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DamhsaÃ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ	By : MrsSaruman Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 808 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 3
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A month had passed. Snape had finally settled into the routine
of grading papers once again, and the horrid workmanship had depressed
him. He had taught these children
better! This was an obvious hint to him
they were beyond help; he was doing no good as a Potions master. If only he could take over the Dark Arts…

Much to his
dismay, though, O’Flannery showed no sign of leaving, or even tiring. He had hoped the students would wear her
out, or she would grow tired of Hogwarts and pack up and leave. Like in life, his wishes weren’t fulfilled. He saw her every day, appearing chipper and
happy as if nothing in the world could be wrong. She had continued to attempt to speak to him, but every time she
opened her mouth he snorted and turned away.
He wanted nothing to do with her.
First she stole his job, and then she tried to steal his position in the
Order. Wasn’t he sacrificing
enough? Did he have to be saddled with
a feisty woman too?

He sighed
and got to his feet. The decanter of
brandy on his bedside table called to him, and he had just begun to walk
towards it, when a pain shot through his body.
On a reflex he grabbed his arm, wincing. No doctor was needed to tell him what was going on. This was a diagnosable malady, and one that
had occurred many times. He pulled up
the sleeve on his robe to see his Dark Mark glowering up at him. He silently cursed Voldemort for his timing
and turned on his heel to exit Hogwarts.

Outside the
gates he pressed the livid mark on his arm, concentrating on Voldemort’s
location. He felt the pull of the wind
as he began to apparate, and reappeared a few seconds later in the opulent
sitting room of Malfoy Manor. The first
sight to greet his eyes was an ominous one.
He was literally ringed by Death Eaters. They formed a tight circle around him, closing in until their
shoulders touched. Suddenly, the ranks
parted and the Dark Lord himself stood before him.

“Severus,”
the ethereal voice cooed.

“My Lord,”
Snape responded, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. He hoped the Dark Lord could not see the
almost-undetectable grimace that shot across his features as he looked at the
floor.

“Rise,
faithful servant,” Voldemort commanded.
“I have summoned you here not for a Revel, but for information. A month ago I sent a fellow servant of mine,
Goyle, to relay a message to you. He
failed in that endeavor, and for that failure he has been punished.” The Dark Lord intimated a figure in the
corner, shaking uncontrollably. “He
held up to the Cruciatus Curse for a long while, but as always, I won him over.” Voldemort paused, a thin smile playing on
his lipless mouth. “So, in lieu of
sending another messenger, I have called you here myself. It has to do with a fellow professor at that
school of yours. Her name is Aislinn
O’Flannery. Have you made her
acquaintance?”

Severus
nodded. “I have my Lord. I find her to be offending to me, so I do
not spend ample time around her.”

Voldemort
chuckled dryly. “Yes, I would have
figured that knowing you, my faithful one.
She is not in your taste. But do
you know of her past, Severus? Has she
told you what she knows?”

Snape shook
his head and replied, “No my Lord. She
has told me nothing.”

“I have
predicted that facet of the story as well.”
Voldemort rubbed his hands together as if chasing away a chill. “She is very important to me, Severus. It is imperative for nothing to happen to
her.”

“I don’t
understand quite what you mean, my lord,” said Snape, tilting his head.

“Ah, my
thick apprentice.” Voldemort sighed,
glancing up at the ceiling as if he were wishing for patience. “There are several people within my circle
of Death Eaters who might try to, take care of her, shall we say. They must not be allowed near her.” Voldemort paused, smiling his tight
smile. “Miss O’Flannery is somewhat of
a controversy among my followers.” The
numerous masked faces behind Voldemort nodded in agreement. “I am done with you, Severus. Just remember my words: let no one touch
her.”

Severus
rose to his feet and pressed Voldemort’s pale hand to his lips. “Thank you, my lord. I am merely your humble disciple. It is an honor to be trusted as such.”

Voldemort
smiled his hideous smile. “The honor is
all mine, Severus. Now, I release you
from this meeting. The rest of us will
continue with our first Revel in fifteen years, but I remember how your taste
for the rape of Muggles has seemed to decline.
Hurry to your school, Severus, in case you are needed.”

Snape bowed
to Voldemort one last time before retreating.
The pain in his arm had subsided, but he winced at remembering it. He was happy at least Voldemort had allowed
him to leave before the Dark Revel had begun.
In his earlier years he was more than happy to rape and kill innocent
Muggles, but after he turned double agent the very thought of his previous
violations made him physically ill. It
had all begun to change when almost eighteen years ago; he witnessed the
beating and gang rape of a child no older than twelve. His stomach turned as he thought of the way
the lash had separated flesh, or the visible fear in the girl’s eyes.

Snape shook
his head to clear it. Instead he
focused his energy on apparation, willing his body to return to Hogwarts. With a loud crack his body was propelled
forward. Another crack and he was
before the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snape sighed and pressed the bridge of his
nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Another quick shake of the head, and he was ready to go.

The gates
creaked open at his slightest touch. He
could feel the statues watching him, protecting the school grounds. He hated entering through the gates. The statues knew all. He felt stupid to be afraid of marble and
stone, but he had heard stories, and then there was that feeling…

What did
Voldemort mean about “controversy?” How
does he know of O’Flannery? Snape’s
thoughts flew a mile a minute. This had
to mean something important. Perhaps this
was the reason for her interest in him; she saw him as a comrade. I am no Death Eater, he screamed
inwardly. And that horrid mick had
wormed her way into the Order of the Phoenix! There was no way to tell Dumbledore; then Voldemort would know
something was up. Snape would just have
to live with the knowledge that Hogwarts was entertaining a traitor.

He started
up the hill to the school, cutting across the grounds to make the trip
faster. The sky was a deep blue, almost
black, and no stars pierced the curtain of night. The days had begun to get shorter, and the weather significantly
colder. This was the time of year
Severus liked best. During the heavy
winter months he had most of the castle grounds to himself, which allowed him
to wander at will and think.

Snape was
surprised to find himself at the doors to the Great Hall. He pushed them open and blinked as a gust of
hot air hit him in the face. He shed
his cloak, draping it over his arm as he stepped inside. The doors shut behind him and he started
across the school towards his chamber.

A strange
noise stopped him in his tracks. It was
music of some sort, coming from the hallway he had just passed. He doubled back and flattened himself
against the wall, listening for a moment.
His footsteps fell almost soundlessly on the stone floor as he stopped
outside a door. It was coming from
here. He pressed his ear against the
doorjamb, barely breathing.

It was an
acoustic guitar. The touch on the
strings was obviously light, but it was obviously some kind of lament. He wondered who played a guitar, and why
here. Perhaps it was a prefect…

Snape
reached out to rest his hands on the statue near the door. As soon as his fingers touched it the satyr
shouted. Snape jumped back
quickly. The guitar had stopped. Snape wasted no time but promptly fled.

Around he
corridor he stopped to catch his breath.
How could he let such a stupid thing like music overwhelm him so
completely? Anyone could have found
him there, gaping like an idiot. And
what if someone opened the door? Who
was behind the door? Questions filled
his head, banging against his skull and demanding answers. He told the voices to shut up and took a
deep breath, steadying his still panicking nerves. When he felt he was calm enough, he continued on his way. The brandy was still waiting.

*

Aislinn
opened the door cautiously. Whoever it
was might still be there. She peered
out into the corridor, her eyes narrowing.
No one was there. She sniffed
the air, detecting a faint scent of something like sandalwood. It could have been anyone. It was probably just a curious student.

She had to
admit that hearing music in these abandoned halls would be a bit
unnerving. It was well past eleven
o’clock; it was to be assumed that everyone would be asleep, or at least
quiet. In all honesty she didn’t think
her guitar was loud enough to be heard.
She smiled maliciously as she thought of what her electric could do.

Aislinn
sighed and shut the door. Guess it’s
time to put the instruments away, she thought with an audible sigh. There had been no time lately to play; she
feared losing her touch. The constant
demand of the students taxed her body and left her feeling burned out and
alone. Much to her dismay she had no
one in Hogwarts to turn to. She had
been largely friendless for all of her life, but here there was not a single
person to even intimate her feelings to.
At least in London there had been a few people to call.

Aislinn
O’Flannery sat down in front of the wide windows, which were thrown open as if
they were saluting the night. A sudden
burst of wind caused her skin to prickle, but she tossed her hair back in
defiance. She had always loved autumn
and winter, spending large amounts of time outside in the rain or snow. Most friends remembered her as a free
spirited quiet woman who danced in the rain until her hair froze, and loved her
for it. Here she would have to maintain
her composure; dancing was only guaranteed after the sun had set.

She smiled
and halfheartedly touched the ends of her hair, as if making sure there weren’t
icicles hanging from them. She
stretched, reaching her arms above her head and making a high-pitched squeal. Her back popped audibly before she settled
back into her chair. Her hand snaked
out to a package on her bedside table.
She grabbed it gently and flipped back the top, pulling out a long
cigarette and a lighter. She stood,
lighting her cigarette at the same time, and took two steps forward to the
window. She settled herself on the
windowsill and took a long drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a while
before exhaling into the cold night air.
The smoke caught the light from her window, obscuring her view of the
forest in a gray haze. A raucous squawk
from the corner of the room disturbed her, and she turned her head to glare at
the culprit.

The golden
eagle had perched himself on the edge of the fireplace mantel, and was glaring
at her angrily.

“I know,
Yank, but ‘tis the only vice left me.”
Aislinn blew out another breath of smoke.

The eagle
continued to stare at her, clacking his beak in disapproval.

In response
Aislinn rolled her eyes. “Póg mo thoín. Y’know I never listen t’ ye.” She turned away from the eagle, but not
before she stuck her tongue out at him.
He hissed, and rustled his feathers as she turned her head.

Aislinn
smiled. God I love that bird,
she thought with a chuckle. He had been
a birthday present three years ago, shipped all the way from America into her
waiting hands. She had fallen in love
with the disheveled chick immediately, and christened him Yankee Doodle. Ever since then he had kept a watchful eye
over her and delivered her messages to remaining family and friends. He was also a sad reminder of the friend who
had sent him, now far away in New York.

Aislinn
took another long drag off of her cigarette, sighing as she blew the smoke out
of her nose. She rubbed her eyes as the
smoke drifted into them, cursing under her breath as she dropped her cigarette
on the floor. Just as she was about to
bend down to pick it up, Yankee Doodle dove for it and flew out the window with
the butt held in his beak. He almost
seemed to smile as he dropped it into the lake. Aislinn could see the cherry of the flame fall, and then
disappear as it hit the water.

“Very
funny, ye little arse,” she said to him disapprovingly as he soared back into
the window. The eagle clacked his beak
together, very pleased with himself. He
perched on Aislinn’s upheld wrist, careful not to dig his claws into her
unprotected flesh. “Hey bird,” she said
to him as she stroked his golden feathers.
Yank closed his eyes as her finger traced designs on the back of his
head. Then, he spread his wings and
flew out the window, looking for food to hunt.

Aislinn
O’Flannery turned to her desk nearby, picking up a spiral notebook and a
ballpoint pen. No use to bother with
that thick parchment or messy ink, good old Muggle material would work just
fine with her. She tapped the pen against her teeth for a while, thinking. Then she opened the notebook and began to
write.

Words
flowed out of her pen like water. Verse
after verse of song traveled through her arm and onto the paper, until she hit
a wall. The song just stopped. Aislinn tapped her pen against her teeth,
wishing for some hint of inspiration.
Nothing came. She stood, staring
out the open window at a crescent moon, illuminating the clouds around it like
a halo. It’s so beautiful, she
thought as she lit another cigarette, this time thanking Merlin Yankee Doodle
wasn’t around to squawk at her.

She exhaled
in another cloud of smoke, blowing it out the window. The haze floated up towards the moon, ringing it. Aislinn stared at it for a long while, just
admiring the poignancy of it all.
Suddenly, she stubbed out her cigarette and hurried to the open
notebook. A new idea had come.

She wrote
fiercely in her moment of inspiration, not stopping until her clenched fingers
hurt. She sat back, reading over her
new song, and smiled. Finally, an
idea of some sort. She had begun to
believe that at Hogwarts no creativity occurred. Maybe it was just she.
Teaching had drained her entirely; she was not accustomed to it, thus
all inspiration seemed to elude her.
This was the first time she had written a song in ages.

Aislinn
made a mental note to send Yankee with notes to her band, planning a date for a
practice. Since no phones existed at
Hogwarts, she had to do it the old-fashioned way. It was no problem, really.
Yankee Doodle was reliable, and always got the job done in a timely
fashion.

She sighed,
stretching again. This time her back
did not pop, but nonetheless she felt better.
It’s time for me to be getting to bed, she thought lazily,
climbing out of her chair onto the cold stone floor. She moved to close the window, but hesitated, remembering her
eagle. She decided to leave it open,
putting her notebook on top of her lesson plans. There was no desire to wake up and find loose sheets of paper
scattered about her chamber.

The bed was
warm and inviting. She stretched her
feet out, trying the feel the footboard of the bed. Despite her stretching, her foot contacted nothing solid, only
the flannel sheets of her bed. It was
amazing that at almost six feet tall she couldn’t even touch the bottom of her
own bed. Even after a month she was
still awed by the immensity of the chamber she now called home; after years of
living in cramped apartments it was a welcome change. With another deep sigh her body relaxed and she began to slip
into a dream.

Aislinn
found herself standing in the middle of a clearing she had never seen
before. It was twilight; she could tell
from the beams of amber sunlight slanting between the branches of the trees. She lifted her face up to the fading light,
feeling the last rays of warmth. Soon
it would be night and the heat would be gone.
She noticed something out of the corner of her upraised eye and turned
quickly to see what moved behind her.

What she
saw shocked her. Her father stood
before her, scrutinizing her appearance.
“Aislinn, m’ girl.” His voice
was deep and his accent very pronounced.

Aislinn
took a step forward. “Athaír?” she
asked, lapsing into the language of her youth.
“Is it really you?”

He smiled
at her. “Yes, child. It’s really me.” He paused for a moment, as if hesitating. “Someone else is here to see you as
well.” He made a slight gesture, and
another young man stepped out from the shadow of trees. “Mó dheirfiúr,” he
said, bowing his head.

Aislinn
stood, shocked. “Mó
dheartháir?” she asked, confused. The
next thing she felt was overwhelming pain.
She glanced down at her stomach to see a fountain of blood spurting from
her abdomen, with no apparent cause to the sudden onslaught of bleeding. She raised her eyes to her brother and
father, pleading with them silently.
They merely stood there as blood began to run out of her mouth. Aislinn stumbled, collapsing into a heap. The last thing she saw before surrendering
to the blackness was the leering face of her brother as he sang a death lament
over her body.

She opened
her eyes to see Severus Snape bending over her, a look of concern in his
eyes. Aislinn tried to reach her hand
out to him, but she could not move.
Instead, Severus pulled a dagger from inside his robes. “It’s better this way,” he said sadly before
plunging the blade into her heart.
Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he watched her dying. “I’m so sorry, Aislinn, but we were never
meant to be.”

*

Harry
Potter could not sleep. He had tried
everything he knew, from opening a window to putting a pillow between his
legs. It was just one of those
nights. They seemed to happen much more
often as of late; first it was nightmares and then insomnia. He was beginning to feel like
The-Boy-With-No-Luck instead of some great hero-to-be. He threw the covers back and stepped onto
the cold floor. The snores of his
roommates told them they were sleeping deeply.
Lucky bastards, he thought, sighing. His eyes traveled to the open window, the shutters now clacking
against the stone outside. A storm was
blowing in, and the wind caused the curtains to billow out like dark velvet
sails.

Harry
picked his way across the room, shutting the window softly so not to disturb
his sleeping bunkmates. Maybe something to eat would help.
Harry turned on his heel and walked out of his room.

The
Fat Lady had many things to say to him about waking her up, but Harry ignored
her threats and made his way down the dimly lit hallways. His sense of direction kicked in, and he
found the door to the kitchen with no trouble at all. He glanced right and left before pushing open the door. One could never be sure when a professor on
hall patrol would pop out from nowhere.
After making sure no one was there, he stepped inside of the kitchen.

The
heat from the ovens hit him full in the face.
The warm kitchen was such a contrast to the dank hallways of a
wintertime castle. He took in the house
elves scurrying about, trying to make him comfortable. Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

Harry
froze. The touch was gone, but the
presence behind him wasn’t. Harry
turned around slowly, praying fervently it would not be Snape. Instead, the sight of a long satin robe met
his down-turned gaze. He followed the
shape of the robe up, until he was staring right at Aislinn O’Flannery’s
face. He gulped. The normal makeup she wore, however light,
was completely gone, making her light skin seem almost translucent. Her hair was tousled, and she crossed her
arms like an impatient mother.

“What
are y’ doin’ down here?” she asked sharply.

Harry
swallowed hard. “Please excuse me,
Professor, but I couldn’t sleep.” He
crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping she would not report him. It was common knowledge that students were
not allowed to be out of the dormitories after hours, even if they were hungry.

Much
to his surprise, Aislinn sighed. “Me
either. I’m guessin’ ye came down here
for a snack?”

Harry
nodded, still nervous. She had let her
false English accent drop; underneath that contrived brogue she was pure
Irish. “I am, Professor. Maybe if I get something to eat I could
manage some shut eye.”

Aislinn
grinned. “Yes indeed, I agree. I was just about t’ get some cake. Want any?”
She gestured to a place setting at a counter.

Harry
nodded, surprised. Any regular
professor would have told him to get back to bed, not invited him down for
food. “I…suppose,” Harry stuttered,
unsure of himself. Aislinn turned,
telling the house elves to set another place beside her.

“If
Hermione heard you talking like that to the elves, she’d have a fit,” Harry
said offhandedly.

Professor
O’Flannery raised an eyebrow. “Believes
in rights for them, does she?” Harry
nodded and Aislinn continued. “’S a
wonderful idea, no lie, but therein lies the rub. They don’t want to be free.
They’ve spent so long in this unique form of captivity they know no
different. Th’ only thing y’ can do is
to be civil to them and treat them like th’ intelligent creatures they
are. Treat them with respect and not
abuse.” Aislinn took a cup of coffee
from a house elf and smiled. “Thank
you, dear.” The house elf curtsied,
giggling.

“How
do you know so much about house elves, Professor?” asked Harry, sipping his
coffee.

Aislinn
didn’t answer right away. She stared
over his head, a vacant look in her eyes.
She heaved a great sigh. “Harry,
there are some things it would be best not for y’ to know yet.”

It
was Harry’s turn to look at her quizzically.
“What do you mean, Professor?”

Aislinn
glared at him. “’S just as I did tell
ye. My past is not open for yeer
discussion!”

Harry
glared back. His forwardness shocked
even himself, but he felt it had to be done.
“Your past? I asked nothing
about your past, Professor. Only about
what you knew about house elves.” He
narrowed his eyes. “Is there something
in your past you want to forget about?”

As
soon as those words left his mouth he knew he had made a mistake. Aislinn hurled her coffee mug against the
wall, spraying coffee and shards of glass all over the floor. Everyone in the kitchen winced. “Harry Potter!” she roared as the house
elves began to hurriedly clean up the mess she had made. “I dinnae know where ye get this insolence
from, but it will stop, d’ye understand me?
My past is of no business of yours, and see to it that ye don’t make it
yeer business. And for those questions,
you’ll be servin’ a week’s worth of detentions with me! Now get up to yeer room!”

Harry
trembled with the force of her outburst.
She stood in front of him, shaking all over. “I’m sorry Professor.
It’s just…”

She
cut him off abruptly. “Get out of me
sight, ye filthy little fool! Go!”

Harry fled the kitchen, not even
caring about the uneaten piece of cake sitting on the plate next to
Aislinn’s. The last thing he even saw
of her that night was her nonchalant shaking of her head as she settled down to
finish her snack.

Despite
his Professor’s orders, Harry did not go back to his room. Instead he made his way silently to the
library, pausing every few minutes to watch for hallway patrols. He made it safely and opened the door
cautiously. It was empty; not so much
as a mouse stirred. He knew his way. He had looked in this book many times in
order to find out about friends and enemies, as well as some of his professors. It was not placed in the Restricted Section,
but was still considered off-limits for students. He smiled deviously as he pulled it off the shelf and staggered
under its weight.

He
set it down and opened it. The smell of
old paper and ink hit his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. He turned the pages, searching the names
written in at the top of the pages.
Nothing seemed to catch his eye.
Most families were of English descent, although there was an occasional
Scottish name. I guess the Irish-English tensions affected wizards
too, he thought with a grin.

Suddenly,
a name at the top of the page stood out at him. He ran his finger underneath the letters; silently thanking
Merlin he was able to find it. His eyes
skimmed down the page, taking in the immense history behind the family. O’Flannabhra. That’s an old Irish name if I ever heard one, he thought. His finger traced
over the lines until he came to the bottom of the page. Aislinn
Ríonach O’Flannabhra, daughter of Alastair O’Flannabhra and Bean Mhi
Shaughnessy.
That was where the name came from.
Alastair O’Flannabhra had been one of the Death Eaters killed in one of
the last battles before the fall of Voldemort.
Bean Mhi was imprisoned in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. In fact, the more Harry looked at the page,
the more he became convinced that almost every relative of his professor was
somehow affiliated with the Death Eaters.

Harry
shivered. That was why she didn’t want to talk
about her past. There were definitely
sinister things in her family, and he could see the reason why she didn’t
talk. Unless… No, that’s
impossible. Harry shook the thought out of his head. It was impossible for her to be a Death
Eater. Quirrell was a Death Eater, Harry.

“No!” It was only after the echoes had died away
that Harry realized he had spoken aloud.
If there were anyone in the halls, his shout would most definitely have
given away his position. It was imperative
that he leave the library, and quickly.
After replacing the book he hurried towards he doors of the library,
hoping to heaven no one had heard him speak.

The
hallway was clear, but for how long?
Harry’s slippered feet carried him up the twisting staircases to the
entrance of the Gryffindor common room.
He endured the tongue-lashing from the Fat Lady for a second time in one
night, and then crept past the portrait to a couch. At that time of night the common room was deserted, and snores
crept down the staircases from both dormitories. Harry was still somewhat shaken after his ordeal with Professor
O’Flannery in the kitchen, and decided it would be best to go to bed, and
perhaps forget the tirade that his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had
had that night.

He
climbed the stairs to his dorm silently, wondering what had come over his
Professor. The door to his room swung
in silently, and he stalked to his bed, careful not to wake his roommates. After pushing back the coverlet, Harry relaxed
into his pillow and embraced sleep like an old friend.

*

Snape
spent most of his breakfast rubbing his temples, trying to chase away the
headache that was brewing in his immediate future. That horrid woman sat to his right, looking pristine in her
teacher’s robes. I’m sure she had a nice sleep last night. Snape
glared at her for no particular reason, other than a bit of envy that she should
be the one sleeping when she was causing him so much internal distress.

The
news of last night had come to a shock to him.
It was hard to believe Aislinn was a Death Eater, but stranger things
had happened. He was now even more
determined to see her fail. He had
spent most of the night with his brandy, trying to puzzle out a way to tell
Dumbledore without raising Voldemort’s suspicions. He had even bothered to think about how he was going to get her
out of the Order of the Phoenix. Only a
voice in his head made him refrain from denouncing her before the school. He had never heard her name before in conjunction
with Death Eaters. Her family name,
yes, but her name-never. There was one
way to find out, and it rested in the library.

Breakfast
over; Snape threaded his way through departing students to the library. His mind was focused on one thing; he didn’t
even feel it as he turned a corner right into the very person he was dreading
to encounter. He stepped back, tensing
his jaw slightly. “Miss O’Flannery.”

It
was not a greeting, merely a statement.
She nodded at him in return, a curt reply. Perhaps she was finally taking the hint he wanted nothing to do
with her. “Severus.”

He
looked her in the eye. She didn’t
flinch, nor did she move. “If you will
excuse me please.” She still did not
budge. Her gaze hardened as she stared
at his face.

“Don’t
think I don’t know, Severus Snape,” was all she said before she stalked off.

Snape
stared at her, agape. That sounded very
much like a threat, and he never responded well to threats. He shook his head to clear it and continued
on towards the library. He had a good
hour before classes started, and he would use it productively. Normally he would head towards the dungeons
and his classroom, but today there were more pressing matters weighing on his
mind. Matters like Aislinn O’Flannery.

*

“Don’t
think I don’t know, Severus Snape,” she growled, anger flashing in her
eyes. He couldn’t deny he was avoiding
her, and he must think her stupid if he believed she didn’t see it. Hopefully a hint of that magnitude would
sink into his thick male skull. She shook
her head sadly as she mounted the stairs that would lead to the north tower. Men. There were only a few men she
had met that didn’t act like complete dolts most of the time; many of them
still lived in Ireland, or were Muggles who didn’t have an inkling of what she
was. To them, she was Aislinn the
anthropologist, doing her work diligently and reserved. Aislinn the guitar player. Never Aislinn the witch, Aislinn the hunted,
Aislinn the abandoned. One man, however,
had stayed closer to her than any man in her life ever had. Last she had heard, he was in Spain,
speaking to their Ministry about the growing threat of Voldemort and Death
Eaters. Yes, she was worried for him,
but he could take care of himself.

Aislinn
stopped, surprised. Ron Weasely was
waiting in front of her classroom door, sitting on the cold stone. “Mr. Weasely?” she asked, confused.

He
started, jumping to his feet. He
flashed an embarrassed smile when he realized who she was, saying, “You scared
me, Professor.”

She
smiled back at him. “I take it you had
trouble with last night’s homework. I
had several students come up to me last night asking about it. I know it’s difficult, but I always find you
learn the skill better if you know the history behind it.”

Ron
nodded, but his face didn’t seem so enthusiastic. “But why the history of a stinging hex?”

She
nodded as she unlocked the door, removing wards with a snap of her finger. Ron’s voice froze in his throat. Aislinn looked up. “What?”

“I-I
didn’t know you could do that,” Ron stammered.

Aislinn
chuckled. “That? The skill runs in my family. Wandless magic isn’t so difficult with
practice. You’ve just got to have the
right touch.” She snapped her fingers
again and the room became illuminated with lantern light, despite the morning
sun shining through the windows. “Now,
as you were asking earlier, did you know that a form of the stinging hex was
the final blow delivered in the Hungarian Wizard Wars of 1215? It was enough to convince Waldemar Bathory
to sign a treaty making it illegal to use the Cruciatus Curse as a form of
torture, which, as you know, still holds today.”

Ron
stepped back, amazed. “Really?”

Aislinn
nodded, grinning sagely. “Really. Now come in and sit down. Your other classmates will be here shortly,
and I can answer any more questions you have.”

*

Harry
dreaded his Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next day, and not because
of the confrontation he and his professor had had the previous night. There had been no way to get her homework
assignment done, and after the fight last night he didn’t want to chance
anything. In her usual style, Professor
O’Flannery passed between the rows of desks, collecting the homework assigned
from the previous night. When she got
to Harry, he shook his head and lowered his eyes.

The
professor didn’t move. Harry raised his
eyes to see disappointment written on her face. “I had expected more from you, Harry Potter,” she said
softly. “If you want to be an Auror, I
suggest you put more effort into your schoolwork.” She paused. “However, I
will allow you to turn it in tomorrow for half credit, which is better than
nothing. Think on that.” She moved on, collecting the remainder of
the homework.

Ron leaned
over. “It’s not that bad, mate. If it had been Snape, you would have a
detention.”

“I already
do,” said Harry, and he began to relate the entire tale to Ron. “So anyway, that’s how it ended up,” he
finished.

Ron raised
a red eyebrow. “It does bring to light
some interesting possibilities, but I wouldn’t draw any conclusions yet.”

“No
conclusions? Her family practically
admits her as a Death Eater. I don’t
think there’s any way she wouldn’t be!”

Professor
O’Flannery spun around, glaring at Harry and Ron. “I want to see both of you after class, gentlemen. We have a very serious matter to discuss.” Her eyes were wide, and angry. In the background, Harry could hear Draco
chortle. Aislinn spun. “Mister Malfoy! I will be seeing you as well.”
The laughter was abruptly cut off.

Class
seemed to crawl by that day. O’Flannery
lectured on history and practical uses, not even bothering to note the number
of sleeping students. As the minutes
ticked down to the final bell, Harry’s stomach clenched. He did not want to be stuck in the same room
with Draco Malfoy and Aislinn O’Flannery, even if Ron was there. The bell sounded and the other students
began filing towards the door. Hermione
shot Harry and Ron a dirty look; Seamus’ was one of commiseration.

Professor
O’Flannery was pacing at the front of the classroom. “Gentlemen, I do not enjoy disruptions in my classroom. For each of your disruptions I will take
five points each away from your houses.
Draco, I hope I never hear you laughing at another’s misfortune again,
or the punishment will be much greater.
Harry, Ron, I’m disappointed that you think you can carry on a conversation
when I am trying to give a lesson.” She
paused, eyeing each of the students.
“Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of
“yes ma’am’s” greeted her. She seemed
satisfied and made a gesture with her hand for them to leave. Harry turned, and was stopped by her
voice. “Remain here, Mister Potter.”

Harry
sighed. It was coming. He turned back around to face his teacher,
eyes on the ground.

“Look at
me,” she commanded, and Harry raised his eyes.
“I know what you think I am. I’m
not stupid, Harry. I know no way of
showing you, except this.” She raised
the left sleeve of her robes to expose her naked forearm. “Do you see a Dark Mark?”

Harry shook
his head. In fact, there was nothing
there, except about eleven pale scars arranged in lines down the pale underside
of her arm.

“I am not a
Death Eater, Harry. That is the only
way I know of convincing you, without making a fool of myself.” Harry nodded sullenly.

“You are
free to go, Mr. Potter. Do not forget
you have detention tonight with me.”

“Yes
ma’am,” said Harry quietly as he grabbed his bookbag from his seat and hurried
out of the classroom, happy to be alive.
He was not yet convinced.
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DamhsaÃ­ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ­

DamhsaÃ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ