September 8: Morning

It was Sunday morning, and I awoke alone and in the dark closet. At first I had thought it a mad idea to remove me from the infirmary, but now I knew better. I had been shown, in numerous ways, that I was being helped. In turn, it made me stronger for the days ahead.

I arose and dressed, then left for breakfast, careful not to look at anyone. I had to grin at how quickly I had adapted to my role. I could not turn away every thought or reaction, and would occasionally twitch as a result, but I did rather well.

Breakfast started of badly. A pair of Slytherins began to accost me in the hall. I would have faltered but I knew that I had allies. As one of the pair pushed me against the wall, Peeves appeared, screaming, "Students Fighting, Students Fighting." A teacher came in reaction to the shouting and issued detentions to the two offenders. Disparaging remarks followed this incident, but it was easier than I thought to ignore these. I did learn one thing though, the curse was not complete. As Peeves chased the two students, I grinned at what was happening. I felt no pain, until someone saw me. It had happened before, I thought, when I laughed in the infirmary, and with Hermione in the common room.

Apparently, I could express myself physically, as long as no one knew what I was doing. It was not a great discovery, but it taught me that this spell had limits. And that gave me hope.

After breakfast I wandered back to the Gryffindor common room, by the simple expedient of following someone. Then I retrieved the cloak that had been lent to me. Some things were happening today that I was supposed to see.

I found a convenient alcove to hide in, and threw on the cloak. The most convenient thing was I could see Arthur Weasley, standing near Dumbledore's office, waiting to greet the new arrivals. Also, I could see Neville escorting the music teacher, Madam Montague. Neville had told me about her, yesterday, while we walked to Gryffindor. She was sent by the ministry. She was retired, and an old friend of the minister. The idea of adding a music class to the curriculum was an excellent excuse to give her something to do. I was not prepared for the lady from social welfare, however. It was Mam.

Pain reflex kept me from calling out. Arthur did hear the noise I made, and turned around. He looked straight at where I was standing, smiled, and turned back to great the guests.

"Hello Claire," he said to Mam.

"Arthur, you look as handsome as ever." Mam said, changing his handshake to a hug.

"If you will excuse me," Mrs. Montague said, "I'll walk on ahead to the headmaster's office. Neville will show me the way." Before Arthur could say anything, she waved him off. "Claire told me all about you, while we were on the train. The two of you have a lot of catching up to do." She and Neville walked off, pausing as they walked past the alcove I was hiding in. They smiled at each other, then continued walking. I grinned at the thought that, for wearing an invisibility cloak, a lot of people seemed to know where I was.

"How is my favorite first-year?" Arthur asked.

"With a first-year of my own, now," Mam said. "How is he, Arthur?" She asked, concern heavy in her voice.

Arthur led her to an empty classroom, leaving the door open for my benefit.

"Better than we hoped. We can't ask him anything, of course, but we try to give him all the information we can. Also, I think something happened this morning, for the better. He was nervous when he went to breakfast, but came back with a sense of confidence. I just wish we could figure out what happened."

"Have you thought of using the Sorting Hat? Surely it could...."

"Claire," Arthur interrupted, "We tried that, he was unconscious for two days. We tried to get hold of you earlier..."

"I know, Arthur, but you couldn't find me. Neville told me how Molly stayed with him. Tell her I do appreciate it. I know what she thinks of me."

Arthur laughed, "she hasn't been jealous of you for years, ever since you got married."

"I know, I know, I feel I should apologize for marrying late. I couldn't help it. Sean would not settle down, and I was always busy with my work. Besides, you were five years ahead of me, and had two children already by the time I graduated. I couldn't steal you away if I tried."

"You might have tried. Molly was always afraid of that. She always thought we were sneaking around together when we were in school."

"But Arthur, we were sneaking around. How else could this poor little first year learn the tricks of the trade from the big strong sixth year?"

I saw Arthur smile at that, when he paused, as if sniffing the air. "I'm sorry, Claire, I'm being rude. I don't know if you remember the twins. Boys, come and meet an old friend of your father." The two embarrassed boys came out of the coat closet. "Fred, George, this is a former classmate of mine, Claire O'Donnell."

"Oh, Arthur," Mam said, "They're following in the family tradition. You taught them well. I never even knew they were there."

"Family tradition?" Fred asked quizzically.

"You never told them?" Mam said.

"I promised Molly," Arthur said. "After we graduated, I never told anyone."

"Dad," George said, "You've got to tell us what you never said." Then he smiled and added, "if you don't, we'll tell Mom you did."

"You've got to tell us," Fred told him, "And we won't tell anyone if you don't want us to. And that's a Weasley promise."

"You see, Arthur, Your boys take after you in every way," Mam said, her eyes filled with mischief. "Why don't I tell them? This way, you won't break your promise. At Arthur's smile, she turned to the twins. "This probably won't mean anything to you but when your father was in school he was known to a select group of friends as the Masked Marauder..."

"The Masked Marauder," Fred sputtered, "But he's famous."

"They still talk about the time he turned every student in Slytherin bright green," George added.

"The ministry added three protection spells to the school grounds, just because of him, you" added Fred.

The two boys looked at their father in newfound awe.

"I haven't heard that name in years," Arthur said. "It does bring back memories." He looked at Fred and George, and said, "You gave me your word. Remember that." The twins agreed. Turning back to Mam, Arthur said, "I have to ask you then, do you remember my cloak."

"The one you gave me when you graduated? Of course I do. I passed it on, to a young Gryffindor named James Potter. He already had his own group. They called themselves the marauders, in memory of you, of the Masked Marauder, that is. They even duplicated your map," adding slyly, "with a little help."

"Dad," said George, "don't tell me you created the Marauders map, too?"

"You know of that?" Mam asked with surprise.

"We found it, uh, somewhere," said Fred, "We gave it to Harry Potter."

Mam looked surprised, not that I could blame her.

I could tell Arthur Weasley was enjoying this. He had a chance to show off to his children, and was loving every minute.

"As to the cloak," he continued, "because of the troubles, James left it in Dumbledore's care," Arthur explained, "and he passed it on, to Harry."

"Wonderful," Mam said.

"And, Harry was talked into lending it to Owen." Arthur pointed, but missed me by five feet.

Mam hugged him again, but said, "Go bhfaire Dia Orainn." (1)

When Mam released Arthur, both Fred and George made it a point to express their sympathy. It was ironic because, thanks to the curse, if they had tried to talk to me their attitudes would have been less than kind.

"Boys," said Arthur, "we need to talk in private, now, if you don't mind."

The twins nodded, and headed toward the door. They stopped and turned around, and George asked, "About the Slytherins, Dad. Why did you turn them Green?"

"Why didn't you use Gryffindor colors?" Fred asked.

"Oh, he did it for me," Mam answered, looking at Arthur and smiling, "It was Saint Patrick's Day."

As the twins left, laughing, Arthur stopped them. "By the way, Fred, George, the map wasn't my idea. I copied it from someone else. We'll talk later." Then he closed the door.

"Will they tell anyone?" Mam asked.

"Not without my permission," Arthur said. "They made a Weasley promise." Then he became serious.

"Claire, I need to talk to you, about what is going on. We need you to approve the temporary fosterage we've asked for."

Mam laughed at him. "Arthur Weasley, do you think I will give you a rubber stamp on this matter, simply because you tell me to. And before you say anything, I already interviewed Rubeus Hagrid. He and Timmy were playing fetch with his dog, Fluffy, or should I say that the other way around? And I understand this was not the first time. I now understand your comments about his training animals, and being used to dealing with children."

"Timmy does enjoy playing with Fluffy," Arthur argued, "And I know you didn't start this job yesterday, but..."

"To be honest, I did," Mam interrupted.

Did you ever get the feeling that you never know someone? I had that feeling about my own mother. Arthur had the same feeling. At least, his mouth was hanging open as much as mine was. Then Mam dropped her bombshell.

"The Department was very curious why someone from Muggle Artifacts would take responsibility in a simple trespassing case. Our curiosity increased when that same person filed a request for fosterage on behalf of a Hogwarts teacher. I was already called in on the case because of my earlier relationship with this individual, when I received the owl about my son. My superior, Elizabeth Montague, immediately arranged for me to accompany her."

"The music teacher?" Arthur asked.

"My division chief," Mam said, in her authority voice. "By the way, Arthur, and you as well, Owen Dugh, this case is now under the jurisdiction of The Department of Mysteries. If you say anything to anyone, without express permission of the Department, you will face up to five years at Azkaban." She looked around. "Owen is still here, isn't he?" Mam asked Arthur.

I thought it safe to do, so I kicked a chair with my leg, just to make a noise. I was wrong. Fire shot through my body, while something gripped my chest so I could not breathe. I fell down, thrashing on the floor, half covered by the cloak.

I recovered quickly, but Mam, who had been a stone wall minutes earlier, was crying hysterically in Arthur's arms. I knew it was hard for her to see me like that, but the worst thing was that I couldn't even tell her that I was all right again. I could only watch from beneath the cloak as Arthur tried to comfort her. If I could, I would have killed the Tinker right on the spot, I hated him that much.

Mam recovered slowly. When she spoke her voice trembled. "He reminded me so much of that night, Arthur." Arthur Weasley didn't understand the remark, but he made it a point not to say so.



I remembered that night. I doubt I could ever forget. I was eight, and Fergus was six. Da still ran the pub in Antrim, with live music on the weekends. That is what caused the trouble. The peace movement was going strong, and everyone was making an effort to break down the old barriers. Da decided to do his bit, and booked a popular local band, even though they were Catholic. It would have been nothing, except that the Bully Boys (2) decided to make an example that weekend, to keep things from going too far.

The only unusual thing I noticed was a tall thin man, who started hanging around the neighborhood. One of my friends said he was a spotter for the Provo"s, (3)

"keepin' an eye out, just in case." We started playing hide and seek with him, trying to spy on the spy. He didn't object when he noticed us, or cause any trouble, and he was always polite. Once, he walked past Fergus, who was hiding behind a trash bin. Without missing a step he said, "Ye'd best find a better place to hide. Tha' one's too open." Fergus called out his thanks, and the man waved back. I rolled my eyes at that, and gave Fergus a big lecture on how spies do not talk to the enemy.

It was Saturday night, and I was just being sent to bed, when a petrol bomb was thrown through the front window. Someone said later that the Bully Boys planned to blame the IRA.

As everyone scrambled, Da told me to get Fergus and get out. I heard gunshots as the people began to leave the pub, and they started to panic. I ran and grabbed Fergus out of his bed, and we fled out the back. Rocks came flying at us. One caught me in the side, and I went down. I heard Fergus go back inside, but I couldn't do anything but cover my head.

A shot rang out, and a man's voice cried, "Ye cowards, all of ye. Attackin' children now." I heard several pairs of feet running, then the man picked me up. It was the Provo. "C'mon, lad, we'll get ye to safety," he said. I pointed to the back door, "Fergus, he went back in."

The fire had already reached the kitchen. The Provo grabbed a handkerchief and covered his mouth as he ran inside. Less than a minute later, he was back, with Fergus coughing and crying in his arms. Da was there to see this. The man nodded to Da, and passed Fergus to him. He told Da, "best if ye leave, I can't do any more for ye." Then he patted my bloody hair and wished me luck. The barriers had come back up, and we were on the other side.

Da is a fighter. He hates to give up. But he had me and Fergus, and Mam was carrying Deirdre. What could he do? We took everything we could salvage, and left for the Republic. Mam checked my head every day until the last scrape healed. She has me part my hair in the middle to hide the scar, not a famous scar, from a fight with an evil wizard, just an ordinary one, from a jagged rock.



1. Go bhfaire Dia Orainn (GO WEER-uh DYEE-uh O-run) May God help us.

2. Bully Boys Originally the B-specials, a volunteer force (protestant) to help the RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulary) The term is now one of many nicknames for the violent Protestant groups.

3. Provo's Provisional Irish Republican Army. Broke off from the IRA in the 70's over principles. Considered the most violent Catholic Group.