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DamhsaÃ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ	By : MrsSaruman Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 807 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
All previously recognized characters
are property of JK Rowling, as much as I hate the idea. I, however, own the O’Flannerys and their
souls. So HA!

***

He had the odd feeling he had been there
before. The sense of recognition was
everywhere: from the stale air to the ornate furnishings, from the feeling of
stagnating misery to the slowly crumbling garden wall. He reached out, lightly fingering a silver
shield hanging on the wall. He blew off
the dust and sneezed, peering at the inscription carved around the rim: Reathaí Meán Oíche is ea an Bás. What did it all mean? And why was he here? There had to be some meaning behind it. He searched his mind for some clue; there
was nothing, only the flash of a face.
A voice of a child could be heard floating through the air, as if it were
calling to him. “Sir? Sir?”
He smiled. Yes, my
child. I am here. Now leave me be. The voice continued speaking, becoming
rer rer and clearer as if the speaker was drawing nearer. I’m busy, child.

across the room.

"Dunno," Ron
answered, staring at her over his latest copy of Which Broomstick?
"Why are you smiling like that, Hermione?"

Hermione was indeed smiling a
Cheshire cat grin that had spread itself all across her features.
"No reason, Ron," she simpered, "I just have a bit of an
idea."

Harry Potter, who had been
silent for the majority of the afternoon, finally spoke. "When
Hermione has a plan you better watch your back. So tell us, oh mighty
mistress of plans, what's your idea."

Hermione began to outline her
plan. "Well, Snape has to be somewhere at ten fifteen, right?
Well, last time I was downstairs he had fallen asleep in front of the
fire. So, Ron you get to wake him up at about nine thirty. And then
we follow him to wherever he's going."

"There's only one problem
Hermione. How are we going to follow him without being seen?"

Hermione sneered at the
speaker. "Are you really that daft, Ron? Harry has his
invisibility cloak!" Harry nodded. He was more than happy to
get out of this house, the house that reminded him so much of his
godfather. He didn't want to think about Sirius or this house, but here
he was, stuck here.

"I agree with
Hermione. At least we wouldn't be so bored." Harry
sighed. He really didn’t want to be
here. However he hadn’t been able to
get out for fear an agent of Voldemort would find him first. He was kept in the house under lock and key,
never allowed out. So this presented a
nice prospect.

At
nine thirty Ron’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs as he descended to
wake Snape up. Harry and Hermione
waited at the top of the stairs, their breaths held in anticipation. “So, how was it?” asked Harry as Ron
ascended the steps about five minutes later.

“He
was rather personable for Snape. I
mean, I didn’t sit there and talk to him, but at least he didn’t insult my
intelligence too much.” Ron shrugged, a
look of indifference on his face.

Harry
pulled out his invisibility c and and draped it around the three of them. “Okay, we’re ready let’s go.”

Going
down the stairs was difficult for three people trying to stay unseen, but
somehow they managed it. Soon they were
hot on the trail of Snape, watching the familiar billowing os ros robes as he
turned down street after street.
Several times they were forced to stop abruptly as Snape peered into the
darkness behind him, checking for people who might be following him.

“He’s
up to something, no doubt,” whispered Hermione, quickening her pace as Snape
entered The Leaky Cauldron.

They
followed close behind him through the twists of Diagon Alley, careful not to
lose him in the late night shadows of an alley. Suddenly, Ron stopped.
“It’s Knockturn Alley. I’m not
going there.”

Harry
could see what he was talking about. A
sign pointed into another narrow passage, designating it as the premier Dark
Arts area of London. Anyone who went in
there was definitely up to no good.
“It’s no good to follow him any further. I don’t want to go back in there,” Harry shook his head. “No way.”

Ron
sighed. “Okay, we don’t have to go
there, but can we at least see what’s going on there?” He pointed to a dingy building where a group
of wizards were gathered. Yellow light
shone from the windows and music poured from the doors.

“I
don’t know, Ron. It might not be
safe.” Hermione shot a reproaching look
at the venue. “Honestly. It can't be good; it's so close to Knockturn
Alley?”

Suddenly
Harry threw off the cloak. “It can’t be
too bad. See, there’s Oliver
Wood.” He pointed and waved. “Hey!
Oliver! It’s me, Harry!”

Oliver waved and Harry hurried over
to him, with Ron and Hermione close behind.

“Oh, this place? It’s fairly new, only been here a few
months. It’s a club of sorts. Nothing special. A bar and club where you can just go to have fun. I’ve been coming here every weekend. The only problem is they open late so if you
still live at home you’ll have a devil of a time trying to convince your mum to
let you go. But, since I’ve moved out
I’ve been able to come. It has live
music every night. This is a new band
playing here; they’re rather popular in Muggle London.”

Harry gazed at him. “Muggle London! They’re Muggles?”

Oliver laughed. “No, of course not, they’re wizards.yes"> Two pairs of eyes followed Ron’s finger pointing to the front of
the room, where the band was clustered on a stage. All the faces were unfamiliar to them, but they couldn’t expect
to know every face out there. A
muscular, shirtless wizard sat behind a drum set, pounding away at the
instrument as if beating demons out of it.
His arms were heavily tattooed, and the markings on his chest surged as
he tensed his muscles. The bassist was
a thin, wiry man with a shaved head. He
kept his eyes downcast and a cigarette firmly anchored between his lips. But the guitarist, the guitarist was a sight
to behold. It was a woman, fairly
young, playing the bejeezus out of a battered electric guitar. Two tattoo bands of Celtic knots wrapped
around her sinewy upper arms, but for some reason her shirt was high necked,
covering all of her torso and shoulders.
Maybe it was the appearance that mattered. Shn>She did evoke quite an air of mystery as she leered at the
crowd with crazy green eyes, her black hair pulled up off her shoulders in a
ponytail. It was almost as if she was
gazing through you, rather than at you.

“She’s really creepy,” murmured
Hermione as she eyed the tattoos on her arms.
“I mean, look at those eyes.
They’re huge.”

Ron disagreed. “I think it’s wicked. It’s about time we had a wizard music
scene.”

Harry merely looked at the woman,
staring right into her eyes. “She’s
angry. You can feel it. She wants revenge, but on who I don’t know.”

Hermione and Ron looked at Harry
quizzically. “How d’you know that,
mate?” asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, really. It’s almost like she’s projecting her mood
to the crowd, daring anyone to guess what she’s feeling. But I agree with Hermione. She’s scary.”

Their conversation was cut off as
the woman began to speak. Her voice was
rough, deep, and sultry with a very pronounced Irish accent. “Awright and thanks fehr comin’ oot tonigh’. ‘S great an’ glahrious ter see aw yeer
faces, drunk or sober. We call this
song Paper Airplanes, an’ I want ter see all ye out on this floor, kickin’ each
other’s arses!” She grinned and threw
her head back, screaming a raucous “One Two Three Four.”

“Raise high monolithic structures
so fragile. As they fall, I am ever
enthralled. Gaze, lie, and smirk in
time. Your arrogance will suit you well
until fashion is dispelled. As waves of
plastic fame go out of fashion, you’re ever unknown. These waves of plastic fame are drying up, and I smile because
you’re dying to be forever unknown. ”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were forced
to move as a surge of people rushed onto the expanse of free space before the
stage and began to throw themselves against one another, punching, hitting, and
kicking. an>“an>“Is this fun for them?”
wondered Hermione out loud.

“From above a rain of ashes
descends. Anathema I will remain,
forever will remain. From below in my
seclusion, look up to the sky to see paper wings and watch them burn. Without habitation. You’ll never find a soul inside, no life,
but nothing’s died.”

Harry found himself carried away by
the layers of music. The lyrics were so
poignant, so true… The misery encased
in these words had been so close to him in the past few weeks. Even after leaving the Dursley’s his mind
was troubled. He thought being with his
friends would ease his anxiousness, but it didn’t help that they were staying
at Sirius’ house. His godfather, whom
he had loved so much, was gone, and now there were only the memories to taunt
him.

“No lights, but quite the show,
just as long as no one knows all the motion is pantomime. Dancing in the rain of descending ash,
dancing on your grave I’ll see you falling.
Dancing in the rain of descending ash, dancing in your dust. I’ll see you all falling. I’d stop it, had you a heart.”

Harry was sad to hear the song
end. He was beginning to enjoy the
sound of the band and the emotion the lyrics evoked. It was a sad song, but the sadness was hidden by the rich musical
quality. Both Ron and Hermione seemed
enthralled as well. However, Hermione
could shrug it off, and shrug it off she did.
“Come on, let’s get back to Grimmauld Place. I don’t want anyone to know we’ve been gone.”

Ren>Reluctantly Ron and Harry pulled
themselves away from the stage. They
kept glancing longingly at the venue as the strains of music swelled into the
sky.

“…Of late it’s been harder to go
outside…”

They walked in silence under the
invisibility cloak all the way back to Grimmauld Place. Many thoughts were stirring in their heads:
who was that woman? What magic allowed
her to personify that grief, that anger?
Harry in particular felt very close to her, even though he didn’t even
know her name. She had been
strong. She had been angry and seeking
revenge, much like he was. Maybe she
had lost someone close to her as well.

“We reek!” said Hermione as soon as
they were safely closeted in Ron’s room.
“We smell like nasty cigarette smoke!”

“Just go to bed, Hermione. I’m tired.
We’ll see you in the morning.”

Hermione left, and Ron and Harry
changed quickly into their pajamas and climbed in their beds. Soon they were snoring, dreams of wide-eyed
women and drunken wizards floating in their heads.
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DamhsaÃ­ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ­

DamhsaÃ Naofa is DiamhaslaÃ