A month had passed. Snape had finally settled into the routine of grading
papers once again, and the horrid workmanship had depressed him. He had
taught these children better! This was an obvious hint to him they were
beyond help; he was doing no good as a Potions master. If only he could
take over the Dark Arts...
Much to his dismay, though, O'Flannery showed no sign of leaving, or even tiring. He had hoped the students would wear her out, or she would grow tired of Hogwarts and pack up and leave. Like in life, his wishes weren't fulfilled. He saw her every day, appearing chipper and happy as if nothing in the world could be wrong. She had continued to attempt to speak to him, but every time she opened her mouth he snorted and turned away. He wanted nothing to do with her. First she stole his job, and then she tried to steal his position in the Order. Wasn't he sacrificing enough? Did he have to be saddled with a feisty woman too?
He sighed and got to his feet. The decanter of brandy on his bedside table called to him, and he had just begun to walk towards it, when a pain shot through his body. On a reflex he grabbed his arm, wincing. No doctor was needed to tell him what was going on. This was a diagnosable malady, and one that had occurred many times. He pulled up the sleeve on his robe to see his Dark Mark glowering up at him. He silently cursed Voldemort for his timing and turned on his heel to exit Hogwarts.
Outside the gates he pressed the livid mark on his arm, concentrating on Voldemort's location. He felt the pull of the wind as he began to apparate, and reappeared a few seconds later in the opulent sitting room of Malfoy Manor. The first sight to greet his eyes was an ominous one. He was literally ringed by Death Eaters. They formed a tight circle around him, closing in until their shoulders touched. Suddenly, the ranks parted and the Dark Lord himself stood before him.
"Severus," the ethereal voice cooed.
"My Lord," Snape responded, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. He hoped the Dark Lord could not see the almost-undetectable grimace that shot across his features as he looked at the floor.
"Rise, faithful servant," Voldemort commanded. "I have summoned you here not for a Revel, but for information. A month ago I sent a fellow servant of mine, Goyle, to relay a message to you. He failed in that endeavor, and for that failure he has been punished." The Dark Lord intimated a figure in the corner, shaking uncontrollably. "He held up to the Cruciatus Curse for a long while, but as always, I won him over." Voldemort paused, a thin smile playing on his lipless mouth. "So, in lieu of sending another messenger, I have called you here myself. It has to do with a fellow professor at that school of yours. Her name is Aislinn O'Flannery. Have you made her acquaintance?"
Severus nodded. "I have my Lord. I find her to be offending to me, so I do not spend ample time around her."
Voldemort chuckled dryly. "Yes, I would have figured that knowing you, my faithful one. She is not in your taste. But do you know of her past, Severus? Has she told you what she knows?"
Snape shook his head and replied, "No my Lord. She has told me nothing."
"I have predicted that facet of the story as well." Voldemort rubbed his hands together as if chasing away a chill. "She is very important to me, Severus. It is imperative for nothing to happen to her."
"I don't understand quite what you mean, my lord," said Snape, tilting his head.
"Ah, my thick apprentice." Voldemort sighed, glancing up at the ceiling as if he were wishing for patience. "There are several people within my circle of Death Eaters who might try to, take care of her, shall we say. They must not be allowed near her." Voldemort paused, smiling his tight smile. "Miss O'Flannery is somewhat of a controversy among my followers." The numerous masked faces behind Voldemort nodded in agreement. "I am done with you, Severus. Just remember my words: let no one touch her."
Severus rose to his feet and pressed Voldemort's pale hand to his lips. "Thank you, my lord. I am merely your humble disciple. It is an honor to be trusted as such."
Voldemort smiled his hideous smile. "The honor is all mine, Severus. Now, I release you from this meeting. The rest of us will continue with our first Revel in fifteen years, but I remember how your taste for the rape of Muggles has seemed to decline. Hurry to your school, Severus, in case you are needed."
Snape bowed to Voldemort one last time before retreating. The pain in his arm had subsided, but he winced at remembering it. He was happy at least Voldemort had allowed him to leave before the Dark Revel had begun. In his earlier years he was more than happy to rape and kill innocent Muggles, but after he turned double agent the very thought of his previous violations made him physically ill. It had all begun to change when almost eighteen years ago; he witnessed the beating and gang rape of a child no older than twelve. His stomach turned as he thought of the way the lash had separated flesh, or the visible fear in the girl's eyes.
Snape shook his head to clear it. Instead he focused his energy on apparation, willing his body to return to Hogwarts. With a loud crack his body was propelled forward. Another crack and he was before the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snape sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Another quick shake of the head, and he was ready to go.
The gates creaked open at his slightest touch. He could feel the statues watching him, protecting the school grounds. He hated entering through the gates. The statues knew all. He felt stupid to be afraid of marble and stone, but he had heard stories, and then there was that feeling...
What did Voldemort mean about "controversy?" How does he know of O'Flannery? Snape's thoughts flew a mile a minute. This had to mean something important. Perhaps this was the reason for her interest in him; she saw him as a comrade. I am no Death Eater, he screamed inwardly. And that horrid mick had wormed her way into the Order of the Phoenix! There was no way to tell Dumbledore; then Voldemort would know something was up. Snape would just have to live with the knowledge that Hogwarts was entertaining a traitor.
He started up the hill to the school, cutting across the grounds to make the trip faster. The sky was a deep blue, almost black, and no stars pierced the curtain of night. The days had begun to get shorter, and the weather significantly colder. This was the time of year Severus liked best. During the heavy winter months he had most of the castle grounds to himself, which allowed him to wander at will and think.
Snape was surprised to find himself at the doors to the Great Hall. He pushed them open and blinked as a gust of hot air hit him in the face. He shed his cloak, draping it over his arm as he stepped inside. The doors shut behind him and he started across the school towards his chamber.
A strange noise stopped him in his tracks. It was music of some sort, coming from the hallway he had just passed. He doubled back and flattened himself against the wall, listening for a moment. His footsteps fell almost soundlessly on the stone floor as he stopped outside a door. It was coming from here. He pressed his ear against the doorjamb, barely breathing.
It was an acoustic guitar. The touch on the strings was obviously light, but it was obviously some kind of lament. He wondered who played a guitar, and why here. Perhaps it was a prefect...
Snape reached out to rest his hands on the statue near the door. As soon as his fingers touched it the satyr shouted. Snape jumped back quickly. The guitar had stopped. Snape wasted no time but promptly fled.
Around he corridor he stopped to catch his breath. How could he let such a stupid thing like music overwhelm him so completely? Anyone could have found him there, gaping like an idiot. And what if someone opened the door? Who was behind the door? Questions filled his head, banging against his skull and demanding answers. He told the voices to shut up and took a deep breath, steadying his still panicking nerves. When he felt he was calm enough, he continued on his way. The brandy was still waiting.
Aislinn opened the door cautiously. Whoever it was might still be there. She peered out into the corridor, her eyes narrowing. No one was there. She sniffed the air, detecting a faint scent of something like sandalwood. It could have been anyone. It was probably just a curious student.
She had to admit that hearing music in these abandoned halls would be a bit unnerving. It was well past eleven o'clock; it was to be assumed that everyone would be asleep, or at least quiet. In all honesty she didn't think her guitar was loud enough to be heard. She smiled maliciously as she thought of what her electric could do.
Aislinn sighed and shut the door. Guess it's time to put the instruments away, she thought with an audible sigh. There had been no time lately to play; she feared losing her touch. The constant demand of the students taxed her body and left her feeling burned out and alone. Much to her dismay she had no one in Hogwarts to turn to. She had been largely friendless for all of her life, but here there was not a single person to even intimate her feelings to. At least in London there had been a few people to call.
Aislinn O'Flannery sat down in front of the wide windows, which were thrown open as if they were saluting the night. A sudden burst of wind caused her skin to prickle, but she tossed her hair back in defiance. She had always loved autumn and winter, spending large amounts of time outside in the rain or snow. Most friends remembered her as a free spirited quiet woman who danced in the rain until her hair froze, and loved her for it. Here she would have to maintain her composure; dancing was only guaranteed after the sun had set.
She smiled and halfheartedly touched the ends of her hair, as if making sure there weren't icicles hanging from them. She stretched, reaching her arms above her head and making a high-pitched squeal. Her back popped audibly before she settled back into her chair. Her hand snaked out to a package on her bedside table. She grabbed it gently and flipped back the top, pulling out a long cigarette and a lighter. She stood, lighting her cigarette at the same time, and took two steps forward to the window. She settled herself on the windowsill and took a long drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a while before exhaling into the cold night air. The smoke caught the light from her window, obscuring her view of the forest in a gray haze. A raucous squawk from the corner of the room disturbed her, and she turned her head to glare at the culprit.
The golden eagle had perched himself on the edge of the fireplace mantel, and was glaring at her angrily.
"I know, Yank, but 'tis the only vice left me." Aislinn blew out another breath of smoke.
The eagle continued to stare at her, clacking his beak in disapproval.
In response Aislinn rolled her eyes. "Póg mo thoín. Y'know I never listen t' ye." She turned away from the eagle, but not before she stuck her tongue out at him. He hissed, and rustled his feathers as she turned her head.
Aislinn smiled. God I love that bird, she thought with a chuckle. He had been a birthday present three years ago, shipped all the way from America into her waiting hands. She had fallen in love with the disheveled chick immediately, and christened him Yankee Doodle. Ever since then he had kept a watchful eye over her and delivered her messages to remaining family and friends. He was also a sad reminder of the friend who had sent him, now far away in New York.
Aislinn took another long drag off of her cigarette, sighing as she blew the smoke out of her nose. She rubbed her eyes as the smoke drifted into them, cursing under her breath as she dropped her cigarette on the floor. Just as she was about to bend down to pick it up, Yankee Doodle dove for it and flew out the window with the butt held in his beak. He almost seemed to smile as he dropped it into the lake. Aislinn could see the cherry of the flame fall, and then disappear as it hit the water.
"Very funny, ye little arse," she said to him disapprovingly as he soared back into the window. The eagle clacked his beak together, very pleased with himself. He perched on Aislinn's upheld wrist, careful not to dig his claws into her unprotected flesh. "Hey bird," she said to him as she stroked his golden feathers. Yank closed his eyes as her finger traced designs on the back of his head. Then, he spread his wings and flew out the window, looking for food to hunt.
Aislinn O'Flannery turned to her desk nearby, picking up a spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen. No use to bother with that thick parchment or messy ink, good old Muggle material would work just fine with her. She tapped the pen against her teeth for a while, thinking. Then she opened the notebook and began to write.
Words flowed out of her pen like water. Verse after verse of song traveled through her arm and onto the paper, until she hit a wall. The song just stopped. Aislinn tapped her pen against her teeth, wishing for some hint of inspiration. Nothing came. She stood, staring out the open window at a crescent moon, illuminating the clouds around it like a halo. It's so beautiful, she thought as she lit another cigarette, this time thanking Merlin Yankee Doodle wasn't around to squawk at her.
She exhaled in another cloud of smoke, blowing it out the window. The haze floated up towards the moon, ringing it. Aislinn stared at it for a long while, just admiring the poignancy of it all. Suddenly, she stubbed out her cigarette and hurried to the open notebook. A new idea had come.
She wrote fiercely in her moment of inspiration, not stopping until her clenched fingers hurt. She sat back, reading over her new song, and smiled. Finally, an idea of some sort. She had begun to believe that at Hogwarts no creativity occurred. Maybe it was just she. Teaching had drained her entirely; she was not accustomed to it, thus all inspiration seemed to elude her. This was the first time she had written a song in ages.
Aislinn made a mental note to send Yankee with notes to her band, planning a date for a practice. Since no phones existed at Hogwarts, she had to do it the old-fashioned way. It was no problem, really. Yankee Doodle was reliable, and always got the job done in a timely fashion.
She sighed, stretching again. This time her back did not pop, but nonetheless she felt better. It's time for me to be getting to bed, she thought lazily, climbing out of her chair onto the cold stone floor. She moved to close the window, but hesitated, remembering her eagle. She decided to leave it open, putting her notebook on top of her lesson plans. There was no desire to wake up and find loose sheets of paper scattered about her chamber.
The bed was warm and inviting. She stretched her feet out, trying the feel the footboard of the bed. Despite her stretching, her foot contacted nothing solid, only the flannel sheets of her bed. It was amazing that at almost six feet tall she couldn't even touch the bottom of her own bed. Even after a month she was still awed by the immensity of the chamber she now called home; after years of living in cramped apartments it was a welcome change. With another deep sigh her body relaxed and she began to slip into a dream.
Aislinn found herself standing in the middle of a clearing she had never seen before. It was twilight; she could tell from the beams of amber sunlight slanting between the branches of the trees. She lifted her face up to the fading light, feeling the last rays of warmth. Soon it would be night and the heat would be gone. She noticed something out of the corner of her upraised eye and turned quickly to see what moved behind her.
What she saw shocked her. Her father stood before her, scrutinizing her appearance. "Aislinn, m' girl." His voice was deep and his accent very pronounced.
Aislinn took a step forward. "Athaír?" she asked, lapsing into the language of her youth. "Is it really you?"
He smiled at her. "Yes, child. It's really me." He paused for a moment, as if hesitating. "Someone else is here to see you as well." He made a slight gesture, and another young man stepped out from the shadow of trees. "Mó dheirfiúr," he said, bowing his head.
Aislinn stood, shocked. "Mó dheartháir?" she asked, confused. The next thing she felt was overwhelming pain. She glanced down at her stomach to see a fountain of blood spurting from her abdomen, with no apparent cause to the sudden onslaught of bleeding. She raised her eyes to her brother and father, pleading with them silently. They merely stood there as blood began to run out of her mouth. Aislinn stumbled, collapsing into a heap. The last thing she saw before surrendering to the blackness was the leering face of her brother as he sang a death lament over her body.
She opened her eyes to see Severus Snape bending over her, a look of concern in his eyes. Aislinn tried to reach her hand out to him, but she could not move. Instead, Severus pulled a dagger from inside his robes. "It's better this way," he said sadly before plunging the blade into her heart. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he watched her dying. "I'm so sorry, Aislinn, but we were never meant to be."
Harry Potter could not sleep. He had tried everything he knew, from opening a window to putting a pillow between his legs. It was just one of those nights. They seemed to happen much more often as of late; first it was nightmares and then insomnia. He was beginning to feel like The-Boy- With-No-Luck instead of some great hero-to-be. He threw the covers back and stepped onto the cold floor. The snores of his roommates told them they were sleeping deeply. Lucky bastards, he thought, sighing. His eyes traveled to the open window, the shutters now clacking against the stone outside. A storm was blowing in, and the wind caused the curtains to billow out like dark velvet sails.
Harry picked his way across the room, shutting the window softly so not to disturb his sleeping bunkmates. Maybe something to eat would help. Harry turned on his heel and walked out of his room.
The Fat Lady had many things to say to him about waking her up, but Harry ignored her threats and made his way down the dimly lit hallways. His sense of direction kicked in, and he found the door to the kitchen with no trouble at all. He glanced right and left before pushing open the door. One could never be sure when a professor on hall patrol would pop out from nowhere. After making sure no one was there, he stepped inside of the kitchen.
The heat from the ovens hit him full in the face. The warm kitchen was such a contrast to the dank hallways of a wintertime castle. He took in the house elves scurrying about, trying to make him comfortable. Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
Harry froze. The touch was gone, but the presence behind him wasn't. Harry turned around slowly, praying fervently it would not be Snape. Instead, the sight of a long satin robe met his down-turned gaze. He followed the shape of the robe up, until he was staring right at Aislinn O'Flannery's face. He gulped. The normal makeup she wore, however light, was completely gone, making her light skin seem almost translucent. Her hair was tousled, and she crossed her arms like an impatient mother.
"What are y' doin' down here?" she asked sharply.
Harry swallowed hard. "Please excuse me, Professor, but I couldn't sleep." He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping she would not report him. It was common knowledge that students were not allowed to be out of the dormitories after hours, even if they were hungry.
Much to his surprise, Aislinn sighed. "Me either. I'm guessin' ye came down here for a snack?"
Harry nodded, still nervous. She had let her false English accent drop; underneath that contrived brogue she was pure Irish. "I am, Professor. Maybe if I get something to eat I could manage some shut eye."
Aislinn grinned. "Yes indeed, I agree. I was just about t' get some cake. Want any?" She gestured to a place setting at a counter.
Harry nodded, surprised. Any regular professor would have told him to get back to bed, not invited him down for food. "I...suppose," Harry stuttered, unsure of himself. Aislinn turned, telling the house elves to set another place beside her.
"If Hermione heard you talking like that to the elves, she'd have a fit," Harry said offhandedly.
Professor O'Flannery raised an eyebrow. "Believes in rights for them, does she?" Harry nodded and Aislinn continued. "'S a wonderful idea, no lie, but therein lies the rub. They don't want to be free. They've spent so long in this unique form of captivity they know no different. Th' only thing y' can do is to be civil to them and treat them like th' intelligent creatures they are. Treat them with respect and not abuse." Aislinn took a cup of coffee from a house elf and smiled. "Thank you, dear." The house elf curtsied, giggling.
"How do you know so much about house elves, Professor?" asked Harry, sipping his coffee.
Aislinn didn't answer right away. She stared over his head, a vacant look in her eyes. She heaved a great sigh. "Harry, there are some things it would be best not for y' to know yet."
It was Harry's turn to look at her quizzically. "What do you mean, Professor?"
Aislinn glared at him. "'S just as I did tell ye. My past is not open for yeer discussion!"
Harry glared back. His forwardness shocked even himself, but he felt it had to be done. "Your past? I asked nothing about your past, Professor. Only about what you knew about house elves." He narrowed his eyes. "Is there something in your past you want to forget about?"
As soon as those words left his mouth he knew he had made a mistake. Aislinn hurled her coffee mug against the wall, spraying coffee and shards of glass all over the floor. Everyone in the kitchen winced. "Harry Potter!" she roared as the house elves began to hurriedly clean up the mess she had made. "I dinnae know where ye get this insolence from, but it will stop, d'ye understand me? My past is of no business of yours, and see to it that ye don't make it yeer business. And for those questions, you'll be servin' a week's worth of detentions with me! Now get up to yeer room!"
Harry trembled with the force of her outburst. She stood in front of him, shaking all over. "I'm sorry Professor. It's just..."
She cut him off abruptly. "Get out of me sight, ye filthy little fool! Go!"
Harry fled the kitchen, not even caring about the uneaten piece of cake sitting on the plate next to Aislinn's. The last thing he even saw of her that night was her nonchalant shaking of her head as she settled down to finish her snack.
Despite his Professor's orders, Harry did not go back to his room. Instead he made his way silently to the library, pausing every few minutes to watch for hallway patrols. He made it safely and opened the door cautiously. It was empty; not so much as a mouse stirred. He knew his way. He had looked in this book many times in order to find out about friends and enemies, as well as some of his professors. It was not placed in the Restricted Section, but was still considered off-limits for students. He smiled deviously as he pulled it off the shelf and staggered under its weight.
He set it down and opened it. The smell of old paper and ink hit his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. He turned the pages, searching the names written in at the top of the pages. Nothing seemed to catch his eye. Most families were of English descent, although there was an occasional Scottish name. I guess the Irish-English tensions affected wizards too, he thought with a grin.
Suddenly, a name at the top of the page stood out at him. He ran his finger underneath the letters; silently thanking Merlin he was able to find it. His eyes skimmed down the page, taking in the immense history behind the family. O'Flannabhra. That's an old Irish name if I ever heard one, he thought. His finger traced over the lines until he came to the bottom of the page. Aislinn Ríonach O'Flannabhra, daughter of Alastair O'Flannabhra and Bean Mhi Shaughnessy. That was where the name came from. Alastair O'Flannabhra had been one of the Death Eaters killed in one of the last battles before the fall of Voldemort. Bean Mhi was imprisoned in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. In fact, the more Harry looked at the page, the more he became convinced that almost every relative of his professor was somehow affiliated with the Death Eaters.
Harry shivered. That was why she didn't want to talk about her past. There were definitely sinister things in her family, and he could see the reason why she didn't talk. Unless... No, that's impossible. Harry shook the thought out of his head. It was impossible for her to be a Death Eater. Quirrell was a Death Eater, Harry.
"No!" It was only after the echoes had died away that Harry realized he had spoken aloud. If there were anyone in the halls, his shout would most definitely have given away his position. It was imperative that he leave the library, and quickly. After replacing the book he hurried towards he doors of the library, hoping to heaven no one had heard him speak.
The hallway was clear, but for how long? Harry's slippered feet carried him up the twisting staircases to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. He endured the tongue-lashing from the Fat Lady for a second time in one night, and then crept past the portrait to a couch. At that time of night the common room was deserted, and snores crept down the staircases from both dormitories. Harry was still somewhat shaken after his ordeal with Professor O'Flannery in the kitchen, and decided it would be best to go to bed, and perhaps forget the tirade that his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had had that night.
He climbed the stairs to his dorm silently, wondering what had come over his Professor. The door to his room swung in silently, and he stalked to his bed, careful not to wake his roommates. After pushing back the coverlet, Harry relaxed into his pillow and embraced sleep like an old friend.
Snape spent most of his breakfast rubbing his temples, trying to chase away the headache that was brewing in his immediate future. That horrid woman sat to his right, looking pristine in her teacher's robes. I'm sure she had a nice sleep last night. Snape glared at her for no particular reason, other than a bit of envy that she should be the one sleeping when she was causing him so much internal distress.
The news of last night had come to a shock to him. It was hard to believe Aislinn was a Death Eater, but stranger things had happened. He was now even more determined to see her fail. He had spent most of the night with his brandy, trying to puzzle out a way to tell Dumbledore without raising Voldemort's suspicions. He had even bothered to think about how he was going to get her out of the Order of the Phoenix. Only a voice in his head made him refrain from denouncing her before the school. He had never heard her name before in conjunction with Death Eaters. Her family name, yes, but her name-never. There was one way to find out, and it rested in the library.
Breakfast over; Snape threaded his way through departing students to the library. His mind was focused on one thing; he didn't even feel it as he turned a corner right into the very person he was dreading to encounter. He stepped back, tensing his jaw slightly. "Miss O'Flannery."
It was not a greeting, merely a statement. She nodded at him in return, a curt reply. Perhaps she was finally taking the hint he wanted nothing to do with her. "Severus."
He looked her in the eye. She didn't flinch, nor did she move. "If you will excuse me please." She still did not budge. Her gaze hardened as she stared at his face.
"Don't think I don't know, Severus Snape," was all she said before she stalked off.
Snape stared at her, agape. That sounded very much like a threat, and he never responded well to threats. He shook his head to clear it and continued on towards the library. He had a good hour before classes started, and he would use it productively. Normally he would head towards the dungeons and his classroom, but today there were more pressing matters weighing on his mind. Matters like Aislinn O'Flannery.
"Don't think I don't know, Severus Snape," she growled, anger flashing in her eyes. He couldn't deny he was avoiding her, and he must think her stupid if he believed she didn't see it. Hopefully a hint of that magnitude would sink into his thick male skull. She shook her head sadly as she mounted the stairs that would lead to the north tower. Men. There were only a few men she had met that didn't act like complete dolts most of the time; many of them still lived in Ireland, or were Muggles who didn't have an inkling of what she was. To them, she was Aislinn the anthropologist, doing her work diligently and reserved. Aislinn the guitar player. Never Aislinn the witch, Aislinn the hunted, Aislinn the abandoned. One man, however, had stayed closer to her than any man in her life ever had. Last she had heard, he was in Spain, speaking to their Ministry about the growing threat of Voldemort and Death Eaters. Yes, she was worried for him, but he could take care of himself.
Aislinn stopped, surprised. Ron Weasely was waiting in front of her classroom door, sitting on the cold stone. "Mr. Weasely?" she asked, confused.
He started, jumping to his feet. He flashed an embarrassed smile when he realized who she was, saying, "You scared me, Professor."
She smiled back at him. "I take it you had trouble with last night's homework. I had several students come up to me last night asking about it. I know it's difficult, but I always find you learn the skill better if you know the history behind it."
Ron nodded, but his face didn't seem so enthusiastic. "But why the history of a stinging hex?"
She nodded as she unlocked the door, removing wards with a snap of her finger. Ron's voice froze in his throat. Aislinn looked up. "What?"
"I-I didn't know you could do that," Ron stammered.
Aislinn chuckled. "That? The skill runs in my family. Wandless magic isn't so difficult with practice. You've just got to have the right touch." She snapped her fingers again and the room became illuminated with lantern light, despite the morning sun shining through the windows. "Now, as you were asking earlier, did you know that a form of the stinging hex was the final blow delivered in the Hungarian Wizard Wars of 1215? It was enough to convince Waldemar Bathory to sign a treaty making it illegal to use the Cruciatus Curse as a form of torture, which, as you know, still holds today."
Ron stepped back, amazed. "Really?"
Aislinn nodded, grinning sagely. "Really. Now come in and sit down. Your other classmates will be here shortly, and I can answer any more questions you have."
Harry dreaded his Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next day, and not because of the confrontation he and his professor had had the previous night. There had been no way to get her homework assignment done, and after the fight last night he didn't want to chance anything. In her usual style, Professor O'Flannery passed between the rows of desks, collecting the homework assigned from the previous night. When she got to Harry, he shook his head and lowered his eyes.
The professor didn't move. Harry raised his eyes to see disappointment written on her face. "I had expected more from you, Harry Potter," she said softly. "If you want to be an Auror, I suggest you put more effort into your schoolwork." She paused. "However, I will allow you to turn it in tomorrow for half credit, which is better than nothing. Think on that." She moved on, collecting the remainder of the homework.
Ron leaned over. "It's not that bad, mate. If it had been Snape, you would have a detention."
"I already do," said Harry, and he began to relate the entire tale to Ron. "So anyway, that's how it ended up," he finished.
Ron raised a red eyebrow. "It does bring to light some interesting possibilities, but I wouldn't draw any conclusions yet."
"No conclusions? Her family practically admits her as a Death Eater. I don't think there's any way she wouldn't be!"
Professor O'Flannery spun around, glaring at Harry and Ron. "I want to see both of you after class, gentlemen. We have a very serious matter to discuss." Her eyes were wide, and angry. In the background, Harry could hear Draco chortle. Aislinn spun. "Mister Malfoy! I will be seeing you as well." The laughter was abruptly cut off.
Class seemed to crawl by that day. O'Flannery lectured on history and practical uses, not even bothering to note the number of sleeping students. As the minutes ticked down to the final bell, Harry's stomach clenched. He did not want to be stuck in the same room with Draco Malfoy and Aislinn O'Flannery, even if Ron was there. The bell sounded and the other students began filing towards the door. Hermione shot Harry and Ron a dirty look; Seamus' was one of commiseration.
Professor O'Flannery was pacing at the front of the classroom. "Gentlemen, I do not enjoy disruptions in my classroom. For each of your disruptions I will take five points each away from your houses. Draco, I hope I never hear you laughing at another's misfortune again, or the punishment will be much greater. Harry, Ron, I'm disappointed that you think you can carry on a conversation when I am trying to give a lesson." She paused, eyeing each of the students. "Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of "yes ma'am's" greeted her. She seemed satisfied and made a gesture with her hand for them to leave. Harry turned, and was stopped by her voice. "Remain here, Mister Potter."
Harry sighed. It was coming. He turned back around to face his teacher, eyes on the ground.
"Look at me," she commanded, and Harry raised his eyes. "I know what you think I am. I'm not stupid, Harry. I know no way of showing you, except this." She raised the left sleeve of her robes to expose her naked forearm. "Do you see a Dark Mark?"
Harry shook his head. In fact, there was nothing there, except about eleven pale scars arranged in lines down the pale underside of her arm.
"I am not a Death Eater, Harry. That is the only way I know of convincing you, without making a fool of myself." Harry nodded sullenly.
"You are free to go, Mr. Potter. Do not forget you have detention tonight with me."
"Yes ma'am," said Harry quietly as he grabbed his bookbag from his seat and hurried out of the classroom, happy to be alive. He was not yet convinced.
Much to his dismay, though, O'Flannery showed no sign of leaving, or even tiring. He had hoped the students would wear her out, or she would grow tired of Hogwarts and pack up and leave. Like in life, his wishes weren't fulfilled. He saw her every day, appearing chipper and happy as if nothing in the world could be wrong. She had continued to attempt to speak to him, but every time she opened her mouth he snorted and turned away. He wanted nothing to do with her. First she stole his job, and then she tried to steal his position in the Order. Wasn't he sacrificing enough? Did he have to be saddled with a feisty woman too?
He sighed and got to his feet. The decanter of brandy on his bedside table called to him, and he had just begun to walk towards it, when a pain shot through his body. On a reflex he grabbed his arm, wincing. No doctor was needed to tell him what was going on. This was a diagnosable malady, and one that had occurred many times. He pulled up the sleeve on his robe to see his Dark Mark glowering up at him. He silently cursed Voldemort for his timing and turned on his heel to exit Hogwarts.
Outside the gates he pressed the livid mark on his arm, concentrating on Voldemort's location. He felt the pull of the wind as he began to apparate, and reappeared a few seconds later in the opulent sitting room of Malfoy Manor. The first sight to greet his eyes was an ominous one. He was literally ringed by Death Eaters. They formed a tight circle around him, closing in until their shoulders touched. Suddenly, the ranks parted and the Dark Lord himself stood before him.
"Severus," the ethereal voice cooed.
"My Lord," Snape responded, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. He hoped the Dark Lord could not see the almost-undetectable grimace that shot across his features as he looked at the floor.
"Rise, faithful servant," Voldemort commanded. "I have summoned you here not for a Revel, but for information. A month ago I sent a fellow servant of mine, Goyle, to relay a message to you. He failed in that endeavor, and for that failure he has been punished." The Dark Lord intimated a figure in the corner, shaking uncontrollably. "He held up to the Cruciatus Curse for a long while, but as always, I won him over." Voldemort paused, a thin smile playing on his lipless mouth. "So, in lieu of sending another messenger, I have called you here myself. It has to do with a fellow professor at that school of yours. Her name is Aislinn O'Flannery. Have you made her acquaintance?"
Severus nodded. "I have my Lord. I find her to be offending to me, so I do not spend ample time around her."
Voldemort chuckled dryly. "Yes, I would have figured that knowing you, my faithful one. She is not in your taste. But do you know of her past, Severus? Has she told you what she knows?"
Snape shook his head and replied, "No my Lord. She has told me nothing."
"I have predicted that facet of the story as well." Voldemort rubbed his hands together as if chasing away a chill. "She is very important to me, Severus. It is imperative for nothing to happen to her."
"I don't understand quite what you mean, my lord," said Snape, tilting his head.
"Ah, my thick apprentice." Voldemort sighed, glancing up at the ceiling as if he were wishing for patience. "There are several people within my circle of Death Eaters who might try to, take care of her, shall we say. They must not be allowed near her." Voldemort paused, smiling his tight smile. "Miss O'Flannery is somewhat of a controversy among my followers." The numerous masked faces behind Voldemort nodded in agreement. "I am done with you, Severus. Just remember my words: let no one touch her."
Severus rose to his feet and pressed Voldemort's pale hand to his lips. "Thank you, my lord. I am merely your humble disciple. It is an honor to be trusted as such."
Voldemort smiled his hideous smile. "The honor is all mine, Severus. Now, I release you from this meeting. The rest of us will continue with our first Revel in fifteen years, but I remember how your taste for the rape of Muggles has seemed to decline. Hurry to your school, Severus, in case you are needed."
Snape bowed to Voldemort one last time before retreating. The pain in his arm had subsided, but he winced at remembering it. He was happy at least Voldemort had allowed him to leave before the Dark Revel had begun. In his earlier years he was more than happy to rape and kill innocent Muggles, but after he turned double agent the very thought of his previous violations made him physically ill. It had all begun to change when almost eighteen years ago; he witnessed the beating and gang rape of a child no older than twelve. His stomach turned as he thought of the way the lash had separated flesh, or the visible fear in the girl's eyes.
Snape shook his head to clear it. Instead he focused his energy on apparation, willing his body to return to Hogwarts. With a loud crack his body was propelled forward. Another crack and he was before the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snape sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Another quick shake of the head, and he was ready to go.
The gates creaked open at his slightest touch. He could feel the statues watching him, protecting the school grounds. He hated entering through the gates. The statues knew all. He felt stupid to be afraid of marble and stone, but he had heard stories, and then there was that feeling...
What did Voldemort mean about "controversy?" How does he know of O'Flannery? Snape's thoughts flew a mile a minute. This had to mean something important. Perhaps this was the reason for her interest in him; she saw him as a comrade. I am no Death Eater, he screamed inwardly. And that horrid mick had wormed her way into the Order of the Phoenix! There was no way to tell Dumbledore; then Voldemort would know something was up. Snape would just have to live with the knowledge that Hogwarts was entertaining a traitor.
He started up the hill to the school, cutting across the grounds to make the trip faster. The sky was a deep blue, almost black, and no stars pierced the curtain of night. The days had begun to get shorter, and the weather significantly colder. This was the time of year Severus liked best. During the heavy winter months he had most of the castle grounds to himself, which allowed him to wander at will and think.
Snape was surprised to find himself at the doors to the Great Hall. He pushed them open and blinked as a gust of hot air hit him in the face. He shed his cloak, draping it over his arm as he stepped inside. The doors shut behind him and he started across the school towards his chamber.
A strange noise stopped him in his tracks. It was music of some sort, coming from the hallway he had just passed. He doubled back and flattened himself against the wall, listening for a moment. His footsteps fell almost soundlessly on the stone floor as he stopped outside a door. It was coming from here. He pressed his ear against the doorjamb, barely breathing.
It was an acoustic guitar. The touch on the strings was obviously light, but it was obviously some kind of lament. He wondered who played a guitar, and why here. Perhaps it was a prefect...
Snape reached out to rest his hands on the statue near the door. As soon as his fingers touched it the satyr shouted. Snape jumped back quickly. The guitar had stopped. Snape wasted no time but promptly fled.
Around he corridor he stopped to catch his breath. How could he let such a stupid thing like music overwhelm him so completely? Anyone could have found him there, gaping like an idiot. And what if someone opened the door? Who was behind the door? Questions filled his head, banging against his skull and demanding answers. He told the voices to shut up and took a deep breath, steadying his still panicking nerves. When he felt he was calm enough, he continued on his way. The brandy was still waiting.
Aislinn opened the door cautiously. Whoever it was might still be there. She peered out into the corridor, her eyes narrowing. No one was there. She sniffed the air, detecting a faint scent of something like sandalwood. It could have been anyone. It was probably just a curious student.
She had to admit that hearing music in these abandoned halls would be a bit unnerving. It was well past eleven o'clock; it was to be assumed that everyone would be asleep, or at least quiet. In all honesty she didn't think her guitar was loud enough to be heard. She smiled maliciously as she thought of what her electric could do.
Aislinn sighed and shut the door. Guess it's time to put the instruments away, she thought with an audible sigh. There had been no time lately to play; she feared losing her touch. The constant demand of the students taxed her body and left her feeling burned out and alone. Much to her dismay she had no one in Hogwarts to turn to. She had been largely friendless for all of her life, but here there was not a single person to even intimate her feelings to. At least in London there had been a few people to call.
Aislinn O'Flannery sat down in front of the wide windows, which were thrown open as if they were saluting the night. A sudden burst of wind caused her skin to prickle, but she tossed her hair back in defiance. She had always loved autumn and winter, spending large amounts of time outside in the rain or snow. Most friends remembered her as a free spirited quiet woman who danced in the rain until her hair froze, and loved her for it. Here she would have to maintain her composure; dancing was only guaranteed after the sun had set.
She smiled and halfheartedly touched the ends of her hair, as if making sure there weren't icicles hanging from them. She stretched, reaching her arms above her head and making a high-pitched squeal. Her back popped audibly before she settled back into her chair. Her hand snaked out to a package on her bedside table. She grabbed it gently and flipped back the top, pulling out a long cigarette and a lighter. She stood, lighting her cigarette at the same time, and took two steps forward to the window. She settled herself on the windowsill and took a long drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a while before exhaling into the cold night air. The smoke caught the light from her window, obscuring her view of the forest in a gray haze. A raucous squawk from the corner of the room disturbed her, and she turned her head to glare at the culprit.
The golden eagle had perched himself on the edge of the fireplace mantel, and was glaring at her angrily.
"I know, Yank, but 'tis the only vice left me." Aislinn blew out another breath of smoke.
The eagle continued to stare at her, clacking his beak in disapproval.
In response Aislinn rolled her eyes. "Póg mo thoín. Y'know I never listen t' ye." She turned away from the eagle, but not before she stuck her tongue out at him. He hissed, and rustled his feathers as she turned her head.
Aislinn smiled. God I love that bird, she thought with a chuckle. He had been a birthday present three years ago, shipped all the way from America into her waiting hands. She had fallen in love with the disheveled chick immediately, and christened him Yankee Doodle. Ever since then he had kept a watchful eye over her and delivered her messages to remaining family and friends. He was also a sad reminder of the friend who had sent him, now far away in New York.
Aislinn took another long drag off of her cigarette, sighing as she blew the smoke out of her nose. She rubbed her eyes as the smoke drifted into them, cursing under her breath as she dropped her cigarette on the floor. Just as she was about to bend down to pick it up, Yankee Doodle dove for it and flew out the window with the butt held in his beak. He almost seemed to smile as he dropped it into the lake. Aislinn could see the cherry of the flame fall, and then disappear as it hit the water.
"Very funny, ye little arse," she said to him disapprovingly as he soared back into the window. The eagle clacked his beak together, very pleased with himself. He perched on Aislinn's upheld wrist, careful not to dig his claws into her unprotected flesh. "Hey bird," she said to him as she stroked his golden feathers. Yank closed his eyes as her finger traced designs on the back of his head. Then, he spread his wings and flew out the window, looking for food to hunt.
Aislinn O'Flannery turned to her desk nearby, picking up a spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen. No use to bother with that thick parchment or messy ink, good old Muggle material would work just fine with her. She tapped the pen against her teeth for a while, thinking. Then she opened the notebook and began to write.
Words flowed out of her pen like water. Verse after verse of song traveled through her arm and onto the paper, until she hit a wall. The song just stopped. Aislinn tapped her pen against her teeth, wishing for some hint of inspiration. Nothing came. She stood, staring out the open window at a crescent moon, illuminating the clouds around it like a halo. It's so beautiful, she thought as she lit another cigarette, this time thanking Merlin Yankee Doodle wasn't around to squawk at her.
She exhaled in another cloud of smoke, blowing it out the window. The haze floated up towards the moon, ringing it. Aislinn stared at it for a long while, just admiring the poignancy of it all. Suddenly, she stubbed out her cigarette and hurried to the open notebook. A new idea had come.
She wrote fiercely in her moment of inspiration, not stopping until her clenched fingers hurt. She sat back, reading over her new song, and smiled. Finally, an idea of some sort. She had begun to believe that at Hogwarts no creativity occurred. Maybe it was just she. Teaching had drained her entirely; she was not accustomed to it, thus all inspiration seemed to elude her. This was the first time she had written a song in ages.
Aislinn made a mental note to send Yankee with notes to her band, planning a date for a practice. Since no phones existed at Hogwarts, she had to do it the old-fashioned way. It was no problem, really. Yankee Doodle was reliable, and always got the job done in a timely fashion.
She sighed, stretching again. This time her back did not pop, but nonetheless she felt better. It's time for me to be getting to bed, she thought lazily, climbing out of her chair onto the cold stone floor. She moved to close the window, but hesitated, remembering her eagle. She decided to leave it open, putting her notebook on top of her lesson plans. There was no desire to wake up and find loose sheets of paper scattered about her chamber.
The bed was warm and inviting. She stretched her feet out, trying the feel the footboard of the bed. Despite her stretching, her foot contacted nothing solid, only the flannel sheets of her bed. It was amazing that at almost six feet tall she couldn't even touch the bottom of her own bed. Even after a month she was still awed by the immensity of the chamber she now called home; after years of living in cramped apartments it was a welcome change. With another deep sigh her body relaxed and she began to slip into a dream.
Aislinn found herself standing in the middle of a clearing she had never seen before. It was twilight; she could tell from the beams of amber sunlight slanting between the branches of the trees. She lifted her face up to the fading light, feeling the last rays of warmth. Soon it would be night and the heat would be gone. She noticed something out of the corner of her upraised eye and turned quickly to see what moved behind her.
What she saw shocked her. Her father stood before her, scrutinizing her appearance. "Aislinn, m' girl." His voice was deep and his accent very pronounced.
Aislinn took a step forward. "Athaír?" she asked, lapsing into the language of her youth. "Is it really you?"
He smiled at her. "Yes, child. It's really me." He paused for a moment, as if hesitating. "Someone else is here to see you as well." He made a slight gesture, and another young man stepped out from the shadow of trees. "Mó dheirfiúr," he said, bowing his head.
Aislinn stood, shocked. "Mó dheartháir?" she asked, confused. The next thing she felt was overwhelming pain. She glanced down at her stomach to see a fountain of blood spurting from her abdomen, with no apparent cause to the sudden onslaught of bleeding. She raised her eyes to her brother and father, pleading with them silently. They merely stood there as blood began to run out of her mouth. Aislinn stumbled, collapsing into a heap. The last thing she saw before surrendering to the blackness was the leering face of her brother as he sang a death lament over her body.
She opened her eyes to see Severus Snape bending over her, a look of concern in his eyes. Aislinn tried to reach her hand out to him, but she could not move. Instead, Severus pulled a dagger from inside his robes. "It's better this way," he said sadly before plunging the blade into her heart. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he watched her dying. "I'm so sorry, Aislinn, but we were never meant to be."
Harry Potter could not sleep. He had tried everything he knew, from opening a window to putting a pillow between his legs. It was just one of those nights. They seemed to happen much more often as of late; first it was nightmares and then insomnia. He was beginning to feel like The-Boy- With-No-Luck instead of some great hero-to-be. He threw the covers back and stepped onto the cold floor. The snores of his roommates told them they were sleeping deeply. Lucky bastards, he thought, sighing. His eyes traveled to the open window, the shutters now clacking against the stone outside. A storm was blowing in, and the wind caused the curtains to billow out like dark velvet sails.
Harry picked his way across the room, shutting the window softly so not to disturb his sleeping bunkmates. Maybe something to eat would help. Harry turned on his heel and walked out of his room.
The Fat Lady had many things to say to him about waking her up, but Harry ignored her threats and made his way down the dimly lit hallways. His sense of direction kicked in, and he found the door to the kitchen with no trouble at all. He glanced right and left before pushing open the door. One could never be sure when a professor on hall patrol would pop out from nowhere. After making sure no one was there, he stepped inside of the kitchen.
The heat from the ovens hit him full in the face. The warm kitchen was such a contrast to the dank hallways of a wintertime castle. He took in the house elves scurrying about, trying to make him comfortable. Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
Harry froze. The touch was gone, but the presence behind him wasn't. Harry turned around slowly, praying fervently it would not be Snape. Instead, the sight of a long satin robe met his down-turned gaze. He followed the shape of the robe up, until he was staring right at Aislinn O'Flannery's face. He gulped. The normal makeup she wore, however light, was completely gone, making her light skin seem almost translucent. Her hair was tousled, and she crossed her arms like an impatient mother.
"What are y' doin' down here?" she asked sharply.
Harry swallowed hard. "Please excuse me, Professor, but I couldn't sleep." He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping she would not report him. It was common knowledge that students were not allowed to be out of the dormitories after hours, even if they were hungry.
Much to his surprise, Aislinn sighed. "Me either. I'm guessin' ye came down here for a snack?"
Harry nodded, still nervous. She had let her false English accent drop; underneath that contrived brogue she was pure Irish. "I am, Professor. Maybe if I get something to eat I could manage some shut eye."
Aislinn grinned. "Yes indeed, I agree. I was just about t' get some cake. Want any?" She gestured to a place setting at a counter.
Harry nodded, surprised. Any regular professor would have told him to get back to bed, not invited him down for food. "I...suppose," Harry stuttered, unsure of himself. Aislinn turned, telling the house elves to set another place beside her.
"If Hermione heard you talking like that to the elves, she'd have a fit," Harry said offhandedly.
Professor O'Flannery raised an eyebrow. "Believes in rights for them, does she?" Harry nodded and Aislinn continued. "'S a wonderful idea, no lie, but therein lies the rub. They don't want to be free. They've spent so long in this unique form of captivity they know no different. Th' only thing y' can do is to be civil to them and treat them like th' intelligent creatures they are. Treat them with respect and not abuse." Aislinn took a cup of coffee from a house elf and smiled. "Thank you, dear." The house elf curtsied, giggling.
"How do you know so much about house elves, Professor?" asked Harry, sipping his coffee.
Aislinn didn't answer right away. She stared over his head, a vacant look in her eyes. She heaved a great sigh. "Harry, there are some things it would be best not for y' to know yet."
It was Harry's turn to look at her quizzically. "What do you mean, Professor?"
Aislinn glared at him. "'S just as I did tell ye. My past is not open for yeer discussion!"
Harry glared back. His forwardness shocked even himself, but he felt it had to be done. "Your past? I asked nothing about your past, Professor. Only about what you knew about house elves." He narrowed his eyes. "Is there something in your past you want to forget about?"
As soon as those words left his mouth he knew he had made a mistake. Aislinn hurled her coffee mug against the wall, spraying coffee and shards of glass all over the floor. Everyone in the kitchen winced. "Harry Potter!" she roared as the house elves began to hurriedly clean up the mess she had made. "I dinnae know where ye get this insolence from, but it will stop, d'ye understand me? My past is of no business of yours, and see to it that ye don't make it yeer business. And for those questions, you'll be servin' a week's worth of detentions with me! Now get up to yeer room!"
Harry trembled with the force of her outburst. She stood in front of him, shaking all over. "I'm sorry Professor. It's just..."
She cut him off abruptly. "Get out of me sight, ye filthy little fool! Go!"
Harry fled the kitchen, not even caring about the uneaten piece of cake sitting on the plate next to Aislinn's. The last thing he even saw of her that night was her nonchalant shaking of her head as she settled down to finish her snack.
Despite his Professor's orders, Harry did not go back to his room. Instead he made his way silently to the library, pausing every few minutes to watch for hallway patrols. He made it safely and opened the door cautiously. It was empty; not so much as a mouse stirred. He knew his way. He had looked in this book many times in order to find out about friends and enemies, as well as some of his professors. It was not placed in the Restricted Section, but was still considered off-limits for students. He smiled deviously as he pulled it off the shelf and staggered under its weight.
He set it down and opened it. The smell of old paper and ink hit his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. He turned the pages, searching the names written in at the top of the pages. Nothing seemed to catch his eye. Most families were of English descent, although there was an occasional Scottish name. I guess the Irish-English tensions affected wizards too, he thought with a grin.
Suddenly, a name at the top of the page stood out at him. He ran his finger underneath the letters; silently thanking Merlin he was able to find it. His eyes skimmed down the page, taking in the immense history behind the family. O'Flannabhra. That's an old Irish name if I ever heard one, he thought. His finger traced over the lines until he came to the bottom of the page. Aislinn Ríonach O'Flannabhra, daughter of Alastair O'Flannabhra and Bean Mhi Shaughnessy. That was where the name came from. Alastair O'Flannabhra had been one of the Death Eaters killed in one of the last battles before the fall of Voldemort. Bean Mhi was imprisoned in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. In fact, the more Harry looked at the page, the more he became convinced that almost every relative of his professor was somehow affiliated with the Death Eaters.
Harry shivered. That was why she didn't want to talk about her past. There were definitely sinister things in her family, and he could see the reason why she didn't talk. Unless... No, that's impossible. Harry shook the thought out of his head. It was impossible for her to be a Death Eater. Quirrell was a Death Eater, Harry.
"No!" It was only after the echoes had died away that Harry realized he had spoken aloud. If there were anyone in the halls, his shout would most definitely have given away his position. It was imperative that he leave the library, and quickly. After replacing the book he hurried towards he doors of the library, hoping to heaven no one had heard him speak.
The hallway was clear, but for how long? Harry's slippered feet carried him up the twisting staircases to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. He endured the tongue-lashing from the Fat Lady for a second time in one night, and then crept past the portrait to a couch. At that time of night the common room was deserted, and snores crept down the staircases from both dormitories. Harry was still somewhat shaken after his ordeal with Professor O'Flannery in the kitchen, and decided it would be best to go to bed, and perhaps forget the tirade that his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had had that night.
He climbed the stairs to his dorm silently, wondering what had come over his Professor. The door to his room swung in silently, and he stalked to his bed, careful not to wake his roommates. After pushing back the coverlet, Harry relaxed into his pillow and embraced sleep like an old friend.
Snape spent most of his breakfast rubbing his temples, trying to chase away the headache that was brewing in his immediate future. That horrid woman sat to his right, looking pristine in her teacher's robes. I'm sure she had a nice sleep last night. Snape glared at her for no particular reason, other than a bit of envy that she should be the one sleeping when she was causing him so much internal distress.
The news of last night had come to a shock to him. It was hard to believe Aislinn was a Death Eater, but stranger things had happened. He was now even more determined to see her fail. He had spent most of the night with his brandy, trying to puzzle out a way to tell Dumbledore without raising Voldemort's suspicions. He had even bothered to think about how he was going to get her out of the Order of the Phoenix. Only a voice in his head made him refrain from denouncing her before the school. He had never heard her name before in conjunction with Death Eaters. Her family name, yes, but her name-never. There was one way to find out, and it rested in the library.
Breakfast over; Snape threaded his way through departing students to the library. His mind was focused on one thing; he didn't even feel it as he turned a corner right into the very person he was dreading to encounter. He stepped back, tensing his jaw slightly. "Miss O'Flannery."
It was not a greeting, merely a statement. She nodded at him in return, a curt reply. Perhaps she was finally taking the hint he wanted nothing to do with her. "Severus."
He looked her in the eye. She didn't flinch, nor did she move. "If you will excuse me please." She still did not budge. Her gaze hardened as she stared at his face.
"Don't think I don't know, Severus Snape," was all she said before she stalked off.
Snape stared at her, agape. That sounded very much like a threat, and he never responded well to threats. He shook his head to clear it and continued on towards the library. He had a good hour before classes started, and he would use it productively. Normally he would head towards the dungeons and his classroom, but today there were more pressing matters weighing on his mind. Matters like Aislinn O'Flannery.
"Don't think I don't know, Severus Snape," she growled, anger flashing in her eyes. He couldn't deny he was avoiding her, and he must think her stupid if he believed she didn't see it. Hopefully a hint of that magnitude would sink into his thick male skull. She shook her head sadly as she mounted the stairs that would lead to the north tower. Men. There were only a few men she had met that didn't act like complete dolts most of the time; many of them still lived in Ireland, or were Muggles who didn't have an inkling of what she was. To them, she was Aislinn the anthropologist, doing her work diligently and reserved. Aislinn the guitar player. Never Aislinn the witch, Aislinn the hunted, Aislinn the abandoned. One man, however, had stayed closer to her than any man in her life ever had. Last she had heard, he was in Spain, speaking to their Ministry about the growing threat of Voldemort and Death Eaters. Yes, she was worried for him, but he could take care of himself.
Aislinn stopped, surprised. Ron Weasely was waiting in front of her classroom door, sitting on the cold stone. "Mr. Weasely?" she asked, confused.
He started, jumping to his feet. He flashed an embarrassed smile when he realized who she was, saying, "You scared me, Professor."
She smiled back at him. "I take it you had trouble with last night's homework. I had several students come up to me last night asking about it. I know it's difficult, but I always find you learn the skill better if you know the history behind it."
Ron nodded, but his face didn't seem so enthusiastic. "But why the history of a stinging hex?"
She nodded as she unlocked the door, removing wards with a snap of her finger. Ron's voice froze in his throat. Aislinn looked up. "What?"
"I-I didn't know you could do that," Ron stammered.
Aislinn chuckled. "That? The skill runs in my family. Wandless magic isn't so difficult with practice. You've just got to have the right touch." She snapped her fingers again and the room became illuminated with lantern light, despite the morning sun shining through the windows. "Now, as you were asking earlier, did you know that a form of the stinging hex was the final blow delivered in the Hungarian Wizard Wars of 1215? It was enough to convince Waldemar Bathory to sign a treaty making it illegal to use the Cruciatus Curse as a form of torture, which, as you know, still holds today."
Ron stepped back, amazed. "Really?"
Aislinn nodded, grinning sagely. "Really. Now come in and sit down. Your other classmates will be here shortly, and I can answer any more questions you have."
Harry dreaded his Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next day, and not because of the confrontation he and his professor had had the previous night. There had been no way to get her homework assignment done, and after the fight last night he didn't want to chance anything. In her usual style, Professor O'Flannery passed between the rows of desks, collecting the homework assigned from the previous night. When she got to Harry, he shook his head and lowered his eyes.
The professor didn't move. Harry raised his eyes to see disappointment written on her face. "I had expected more from you, Harry Potter," she said softly. "If you want to be an Auror, I suggest you put more effort into your schoolwork." She paused. "However, I will allow you to turn it in tomorrow for half credit, which is better than nothing. Think on that." She moved on, collecting the remainder of the homework.
Ron leaned over. "It's not that bad, mate. If it had been Snape, you would have a detention."
"I already do," said Harry, and he began to relate the entire tale to Ron. "So anyway, that's how it ended up," he finished.
Ron raised a red eyebrow. "It does bring to light some interesting possibilities, but I wouldn't draw any conclusions yet."
"No conclusions? Her family practically admits her as a Death Eater. I don't think there's any way she wouldn't be!"
Professor O'Flannery spun around, glaring at Harry and Ron. "I want to see both of you after class, gentlemen. We have a very serious matter to discuss." Her eyes were wide, and angry. In the background, Harry could hear Draco chortle. Aislinn spun. "Mister Malfoy! I will be seeing you as well." The laughter was abruptly cut off.
Class seemed to crawl by that day. O'Flannery lectured on history and practical uses, not even bothering to note the number of sleeping students. As the minutes ticked down to the final bell, Harry's stomach clenched. He did not want to be stuck in the same room with Draco Malfoy and Aislinn O'Flannery, even if Ron was there. The bell sounded and the other students began filing towards the door. Hermione shot Harry and Ron a dirty look; Seamus' was one of commiseration.
Professor O'Flannery was pacing at the front of the classroom. "Gentlemen, I do not enjoy disruptions in my classroom. For each of your disruptions I will take five points each away from your houses. Draco, I hope I never hear you laughing at another's misfortune again, or the punishment will be much greater. Harry, Ron, I'm disappointed that you think you can carry on a conversation when I am trying to give a lesson." She paused, eyeing each of the students. "Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of "yes ma'am's" greeted her. She seemed satisfied and made a gesture with her hand for them to leave. Harry turned, and was stopped by her voice. "Remain here, Mister Potter."
Harry sighed. It was coming. He turned back around to face his teacher, eyes on the ground.
"Look at me," she commanded, and Harry raised his eyes. "I know what you think I am. I'm not stupid, Harry. I know no way of showing you, except this." She raised the left sleeve of her robes to expose her naked forearm. "Do you see a Dark Mark?"
Harry shook his head. In fact, there was nothing there, except about eleven pale scars arranged in lines down the pale underside of her arm.
"I am not a Death Eater, Harry. That is the only way I know of convincing you, without making a fool of myself." Harry nodded sullenly.
"You are free to go, Mr. Potter. Do not forget you have detention tonight with me."
"Yes ma'am," said Harry quietly as he grabbed his bookbag from his seat and hurried out of the classroom, happy to be alive. He was not yet convinced.