VIII. Niamh
"I was walking up to the Owlery. I had a letter, to send to—to my mum. And then I heard someone behind me, talking—saying the curse, I suppose, and then...that's all. That's all I remember."
It was Tuesday, the day after the attack, and it was raining heavily, wind battering water into the centuries-old stone of the great castle. The windows were shut, the curtains pulled. Lamps cast warm, golden circles of light on the hospital wing's ceiling. Niamh was sitting in the only occupied bed, wrapped in a dressing gown, with the blankets pulled up over her legs. She was hugging her knees, staring straight ahead.
"What happened to the letter?" Julie thought to ask.
Niamh shrugged. "I don't know; I suppose I lost it."
Julie sighed. "Was it a boy or a girl?"
"I don't know."
"You really didn't see them at all?"
Niamh was pulling at the thin white blanket. Her face was drawn and pale, but she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"I don't know...no, I didn't."
"You didn't recognize the voice?"
Niamh took a deep breath. "Julie, I really don't want to talk about it, okay? Just please drop it. I don't need to know who it was."
Julie stared. "Yes, you do! What if they attack someone else? I don't want to—to push you, or something, but this isn't just about you."
"I'm pretty sure it's just about me," Niamh muttered.
"What?"
"Thanks," said Niamh, looking over her roommate's shoulder. Madam March had approached without Julie noticing, and now she was handing Niamh a steaming cup of tea—or something like tea: it was slightly purple.
Niamh took the cup in both hands and drank in one gulp, grimacing as the hot liquid went down.
"Does she have to stay long?" Julie asked the nurse.
Madam March frowned. "Not if she doesn't want to. She didn't need to stay overnight for her health, really—she's just a little shaken up." And we wanted to make sure she was safe, she didn't say, but Julie figured that out herself. Using the Cruciatus Curse didn't just mean expulsion—the culprit, when they were caught (please let them be caught) would probably go to Azkaban.
Or, she found herself wondering, would they go to some kind of young offenders Azkaban? Reform school? It wasn't something she had put much thought into.
Julie stood. "Well," she said uncertainly, "I have...you know, class."
Niamh smiled wanly. She was holding out her arm for Madam March now, wrist facing up.
Julie was almost at the door when she heard movement behind her. Niamh clambered out of bed, clutching the dressing gown around herself as she ran across the room.
"Julie," she said quietly, so that Madam March, who was standing impatiently by the bed, could not hear her, "Julie, I know you're probably angry at me because—because I, er, sort of stopped talking to you last year..." She trailed off nervously. Too fucking right, thought Julie, but she just raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"Anyway," Niamh said, almost gulping, (she had forgotten how nervous this girl got about everything) (cut her some slack, Julie, she just got attacked) "anyway, I was hoping we could, we could be friends again. Maybe."
Did I miss an apology in there somewhere? Julie wondered. No, I don't think I did.
Cut her some slack, Julie.
"Yeah," she said finally, "yeah, we can be friends, again. Sure."
Niamh smiled, and just a little bit of the tension left her face. Julie smiled back—just half of her mouth—and then she turned to go.
"Your parents will be here after dinner," she heard Madam March say, before the heavy doors of the hospital wing swung shut behind her.
Sirius was waiting in the corridor.
He was leaning against the wall, hair falling in his face. He had passed her a note in Charms class—she still had it, folded in her pocket—and they had left together at the bell and made their way to the hospital wing. She had gone in by herself, since Niamh and Sirius were barely acquaintances, and he had resigned himself to waiting outside.
"Did she say anything?"
Julie shrugged, rummaging in her pockets. "Not much. She still doesn't remember anything."
"Does that happen?" he asked, skeptically.
She rolled her eyes. "Shock...you know..." She found a cigarette, lit it with her wand and took a long drag. "She's lying. I'm ninety-five percent sure. Are we going to Potions now? Want a cigarette?"
"Yes," was all he said, and she thought about that and then gave him the cigarette. He rolled it between his fingers and then, thoughtfully, put it in his pocket. She stared at him.
"I don't really know Niamh," he said as they started to walk dungeon-ward. "What's she like?"
"Mm...she's sweet, I suppose. Insecure about her skin. Likes agreeing with people. Normal teenage witch."
"So I suppose this was just ordinary Slytherin bullshit?" said Sirius. He might have been a bit disappointed.
Julie blew out smoke. "Actually, I don't think so. Niamh seems weird about it, and it just seems really...risky, to use an Unforgivable, unless there's a reason. And before you ask, yes, I've thought about who might have a grudge against Niamh, and I couldn't think of anyone. Except—well, except me."
"Fraser! Are you confessing?"
She just rolled her eyes. She was already starting to regret telling Niamh they could be friends again. She should have at least shouted at her a bit first.
"Look, it's her sister," said Sirius, gesturing with his chin. They were at the top of the staircase going down to the Entrance Hall, and Siobhan Fairchild was standing in the shadow of the Slytherin hourglass. She was wearing her Ravenclaw prefect badge, and her dark straight hair was shining in the torchlight. She had never looked more different from her twin sister, pale and anxious in her fluffy dressing gown. She seemed quite angry, and she was talking to Caius Mulciber.
"I told you they were going out," said Sirius smugly.
Julie scoffed. "They're having a conversation."
They stood side by side, one pair above watching the pair below. Siobhan seemed to be shouting at the Slytherin, waving her hands animatedly while he slouched back into the wall. Snatches of their conversation floated up.
"..it wasn't necessary, not for her..."
"...you said..."
Indistinguishable murmurs.
"...she won't tell! It's not a problem anymore!"
"Yes, but if you'd just tried—" Siobhan stopped talking abruptly. She was looking up, and Julie realized that she and Sirius had been seen.
They weren't going to hear anything else, and so they walked down the stairs. Siobhan watched them with crossed arms and narrowed eyes—Julie thought of a cat, twitching its tail. She looked utterly furious. Mulciber just looked bored.
"It's going to be fine," he said quietly to Siobhan, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek before he left, taking the stairs two at a time.
Julie squirmed oddly to avoid Sirius' elbow, aiming for her ribs.
They spent the walk to the dungeons bickering pleasantly. She held the door for him, and he winked at her before he went over to James' table. They were late—only by a few minutes, but that was enough to earn a glare from Professor Slughorn.
Julie sat down next to Lily, who was busy chopping bat spleens.
"What are we doing?"
"We're making Calming Draughts, in pairs. I was working by myself, but I suppose you're my partner." Lily's expression made it fairly clear that she thought she had been doing just fine on her own.
I know exactly how you feel, thought Julie. "Pass the pomegranate juice."
After dinner, they hung around the Entrance Hall, trying to look innocent, and watched Professor McGonagall escort Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild up the front walk. Niamh's father was a tall, thin man with a stoop in his shoulders and small wire-rimmed glasses. Her mother was smaller and even frailer, with a puff of curly reddish-brown hair. She looked as though one good gust of wind would blow her away. He was a wizard, she was a Muggle.
Despite their best efforts, Sirius and Julie overheard only strained pleasantries.
Nevertheless, Niamh stayed in school, despite the flying rumors, and slowly the anxiety felt by everyone after her attack started to fade away. September leached into October and a routine settled in, classes, quidditch, flirting, sleep. Predictability (predictably) shifted into very slight boredom.
You would think you couldn't get bored at a magic school, wouldn't you? Wrong. You can get bored anywhere.
They had their first Hogsmeade weekend, and Lily, surprisingly, decided that she was going to go together with not just Marlene but also Julie and Mary. She was starting to realize how little she knew about these girls who were her roommates, and how much she had kept to herself over the last five years. Lily prided herself on her self-sufficiency, but somehow, even so—it wasn't a very pleasant realization.
So they went to Hogsmeade together, the four of them, (Niamh had been invited, but politely refused) and it felt a little bit like a field trip, but they had a good time. They went to the Three Broomsticks and Zonko's and the Post Office, and they ran into James Potter and his friends in Honeydukes. Literally; Honeydukes was unveiling a new sort of marzipan and in the crush Lily backed into him and stepped on his feet.
Halloween passed, more or less uneventfully. The Gryffindor team practiced harder than ever, trying to make up for the shame of their earlier catastrophic loss. Julie sent back her mother's books and got a new lot. She started quoting George Bernard Shaw at every available opportunity (and there were surprisingly many opportunities) until Marlene almost hexed her for it.
Niamh and Julie did actually become friends, in a way. They started studying at the same table in the Gryffindor Common Room, and occasionally they even went so far as to acknowledge each other in the corridors.
There was an ancient, heavily enchanted turntable in the girls' dormitory, and Marlene played her Red Caps record so many times that Julie actually broke it in two. They didn't speak to each other for a week; Lily repaired it in ten seconds.
On a Tuesday in the second half of November, six Muggles were killed, a small family in Yorkshire and the elderly couple next door. On Wednesday, Erasmus Lestrange was found dead in his home. He had been shot, just once, with an ordinary pistol.
That day, Professor Dumbledore came into the Transfiguration classroom, just as the Hufflepuff second years were finishing. He walked up to Professor McGonagall's desk and said something to her in a low voice as he handed her a slip of parchment.
The Hufflepuffs filed out, babbling about beetles and buttons, and the next class was already queued up outside, Severus Snape at the head of the line. The two Professors were having a conversation in low, urgent voices, so he hovered uncomfortably in the doorway.
"It's just unfortunate we didn't part on the best of terms," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Thank you, Minerva."
He turned to leave. The Slytherins were starting to fidget outside, but even so Dumbledore stopped in front of them, studying Severus with those bright blue eyes.
Severus didn't manage to keep eye contact. "Yes...sir?"
"Professor Slughorn informs me that you are doing exceptionally well in Potions class," was all Dumbledore said. "Keep up the good work."
Annabelle Fawley was poking him in the back, and Professor McGonagall had already begun to write a series of vicious calculations on the blackboard, but Severus watched the headmaster go with a funny sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what he had to say to Mulciber.
