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Slanaighear Ofrail An Seangharra	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 5226 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Slànaighear Ofrail An Seangharrà (Healers of An Seangharrà)

~*~
Chapter Two: Friends
~*~
Far away from the small church, inside the fortified walls of an old stone castle, amidst the grief and relief that follows with the end of a war, the Malfoy family slipped unnoticed from the celebrations and sorrowing inside the Great Hall at Hogwarts, walking together towards Hogsmead. Lucius and Narcissa flanked Draco protectively, occasionally bumping shoulders with their son as if to assure themselves physically that he was still safe.
Once out of the sight of the castle, Lucius embraced his wife and son closely, if a bit awkwardly, nodded then stepped back while they apparated to their desecrated home to begin to put the pieces of their lives back together. Stealthily through the both jubilant yet mourning town in the dark ink of the fateful night, the blonde man stole unnoticed into the Shrieking Shack, heading straight for the room where the body of the one man he would have called a friend had been abandoned and then lost.
He climbed the rickety staircase with the wooden floors creaking under his weight. His leather-clad hand trailed along the dust covered railing. Pushing the door open into the room at the top of the steps, Lucius found blood pooled and staining the faded worn floor of the bedchamber; but no body present. Lucius frowned in consternation as he scowled at the meager remains of the Potions Master.
Who the hell would steal the cranky bastard’s body? Lucius wondered as he examined the small dirty room much more closely. With a finicky purse of his lips, Lucius stepped over a rather large blood stain. A glint of gold caught his eye -- a faint, barely there, could have imagined it -- glint of gold, caught in the folds of the positively filthy bed hangings.
Lucius reached out hesitantly with a gloved hand to ease a gold tipped red feather out of its hiding place. A small cloud of dust motes rose lazily in reaction to the movement.
“I’ll be damned.” Lucius cursed, then began to laugh crazily with his head thrown back, long platinum blonde hair swinging in contrast to the black of his cloak. Regaining some sense of decorum, he looked around the room once more, still laughing softly, before tucking the feather into the breast pocket of his robes.
“Godspeed, my friend. You deserve to live the life you choose now.”
He peered around the small room once more, keen eyes searching for any other items or clues. Finding nothing, Lucius Malfoy slipped from the Shrieking Shack to apparate to his ancestral home to begin picking up the pieces of the life he chose.
~*~
Three women breathlessly skittered into the stone church, earning a grim, disapproving glare from the cassocked priest fussily smoothing a linen over the grayish-pink marble of the altar. All three women took turns dipping their fingers into the font of holy water, crossing themselves, and dropping hurried genuflections before scurrying up the aisle to pick up their instruments once again. Kellyn and Orra lowered their eyes as they approached, but Aideen strode straight up the altar, bold as brass, beaming with a wide smile for the priest.
“Good evening, Father,” Aideen called out gaily as she picked up her violin and bow, stroking the strings to listen for any that might have slipped out of tune.
“Good evening, ladies,” the priest answered them with curiosity in his voice and suspicion in his eye as he set the chalice on the linen.
Kellyn strummed her guitar boldly, her opening chords resounding in the small church. Aideen fell into rhythm with her, fingers flying over the neck of the violin tucked so lovingly under her chin. Orra missed her cue.
“Orra!” Kellyn growled in warning, “Focus!”
The three women began again, blending together flawlessly as the congregation straggled into the church, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in small groups. Orra lost her worries in her music, allowing the Spirit to move her beyond her worldly worries. She almost forgot the strange man sleeping on her couch. Two freshly scrubbed altar boys rushed through doors down a side aisle and into the sacristy to wriggle into their red and white cassocks. The Mass proceeded unremarkably until the lector stepped forward with the first reading. Orra fidgeted with a sheet of music between her fingers, eyes straying to the rolled parchment that Kellyn had slipped underneath more sheet music. All her worries and fears skittered back into the forefront of her consciousness. She trembled as a chill of fear washed over her. She lifted her eyes to the crucifix, fervently praying for guidance.
“A reading from the Book of Exodus.” The man’s deep, melodic baritone carried easily to all the ears in the church, demanding Orra’s attention once more. He boomed on relentlessly until reaching the end of the passage. Then, the red-haired slightly angry looking lector took a long pause, seeming to study the thin pages of the bible under his hands before raising his eyes to the congregation to intone, “This is the word of the Lord.”
The congregation automatically replied in unison, “Thanks be to God.”
The priest stood, crossed behind the altar, bowing reverently, then ascended the pulpit. The three musicians launched into their spirited version of the Alleluia, leading the congregation to raise their voices with equal élan before turning respectfully to listen to the Gospel according to Luke with all except Father making the sign of the cross on their foreheads, over their lips, and over their hearts with their heads bowed reverently. The priest’s words taken from the Gospel poured out over the people, flowing through them and over them, his voice captivating. When finally they could sit comfortably, the older priest stepped down from the pulpit, pushed up the sleeves of his cassock, white vestments gleaming in the dusky light of the church, and proceeded to light a single white candle, one for each deceased, incanting their name, pausing to remember of each dear departed soul of the parish as he moved.
The three musical women passed through the service automatically until they filed silent from behind the low wooden screen to accept communion. Father approached Kellyn first, raising the wafer to her eye level. He nearly whispered, “The body of Christ.”
Kellyn answered firmly, “Amen.”
The priest then placed the white circle reverently on her tongue and stepped to his right to stand in front of Orra. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, hesitating. Her pause earned her a sharp bilateral poke in the ribs. She jerked her head up to meet Father’s stare and to accept the host.
The priest offered communion to Aideen as well, and then the three women sipped daintily from the offered wine before filing back to pick up instruments and sing praise while the congregation eased forward to kneel at the communion rails.
Father concluded the service, processing down the aisle and out the door to near jubilant music provided by the women. The congregation followed him out while Orra straightened hymnals and Aideen and Kellyn lovingly returned their instruments to their protective cases. The two fresh faced altar boys ran out of the back and down the side aisle, obvious joyful about the end of their service.
“Orra!” Aideen hissed at her friend as she stepped lightly up the marble aisle, “Let’s go.”
The three women quietly made their way out of the church with the strange scroll tucked safely inside Kellyn’s guitar case. They tried to slip through the doors, but were stopped in their tracks when a high pitched voice called out, “Dia duit, Orra!”
Orra fought the urge to cringe before she turned to face her former mother in law. “Dia is Muire duit, Máthair O’Shea.”
Orra held out her hands for the sprightly older woman zooming at her from the other side of the priest.
“Music from the angels again, ladies.” Mrs. O’Shea complimented the girls between kisses on both of Orra’s cheeks. Aideen jiggled side to side in eagerness to be away. Mrs. O’Shea frowned disapprovingly at the little blonde.
“Dinner on Sunday, Orra?” she offered in a tone that brooked no disagreement. Orra swallowed, then steeled herself to do just that.
“I’m so sorry, Mother O’Shea, but, my work is so far behind that I need Sunday to catch up for next week. Perhaps the Sunday after?” she offered with a smoothness to her voice that in no way reflected the jittery feeling in her stomach.
The white-haired older woman eyed Orra suspiciously and sternly. “Well, I suppose,” she finally relented when Orra, for once, did not cave in to her patented stare down.
Father O’Malley watched the whole interchange with a keenly interested eye, from a safe distance.
“Thank you for understanding.” Orra grasped the older woman’s hands firmly and kissed both her cheeks before releasing Mrs. O’Shea, only to have Aideen’s tiny, yet long fingered hand clamp down on her wrist and tug her away.
:Come on now, Orra, you promised to help.” she demanded as she pulled her friend away from the crowd toward the path in back of the church where Kellyn stood impatiently waiting, her foot tapping in irritation at the interference, hand resting atop her guitar case as she waited.
The three women disappeared around the back of the church and onto the well-worn and familiar path leading to the comfortable little stone cottage Orra called home. Orra led the way as Aideen and Kellyn speculated about Albus’ intentions, literally talking behind her back.
“It would do her some good to have a man to take care of again.”
“I CAN hear you,” Orra griped.
“Aye! Maybe Albus sent you this man …” Aideen’s voice trailed off as Orra snorted contemptuously.
“Albus sent me a man, his friend; you do remember Albus, don’t you? The man who liked men?” she retorted scathingly, anger at her friends growing as she picked her way down the familiar path to her cottage.
“She has a point. Albus did seem quite friendly with Sean for awhile.” Kellyn snorted as she stepped over a fallen log.
She burst through her own door, slamming it against the stone front of the cottage with the force that she used to open the unoffending object. There, still as they had left him, laid the strange man, hands still folded over his abdomen, the unaddressed scroll under his long white fingers.
“Orra,” Aideen huffed and puffed as she scurried to catch up with the redhead. “We meant no harm.”
“Really, I’d think after all these years you would not be so thin-skinned.” Kelly griped as she settled her case on the floor next to the fireplace, opened it to retrieve the parchment scroll.
“Should we read it first, or see to him first?” Aideen asked wavering between scurrying to Kellyn’s side, or fluttering to Orra’s, where she knelt on the braided rug at the side of the couch, checking the dark man’s pulse.
“Read aloud, Kellyn,” Orra instructed as she went about the business of nursing the wounded man.
“If you insist,” Kellyn’s voice trailed off as she plopped into a chair, breaking the wax seal simultaneously.

Dear ladies of An Seangharrà:
I have sent my friend to you. He is a complicated and difficult man. Please be as gentle with him as you were with me. He may require extensive healing, and not just physically, my dear friends. Since he has come to you, you must know that I have passed, that I am unable to protect him further. Protect him for me, I plead for him. Have mercy on him. Please show him your great compassion and love. Yes, he is one like me, although he may not wish to return to our world. No better women to heal his wounded soul as well as his tortured body exist anywhere either in heaven or earth. May he come to know the strength of true friendship as you have shown each other and those of us fortunate enough to cross your paths.
Kellyn, your strength and courage will protect and lead the others.

Aideen, you firebrand, you will motivate and cajole.

Orra, your gift of touch will forever touch his soul.
I thank you for all you have done, and all you are about to do.
Albus W.B. Dumbledore

“Dumbledore is dead then?” Aideen asked incredulously.
“I never expected that,” Kellyn added sharply, dropping the scroll down to peer over the top at Orra who still knelt at the stricken man’s side.
Orra slowly rose from her knees, holding her hand out for the scroll. Kellyn handed it over without a word, solemn face upturned to her friend’s. Orra held the parchment in shaking hands as silent tears flowed from her eyes.
‘Strange, Albus never mentions his name,” Aideen observed curiously as she brushed the lank hair from Snape’s brow, her cool hand feeling for a fever as she stood staring down at his prone form.

~*~;

Dia duit - God to you.

Dia is Muire duit - God and Mary to you.

Dear readers: This is a much more serious effort on my part. I would greatly appreciate and truly treasure any and all feedback you would care to offer. Seriously, I am a grown witch, with a tough skin, please don't hesitate if you see something that needs to be altered, fixed, or changed. Go raimh maith agat. (Thank you) Pitt
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Slanaighear Ofrail An Seangharra