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Sixth year, pre the death of Dumbledore. Could potentially be considered a prequel to 'The Pick of All the Earth and Ireland".
"tá an fhuinneog oscailte"
you're the light at the end of the tunnel, the break of the day
after the darkest night, chasing all the evil away
/Angel - Flipsyde/
It was funny how they could be so civil when nobody else was around, under the cover of darkness, sitting in the kitchen before a blazing fire.
The Irish lion and the serpentine angel have no social constructs calling yea or nay in the wee hours of the morning. When darkness falls and the corridors are swathed in moonlight the kitchen becomes a haven; the window of liberation opens and the walls of enmity come down, melting away like the last snow in spring.
She favours chocolat chaud, and he takes his coffee black. She daintily nibbles at shortbread, and he devours lime tarts like they're going out of style, but they share months of easy silence as they sit before the fire, the rolling waves of heat like a lover's soft caress.
It's past the graveyard shift one night in February when Daphne breaks their silent custom. "Do you believe in life after death?" she muses philosophically.
If Seamus is taken aback by her sudden inclination to speak, he hides it very well. Perhaps the lethargy of the nocturnal hour oppresses cantankerous moods, because he's equally as contemplative as he responds with careful measure: "I don't not believe."
"I used to think it was folly," she admits between tiny sips of her drink of choice, "to hope for anything more than what we have already."
"And now?" Seamus asks placidly, surprisingly curious to know her answer.
The blonde girl doesn't respond immediately. Instead, she tucks her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, the warm drink grasped in both hands, staring pensively at the dancing flames. "Now?" she repeats softly, her gaze flickering to his for half a breath. "Now, I can only pray that there is something."
She's fiddling with the hem of her pyjama pants, her chin resting atop her knees. "There's a war coming, Finnigan, and we're going to be smack-bang in the middle of it."
Silence envelopes the room, punctuated only by the occasional crackle from the fireplace as the logs are slowly consumed. Seamus finishes his coffee and Daphne savours her hot chocolate, her bare toes curling around the seat of her chair, and both brood over the months to come. Neither bears the macabre imagination that could predict the tragedies waiting in the wings.
As their window of liberty slowly closes, Seamus makes to leave. "If we could find a guide," he says in hushed tones that fit the unearthly night, "I'd happily be led with ye to Tír na nÓg."
It draws from her a smile, but she keeps her silence nonetheless, and Seamus begins his climb to Gryffindor tower.
Alone, the kitchen seems strangely empty of life. Banishing her drained mug, Daphne wanders into the stone corridor, whispering into the darkness as she walks: "You're no neutral Slytherin, Mr Finnigan. You'd never be led. You'll be in the thick of it, Gryffindor to end."
And the remnants of the night engulf her words until only the quiet remains.
Fin.
A/N: The title is in Irish, means 'the window is open', and refers to the night being the only time their house rivalries can be ignored in the current Hogwarts climate; a chocolat chaud is a 'hot chocolate' in France; and Tír na nÓg is the 'Land of the Young' a section of the Irish Otherworld where sickness never dwells and resources are abundant and life goes ever on and on.
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