September 2: Afternoon and Evening

When I awoke it was already late in the afternoon. If I hurried, I could probably make my last class of the day, if I could remember what it was. I noticed I was wearing pajamas, and not my nightshirt. Embarrassment washed over me at the thought of being dressed by someone else..

I heard a noise, and looked toward the doorway. Madam Pomfrey was there, with Fiona standing beside her. This must be the infirmary, I thought.

They walked softly to the bed, Fiona laying a package on the table next to me. It was my small harp, wrapped in its cloth. I wanted to admonish her for not leaving it in its case, but I was too weak to do more than make a face.

"I know, cousin, you would rather your drum, but I could not find it, and I had not the time to look. I know you love your music, and I thought you would appreciate the gesture." I tried to make a weak smile. Her smile in return showed me she understood.

"You've delivered your package, Child," Madam Pomfrey told her, "now off to class, you're already late. Remember the pass I gave you, or you'll have trouble, for sure. Now, let's let Owen rest some more."

Fiona brushed her brown hair from her eyes, and gave me another warm smile in parting. "Slan agat, (1)" she said, as she turned to leave. I must go.

"Slan leat, " I said in my thoughts. I wish you could stay. I closed my eyes and was sleeping again in moments.



When I opened my eyes again, it was getting late. There was light enough from the sun, but it would not last long. Feeling a weight on my side, I moved my hand and found the harp lying on the bed next to me. An odd feeling came over me. I knew Fiona had left it on the table, and Madam Pomfrey would have no cause to move it.

I eased myself into a sitting position, glad that I was stronger from the rest. I sat the harp on my lap, idly plucking at the strings. The notes sounded faintly for all the effort I made, yet the movement of my hands and fingers were familiar and relaxing. I heard a soft noise and looked up, expecting to see Madam Pomfrey. Instead it was a spirit that I recognized from the night before: the Poltergeist, Peeves.

"Even so low you make that ugly noise," Peeves taunted. "Are you so sick you must make all of us sick?"

"Would ye rather a tune," I asked in mock humor? I was dismayed how weak and unsteady my voice was, but happy I could at least talk.

"Ugh, Ugly human, Ugly noise." The Poltergeist made as to cover his ears, showing his disgust.

I took this as a challenge. I could not let the moment pass. "T'is O'Caithlin's reel ye want, then. I began to play, the music filling the quiet room. It was the tune Rory O'Caithlin had heard that fateful day, the tune we call today the Londonderry Air. As I played, I lost myself in the music, as I am wont to do, thinking only of the harp and my fingers.

As the last notes died away, Peeves moved to the foot of my bed. "You are a friend. You are a good friend." He flew up, through the ceiling, and was gone.

Madam Pomfrey came in as I was staring upwards. She had been about to say something, when she saw the harp in my lap. "Well, you are definitely better if you can lift that," she said. Putting the harp aside, she placed a tray in front of me. It held my supper of juice, and a clear broth. "If you handle that, I'll give you some rolls and butter. There is also tea if you want any." She gave the harp another quick glance, and left me to eat in peace.

I held the broth, and the rolls as well. I felt more solid, if not more relaxed. I had a lot on my mind. Most recently with Peeves. It was he who put the harp on my bed, and that is what woke me up. His taunting was designed to recall the tune "first played by no human hand." He did this as an excuse to make friends with me. All I had to do was figure out why he needed a friend. I would not turn him away because, for now, I needed all the friends I could get. He was the only friend I had that I could trust. And that was a problem again. What was it that made me sure I could trust him.



As the dinner hour ended, Fiona came by again. "It's only because I'm a relative," she told me. They won't let you see anyone else until morning." Her blue eyes locked on to mine. "Cad e mar a ta tu," she asked?

"Tu me go maith," (2) I replied. My health was good. she need not have asked. She sat. and we talked of small things, using the old tongue. Speaking the Gael, as Da would call it, always made us feel at home. It was the language we always used to talk about family things. It also annoyed Madam Pomfrey, which was another plus.

At she left, she gave me her usual farewell, "May God not weaken your hand." She said this in English, for the benefit of our host, but it struck a cord in me.

"Better to bless the postman," I muttered, not realizing I had spoken aloud.

Fiona looked at me wide-eyed. I had told her something, but she did not know what. She stood as though to go, then turned back, saying sternly, "Gura slan an scealai." (3)

She turned and walked briskly out of the room, pausing only to say "Good Evening, Professor Dumbledore," as she passed the Headmaster, by the doorway.

"Slan leat," I called out to no answer.

"An interesting conversation," Dumbledore said, "I have always loved the sound of the Irish language, although I never did learn any of it. I am guessing that what you said was goodbye?"

Now I am the language teacher, I thought wryly. "Yes, Albus, you say 'Slan leat' to someone when they leave. If you are leaving, you say 'Slan Agat'."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, finding import in the words. "Thank you for remembering our agreement, young man. I must admit, I find it refreshing to have someone under fifty call me by my given name"

"Some people are coming here," he said abruptly. "We were holding a meeting last night, which you interrupted." He watched me to gauge my reaction, then continued, "The subject of the meeting was Gregory Wyatt."

The sound of the name startled me, bringing back the memories of what happened, thankfully buffered by what little time had passed. "Ye want to know wha' happen," I said, my brogue thickening on my tongue. As he nodded, I said, "I'll tell ye, but I would like ye to tell me as well."

Dumbledore smiled, "I am glad to hear you say that Owen. In fact, that is what I hoped to do, to have you join our small group. I want you to know that we are you friends, and that you can trust us."

"I would like that," I said to the air about me, "to talk with someone I trust."

"Professor," Madam Pomfrey suddenly called out.

"Peeves," Dumbledore yelled, "You know you are forbidden to enter the medical wing."

"My friend invited me," Peeves said.

"Your friend?" asked Dumbledore.

"He means me, Albus," I said.

"I am surprised, my boy, and it takes a lot to surprise me," Dumbledore said, his eyebrows arched. "I find that I have no idea who you are."



1. Slan (Slawn) Meaning: Goodbye.

2. Cad e mar a ta tu (Cod eh mar aw taw too) How are you doing

Tu me go maith (Taw may go mah) I am doing fine

3. Gura slan an scealai (GAW-ra slawn an SCAL-uh)