Divided Loyalties

Rating: T with a warning of semi-explicit nastiness.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any of the Harry Potter books, movies, inflatable dolls of Hermione and Susan, chocolate frogs or any other of the creations of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is based on her creations and for them, I thank her; however, the non-canon characters (and all their flaws) are mine. This is a work of fiction, and I receive no income, praise or even credit for imagining the scenes contained herein.

A/N: This is a back story for Seamus Finnegan. Almost completely non-canon, because canon mentioned almost nothing about his background. Being Irish of Seamus' age necessarily brings in some Irish history, and there is some inspiration from 'Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall', by canoncansodoff (thanks to him/her for that story) which references that history. Other inspirations come from Irish and Scottish folklore and folksongs. The location was inspired by the late Tommy Makem's song about his hometown 'Keady Morning'. A lot of the names were copied from some of my wife's relatives.

1: Discovery

The apprentice baker rode his bicycle out along Clay Road, southerly out of his small home town of Keady, County Armagh. He had ridden along this road many times, but this time was special. Tim Finnegan was about to attain his journeyman status, having trained under his grandfather and father for enough time and with enough skill to earn the honour. With his new-found rank and subsequent increase in his weekly pay packet, he was finally secure enough to propose to Maureen, and he was on his way to her family's farm to speak to her father, and to make his offer to the girl of his dreams.

Tim's four -times-great grandfather (and his namesake) had been the drunkard famed in lore and song. Tim (the ancestor) had been a bricklayer who had fallen from his ladder, and been knocked unconscious. His coworkers and family, being typically as drunk as he was, assumed he had died from his injuries and proceeded to hold a wake of the 'dead' man, who awoke during the festivities. As this fact had been thrown in Tim's face for his entire life as he had been teased about his name, he had always been quite sparing in his drinking. This moderate behaviour had met with Maureen's hearty approval in a land where alcoholism was almost considered a career.

He had often ridden south out of town or walked through the countryside, but had never noticed the O'Neil farm before. He thought this strange, as he had known Maureen since their days in primary school, and thought he knew the country well.

Maureen had left town some years before to go to a school 'over the sea', and although she returned every summer, Tim had found that their time together in summer was not nearly long enough for him. Now that she had returned, apparently for good, he intended to make their time together more permanent. It had been a year since she had returned, and at nineteen, the two were both of a good marriageable age.

When they had met for lunch the previous Friday, as had become their recent custom, he had indicated to her that he needed to speak to her father on a matter of some importance. She had smiled at him, and under her breath muttered "Bloody well time!" She had invited him to come for Sunday 'Tea', around five in the afternoon, after he went to Mass after his shift (to get the breads ready for the townsfolk coming out of their respective churches, he started at four in the morning). As the bakery was open every day but Monday, and Maureen worked at the chemist's on the weekdays and half Saturdays, Sunday evening was the best time for them to get together.

On Saturday, Maureen's father had come into the bakery, and asked to be served by Tim and to speak to him for a moment. As the younger man was wrapping the man's order of bread and buns, Seamus passed him a sheet of paper, saying with a broad smile "Here's a bit of a map to show you how to get to the farm. People often find it hard to locate, and we wouldn't want you to lose your way when you're on such an important mission. Now don't go telling others where we are – we are fond of our privacy." Tim looked at the map which showed the roads to get to the farm. Oddly, the page stated 'The O'Neil family farm is located a kilometre off the left side of the Clay Road, 13.7 kilometres south of the turnoff from the A29." Tim had been past that area many times, but didn't recall ever seeing the place.

Tim assured the older man that he would not tell anyone else of the map. Being born and raised near the border, he learned early to carefully hold his tongue.

Being born Catholic in Northern Ireland, Tim's family was congenitally of republican leanings, but only just. Since the Trouble began to heat up, the family had become disgusted with both sides of the conflict. Both the Protestant Loyalists and the Catholic Republicans had committed atrocities, both claiming to have God on their side (and of course, their side only)! Tim's father Sean commented that both sides were hypocrites, claiming to follow the Prince of Peace while murdering their neighbours.

The Finnegan family recognized that the Republic, for all its 'Celtic Purity', was an economic basket case. Although the North was under the control of the (sometimes-hated) British, the land was prosperous. It is said that a man's heart is on the left, but his wallet is in the right pocket. Contrary to many of their fellows, the family's loyalties were very much tempered by pragmatism. For all the historical baggage, and the Brits did have much to answer for in that respect, British rule did keep the large family fed.

As the town's bakers, the family could not afford to offend either side, but neither could they ignore the goings on - they kept very carefully neutral. If anything, they hated neither side, but did not support either side either. The family had been in Armagh of only three generations, as Tim's great-grandfather had come from the south to work in the shipyards of Belfast, until he got fed up with being called a 'red-headed nigger' by his Protestant coworkers, and had moved to the small border town.

In spite of their dislike of the activities of the IRA and other republican forces, the family, like most Catholic families in the north, were outraged when the first battalion of the Paratroop Regiment (1st Paras) had shot and killed unarmed protesters on what became known as 'Bloody Sunday', some two years before. Unlike many, however, they did not blame their Protestant neighbours who had not had anything to do with the massacre.

Tim had chosen to ride his bike to the home of his intended as it was too far to walk, although as he was the local football coach, he could have run the distance. However, doing that, he would have arrived needing a shower, which would not give the right impression to the family. Although he was well known to the local constabulary as a good lad, had he driven the family's car he would have been stopped and the car searched, as a matter of standard procedure this near the border.

When he arrived at the O'Neil farm, Maureen was waiting for him, with her older sister Katriona and her fifteen-year-old brother Brian. Brian was being the pain in the derriere that younger brothers are contractually required to be, asking if she was going to jump Tim's bones right there on the porch or whether they we going to heading to the barn to do the deed, and could he watch? Maureen's father sent Brian to pick up something (which was entirely unnecessary at the moment) at the far end of the farm, knowing it would take the boy a good hour before he could return.

Seamus O'Neil looked sternly at Tim and said "Our Maureen says you have something to ask me. Let's sit for a spell." As they sat, Seamus offered the younger man a beer, and asked what kind he preferred. Tim replied that if available he would prefer cider (knowing that cider was more apolitical than many of the brands of beer available in the area), but otherwise a small lager or ale would be nice. Seamus smiled and said "We brew our own here on the farm, so no 'brands' here. George to the north grows some good barley and Eamon to the south grows hops, and we put them together here. George favours the Union, and Eamon favours the Republic, and this way they can both agree on something without it becoming a big argument." The two men chuckled at this practical solution to an all too common problem.

After taking a swallow of the brew put before him, Tim laid out his request for Maureen's hand (as well as the rest of her) saying that, as a journeyman, he was now able to support a wife and family, that he had loved her for years, and wished to marry her. Seamus nodded, and said "Well, you have my vote, for all that that counts. Now you will have to get Mo to agree. But I should tell you, she has a secret which you have to know before she will wed you. You will have to keep that secret from all but your parents, as they will be the other grandparents of your children, should she agree. If you cannot promise to keep this secret, you will forget her and us, forever."

Tim looked puzzled. "What secret could be so important as that? You're not going to tell me that she is actually a boy mascarading as a girl?"

Seamus's laugh shook the building. "It's not that. She's a fine colleen, and true."

Tim looked somewhat worried, as he finished his beer, and continued "And I tell you, I could never forget Maureen. Never."

Mr O'Neil shook his head sadly. "Lad, when I say you would forget her, I tell you the plain truth. Now go and talk to her. You have my blessing. Now go. She's in the kitchen."

Tim walked into the kitchen, puzzled at Seamus' comments. He worried about the need to keep secrets, even from his family and closest friends. If some of the local 'Boys' decided he was keeping secrets, possibly politically sensitive secrets, they might come asking questions, and that could get very unpleasant.

Maureen was sitting at the table, stirring a mug of tea. She looked at Tim, and then the tea, then at Tim with a questioning look. She did not immediately get up to fetch him a mug, which he thought odd.

She looked at him, and smiled, asking "You have a question for me?"

He made his offer of marriage, asking her to share his life, which she accepted with a beaming smile, leaning forward across the table to kiss him. "I accept, on one condition."

Tim nodded. "I know. Your Da said you had a secret, which I must agree to keep, or you could never marry me. I will keep your secret. I swear it."

Maureen bit her lip. "It's not just my secret. It's the whole family."

Tim smirked a little. Don't tell me. You're all leprechauns, and by marrying you I get to share the pot of gold. Right?"

Maureen laughed as heartily as her father had. "It's not that, but not entirely that far off."

Tim was puzzled, and looked at Maureen quizzically.

The young woman gulped, and making her decision on how to say it, said bluntly "I'm a witch."

Tim smiled at his (perhaps) fiancée, and said "Now I've seen you with your temper up, but I would never have called you a witch. I must admit, you have bewitched my heart."

Maureen smiled and blushed prettily. "Oh hush, you silver-tongued devil. Hear me out. This is important. Very important!"

Tim grinned, and asked "What could be more important than you becoming my wife?"

Maureen quit smiling. "Timothy Finnegan, would you please shut your gob until I have said my piece? I say this is important, and it is. It's a matter of life or death to my family."

"No Tim, I am not telling you that we are with the Provos, or we are spies for the British. Nothing like that. I tell you that I am a witch, as is my Ma and Katie. Da and Brian are wizards. We are all magical."

Tim shook his head. "That's not possible. Is it?"

Maureen decided a demonstration was needed to convince the young man. She asked, "You like your tea with one sugar and no milk, right?" As Tim nodded, she gestured with one hand, and without her touching it, a mug floated over from the cupboard to the table, a sugar lump leaped from the bowl into the mug. The teapot raised itself into the air and poured tea into the mug.

She looked at Tim, and added "And some or all of our kids will likely be magical too." She sat looking at Tim with a smug look on her face, as if to say "Now what do you have to say, smartyboots? This is something that you need to know, and that you have to keep secret!"

The smile on her face was the last thing Tim saw as he fainted.