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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
- 8
- 9
So the woman had returned. It had been two days since her second
arrival at Hogwarts, and Snape had tried his best to avoid her, if that was at
all possible. He had been running into
her in the hallways at almost every turn; he was beginning to think she was
trailing him. It almost made him wish
for Lupin to return. At least the man
hadn’t shadowed his footsteps. In his
heart of hearts he knew that he would have to face her eventually, but the
longer he could put it off, the better.
She rarely even looked at him now; at dinner her once-angry face was
down turned. She had not tried to speak
with him after the incident at the show, but at least her reception had been
better at the second meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore’s acceptance of her had seemingly
convinced everyone else the woman was not a Death Eater, despite her
family. Snape had his own proof, but he
was not about to stand up and support her among such a varied group. Such an announcement would prove he was
originally mistaken, and that was not something he thought he could
handle.

He winced as he rubbed his
jaw. At least the bruise was gone, but
there was still that sick reminder of what he had done to her. Deep inside, he found himself wishing he could
have raped her; at least then she would have a legitimate reason for her
hate. She was pretty enough, if
somewhat plain. Perhaps the only thing
that had held him back was her past, and the fact that, at fourteen, Lucius
Malfoy had stolen something from her that should have never been taken. He would have felt differently if it had
been consensual, but Severus found himself loathing his once-friend more than
usual.

He had seen
Malfoy in the last days, speaking to Dumbledore about the substitution of a
filthy half-breed, no doubt. It had
taken almost all of Snape’s will to keep the acrid comments out of his
greeting. The two had spoken in secret
of the next meeting of Death Eaters; it was scheduled to happen soon
enough. Fortunately for Severus, it
would not be a Revel. Those meetings
turned his stomach; he could barely live with himself for days afterwards. Instead, Malfoy had hinted at new schemes
and old tricks: deception and murder.
Snape only wondered what the scheming area entailed. It would probably be a punishment for
allowing O’Flannery to disappear for a time being; Severus winced at the
thought. He doubted his body could take
any more of the Cruciatus.

In order
to “prove his loyalty” he had been subjected to it until his body was to the
point of breaking. He had crawled back
to his bed, barely able to walk, and slept for three days, waking only to eat
and relieve himself. It had put the
fear of the afterlife into him; he no longer doubted what Voldemort was capable
or willing to inflict upon his own Death Eaters. He smiled a private smile as he found himself mouthing
O’Flannery’s words. What did I do to
deserve this?

You were
born, Severus, he told himself and popped his knuckles. Despite his annoyance at the woman, he felt
he had to admit she was a fantastic musician.
She had a presence with a guitar in her hands very few people could have
ever managed, even with coaching and practice.
He had seen her outside once since her return, whistling away on a
flute, filling the air with a haunting melody that made him think of
fog-enshrouded coasts and lonely sojourns.

Severus
checked his wristwatch, noting the time.
Three hours until dinner, and then another long night of hallway
patrols. Albus had hinted at relieving
him of them; his report of a prowling Animagus had obviously made a good impression. Overall, however, Dumbledore didn’t seem
overly concerned about Aislinn and her uninvited visit. In fact, the headmaster seemed to have
expected it. She had violated no laws,
after all, and caused no harm to either student or teacher. Dumbledore wouldn’t seek to press charges;
she had been a Professor, after all. He
had promised to speak with her, and when Snape saw O’Flannery later that
day, she had a chastised animal look about her, despite the fact her head was
held high. Nothing could injure that
woman’s pride.

A sudden
burst of maniacal laughter floated through the halls, but Snape didn’t pause in
his strides. Peeves had probably caught
some unfortunate student with ink, or had tipped a statue over on Mrs. Norris
again. Snape couldn’t help but
smile. The lurking cat was
asking for it most of the time. He
paused at a window, watching students meander around the lake. It was a fairly nice day. After the weeks of rain, several days of
pleasant, sunny weather had dried out the ground. There was still a definite chill in the air, but almost no one
would turn down an opportunity in the sun.

Snape
watched Draco Malfoy’s blonde head as the boy laughed. At sixteen, he looked very much like Lucius,
with his white-blonde hair, straight nose, and high cheekbones, but he had
inherited Narcissa’s delicate mouth.
Overall he was a very attractive young man; Snape had noticed many of
the Slytherin girls watching him as he walked past, muttering about Pansy
Parkinson, Draco’s current girlfriend.
Snape had chosen to overlook the fact that they were sleeping together;
after all, both students were in his house. He didn’t see sex as a crime.
Young people would be young people, complete with all the sordid details
and bad decisions that came with youthfulness.
It was only inter-house relationships that bothered him. Like should stick with like. There was no greater blasphemy than, say, a
Slytherin and a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor. The very thought made his lip curl.

Something
soaring above the trees caught his eye.
He sighed as he realized what it was: Harry Potter on a broomstick,
zooming around the Quidditch field, looking for the golden snitch. He had almost forgotten that there was to be
a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor the coming weekend. There was no doubt who would win. Potter’s lifetime ban, put there by Delores
Umbridge, had been revoked, so Slytherin had almost no chance. The team was adequate, but it was no match
for Potter’s superior skills, or those two Weasely children. Last year Snape was sure they Quidditch cup
would have been theirs, but Ron Weasely had somehow improved within days, and
this year, Ginny Weasely was a Chaser, and a good one at that. Most of the Slytherin team was built for
power, not for speed. It was a shame
Marcus Flint had graduated. That
was a talented player.

Snape
lingered at the window a few minutes longer, wondering if maybe his own sordid
childhood could have been different. He
was still seething about Potter… He let
the thought go, taking a deep breath to chase down his anger. Nothing could be done about that now. The past was the past, and the future was
unknown. Maybe the boy would die
battling Voldemort. Snape could only be
so lucky. No doubt the boy would
survive to life a highly decorated life, which was if he survived. Snape grimaced at the thought of his former
master, and tried to chase the vile feeling at the back of his throat
down.

He turned
from the window back into the relative darkness of the castle corridors. Let the boy face whatever is coming to
him. What did it matter to him if
Potter lived or died? As much as Snape
tried to accept that idea, it was apparent that he depended on Potter’s
success. He couldn’t really believe
that if Potter died, Voldemort would allow Severus to live. Somehow news of his deception would leak
out, and then he was as good as dead. A
shiver ran through his bones, one that had nothing to do with the weather.

His
thoughts turned back to O’Flannery. As
much as he hated to admit it, she did deserve an apology. He just didn’t realize how to do it. Another random confrontation would not work,
especially not in a public place. The
last attempt had ended in bruising and humiliation. If only there was a surefire way to get the woman alone, in a
private area without having to use a ruse of seduction…

Snape
winced. The very thought was
chilling. His grimace turned to a
hidden smile though, as he imagined the look of shock that would appear on
O’Flannery’s face if he even attempted to touch her. She would probably hit him again. However, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would have him. He hated her, but she was
enthralling. There was so much he
didn’t know about her, and so much she kept guarded. It made her appealing in a sick sense of the word, and Severus
didn’t know whether to embrace the idea or run screaming from it.

He sighed
to himself again. The woman was a right
mystery. If only he could figure out a
way to humble himself to her without groveling. If only she would let him off without forcing him to do so.

*

“I have
been absent for a while, and I’m sorry.
I don’t expect any of you to be happy with me, or even remotely pleased
at my sudden disappearance.” Professor
O’Flannery’s face was taut, concerned even.
“I am here to make my apologies and move on. I hope you can do the same.”
Aislinn paused, her hands twisted together in front of her. She was uncomfortable having to explain
herself, but she felt an explanation was due.
She had seemingly abandoned her charges, leading to initial
confusion. “I guarantee that I shall
remain here for the remainder of the year, if not longer. There will be no more disappearances or
absences from myself, unless it is needed or called for. You have my word.” She raised her hands in a gesture of friendship and honesty,
resisting the urge to swear her oath in the language of her youth. She doubted anyone except Finnegan would
understand it.

Her eyes
swept over the boy, taking in his suspicious eyes and tight mouth. He didn’t believe her. The boy came from an Irish wizard
family. There was no way in hell that
he hadn’t heard of Clannad O’Flannabhra and the history behind it. She shouldn’t have to try to convince him,
but yet at the same time she wanted no doubt that she was not her family. Years upon years of humiliation, torture,
and power had built up quite a reputation for the O’Flannerys, but Aislinn was
willing to sacrifice everything to erase that black smear on her name. She would gladly rid herself of the manor
estate, the piles of money in the Gringott’s Bank, and the acres of land if
only she could be looked on without disgust.

She
sighed, muttering under her breath as she swept out from behind her desk and
leaned against it instead. She laced
her fingers together, resting her hands on her belly. “I understand from Professor Lupin that you have begun covering
shielding charms. I believe we have
beaten the history to death, and instead of boring you today I think we shall
continue with practical lessons. So, my
dears, wands out and partners chosen.”
She snapped her fingers.
Students partnered up with others and began working. She had to admit, the Protego Charm was a
difficult spell to do, one that required lightening-fast reflexes and a calm
head. She resisted looking at Potter,
practicing with Hermione Granger. The
boy had this spell down perfectly.

She began
flickering around the classroom, observing all groups with a wary eye. There was always room for improvement, even
for her. She was leaning over, helping
Lavender Brown, when she heard the swish of a wand, a whispered incantation,
and a yelp of pain. Aislinn shot to
attention, fixing Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin, with a glare full of
malevolence. She had taken in the scene
at once. Obviously an ill-timed spell
of Finnegan’s had hit her, and she had retaliated. Finnegan’s cheek was bloody from a five-inch long gash, which he
held, moaning. Blood trickled between
his fingers on onto the stone floor.

“Miss
Zabini,” Aislinn growled lowly. “If I
may see you in my office, please?
Finnegan, stop pouting, it’s easily fixed.” She crooked her finger at Blaise and fell in behind her, closing
the door once the office was reached.

It took a
good five minutes to get through her blubbering of “it was an accident, I
swear,” but by the time detention with Filch was assigned, Zabini was shooting
looks of absolute hatred at her.
Aislinn always hated punishing students, but they absolutely could not
believe they had free rein in her classroom.
She opened the door, allowing a chastised Blaise to exit, and raised an
eyebrow at Seamus. “Finnegan.”

The boy’s
face was petrified in a look of fear.
Aislinn was taken aback. Surely
he couldn’t hate her so much? She
stepped out of the office, shutting the door behind her and turning to face
Seamus as he stopped in front of him, eyes on the floor and still holding his
cheek. “What did you do to her,
Finnegan?” Aislinn asked in Gaelic.

He
answered in the same throaty language, voice halting in shame and fear. “She had insulted my girlfriend yesterday,
so when she was bending over getting her wand I sent a stinging hex over at her
arse-“ he winced at the choice of words, but it was too late now “-and next
thing you know she turns and curses me.”
He hung his head.

“Finnegan,
I wish I could let you off the hook but you started it this time. I’m sorry to say you’ll be serving some
detention with Filch as well, but I’ll see that you have it at a different time
than Miss Zabini over there. I want you
to understand, Mr. Finnegan, that cheap retaliation is never profitable or
honorable. You’ll only do yourself
harm.”

The boy
still wasn’t looking at her.
“Seamus.” That got his
attention, and his eyes met hers.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, boy. I would give everything I could to erase what has been done under
the pennant of O’Flannery.” She smiled
as she realized he was shocked. “I’m
not stupid, Mr. Finnegan. I’ve got many
more years that you do.”

“Gabh mo leithscéal,” was all he
said. She was beginning to believe his
eyes were permanently fixed on the ground.

“As well you should be.” She crossed her arms over her breasts in
mock aggravation. “Níl aon dochar
déanta, Finnegan. Now get to Madame
Pomfrey before your robes start dripping.”
She watched him hurry out of the room, trailing small spatters of blood
behind him. Every day was interesting
when dealing with large crowds of kids shoved in one room. She ignored a few angry glances from the
Slytherin students and many more confused stares from the others and continued
with her help.

She made her way around the room
until she reached Potter and Granger.
“It’s nice t’ see y’ didn’t make any more trips into London. That was a serious infraction.” She smiled.
“I won’t even bother askin’ how ye have the charm down so well, but Mr.
Potter, I believe we have detention t’ continue.”

Hermione looked at her askance. “Detention?
Is this about London?”

Aislinn shook her head, conversing
in lower tones. “I’ve chosen t’ overlook
London entirely. ‘Twas a brave but
stupid thing ye three did, and I stress th’ word stupid. However, Mr. Potter owes me four more days
o’ detention, from a violation of basic manners earlier in the year.” She knew her eyes were twinkling, but hoped
she wasn’t embarrassing Harry too much, despite the fact that only Potter and
Granger could hear her. “I’ve no doubt
he’s told ye everythin,’ Miss Granger.”

Her nod confirmed it. Aislinn wanted to laugh. She remembered her own youth, when
everything that had happened to her was shared and poured over by the four
closest friends of her youth: Fionnuala, Saoirse, Brianna, and Darcy. If only there was someone close to share her
pain and triumphs now. The faces of her
friends faded as Aislinn raised her head to face Harry. “I expect ye after dinner. Nine o’clock. No later.” She winked and
stood, moving on to help someone else.

Class fairly sped by; in fact the
bell surprised her as students scrambled about, trying to pack up at the last
minute. Aislinn sighed as the last
child left her room and fairly fell into her chair. Her first day back in the classroom had gone incredibly
well. The first years had been more
than excited she was back, and she had to curb their enthusiasm with threats of
extra homework. Except for that little
snafu with Seamus and Blaise, her second lesson couldn’t have gone better. She was amazed at their progress; she made a
mental note to thank Remus for his attention and time. He had obviously taught them well.

Now it was back to making lesson
plans and grading papers. Fionnuala
couldn’t understand why Aislinn missed it so much, but the spontaneity of
teaching never ceased to amaze her. She
had missed it. Taking a few weeks
vacation was called for, but Aislinn felt as if she had finally come home for
good. She had all but renounced life in
Cork, and Hogwarts was where she felt needed.
She leaned forward to shuffle papers, skimming over the top one. It was Malfoy’s, and the boy actually had
many good points. Aislinn grimaced. She tried her hardest not to hate the boy,
but it was hard to do when his father was the one who had stolen her
virginity. Draco excelled at Defense
Against the Dark Arts, but then again, the boy was raised in a household rife
with it. Aislinn didn’t know much about
Narcissa, just that she condoned her husband’s actions, even if she was never a
direct part of it. Even that made
Aislinn hate her. She fairly shook with
rage every time she thought of Malfoy, and she had actually seen him in the corridors
two days ago. She had to hold herself
back; she had wanted to launch herself at his throat, rip it with her
teeth. Maybe then he would understand
how she felt.

Aislinn shook her head, realizing
her teeth were bared in a snarl. This
was her off period, so she stood, taking the stack of papers with her and
slipping a red pen into one of the pockets of her teaching robes. The staff room had a good fire going, no
doubt, and there she could get a nice cup of tea. Perhaps she would even have
company. Aislinn smiled as she shut the
door behind her, remembering to set wards.
She began whistling a tune under her breath, an old song about a long
homecoming.

*

“Mr. Potter, please, shut th’
door. It’s damn drafty in those
hallways and I don’t want any o’ that extra cold air in me classroom.”

Harry did so, noting that her
classroom did feel warm. A minor
heating charm no doubt, since the classroom itself didn’t have a fireplace, and
Aislinn didn’t seem keen to move into her office. A quick glance through the door showed the desk to be piled full
with papers and other things synonymous with resettling. Harry turned to smile at his professor, and
stared in shock at an orange blob propped on his professor’s lap.

Aislinn chuckled at him. “’E gets lonely all locked up in me
room. The eagle can come an’ go as ‘e
pleases, but Bo’s stuck on th’ ground.”
The blob shifted at the sound of her voice, and Harry found himself
staring into two fathomless green eyes.
It was an orange tabby cat with several large chunks taken out of his
ears; scars long healed.

“What’s his name?” asked Harry.

“Bosún, or Bo f’r short. It means ‘mistake.’” The mistake suddenly hopped down off his
mistress’ lap, and Harry gaped once more.

“It only has three legs,” he pointed
out rather obviously, and felt ashamed immediately afterwards. Of course its owner would know about
its legs! Harry stared at where its
fourth leg should be, where there was only a tiny stump descending from the
hip. The cat, however, moved quickly
with a hopping gait and didn’t seem troubled by his missing appendage at all.

Professor O’Flannery sighed. “I know.
About four years ago, right when I got meself a job at th’ Ministry, I
found that useless bag o’ fuzz on th’ side o’ the road. He’d been hit by a car, an’ ‘is poor leg was
so mangled a vet had t’ get rid of it.
I decided t’ keep him because ‘e reminded me a lot o’ meself,
actually. He was beat up and left f’r
dead, but the ould bastard survived, much like you and I did, I guess. He’s a daily reminder o’ survival an’
perseverance.”

“Is that why you named him
Bos-Bos-whatever?” asked Harry, trying to fit his tongue around the strange
language.

His professor threw back her head
and laughed. “Bosún, Harry. Say it after me. Bosún.” It sounded like
“bosoon,” with an odd slur on the s.
Harry tried it, and even O’Flannery had to admit it came out well.

“But, yes, I named ‘im Bosún, or
Mistake, b’cause ‘twas a mistake ‘e ever survived. He should be dead, but there ‘e is, pretty as ye please.” The cat turned around when Aislinn said his
name and meowed. He turned again,
batting his paw at a dust bunny. He
completely ignored Harry, hopping about the classroom while jumping at
invisible animals.

Harry heard Professor O’Flannery
sigh, and he turned back to face her.
“So are we going to continue with Occlumency?” he asked.

Aislinn nodded. “We are indeed, and I have taken th’ liberty
of returnin’ Dumbledore’s pensieve. As
before, I won’t be usin’ it.” She popped
her knuckles; the echo drifted around the empty classroom before fading. “All right, remember t’ empty yeerself of
emotion. Take a deep breath. Exhale.”
Harry followed her instructions, trying to relax. He found it difficult, thinking on what was
to come.

“One, two, three… Legilimens!”

Once again there was the force of
intrusion into his head, and once more the painful memories all began to
resurface. Cho Chang. Dudley.
Cedric Diggory in the graveyard.
Harry’s voice tore from his throat, and he realized he had hit the cold
stones of the castle floor.

Professor O’Flannery was bending
over him, a look of concern on her face.
“Are ye all right, boyo?” she asked, reaching down to help him up. Her grip was incredibly strong.

“I-I think so,” Harry answered,
rubbing his head. “Just every time I
think about that…” He let his voice
trail off.

“It must o’ been horrible f’r ye,
Harry. If ye’d like a minute t’ compose
yeerself, we can wait.”

Harry nodded and sat back down in
his chair, taking several large gasping breaths. He still had nightmares about Cedric’s cold body, staring
vacantly off into space with his dead, expressionless eyes. Harry grimaced and forced the memory down
his throat, trying to clear his head again.
“I think I’m ready,” he said to his professor, and clenched his fists.

Aislinn muttered the incantation
again, and Harry tried his best to stop her.
However, she moved around his block and began sifting through his
memories as if they were sand. Harry
raised his wand and cast the shielding charm, and once more his head was filled
with his teacher’s memories.

There was the show from Saturday
night and his face, a younger Professor Lupin and Aislinn cuddling on a couch,
and Aislinn sitting across from Snape, drinking a coffee and falling into a
stupor.

Harry let go of his concentration as
if he had been burned. “What happened?”
he asked, confused as he stared at his teacher’s rigid face.

Aislinn took a deep breath. “Harry, what I’m about t’ tell ye is just
between you and me. No one else,
understand?”

He nodded, and she continued.

“Ye wondered why I left. It’s simply because Professor Snape used
veritaserum to find out if I was a Death Eater or not. It was against me consent and without me
knowledge. I was hurt and angry, and
felt I had t’ leave. But now, I’ve
managed t’ overcome it, and I won’t be leavin’ again.” She nodded to herself. “I’m here t’ stay, at least f’r this year.”

Harry’s loathing of Snape
seemed to deepen, if that was at all possible.
That must have been the night he saw him hurrying around in the
hallways. “At least you’re back,” he
said to her, smiling. “I think everyone
missed you, even Malfoy.”

Aislinn shrugged. “Doubt he did, but thanks f’r trying.” She smiled back at him. “Let’s try it again, shall we? An’ this time, give me your wand.” She held out her hand and Harry put his wand
into it, looking at in longingly.
“Harry, you have t’ learn t’ do this with your mind, not your wand. Ye’ve got t’ make a decision that ye don’t
want me in your head, and push me out.
Ready?”

Harry nodded grimly. It seemed he had little chance for passing
this exercise. He dimly heard Professor
O’Flannery’s counting, or her incantation.
All he felt was the familiar push of legilimancy. Harry groped for his wand, but realized he
didn’t have it. Aislinn was bearing
down on him. There was Cedric again,
dead…

No! Harry rebelled. Aislinn
was forcing him to the floor again, but this time Harry fought back with all
his might. He focused all his concentration
on driving her out and cutting off his memories from her access. He felt as though he had severed something,
and then suddenly the presence of his teacher in his head was gone.

He sat on the floor, exhausted, and
watched as Professor O’Flannery jumped to her feet, looking triumphant. “Ye did it, boyo! Ye finally did it!” She
pumped a fist in the air and fairly suffocated Harry in a tight hug. “My God, child. I knew ye had it in ye!”

“I…can’t…breathe…” was all Harry had
to say.

Professor O’Flannery released him, a
smile spread across her face. “I’m so
feckin’ proud o’ ye, boy.” She handed
him his wand back and leaned down to scoop up the orange cat that was rubbing
against her legs. She slung him under
her arm and beckoned to the door. “I’d
say we did well enough f’r tonight. So
go t’ bed.” She winked at him on his
way out, holding the maimed cat, and Harry couldn’t help but wink back.

*

She was
naked and beautiful underneath him, her body writhing and surging in
contortions Severus never knew she was capable of. His mind whirled, trying to think back on when she had come into
his room. He had come into his
chambers, sat in his armchair, and sometime between then and now O’Flannery had
entered. How they wound up in bed was
anyone’s guess. Her legs wrapped around
him. He could smell her flesh; it
smelled like sweat, like a woman. She
groaned and licked her lips.

Snape
wanted to say something to her, anything at all, really. Instead he kissed her forehead and rested
his cheek against hers as he thrust inside of her. Aislinn opened her eyes, and the look of adoration on her
features was replaced with one of horror as she opened her mouth and screamed…

Severus
started in fear and Aislinn’s sweaty, contorted face disappeared. Instead Snape found himself looking into a dark
fireplace. The ashes reminded him of
the piles of bone-dust he had once seen as a boy when he had wandered behind
the locked door in his family’s cellar.
It had been a crypt; in fact it still was. His father Cassius was buried there, and his mother would be when
she passed. Generations of Snapes had
been laid to rest in that cavernous room, each occupied niche sealed and
labeled with the names and dates of its lifeless resident. Severus remembered his scream when he had
turned, the feeble light from his wandtip revealing countless skulls piled into
carved alcoves in the walls. Bones were
piled neatly in a corner; some so old they were disintegrating. His mother had rushed in shortly to find her
young son staring with horror at the niche where his father would be
buried. The name ‘Cassius Snape’ and
the date of birth, 1942, were bright on the new bronze plaque. It only needed a death date.

Severus
mused on his father’s death eighteen years ago. It had not been a tragedy.
The man had fairly disowned his family.
Snape grimaced. His boyhood fear
was long behind him now, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pale ashes
in the grate of the cold fireplace.
Instead he closed his eyes again, resting his cheek on his palm. It had felt so good to sleep, even if it was
a sleep plagued by restless dreams.
This most recent one had been disconcerting. It seemed to reveal feelings Snape had been trying to swallow, to
keep hidden. There was no carnal desire
he felt for O’Flannery, but instead a need to apologize. He needed to humble himself before her once
more, but this time he wouldn’t mess it up.
Forget it, he told himself, attempting to move on.

He stood,
feeling an ache in his joints he had not felt previously. Snape suddenly felt his age, and
sighed. Now was not the time to be
worrying about aching joints and the other drawbacks that came with getting
older. Now was a time for reflection in
the midst of chaos. Severus’ mind
wandered to what he would say in the presence of Voldemort. There was a growing feeling in his gut that
the Dark Lord would catch on to his ruse, and then Snape would wish he was
dead. The Dark Lord had no mercy for
traitors. Snape knew he was playing a
very dangerous game, but he owed Dumbledore his allegiance. The man had done so much for him, and this
was Snape’s way of repaying this kindness.
He put his life on the line every single day, but he was glad to do
it. He would willingly sacrifice his
own life if it would save Albus’.

Severus
felt his eyes drawn the brandy decanter on his nightstand. The crystal sparkled tantalizingly, but
Snape fought the urge with all his will.
He had been trying to curtail his drinking, but the struggle was almost
too much to take. He tore his eyes
away, chasing down the urge. The last
time he had gotten drunk was the night after O’Flannery’s show; he had awoken
with a horrible headache and his stomach lurching violently. It was the worst hangover he had had in
years, and it had done its best to teach him a lesson. For the last three days he had done his best
to forget that the temptation of alcohol ever existed, but it was still
difficult from time to time.

He
decided to forget his fear for a while and rose from his chair. The smell as it poured into the tumbler was
exquisite, and Snape swirled it around a bit in the glass before sipping it,
savoring the taste of the liquor on his tongue. His latest dream had unnerved him greatly. The thought of flesh alternately turned his
stomach and aroused him, a feeling that he had not experienced in years. There was the occasional dream, of course,
but it was always with a faceless non-entity, not a coworker whom he loved to
hate. He found himself drawn to
O’Flannery and her mystery, but at the same time he was a bit put off by her
attitude, and the debt he owed to her.

The
sudden thought of his betrayal made the expensive brandy seem even more
tempting. Severus shook it off and
drained his tumbler, swearing it would be the only drink for that night. He had to stop somewhere, and what better
way than self-denial? It had worked to
curb his lustful desires, at least up until recently. Her open, screaming mouth seemed burned into his mind. He wanted to scream with her, scream for her
denial, and scream for all that he had done.

Isn’t
my mood dark today, Snape thought snidely.
He placed the tumbler back on the table next to the decanter, pretending
not to want another drink. Perhaps if
he kept up his ruse of sobriety then maybe it would take. He sighed.
There was no chance that would happen.
The only way to forget his desire was through frugality. He had to wean himself off of the sauce
gradually.

He
grimaced. Gradually? There was no “gradually” to it. He had to stop, and now. Severus looked at himself in the
mirror. The dark circles under his eyes
were darker, and all the fight had seemingly gone out of him. He had never felt so tired in his life. There was nothing more that he wanted than
to lay down and sleep for days. His
hand snaked up and rubbed his temples, and the headache pounding in his head
seemed to subside. The dream still
lingered; he could still smell O’Flannery in his nose and see her reddened face
in his mind’s eye. He could feel his
arousal growing once more, and fought to chase it down. Not now.
Not ever. He had learned to
chase down affection long ago. He was
still standing, and twisted his arms behind his back, pushing outwards. His spine popped loudly and painfully, but
the aftereffect was immediate. Some of
the tenseness of day was gone. Now it
was time to face something he should have done a long time ago. He took a deep breath to steady his shaking
hands and opened the door to his chambers, stepping out into the cold hall, and
locked the door behind him.

*

“Is minic a bhris béal
duine a shrón, Bosún,” Aislinn said sweetly to her cat, watching from across
the room. He had been meowing for a
good fifteen minutes, and she was simply getting sick of it. He had food, he had been out, there was
nothing that good for nothing animal could ask for. Except a fourth leg, she thought with a little chuckle and
rose from her seat. She bent to pick up
the animal when there was a light knock at her door. Aislinn raised an eyebrow.
Surely it wasn’t a student, not at this hour. She straightened, and Bosún trotted away from her and jumped
gracefully onto her bed.

Aislinn’s
footsteps were soft on the cold stone, and she lit a lamp near the couch
quickly just as another, louder knock sounded on the door again. “I’m comin’ for the love o’ God!” she
shouted, irate. Hand on the knob, she
twisted and pulled the door open. A
sneer twisted on her face. “You. Get out, get away, never come back. Better yet, kill yeerself.” She made to shut the door, but Snape’s well
placed foot stopped her from doing so.

“Miss
O’Flannery, if you’d please, I’d like to speak to you alone and in a different
location, rather than standing at your door.”

“I don’t
think so, Severus. Ye betrayed me once,
what means ye won’t do it again?”

She heard
him sigh. “I could give you my word,
but you wouldn’t take it. Suffice it to
say, I am feeling increasingly guilty about my conduct with each passing day.”

Aislinn
stepped away from the door, allowing her enemy to enter safely, despite her
desire to put a rather long knife between his ribs. He sat on the couch by the cold fireplace without her bidding or
invitation. I wouldn’t have offered
him a place to sit anyway, thought Aislinn angrily. The very fact he was here irritated her to
the bone.

“So ye’ve
finally decided t’ come clean and apologize,” Aislinn muttered, more to herself
than anyone else. “About fucking
time.” That was directed at Severus,
and she noticed his eyes narrowed in obvious anger. “Oh, stop with th’ eyes, you bastard. Ye deserve every moment of this.”

Snape
lowered his head. “Perhaps I do, Miss
O’Flannery, but I would prefer if you would refrain from berating me until I’ve
had my say. I understand that what I
did to you was very wrong. I regret it
to no end, but I also realize that what was done was done. There is no way to go back and undo it, so
to speak. Instead, we both must learn
to accept it and move on. I propose-“

“It’s easy
for you t’ say!” Aislinn spun from her
frantic pacing and glared at him. “You
weren’t th’ one on that couch. That was
my past, Severus. Are ye happy to know
about it now? Are ye finally satisfied? Or do I have to bend over backwards t’
accommodate you again? What do you want
t’ know? Shall I tell ye about every
man I’ve ever fucked, or do ye want to know what it felt like t’ be raped over
and over?” Her anger finally exploded,
and she lunged forward, wrapping her two thin hands around Snape’s throat. “Filthy bastard, I could kill ye now.” She saw the fear in his eyes and she
tightened her grip. She could do
it. She would gladly do it. It would feel so nice to watch his face turn
blue; watch him struggle for breath.
She began to dig her nails into the soft flesh on the sides of his neck,
and he grimaced in pain. “Do you see
how it feels to bleed?” she whispered to him softly as she bared her teeth in a
feral grin. Her hands tightened. He spluttered as she continued to
smile. Aislinn knew she was killing
him, but she didn’t care.

Suddenly
there was an explosion of stars in her eyes as his fist came up, smacking her
under the jaw. She felt herself falling
to the floor and raised her spinning head to look at him, pushing himself to
his feet. His wand was aimed squarely
at her face. “Direct threat,” he
growled.

“Ní fhéadfadh aon duine ach
tusa a bheith chomh amaideach!” Aislinn screamed at him from her place on the
floor. It then occurred to her that her
wand was almost all the way across the room.
There was no way to perform her wandless magic without Snape
noticing. She was totally
defenseless. “Fuck,” she muttered under
her breath.

Severus lowered his wand. “This hasn’t turned out at all like I
expected. It seems that once again our
tempers have led us into direct conflict.”
He held out a hand as if to help her up. Aislinn glared at it for the time being and turned her head,
refusing any aid at all. Instead she
pushed herself onto unsteady feet and stalked over to the mirror. She raised her head, examining the angry,
forming bruise under her chin. “Good
shot, filthy bastard,” she muttered, applying pressure and wincing. “A damn good punch.” She turned to face her enemy. A bright red weal ringed his throat. She wanted to smile upon seeing it, but held
back her merriment.

“Well, now yee’re here. Get it over with an’ leave. After this, I never want t’ speak t’ ye
again.” She crossed her arms over her
chest, waiting. “Go on.”

Instead, Severus sat back down on
the couch. He seemed in shock. “Miss O’Flannery, you could have killed me.”

“And if ye hadn’t of hit me, I damn
well would have.”

He sat back for a moment, the
reality of the situation sinking in.
She thought she heard him whisper something, but decided to overlook
it. “About that apology, Severus.”

“I figured the threat on my life
should be enough for you,” he spat. There
was pure anger in his eyes, but something else as well. Something almost like desire.

Aislinn raised herself to her full
height. “Ye figured wrong. Ba shuarach an cleas é, Severus. It.
Was. A. Cheap.
Trick.” Every word was carefully
enunciated and stressed.

He said nothing. Instead he looked into her eyes, his cold
black stare matching her icy green one.
“You really do hate me, don’t you, Miss O’Flannery?” he asked. She nodded.
He sighed. Then he did something
very strange.

Aislinn watched with raised eyebrows
as he unbuttoned the left sleeve of his shirt and rolled it up. Slowly, Aislinn began to see something on
the soft white skin of his forearm. She
originally thought it was a tattoo, but soon the livid Dark Mark was entirely
visible.

She gasped. “And all this time…” Her voice trailed off. “And ye thought… I never knew…
Father… Voldemort…” She paused, her breath coming in surprised
gasps. Her eyes met his. “I was misled. That is how you managed to worm your way into his
circle.” She felt angry and
betrayed. “Ye lied t’ me by omission,
Severus. And ye had the nerve to
suspect me, when, Christ, ye should have known.” There were tears in her eyes that she blinked back. So much had been revealed in the one moment,
with that one gesture. So much of his
mystery and suspicion was made clear.
“You ass. You pompous,
self-absorbed ass. Get out. GET OUT!”
Her finger, now pointed at the door, was trembling with rage. “Leave.
It was people like you who did what was done to me.” More tears chased down. There was a burning in her throat. “Why are you still here? Get out of my sight, now!” The shock was replaced with anger now, but
as she met his eyes there was something new there.

The tears she had so recently chased
down were now spilling down Severus’ cheeks. She stared at him in open confusion, scarcely believing that the
once-incensed man was now crying.
“A-are you angry?” she asked timidly.

Snape did not reply. Instead he covered his eyes with a hand in
shame. Aislinn continued to stand in
the center of the room, lost and confused.
She watched him in his silence, trying to figure out what to do. She had never been in a situation such as
this before. “Severus?” she asked
gently. His shoulders shook with noiseless
sobs, the tears now trailing between his fingers and dropping onto the
floor. He looked so defenseless; it
stirred something in Aislinn. She moved
towards him slowly and sat next to him on the couch. “Severus,” she cooed, gently pulling his hand from his face. His eyes were filled with disgrace.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Miss O’Flannery,” he muttered as he
rose to go.

Aislinn caught his wrist, pulling him back onto the
couch. “What happened to you?” she
asked.

Snape looked away from her. “I was young. I was stupid, but I can blame it upon no one but myself.” He took a shuddering breath. “It ruined my life.”

“How old were you, Severus?” Aislinn asked, running
her index finger down his damp cheek.

“Sixteen. Only
sixteen.” He raised his eyes to meet
hers. She could see they were filled
with pain and self-loathing. “Miss
O’Flannery, you don’t deserve to have the acquaintance of someone such as
myself.”

Aislinn held a finger to his lips. “Hush.”

“You don’t understand. Your memories, your hate, I understood. I did those things.
I’ve raped, I’ve murdered. I
would torture children just to see the fear in their eyes.” There was such revulsion in his eyes. “I slit their throats to see them bleed!” he
cried, sobbing.

Aislinn cradled his head against her breasts,
rocking back and forth like a mother with her young child. “Cry your tears, Severus,” she whispered,
stroking his hair. His shoulders heaved
with his sobs and he moaned sadly into her bosom. She could feel the wetness of his tears, but finally he seemed
human. He was no longer an enigma; he
was a man. A man with shame, a man with
pain, a man with horrors in his past equal to hers. She resisted the urge to finger the scars on her back, and
instead held his body close to hers, murmuring nonsense phrases as one would do
to a small child.

“She was twelve.
Only twelve,” he sobbed into her shirt.
“I raped her. I tortured
her. I killed her. And then I laughed. I fucking laughed, Miss O’Flannery!”

“Fuist, darlin.’” Aislinn was horrified, but she kept her
mouth shut. He was no different than
her father. Liar, she
thought. At least this man was
remorseful. At least he could
cry; he could realize that he had done wrong.
“Fuist.” She held him tighter
and trailed her hand down his spine.
His body no longer trembled with emotion; in fact he was rather
still. “Severus?” Aislinn whispered,
clearing a strand of hair back from his face.

She felt him take a deep breath,
and released her grip on him. He
straightened and looked at her warily.
“Miss O’Flannery I’d like to apologize for my behavior the previous
weeks.” She noticed his face was
reddened with obvious embarrassment.
His cheeks were still wet with tears and his eyes were red-rimmed. Overall he looked completely pitiful. Aislinn had to bite the inside of her cheek
to keep from laughing.

“Severus, there is nothing t’
apologize f’r. If ye like, I can forget
this ever happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t ask that you forget it. Just that you realize I am truly sorry for
what I have put you – and myself - through.
I hope I don’t have to humble myself like this again.” He attempted to look serious, but his
sniffle at the end of the sentence made Aislinn smile.

“You look laughable,
Severus.” He had no response. He merely sat there, his eyes averted from
his once-enemy’s face. Aislinn
sighed. “We all have tears. We both have horrible memories. Sometimes we must put pride to the side and
just let ourselves cry.”

Snape nodded, and then looked at
her. “Let ourselves cry,” he muttered,
and then his lips bent into a smile. It
was small, and a bit rueful, but a smile nonetheless.

This was the first time Aislinn
had ever seen him smile, and mean it.
Of course there were the condescending smirks, but this was entirely
different. She smiled back, the same
small grin he was currently giving her.
She reached up and wiped a tear off of his cheek, and he grabbed her
hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss O’Flannery,” he
said again so softly Aislinn could barely hear him.

“I guess I have to forgive ye
now, since ye’ve bared your soul t’ me,” she muttered. He was still holding her hand. It felt odd to have him touch her in a way
that wasn’t malevolent. After the
punches and the insults, such an innocent gesture felt strange.

Snape looked around. “Do you have any liquor, Miss?”

Aislinn raised an eyebrow. “F’r what cause? Ye don’t need any at the moment, and anyway, I have none.” She grinned at Snape’s sigh. “I can smell brandy on your breath, anyway.”

“Can you, Miss O’Flannery?” Snape
asked, smirking. “I’m surprised you can
recognize it as brandy.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I drink like the rest of ‘em.
I’ve come t’ believe ye have to when you’re in this line o’ business.” Aislinn leaned in closer, sniffing. “Yes, it’s definitely brandy.” She looked up at him, and for the first time
realized how beautiful his eyes were.
They could be cruel and hard, but at the moment they were unguarded. She could see herself reflected in them.

“What are you looking at, Miss
O’Flannery?” he asked.

“Your eyes. I’ve never really noticed what they look
like up close, since the only times I’ve seen them they’ve been filled wi’
loathing.”

Snape leaned in as well. “What are they filled with now, Miss?” he
asked lowly, his voice a velvet purr.

“Desire.”

Snape smirked. “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps not.”

Aislinn wanted to separate
herself from the situation, but at the same time she dared to continue. His tears had revealed another side of him
she had never thought existed. She had
realized that under the callousness and the cynicism there was a very insecure
man, a man with a past very much like hers.
That endeared him to her, whether he knew it or not.

“What are you thinking about now,
Miss O’Flannery? You’re face tells me
you’re somewhere else.” God, that
voice. It was deep and sultry without
intending to be so. It sent shivers
down her spine.

“Just you, really. About how we’re alike, even if ye don’t want
to admit it, we’re damn similar. That,
and your voice,” she added under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Obviously, he did. He smiled his tiny, knowing smile again and
touched her cheek. “My voice, Miss
O’Flannery?” was the last thing he said before he pulled her to him.

Aislinn’s eyes closed on reflex,
but her senses were swimming. When did
this happen? Just an hour ago she had
hated him with all her being, and now she was kissing him on her couch. It felt strange to be so close to him, so incredibly
close to each other, but at the same time his lips felt good. Fuck analyzing, she thought and
kissed him back.

She relaxed into it, putting one
hand on the back of his neck and biting his bottom lip gently. She took the initiative and slipped her
tongue in between his teeth, but he pulled away. Aislinn opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his eyes
confused.

“A-Aislinn?” he asked.

“Severus,” she answered, leaning
forward.

He stood, backing away
slowly. “I-I think I should be going
now. I’ve made my apology. Goodnight, Miss O’Flannery.” He turned on his heel and opened her door,
turning back to look at her for a split-second before stepping out in the
hallway.

When the door closed Aislinn
slapped a hand over her eyes. I just
kissed Severus Snape. “Well fuck,”
she said through gritted teeth as her head swum. I just kissed Severus Snape and liked it.

*

Harry,
Ron, and Hermione were gathered around a table in the library, doing some last
minute research for their Potions homework.
Snape had been particularly brutal this year, assigning more than Harry
thought was humanly possible to accomplish.
Most nights he was up until four trying to get all of it done. He had not told his friends about Aislinn’s
betrayal, or Snape’s part in it. He
figured that should be kept to himself.
However, it only made him loathe the man more. That he could do that to someone so kind as O’Flannery was
appalling. He was a Death Eater,
Harry, and might still be, a nagging voice in his head reminded him. The man was a monster. That’s all there was to it.

“So how
did your detention last night go, mate?” asked Ron, quirking an eyebrow at
Harry’s detached expression.

Suddenly,
Harry realized he hadn’t told either of his companions about his triumph at
Occlumency last night. The force of his
professor’s intrusion and the effort of fighting it off had won him over; he
had collapsed into bed as soon as he returned to his chamber. “You’ll never believe it, but I did it.”

“Did
what?” asked Hermione, her nose buried deep into a book.

Harry
smiled. “I did it. I successfully pushed her out of my head. I managed to do Occlumency for the first
time.”

Hermione’s
head shot up. “Harry, that’s
wonderful! Obviously it’s easier to
practice with Professor O’Flannery then.”

Harry
nodded. “Yeah. I mean, she’s not any easier on me than
Snape was, but she’s a hell of a lot nicer.
Oh, and Hermione, she has a cat like yours.”

“Really?”
Hermione asked, almost a squeal. Her
cat, Crookshanks, was her pride and joy.

Harry
nodded. “It’s an orange tabby, but with
short hair and three legs.”

“Three
legs?” Ron laughed. “It only has three
legs?”

“Yeah,
but it gets around okay. Its name is
Bosún, which means ‘mistake.’”

Hermione
smiled at Harry from across the table.
“You’re just learning all kinds of things. Is that a Gaelic word?”

“I would
think so. She probably grew up speaking
it. I wonder if she and Seamus ever got
over their differences. They would be
perfect candidates to talk about whatever in that crazy sounding language.” Harry paused. “I wonder if she misses Ireland.”

Ron
shrugged. “Dunno, mate, but I do know
if I read another word I’m going to die.
Let’s go raid the kitchens.”

“I want
to see the kitty,” Hermione muttered, sounding very much like the schoolgirl
she was.

“We don’t
know where her rooms are, Hermione.
Maybe she’s still in her classroom.
It’s only five.”

Hermione
stood and closed the book. “I’m going
to check. We need to thank her anyway
for not spilling the beans about London.”

Harry and
Ron stood ruefully, lamenting the fact that they were choosing a teacher over
food.

“Shut up,
you two, dinner is only in an hour and a half,” Hermione snapped, tucking the
book under her arm and pushing in her chair.
“Let’s go.”

The
hallways were cold, and the three students pulled their robes tighter against
them. From time to time they heard
occasional laughter or shouting down the corridors, but overall there was
relative silence in the castle. Most
students were probably in their common rooms or outside, despite the winter
chill hanging in the air.

As they
reached Aislinn’s classroom, the stopped talking. Instead, Hermione knocked on the doorframe. “Professor O’Flannery?” she called out.

“What?”
came an answering cry from the office.
“Can I help you with something?”
It seemed she had adopted the false accent again that she used in
classes and with colleagues.

“It’s
Hermione, Harry, and Ron, Professor. We came to ask you a question.”

The
office door opened and Aislinn stood framed by sunlight, her jacket over an
arm. She looked intimidating at her
full height, tattoos glaringly evident on her pale skin. A few strands of hair had escaped her
ponytail and fell to her shoulders.
“Oh. It’s you,” was all she said
and crooked a finger, beckoning the three students in.

Hermione
led the way into her office, where Aislinn was bolting a window shut. “Forgive me if it’s cold in here. I like th’ way a chill feels on me
skin.” The edges of her mouth curled
into a smile. “Sit down.” With a wave of her wand she conjured two
more chairs. “Get comfortable. No use in standin’ about like a bunch o’
statues.”

Harry’s
eyes were drawn to those intricate bands of ink ringing her upper arms. “Did they hurt?” he asked softly, peering
over the edges of his glasses.

Aislinn
merely shook her head. “The pain
becomes dull after a while. It’s
tolerable. The one on th’ finger hurt
much worse.” Then, she pulled the
jacket on again, covering the tattoos.
“I feel they shouldn’t be shown during class. I love ‘em though.” She
knit her brows together as if thinking.
“I believe there’s some type of catharsis in submitting yourself t’ the
buzz and sting o’ th’ needle, in paying someone t’ hurt ye.” She sighed.
“An’ ye came here t’ ask me what?”

All eyes
turned to Hermione. Harry saw her
swallow visibly. “I-I wanted to ask if
I could possibly see your cat.” The
words rushed from her mouth and she blushed visibly.

In
response, Aislinn threw back her head and laughed. “Your sense of propriety makes me laugh, child. Wipe the color off your cheeks and come wi’
me.” She stood, holding the office door
as the three children filed out, somewhat taken aback at her openness to allow
them into her chambers. They watched
her as she turned, setting wards on her office by snapping her fingers and
mumbling something in the strange sounding language.

“All
right, follow.” Their professor crooked
a finger. “I’m afraid ye might find
that, despite your hesitation, me rooms are not spectacular. There’s no hidden bar, secret passages, or
anything else. I just don’t have t’
share mine.” By that time they were
walking down a hallway near the classroom lined with doors. “Most o’ these are just storage, although
there are a few others that live on th’ hall wi’ me.”

As if on
cue, a door opened, and Professor Sinistra stepped out. He took one look at Aislinn and her
following companions and raised an eyebrow.

“Zey’ve
been bad, Professor. I am taking zem
back to my secret dungeon to torture zem,” Aislinn joked in a thick German
accent.

Sinistra
shook his head. “Miss O’Flannery, in
all the years I have known you, you never cease to amaze me with the things you
do. Do you remember when you were a
fourth year and that little prank you decided to play on Minerva?” he asked
with a smile on his face.

Harry saw
Aislinn’s eyes go wide. “What did you
do?” he asked. He knew the Marauders to
play pranks, but he had never considered O’Flannery might have been a
troublemaker as well.

Aislinn
got over her surprise and laughed. “I
still think she has it out t’ get me, Nigel.
No one could easily forget itchin’ powder in yer drawers.”

Hermione
stifled a chuckle. “You-you did
that? To a teacher?”

Aislinn
nodded. “I was a right little
shite. I’ll see you, Sinistra.” She waved and continued walking. “Honestly, Miss Granger, I had t’ get me fun
somewhere.”

Something
was stewing in Harry’s mind.
“Professor, I have to ask, did you ever know my father?”

In front
of him, Professor O’Flannery shook her head.
“I had seen him around. By the
time ‘e was a seventh year, I had just started school. I’m significantly younger than your father
would be, Harry. I knew Sirius a little
better.”

Sirius’
name caused Harry to stumble somewhat.
Although his godfather’s death always dwelled at the back of his mind,
her admission brought back the pain and bitter taste of denial to Harry’s
mouth. “Ho-how long did you know him?”
Harry asked quietly.

Aislinn
stopped at a door, snapping her fingers again and this time saying something in
Latin. The door unlocked, and their
professor turned the knob. “Harry, I
never knew him well. I only met ‘im
through Lupin, who if ye haven’t figured it out, is a damn good friend o’
mine. Sirius Black came a few shows,
bought me a few drinks, and we shared a few laughs.” A pause. “I’m sorry I
can’t help ye with more. That’s
it. That’s the end.” She hung her head, but then pushed the door
inward. “Go.”

As Harry
walked in, the first thing he noticed were two big yellow eyes staring at them
from a corner. Suddenly, Aislinn yanked
the blinds up and the owner of the eyes was revealed. A fierce looking golden eagle peered around the room and clacked
his beak. He heard Aislinn say
something to him, and the she opened the window. The bird flew out into the cold air, his wings flapping furiously
as he soared away.

“The bird
gets hungry often. I’m afraid one day
he’ll end up fat an’ lazy.” As if she
noticed the questions in their eyes, she continued to speak. “I didn’t want an owl, so a friend sent me a
fuzzy little golden eagle from th’ States.
He’s a wonder, although he looks summat fierce.”

Her room
was almost spotlessly clean except for the telltale ashes in the
fireplace. Her bed was massive and hung
with a blood-red drapery. A desk
placed underneath a window was strewn with papers and pens and a violin case
lay on the chair. His eyes, however,
were drawn to the guitars in the corner, one acoustic and one electric. They both looked well used and well loved,
which he had no doubt they were both.

Hermione’s
sudden squeal cut through the air. “He does
only have three legs!”

Harry
rolled his eyes and walked to Aislinn’s bed, where Ron and Hermione were
standing, admiring the cat. Its eyes
were glaring suspiciously, and his fur was on end.

“Bosún.” That was Aislinn’s voice, both condescending
and threatening. The cat’s fur settled,
and he even settled onto his haunches with a look of smug annoyance. “Ye just got to know how t’ talk to
him. He’s friendly enough, if a little
protective.”

Hermione
tenuously reached out her hand, brushing the tip of his ear. The cat sniffed her hand suspiciously, and
then licked her fingers. As Hermione
scratched his head she began to mumble nonsense baby phrases to the cat as it
moved closer to her. “I love you,
wickle kitty kitty. I want to pet you
forever baby kitty friend,” she said, cooing at it.

“It’s
disgusting,” Ron whispered to Harry.
“She reminds me of my mother when she does that. Besides, I’m getting kind of hungry.”

Harry
checked his watch. “Uh, Hermione, it’s
close to dinner time. We can come back
and see the kitty later.”

Hermione
sighed. “Okay. To dinner, then.” She turned to Aislinn.
“Thank you very much for letting us see the cat.”

Aislinn
nodded once. “It’s no problem. You’re welcome any time. Harry, remember, tonight at nine. More practice.” She winked and turned back to window, seemingly lost in
thought. Harry thought he heard her
sigh.

In the
hallway, Hermione led the way, talking non stop about how cute the cat was and
how it’s face was perfect and it’s little leg stump was the most adorable thing
she had ever seen, because it was furry.
Ron merely rolled his eyes at Harry and continued walking.

Harry,
however, was thinking about Sirius. How
had Aislinn seen him? What was behind
that veil? And, if in death you
retained your memory, did Sirius ever think about him? Harry shook his head, his thoughts taking
him elsewhere, to a sky filled with stars.
- 8
- 9
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DamhsaÃ­ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ­

DamhsaÃ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ