt kept her from moving properly, forget sitting down with any kind of comfort or grace. She felt the distinct urge to tear the dress off and settle into a loose pair of robes. In fact, she would be happiest if she could slip into the biggest pair of robes in the house--meaning she'd probably have to steal them from Bill--and curl up on the couch in the sitting room with a book. After all the effort put into this evening, she did not want to attend the ball.

"Oh my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, sneaking into the room.

The twins had been attempting to catch a glimpse of Niamh all evening, specifically with the goal of torturing her for dressing 'like a girl.' She'd reminded them that they'd seen her in skirts many a time, and even in the occasional dress (if they caught her coming home from the office), and so this should be no shock to them. But they took great pleasure in exploiting her discomfort in the situation. In fact, she was sure they were sitting just outside the door, waiting patiently for the opportunity to strike (only staying outside the room for fear of Niamh's potential nakedness, which to them was as horrifying as the idea of seeing Ginny naked). This was obviously why Mrs. Weasley had slid through a sliver of open door and slammed it closed behind her.

Niamh turned to face her, hands hanging stiffly at her side as she resisted the urge to tug upward on the neckline of the dress.

"You look radiant!" again an exclamation.

The dress was a deep emerald green taffeta, almost black in certain lighting, corseted through the bodice and bustled at the back of the full skirt, which pooled on the floor around her and trailed slightly as she stepped. Her hair was down, falling into big, fat curls at the ends, which in and of itself was shocking enough because no one had ever really seen her with her hair down. Around Grimmauld place it was always up in a hasty ponytail, for the sake of comfort and practicality, she found wearing her hair down to be distracting when she was doing things like eating or working.

"Thank you," she said shyly, looking down at the dress. "I feel kind of naked." She placed a hand over her chest.

"You look elegant, not naked," Molly offered, "And you wouldn't want to put on a necklace or anything that would cover the skin there, it would distract from your earrings."

She was wearing gold and rhinestone chandelier earrings, costume jewelry that had once belonged to her muggle grandmother. And Molly was right, she would not want to distract from them. Reaching up, she took hold of one of the earrings, rubbing her thumb over it rhythmically while staring off into space. Gradually, she felt herself calm. At least for the time being. Molly had begun to slowly circle, smoothing and tugging at fabric all around her, the way her mother would have if she were there instead of thousands of miles across an ocean.

"There," said Molly, finishing her circle and standing upright in front of Niamh. "It's nearly time," she continued, "we'll have just a few moments for pictures."

"Pictures?!" Niamh heard her voice rise over the word.

"Yes, pictures. I can't have you leave this house looking that lovely, on the arm of one of my sons (who cleans up surprisingly well), and NOT take a picture. That would be downright sinful! And your mother will want to see you looking so beautiful, and..."

Molly hustled across the room as she continued speaking, although Niamh was not hearing the words. She watched as Molly snatched the evening bag Niamh had left on top of the chest of drawers before she doubled back, grabbing hold of Niamh's elbow and tugging her toward the bedroom door. Niamh did her best to quickly gather her skirt in her right hand, pulling it off the ground before her so that she wouldn't trip over the hem. The twins were going to tease her badly enough for the dress, she did not need to fall on her face in front of them. That, she would never hear the end of.

"Sweet Merlin, she's a lady!" George howled with laughter as Niamh was pulled past him.

Niamh took a second to shoot him a nasty look before returning her attention to the floor in front of her. Moving quickly in high heels was not her forte, and she didn't want to lose her footing on an uneven floor board or find herself sliding down a staircase because of simple carelessness. Realistically, she knew the dirty looks would do little to silence the twins, and therefore, they were not worth the risk of falling.

"Oh MAN! I was so hoping she'd do a header down the stairs in those crazy shoes!" Fred exclaimed as Niamh safely navigated to the ground floor. She knew them too well.

"You underestimate me, Fred. Me and my inner girl, we know a few things about high heels and gowns." She rolled her eyes at him. 'Oh god, now I REALLY better not hurt myself!' she thought.

"You look great," Charlie said, smiling down at her (despite the big heels, he still towered over her).

"Thanks," she felt herself blush as she looked down to where he toes would be, if they weren't buried under volumes of crinoline and taffeta.

"Now, you two, stand over there, away from all the elf heads," Mrs. Weasley gestured, "I think the wallpaper will look quite nice as a background."

Niamh accepted the elbow Charlie proffered, and followed his lead to an open stretch of wall in the entry. She noticed that people were slowly starting to gather from different parts of the house, but tried her best to ignore all the onlookers and focus on Molly's directions. Chin up, look a little left, Charlie put your arm around her waist...Niamh was so busy NOT focusing on anyone else that the directions began to blur. This was more than just a few pictures. In fact, it felt like a few hundred pictures.

"Mum," Charlie intoned, "I think you've got enough now. We're going to be late for the ball if you don't give it a rest and let us leave!" Charlie had been trying to get them out the door for at least five minutes by that point. Molly kept repeating 'just one more,' to keep them there.

"Oh, all right," she conceded with a great deal of hesitancy.

"She could paper the house with all those pictures," Charlie said under his breath. Niamh suppressed a giggle. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Mind if I run to the bathroom quickly before we leave?"

Charlie looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at her, but nodded his head and dropped his arm, allowing her to go. Hitching up her skirt, Niamh wove through the crowd still formed in the hall, most of whom, having tired of watching the photos long ago, were all involved in their own little conversations. Niamh was grateful for their distraction.

Halfway down the hall she ran into Sirius, quite literally. She was concentrating on the floor and her shoes, and he didn't seem to be concentrating on anything.

"Woah," he said, steadying her with a firm grip on her upper arms. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she offered a smile as if it would assure him, her heart still pounding from the shock.

"What's going on downstairs?"

Sirius had disengaged from the household. Ever since he'd learned Remus would have to go underground he had become distant, spending increasing swaths of time in the attic alone with Buckbeak, ignoring almost everyone else. Things had only gotten worse a few days earlier, when Remus had left on his assignment. Harry was taking food up to Sirius once in a while, and Niamh had sat in with him a few times (mostly in silence) but otherwise, he had been isolated. Intentionally so. Therefore, it was no shock that he did not remember what was going on that evening, although Niamh had told him all about the ball ages ago. In fact, he had been the first person, apart from Niamh, to hear about it at all.

"Oh, uhm, we were taking pictures..." she looked back over her shoulder toward the light at the end of the hall and the chatter emanating from the crowd still gathered there.

When Niamh looked back at Sirius, she watched recognition creep across his face. He took a step back, letting go of her arms, and for the first time that evening, actually looked at her. Niamh felt heat rise in her cheeks as his eyes slid down her body slowly, inquisitively, before returning to meet her own. For a while Sirius looked like he was about to speak, and yet, he said nothing. Niamh began to look around uncomfortably, casting about for something she could concentrate on aside from Sirius. There was not much to look at in the poorly lit old hallway and all too quickly she found herself meeting his eyes again.

"You, uh..." he paused and shook his head a little, she watched as waves of dark hair jostled about his face. "You look...nice," he finally finished, looking away.

"Yeah, uhm, the ball and all...Thanks." Uncomfortable, she brought a hand across her chest and up to her neck, looking away as well.

"I remembered," he said softly. She could feel his eyes on her again, and she began to edge past him toward the bathroom.

"I have to pee." Internally, she smacked herself on the forehead for saying something so utterly stupid.

"Oh," he raised his eyebrows, shifting to let her pass, "yeah, I should ehm...get back to Buckbeak, he's not feeling quite right and...well. Knock 'em dead." She tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation, the low level to which it had descended.

"I'll try."

"You look real nice," he added, repeating himself.

"Thanks," she replied, looking over her shoulder as she continued down the hall toward the bathroom.

"Although, I'm not quite sure a dress like that is the best way to stay 'incognito.'"

He'd said it to himself, mostly under his breath, but the hall was quiet, and Niamh still caught the words over the soft rustle of her gown and the deliberate clicking of her heels across the wood floor. Squeezing her eyes closed and willing herself to put the words from her mind, Niamh felt blush race across her skin, rising up her chest and into her cheeks, for the second time that night.

*****

The ballroom was elegant, if a bit overdone in its baroque fashion. There were a few too many mirrors, the curtains billowed a bit too deeply, the statuettes and candelabras on the side tables were a bit too ornate. Witches and Wizards in formal dress circulated, drifting in and out of smaller circles, making friendly conversation. A nondescript band played old-fashioned music (at least it sounded that way to Niamh's ears, which were more accustomed to Alanis Morrisette, the Counting Crows, and Nirvana), song after song, each melting seamlessly into the next, while a few intrepid couples spun careful circles around the floor.

Niamh's heart was pounding so hard inside her ribcage that she was sure something was about to break loose inside her, although she couldn't decide if it would be a tendon or a rib or even her heart itself. In an attempt to distract herself from her nerves, she debated this ridiculous question as she followed Charlie's lead walking a loop around the ballroom. They were supposed to be surveying the scene before they developed a plan of action for schmoozing their way to the American Ambassadors. In that moment, however, Niamh was more concerned with finding a way to calm herself down. She was quite sure other people could see the hammering of her heart right through her skin, and knew that it would betray any cool facade she might work up. She couldn't act cool, calm, collected and perfectly in place if she couldn't slow her pulse. She couldn't pass for anything more than a gatecrasher if she couldn't pull it together.

"So, are you going to dance with me tonight?" Niamh struggled for levity, again in an attempt to distract herself from her nerves.

"Of course not," Charlie's eyes glittered in the light from the chandeliers as he smiled winningly at her. "I have a reputation to uphold as a Weasley ma--Niamh, are you alright? You're looking peaky, do you need to sit?" he asked, coming to a stand-still and placing his free hand over hers, which was tucked into his right elbow.

"No, no, I'm fine. We just need to keep walking. I'm fine." She nodded, working more to convince herself than to convince Charlie.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm FINE!" she exclaimed, and suddenly people were staring. She'd been much louder than necessary.

"Come on," he said, suddenly dropping his arm and taking a hold of her hand firmly, harshly.

Niamh followed hastily after Charlie as he dragged her to a far corner of the room, all along a stern look on his face. She could barely keep up with his long strides, between her heels and the yards of fabric pooled all around her, progress was difficult. Twice she'd nearly tripped over the hem of her gown. And yet, Charlie did not relent in his pace until he'd reached the corner where he pulled her around in front of him, backing her up between himself and the walls. His hands were gesturing emphatically and his mouth was moving, but he was not speaking aloud. And yet, Niamh could hear his words quite clearly, echoing about inside her head. It was one of the more eerie magical sensations, although she recognized it instantly as a skill only very powerful magicians possessed. Despite herself, Niamh was shocked. She'd always known Charlie was talented, but now it seemed that she'd always underestimated him.

"I want you to play along with me, act like we're arguing," he said, although his mouth was still moving at a completely different pace.

Niamh obliged. She pretended to retort a few times, and then gradually shrunk into the corner as Charlie continued to pretend to hiss at her with great agitation. "I'm sorry," she kept mouthing over and over, until finally he stopped, leaning down to hug her.

"What did we just argue about?" she whispered in his ear. She could no sooner project her voice into Charlie's head than she could turn herself into a platypus.

"I was berating you for acting like a petulant child, which you've been doing too frequently lately when you don't get your way. But you've promised to get a grip and act your age." She could literally hear him smirk.

"Thanks for filling me in, Dad," she deadpanned in his ear.

"Well, it's not my fault you've been sulking ever since I went to see the Weird Sisters with my brother the other day, instead of taking you."

"I would never do that."

"Well, you just did." He smiled wickedly before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Besides, now everyone thinks I'm some angry maniac who lost his temper and you're the poor girl who puts up with me. I think this will work in our favor, people won't suspect what a snake you are, they'll be too busy feeling badly for you."

"Who, me? A snake?" She returned his wicked smile, and accepted the arm that he offered so they could continue their loop around the room. "I'd prefer to be called a fox."

"See, and I thought calling you a fox might be a bit over the top tonight, considering that dress and all..."

For the first time she noticed Charlie appreciating her in the dress, and felt a weird rush of gratification, followed by a wave of comfort. She could play this part. She already was playing this part.

***

"What happened to Mario?" One of the American Ambassador's staffers asked, glancing about the circle.

"Oh, he's, well...He's not feeling very well. He went to the bathroom to, uh...splash some water on his face," replied his date, a willowy, vapid blonde.

"I thought he was starting to look a little funny...kind of green... He's been gone an awful long time for someone who's just splashing water on his face hasn't he?" the staffer replied. "I hope he's all right," she added, sounding like a five year old whose mother forced her to say something kind to the weird kid in class. It seemed no one much liked Mario. Niamh was not alone.

Charlie had been fighting the temptation to deck Mario for hours, Niamh holding tightly to his hand and pushing it back down every time Mario said something rude or stupid and Charlie attempted to raise a fist. Although no one in the house--aside from Sirius--knew the whole truth about Mario, everyone knew he was the person who hexed her, and to their knowledge he'd done so for no particular reason. Needless to say all the new men in her life, acting in fine brotherly form, wanted to cause Mario a fair bit of harm. No amount of Niamh's pleading could convince them that she did not need their defense. But it was true. Niamh was already exacting her revenge. And if Mario thought a little diarrhea was bad, well, he had a lot to learn about a witch's wrath. She'd only just begun with the petty muggle retaliation. She hadn't even gotten to the really good magical forms of revenge she'd been dreaming up.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, please?" asked the staffer, looking between Niamh and Charlie. "We should probably go check on Mario." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about it. You should make sure he's all right. We'll speak again later."

The vapid blonde, whose name Niamh could not recall, and the Ambassador's staffer, Mia, took off in the direction of the exit that led to the restrooms. Niamh was finally able to let go of Charlie's hand and she turned to face him, allowing him to rest his hands on her hips, although she thought it must have looked as awkward as it felt. They'd been pretending to be a couple all night long. It was her excuse for being there. She was the date of a pure-blood British Wizard of some importance in British Wizarding society. Or at least, that's what they hoped it looked like. She didn't want to seem out of place, a stranger in a strange land. Because if the British didn't know her, and the American's didn't know her, well, she would be incredibly suspicious.

"I wonder what happened to him," Charlie mused, taking comfort in Mario's pain.

"Oh, I have a hunch..." she said mischievously.

"You ARE a snake! What did you do to him?" he whispered excitedly.

"Oh, just an old Muggle trick. I spiked his drink with a little something Americans call 'ex-lax,' it's a laxative. Actually I dumped in a LOT of it."

"How much?"

"Let's just say his ass is going to be burning for days on end." It was foul. But far too gratifying to leave unspoken.

"That is absolutely genius. Have you showed this stuff to Fred & George yet?"

"No, but--"

Their excitement dissipated rapidly as Charlie tensed when he heard the slow drawl of a tall blonde man Niamh did not recognize.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't a Weasley," began the man, "you know, I almost didn't recognize you in those clothes...they're clean, and by the looks of it, brand new. Don't you Weasleys all buy second-hand?"

Instantly Niamh knew why Charlie had tensed up so powerfully at the sound of this man's voice.

"I'm Niamh Cassidy," she said, standing her full height and offering the man a hand. "And you are?" she sneered.

"Lucius Malfoy," he answered, glaring down his nose at her, but did not offer his hand in return.

She felt the overwhelming desire to slip some ex-lax into his drink.

"And here I was, thinking you Weasleys couldn't sink any lower. Associating with Mudbloods and Muggles is one thing, but associating with Americans...well, that's entirely another."

This time Charlie was grabbing Niamh's fist and pushing it back down to her side.

"He's not worth it," he whispered in her ear.

"That's interesting," she said politely, playing up the American-ness of her accent, "because where I come from, associating with prejudiced bigots is frowned upon. Golly, I must have lots to learn about being British, mustn't I, sweetheart?"

She looked up at Charlie with a big smile plastered across her face. He tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger.

"You're doing just fine, duckie," he said, playing up his accent as well, before leading her away from Lucius without a word.

***

"Niamh Cassidy, this is Governor Tree," Mia said, introducing her to the leader of the American Legislature for the first time. "Governor Tree, this is Niamh Cassidy, she's an American student who will be studying here in Britain for the year."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Cassidy," he said as he shook her hand firmly.

"No, the pleasure is all mine," she replied, "This is Charlie Weasley, he's a member of my host family."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley."

"It's nice to meet you as well, Governor."

"So, Miss Cassidy, you're studying abroad for a year, that's interesting. You don't hear about that very often!" he forced a laugh as if it were the right thing to do, his shoulders shrugging up and down with the effort.

"No, I suppose you don't," she smiled broadly, unable to force a giggle herself.

And it was uncommon. Studying abroad was something rich muggle children did while they were in college. There was no such thing as Wizarding College, never-mind study abroad or transfer programs in colleges. However, she was not the first to do such a thing, which is the only reason she was able to use the story as a cover. There were some young witches and wizards, mainly those who were educated in muggle universities (most often part-timers), who studied abroad during college, and even more who took time to learn about wizarding society abroad after graduation, but before they decided where their career would lie.

"What school do you attend in America?"

"I graduated with a BA from New York University this past May, actually. I was the head of S.P.E.L.L., the University's magical organization."

"You've graduated? Then what are you studying?" He looked at her a bit perplexed, seemingly unsure of how anyone with an undergraduate degree could still be getting an education.

'Is a graduate education a foreign concept to him?' she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm in a Masters program at a University in London, studying muggle politics and spending my free time studying international politics in the wizarding world with a more practical approach."

"I see, so you're interested in politics..."

"Oh yes, very much so," she said, trying to convey the weight of her interest through the enthusiasm in her voice.

Niamh did not have to feign her interest in politics, that was an honest truth. But she would have to feign interest in HIS politics for a while. In general, Niamh thought that Governor Tree was a bumbling fool, to put things lightly. He was too conservative, too isolationist, too cavalier, too stuck on his perception of American importance in the world at large, which was a dangerous assumption in wizarding matters, where America still remained a step-child on the scene. And he was stupid, as in literally not bright. Despite his vast education at some of the finest wizarding and muggle institutions, he was incredibly dumb--lacking in both street smarts and academic knowledge.

But Niamh knew that if she was going to get to him, she was going to have to play the politics game. Her current plan of action was to endear herself to him and eventually to convince him to take her under his wing and educate her in the ways of the world and international wizarding politics. Once she'd gained his trust by playing the game, she would work to convince him of the dire situation with Lord Voldemort. Once she had his ear, she would talk Dumbledore's politics, and hope he'd listen.

Niamh knew getting close to him was the key. Distrust between the Governor and most British wizards--Ministry of Magic employee or lay-person alike--left him unwilling to listen to anyone about Voldemort and the danger the dark wizard's movement presented. But as an American, willing to play some sneaky games, Niamh was in a unique position. She believed she would be able to gain his ear, and that ultimately he might even listen to her where he would listen to no one else. Or at least, this was what she had to tell herself in order to avoid the urge to give up on a seemingly hopeless mission. And the urge to avoid the Governor all together because even just his presence made her irrationally angry at the world.

"I'd always taken an interest in politics, but in my senior year of high school--which was an election year--I had to take an American Government class and that really piqued my interest. I've been involved in politics clubs and everything since then. When it came time to apply for graduate school, I knew politics was exactly what I wanted to study, but I knew it was important to study it in a more international context."

"It's great to see someone your age who is so passionate about the pursuit of politics," began Governor Tree, setting off on a speech about the travesty of the youth's lack of involvement in political endeavors.

***

Sirius sipped idly at his third cup of tea, feeling the waning fire against his back as he paused his pacing in front of the hearth. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, feet against its edge, pushing his chair up onto its hind legs and dropping it back to the floor repeatedly. Ron was resting his elbows on the table, chin in his hands, staring blankly into the embers of the fire. They'd been sitting together in silence for a few minutes, after a conversation about the fate of the Chudley Cannons had fizzled to a halt, none of them sure what there was left to talk about. They'd been talking for hours.

"What are you two children still doing awake?" asked Fleur, her speech slightly more deliberate than usual, as she entered the kitchen. Bill followed not far behind.

"We're not children, thanks very much," said Ron dryly, rolling his eyes at her.

"They've been sitting up with me," Sirius defended, only mildly concerned with what Fleur thought about the situation and mostly interested in heading off any squabbles that might erupt, "we were having a chat about the new school term."

Fleur seemed to know he was lying, but he did not care and she did not press the issue. Although Fleur had been warming up to the family and the Order--and likewise they had gradually been warming up to her--she had an incredible ability to slip back into her old ways in the blink of an eye. She could be painfully condescending without even realizing it (as she had been just then) and in general the youngest members of the household had very little tolerance for her. Although, truth be told, the older members of the household were really just better at hiding any disdain they might feel. Obviously, since Bill had proposed to her only a few weeks earlier, Fleur would be around for quite some time, and everyone would have to deal with that.

Sirius could tell that she and Bill had been out on a date, and that she'd had perhaps a touch more wine than she should have. Her step was not as light or graceful as usual, and her speech was deliberate, as though each word took considerable effort to form properly. He stifled a laugh as Fleur had a small run-in with the dresser.

"What are you two doing here anyway?" asked Ron. Sirius could hear resentment still in his voice.

"I wanted to pop in and see how everything went with Charlie," said Bill, steadying his fiancée with a hand on her lower back. "Besides, we were closer to this house than we were to Fleur's place, so we thought she could just spend the night here."

Sirius shot Ron a dark look before he could groan aloud. This was not the time to get into a row with Fleur. Besides, there were much bigger things on his mind, and he was not in the mood to deal with a teenager and a veela in a snit.

"Where is Charlie?" Bill asked, speaking directly to the bigger things on Sirius' mind.

"Still out with Niamh," Harry said glumly, speaking up for the first time, although he did not turn in his seat to face Bill and Fleur, merely spoke toward the fire.

"They're not back from the ball yet?" Bill sounded shocked.

Sirius just felt frustrated. 'What could they possibly be doing?' he thought, 'No, scratch that. Don't answer.'

"No, they're not," Sirius added uselessly.

"Why, Sirius, if I didn't know any better I might say that you're--"

"Bill, finish that thought, and you will find yourself in a great deal of pain," he growled.

Bill's eyes flashed with mischief as he rubbed a hand up and down Fleur's side. She was leaning lightly against his body for balance. Sirius could only hope he was conveying a tenth of his emotions with his eyes. He did not want his feelings discussed with the current company. In fact, he did not want his feelings for Niamh discussed at all. Although things had changed a great deal between them in the past few weeks, Sirius was feeling increasingly insecure in his feelings for the young woman. Especially after their awkward encounter in the hall before the ball. Every day he became more convinced she saw him as nothing more than a friendly old man, at best. The thought of anyone else finding out about the way he felt, let alone the possibility that she might catch wind of those feelings...it was enough to make him feel quite ill.

Thankfully, as Sirius' eyes darted about the room seeking signs of recognition on the boys' faces, it seemed neither of them had noticed the heated exchange between him and Bill.

"Well, I'm going to get Fleur set up in the sitting room for the night, come on love," Bill said, chivvying Fleur toward the door. "Don't wait up too late, lads, if I know Charlie they'll be partying into all hours of the night."

Sirius tried not to react to the statement. He knew Bill was just trying to torture him. Sure, Charlie was a bit of a partier. His social life was as edgy as his professional life. But both Niamh and Charlie had day jobs, and it was a Wednesday night. And anyway, Charlie knew how Sirius felt about Niamh. Besides which, Charlie had no feelings for Niamh, at least, not those feelings. He was interested in some Romanian girl, and everyone in the house knew that. They'd been teasing him about it for ages because Charlie was too much of a cad to settle down.

When Sirius realized he was building a list of ridiculous justifications in his head, he wanted to scream. He was being silly. He was listening too much to Bill, and Bill was just trying to get under his skin. It was late and he was tired and he was being overly sensitive.

He had just about convinced himself it was time to abandon the vigil and head up to bed when he heard Niamh's voice drift down to the kitchen from the upstairs hall. From the chorus of voices it sounded like Niamh and Charlie had returned home just as Fleur and Bill were passing the front door.

When Niamh knocked into the troll's foot umbrella stand, and the crash of the stand in combination with her howl of laughter awoke his Mum's portrait, Sirius felt frustration rush, prickly and hot, to the surface of his skin. Immediately he stormed across the kitchen, throwing the door back before he thundered up the stairs. He didn't think about the rest of the house, asleep in their beds, as he turned on Niamh, who was still giggling.

"Niamh, you know better than that. You've woken up my Mum and at this rate she'll wake the entire house!" He shouted.

"Sssirius, YOU will wake up the entire house!" she said, still giggling as she swatted at his shoulder before heading past him to the kitchen stairs.

"This isn't funny Niamh, just because you were out all night on a bender doesn't mean that the rest of us aren't trying to rest up for WORK tomorrow," Sirius continued as Bill struggled to silence the howling portrait.

"Come on Sirius, cut the girl some slack. It's not as if you're working tomorrow," Charlie stepped in to defend Niamh, lunging forward to grab hold of her elbow as she wobbled at the edge of the staircase. "Hey-ey-ey, Niamh, what did I tell you about stairs?"

"Uhmmm...Count!" she exclaimed, as though particularly proud that she was able to recall this piece of information.

"Count, and?" Charlie asked.

"Count and...hold onto Charlie!"

Sirius watched, skin still prickling, as Niamh casually handed her heels to Charlie before struggling to hoist up the full skirt of her gown. The diamante straps on the shoes glittered in the inconsistent hallway lighting and for a moment Sirius' attitude toward her softened as he thought about the difficulty of managing stairs in those towering heels. His attitude quickly reversed, however, as he watched her fingers settle comfortably into Charlie's elbow.

"One. Two. Three. Four," she and Charlie counted aloud in unison.

"Phew!" she exclaimed when she safely reached the bottom step, before twisting to face him. "Sirius, are you coming?!"

"Stop shouting, Niamh, do you want to wake my Mum again?"

"What are you, her father, Sirius? Relax!"

Logically, Sirius knew that Charlie wasn't entirely sober, and that he certainly wasn't thinking about his choice of words. And still, the words only made him feel even more sore about the situation. Sirius was old enough to be her father. Sure, he would have been a very young father. But that didn't change the fact that there was nearly a decade and a half between them. Niamh was closer in age to his godson than she was to Sirius. And every day he became more aware of that, more convinced she saw him for his age and nothing more. Charlie's words were like alcohol soaked fingers digging into fresh wounds.

"Yeah, Sirius, you're not my Dad," she intoned, her voice still lilting over the edge of another giggle. "Charlie can we have some fre--wait, I know this one. ...Can we have some chips now?" she asked, again, looking awfully proud of her memory recall.

Sirius was heading back to the far side of the kitchen table when he felt Niamh's hands come to rest on his hips and he nearly gasped aloud, shocked by the sudden physical contact. It took a great deal of effort to relax, to behave as though he wasn't keenly aware of the way her fingers dug into his sides. As though he wasn't suddenly, vividly, imagining her fingers digging into his sides in a completely different manner. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he continued walking, only to find her biting her lower lip and concentrating intently on her hands. Despite himself, he smiled.

When he reached his seat and came to a halt, Niamh slammed right into his back, again slipping into a fit of giggles as she struggled to recover her balance. Sirius spun around quickly, and for the second time that day, caught her around the arms to steady her.

"Niamh," he said, torn between allowing himself to be amused and keeping up his rigid facade.

"Sssirius," she said, leaning toward his body. He stepped back.

"What were you thinking? This is so irresponsible." He felt the facade fly up again, ending his brief internal debate and making the decision for him.

"I wasn't thinking. I was celebrating. I've been thinking too much lately," she said, the words first deliberate and then sliding out smoothly, becoming slightly rushed toward the end, intoxicated, as though they were about to tumble into one long word. Her eyes met his as she spoke, and he found he had to look away.

"Honestly Sirius, what is your issue? She's worked really hard lately and tonight, all of that hard work paid off. I think she deserved to celebrate." Charlie explained, pushing a plate of chips toward her.

"That was fast!" She exclaimed, unfazed by Sirius' criticism, dropping unceremoniously into the seat Sirius had occupied, the one he'd been about to return to himself.

"What can I say, I'm a talented wizard," Charlie smiled winningly and then turned to his brother and Harry to add, half under his breath, "Or she just happened to ask for the only food I can magically prepare."

Ron and Harry laughed as Charlie took a seat between them, and all three dug into a second plate piled high with crispy, golden-brown chips. Sirius watched as Niamh did the same, nibbling on a few chips before realizing that they were missing something and conjuring salt, pepper, malt vinegar, and mayonnaise. He watched, shocked, as she sprinkled salt and pepper over her plate, as though she hadn't performed some serious magic in a completely intoxicated state. He had become fascinated by her use of magic, the way she slid between magical and non-magical worlds, and what she carried between them. There were times when he'd watch her use a muggle tool to do something that would be accomplished more easily with magic and times when she used complex magic to do things she could do nearly as simply without it. She could have easily gotten up to get condiments, or asked one of the boys to do so (as they were obviously stone-cold-sober).

"Why didn't you just ask one of the lads to get that for you?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Oh god, Sirius, do you have to turn everything into a lecture tonight?!" Niamh groaned dramatically while rolling her eyes, clutching her waistline and doubling over until her forehead hit the table. "You are KILLING my buzz!" As she straightened up she tried to maintain a serious, seriously irritated look, as though waiting for his answer, but a long fought giggle exploded past her lips and she doubled over again, this time with laughter.

Charlie and the boys burst into laughter as well, clearly very amused by the situation. He found nothing amusing about the situation at all, really. This was not a time for drunkenness. Especially not when she had been out on a mission. What if all the alcohol had the effect of making her too talkative? What if she started giving away Order secrets? How could Charlie have been foolish enough to allow her to become so dangerously intoxicated?

"I just don't think you've displayed intelligent behavior tonight, Niamh. I'm not trying to kill your buzz, but you have to understand, this is dangerous behavior and these are dangerous times, you are a much easier target when you're in this state. Let's not even discuss the fact that you could have easily become just a little too chatty and given away a great many Order secrets, and you KNOW how important secrets are at times like this."

Niamh was holding onto her laughter, but as he continued on his rant, he could see her shooting mischievous looks across the table, and miming the open and close of his mouth with her hands, as if to say "blahblahblah" without the use of words. Yet she did not interrupt him, and Sirius found he could not stop, even though he wanted to. He sounded much older than his 36 years, and if he thought he might ever want to work his way into her heart, he knew this was certainly not the best path. Acting like her father was not going to make him seem any younger, hipper, more appealing. In fact, if he continued acting like this, he was actually going to turn into the old man he feared she already saw in him. His sense of levity and enjoyment as shriveled as his ancient skin.

***

Niamh was beginning what--to Sirius--felt like the 56th round of exploding snap with Harry and Ron, the pair of boys nearly in hysterics at Niamh's outlandish, still-twisted behavior. Charlie had retreated to bed nearly half an hour earlier, but Sirius remained, pointedly un-amused and awake. Although he'd dropped the pushy paternal act just before Charlie went to bed, mostly because Niamh had begun to ignore him completely, he was unable to leave the kitchen until he knew everyone was safely, silently in bed.

Sirius watched as his godson observed Niamh quite intently. She was trying to decide on her next move, biting her lip thoughtfully and occasionally fighting giggles, probably because her alcohol soaked brain had lost its train of thought yet again. It was taking far too long for her to make a move. And yet, Harry didn't seem to notice, or to care. He just observed her carefully, a lazy smile on his face, eyes traveling slow paths around her face and torso as she sat, legs curled into a strange position, dress spread carelessly about her, all taffeta and tulle. He could see in Harry's eyes something he recognized all too well, something that cut too close to the bone: admiration, of the most specific type. His godson was equally as interested in Niamh as he was, and Sirius could hardly believe he hadn't seen it before. It was completely unmasked. And yet, Niamh seemed completely unaware of what was swirling around her--the growing whirlpool of feelings that she was at the center of--and Sirius knew that wasn't just because she was still drunk. Harry panicked every time it even seemed like Niamh might look up, eyes darting quickly away as he tried to play it cool, and Sirius hadn't exactly been forthcoming about his feelings just yet.

Harry jumped in his seat when one of his cards unexpectedly exploded, and his violent reaction, albeit silent, caught Niamh off guard, causing her to jump up as well, simultaneously releasing a startled scream. Ron froze in his seat, an amused smile broad on his face. Fortunately, he seemed to know that laughter was inappropriate at the time, so he remained silent. Sirius could see Niamh's heartbeat pounding at the hollow of her throat, her hand clutching at her chest as she tried to relax her breathing again. When Harry laughed, Sirius shot him a dark look.

"That'll do, you three. You're going to wake the whole house if you keep it up," this time he sounded less angry but more tired. "Your mum would kill me if she knew I was letting you stay up this late," he added for good measure, looking at Ron.

"Sorry," Niamh offered, "I'm jusstalil jumpy." In the lazy slur of Niamh's words, Sirius could hear exhaustion creeping into her voice.

"It's all right," he said softly, eyes fixed on the pulse still visible at the hollow of her neck. "I just don't want to stir up any trouble with Molly."

"I'm tired," she sighed, very suddenly shifting from drunk and giggly to drunk and exhausted.

Niamh slumped down in her chair, only narrowly avoiding sliding to the floor when Harry grabbed a hold of her waist. Panicked, Harry looked up at Sirius, as if to say 'what do I do!?!' Sirius resisted the urge to laugh as he rose from his seat to assist. Understandably, Harry was not familiar with the behavior of drunk women. Sirius was hesitant to admit to the extent of his experience in similar situations. Needless to say there was a phase, not long before he ended up in Azkaban, of which he was no longer particularly proud.

"I've got you," Sirius said, reaching under Niamh's arms to pull her to a standing position.

Harry backed away, although he and Ron both remained in the room, observing curiously. Sirius wrapped an arm around her waist as she lurched toward him, knowing at any moment she could just as easily lurch backward. Niamh wrapped her arms, freckled and warm, around his neck tightly, leaning into him for a moment before, as he expected, she began to tip backwards.

"Woah," she said, eyes widening.

"It's all right, I've got you," he repeated.

"I'm tired."

"I know, I'm going to take you up to the sitting room," he said.

"Uh...Sirius?" Ron began tentatively, "Fleur is here and I'm pretty sure she's in the sitting room."

"Bollocks," Sirius said, bracing as Niamh drifted toward his body again. There was nowhere else to take her. "I wish your Mum would just let them share a room already, for Merlin's sake, they're getting married!"

Harry snorted, "Everyone knows they share a room anyway, she apparates to his bedroom as soon as she thinks everyone else is asleep!"

"I know, Charlie told me," Sirius shared, "But we can't exactly admit to knowing that, and put Niamh in the sitting room anyway. Molly would be infuriated when she found out."

"What are we going to do with her?" Harry asked, as though she were an inanimate object.

"I guess I'll have to bring her to my room," Sirius said as Niamh rested her forehead against his shoulder. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until he saw the scandalized looks on Harry and Ron's faces. "I never said I'd be in it!" he defended.

"Well, where will you kip up then?" Ron asked, head cocked to the side.

"I'll sleep on a palate in the attic." He shrugged and Niamh groaned at the sudden movement of his shoulder.

"With Buckbeak? Sirius, that's disgusting." Harry scrunched his nose at the thought.

"I hate to remind you, but I've survived much more disgusting things in my time," he thought back to the caves just outside of Hogsmeade where he'd shared meals of dead rats along with the hippogriff. "Now, off to bed you two, I've got it from here."

With a few flicks of his wand Sirius had cleared the table, leftover chips in the bin, dirty dishes in the sink, chairs pushed under the table again. Ron and Harry drifted out of the room silently, as though completely against their will. Sirius took a deep breath and crouched down, sweeping Niamh off her feet for the journey to his bedroom.

The staircases seemed interminable. It wasn't that Niamh was a particularly heavy load (although, he couldn't exactly say she was light as a phoenix feather either). It was more that the proximity of her body to his was sheer torture. He could feel her breath drift across his neck slowly, but he could not enjoy the sensation because he was too concerned about keeping his hands in a safe position as he carried her.

By the time he finally reached his room and managed to open the door without dropping Niamh, he was exhausted. Carefully he lowered her body to the bed, gingerly pulling the blankets up around her body. For a moment he lingered over her, watching her chest rise and fall with steady, quiet breaths and contemplating the small diamond nose stud she wore with equal parts grace and irony.

If he thought he was shocked when her eyes blinked open, catching him as he hovered above her body in his bed, he was entirely mistaken. Shock, real shock, was the surge of adrenaline and fear and elation that raced through his circulatory system as she silently pressed a kiss against his cheek, catching the outside corner of his lips for one burning instant.

"G'night Sirius," she whispered, falling back onto the bed, hair sprayed out about her on his pillow, instantly asleep.