This chapter was written by ALL of the Pepper Imps. Be afraid. Be very afraid. It was formatted by Xela Lupe. Alastriana's prologue was written by Xela Lupe. Ciorstaidh's prologue was written by Nestrik. Casidhe's prologue was written by Sihaya.


Archive Information

Title- Sanity and Insanity

Author(s) - The Pepper Imps (Sihaya, Nestrik, Xela Lupe)

Genre- Romance/General/Humor/Angst

Summary- Does love really conquer all? Is there such thing as fate? Does James Potter really dislike being called Thongs?

Sanity and Insanity

Prologue

Alastriana Dubhcana

Houston, Texas

"Life's a bitch and then you die," the gaunt-looking waitress said to herself, probably without even realizing she was doing so. It had been a hell of a day. A man at the bar was shouting her name and making her some obscene offer but she wasn't really listening. "Men, can't live with 'em… can't eat 'em."

She had fallen out of bed, broken the heel on her best pair of boots, nearly set herself on fire while cooking breakfast, gotten a speeding ticket, and broken the shoelaces the only other pair of shoes she owned that were even close to the right size. After close to seventeen years in the Muggle world she'd never felt a stronger urge to use magic. If it weren't for the fact that she wasn't sure whether or not she was actually a fully qualified witch (running away on graduation day will do that to you) she probably would have waved her wand and made everything go away. If, that is, she had a wand. The pieces of her old one were probably still on the floor of the disused classroom where she had found her brother's dead body.

To top it all off, she was being followed. Stalked, really. When she had gone to put flowers out by her brother's grave she had found fresh white roses already there. Virtually the same flower arrangement he had given her on their first date. All day she had expected to hear the swish of a cloak, hear someone say, "god, Dubhcana, you truly ARE an idiot. What a place to hide."

She had been staring defiantly at every dark-haired man she passed in the street just in case.

He knew where she was. That alone made her want to run away. Pretty soon I'll have run all the way back to Scotland, she thought without much humor.

For Alastriana Dubhcana, work had always been a nightmare. Not only did Fat Bill pay her ten cents below minimum wage (after all, she wasn't a citizen and he was a crooked old pervert) and she also had to endure the frequent jeers and whistles of the rather randy truck drivers who frequented the Texas rest stop.

But today work reached a new level of hell. She needn't glare at every dark-haired stranger she passed. He looked exactly the same as he always had. Granted, he was a lot less scrawny and had pretty much grown into his features. She scowled, and yelled to Fat Bill that she was taking her break. She didn't have time for this.

Of course he followed her outside, she knew he would. There was no eluding this man when he wanted a word with you. "Can I help you?" she tried the 'completely oblivious, dazed-and-confused, who-the-fuck-are-you?' routine.

"You can, in fact, tell me why you're wasting your life here Alastriana."

She scowled. "Listen to me, Severus. I don't need you coming here and telling me that I'm ruining me life. Believe me, I'm aware of it. I haven't seen my family in years… they know better then you what happened to me. They know to keep their distance."

"You had potential a long time ago. Now you…"

"Don't say it like it's a dirty word. I waitress. I'm a damn good waitress."

"You could have been anything you wanted to be."

"Maybe this is what I wanted. Ever think of that? Did you ever think, Severus, that I didn't want anyone else to be killed because of me? You can't just come in here like some damn guardian angel and tell me that-"

"Bullshit. No one died because of you, Alastriana."

"My god, you really have no idea what happened? You don't know a damn thing?"

"Care to enlighten me? 'Cause from where I'm sitting it looks like after your brother… died… you got overwhelmed and didn't want to live in some rat-infested tenement and take care of your five siblings for the rest of your life. So you ran away. You put them into foster care and ran away."

"I don't need to take this. I don't have time," she snapped at him, "you're wrong… but I have to get to work."

"Alastriana-"

"I don't have TIME." She looked ready to slap him. She had wanted so badly to be able to give her sisters and brothers the home life they deserved. He had no right to tell her that she had gotten scared. He didn't know half of the story.

"Tell me why you ran away. I'll never bother you again. You can screw up your life however badly you choose to after that. It won't be any of my business after this," he paused, "almost all of them are close to finished with their schooling. None of them kept their surname. Why did you? I thought you said that you wanted to forget… forget whatever it is that happened to you."

"All right, all right," she held her hands up, palms up, well aware that passersby were beginning to stare. She was used to it. She looked pleased with herself when Severus cringed as he saw the scar across her left palm. "I'll tell you but you're not going to like it. It's not even close to what you think."

He was one of the few who knew how that scar had gotten there.

"Try me."

            "I intend to."

Ciorstaidh Hartnett

County Cork, Ireland

            Her eyes had grown a little greener, her hair a little wilder, and her voice had been tainted with the years she had spent in Ireland. For fifteen years she had lived in County Cork. For fifteen years she had been an Auror, undercover and waiting. For fifteen years she had been keeping half an eye on the son of her two best friends. And for fourteen years she had been in love with a man on the run.
            Ciorstaidh DeWolf Hartnett always kept the fire in the living room of her cozy home on the Irish cliffs burning. She never knew when the news she had been waiting for would reach her.
            She had waited for fifteen years. Her wand lay useless at her side, and her CD player lay abandoned on the shelf of her small wooden cabinet. The Ramones, the Smiths, INXS, they were all making comebacks, but tonight Ciorstaidh had set them aside in favor of the soft strums of her acoustic guitar under her calloused fingers.
            The fire crackled ominously, and Ciorstaidh looked up from AM7. Dumbledore's head was sitting in the crackling flames. She started up from her chair, the guitar crashing onto the floor, strings jangling. Ciorstaidh winced, cursed, picked up the instrument and leaned it against her chair before turning back to the flames.
            Dumbledore's ice-chip eyes bored into her green ones. She understood and stepped into the flames.



            It was dark inside the building, and the sounds coming from the surrounding rooms made the mood seem even more menacing. Ciorstaidh heard muffled shouts coming from a nearby room.
            Through the doorway she saw jolts of red light shooting from every corner. Black shadows roamed up and down the stairs of the stadium-like benches. At the bottom of the room, on a raised platform, was a tattered black veil. Three teenagers in torn robes stood, fighting gallantly to their imminent death. A fourth lay immobile on the floor. Two smaller figures, girls, she realized, also had their wands out. A woman Ciorstaidh recognized all too well stood at the front of the room. A man stood in front of her.
            Sirius. He stood before the veil, the look upon his face one that Ciorstaidh knew and loved. There were flashes of red light, and Ciorstaidh stepped forwards, wand extended.
            The veil whispered in the breeze from the spells.
            She stepped again, and heard Bellatrix Lestrange scream.
            "Sirius!" Ciorstaidh yelled. She saw his back arching… towards the veil…
            Their eyes met in the moment before Sirius was sent beyond this life into the next, and Ciorstaidh was there with him, in his heart and soul and mind. Sirius Black smiled, a grin unto himself.
            "Cior…" he whispered.
            And then he was gone.

Casidhe Hartnett

Little Whinging, Surrey

            Privet Drive would, arguably, never be the same again.

            I want her out. I want her out. I want her out. I want her out. Arabella kept repeating this mantra to herself as she carefully removed a pink bra from where it had been thrown. Thrown onto one of her cats, that is. A banging noise came from upstairs, followed by a quiet, innocent sounding, "oops… repairo."

            "Casidhe?" cried the old woman who was trying to keep calm, her fists clenched at her sides. "Casidhe? What did you do now?"
            "I took care of it, Arabella, really. I promise this time." The girl, who really looked younger then her years and acted like it also, poked her head around the corner and gave the old woman a thumbs-up.

            "Mrs. Figg," Arabella whispered. "It's Mrs. Figg to you, dear."

            "What did you say, Arabella?" the pesky American had disappeared again. "Where's my wand go?" she muttered.

            "It's Mrs. Figg to you," she repeated, "Dear."

            "Got it!" Casidhe tackled her wand and pinned it to the ground. "Hehe! You're goin' nowhere," she told it. "Dragon heartstring, my ass."

            "There will be no profanity in this household, Casidhe!" said Arabella shrilly, climbing the bottom stairs.

            "Sorry. Dragon heartstring, my donkey…"

            "And why is it that you do not own your own house again?"

            "Well, the Order didn't exactly feel like giving me another one after that incident with the hair flattener-"

            "Yes, now I remember," said Arabella, returning to the ground floor. "And why is it that you were using a hair flattener instead of straightening your hair by magic?"

            "Well, I had lost my wand, you see…"

            "Ah."

            "You know, maybe I should get a job or something and get my own house around here… these cats are so d… darn annoying."

            "Yes, the cats are annoying, the… cats… are annoying."

            "Where's my wand?"

            I want her out. NOW. "I think a job sounds like a great idea," said Arabella. "I'm sure they would let you dance on a bar or… something."

            "That sounds great!" said Casidhe bounding down the stairs with the noise and graced of a rhino. "But I've never seen any dancing bars around here… Englishmen are so proper. I don't see how any girl can find a decent job…"

            "Yes, and you're much too old for that anyway, but I'm sure you'll be able to find something," said the frustrated old witch as she scurried around the house, throwing Casidhe's various belongings into her trunk. Casidhe sniffled.

            "You always had so much faith in me!" she cried, crushing the old woman in a hug."

            "Get off me, dear."

            "Sorry."
            "Arabella handed Casidhe her trunk and the classified section of the local newspaper. "Good luck. Never come back."

            "Bye!"

            And this is how Casidhe found herself standing on the curb of Privet Drive while Arabella Figg contacted Dumbledore through owl telling him how she really, really, REALLY didn't need any help keeping an eye on the Dursley household, and how she was sure that Casidhe could use some of her more prominent talents in another area of work. She sent the owl out the window as the Knight bus came to a screeching halt in front of her house.

            "'Ello, Miss," crooned the acne-ridden driver of the bus as Casidhe stepped aboard. She chose a seat in the back of the bus and opened up the newspaper as she instinctively glanced around at the other occupants of the bus. A wizened wizard was knitting near the front of the bus, two teenage boys were discussing Quidditch over an issue of Which Broomstick? and a very old and prim lady was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.

            I am so glad I'm out of there, Casidhe thought as she scanned the classifieds out of The Daily Prophet. 'Secretary needed, must have extensive knowledge on dragons…' 'in home fortune teller, willing to work 24/7, contact Gilderoy Lockhart…' 'Missing wand, contact Casidhe Hartnett, care of Arabella Figg…'

            "I didn't put that in there," Casidhe said, affronted. She scanned the next line of jobs, each more boring sounding than the last until she came to the final listing:

            'Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher needed, contact Albus Dumbledore.'

            "That sounds like fun!" Casidhe said. "At least it's better than working for Lockhart."