Severus and Róisín

AN - (some stuff I forgot to mention)

This story will have a few OCs so if you don't like, don't read. There is some groundwork to lay so the first chapter just sets the scene, I guess. Neasa won't appear until chapter two. The story takes place during Order of the Phoenix and will stick to canon.

Also if anyone is confused the name Róisín Rí is pronounced Roh-sheen R-ee and Siobhán is said Shiv-awn. The ticks (fadas) above the letters indicate accent.

0o0o0o

JULY 1995

The bottle of Firewhisky was dry and it made Severus slam shut the drawer of his office desk. Instead of rummaging around for a spare one he retrieved a vial of Calming Draught from his stores and poured it into the whisky glass, before finishing it off in one go.

Leaning his elbows on the leaves of parchment on his desk, he pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes. His heartbeat slowed its pace; he shivered a little for the cold in his office, but didn't do anything to change it. Having just returned from a meeting of the Death Eaters, and the sustained use of Occlumency giving him a wretched headache, he was in no mood to talk to anyone when a knock sounded at his door.

The castle was quiet and empty except for himself, Filch, Albus and Minerva; despite his temper he flicked his wand at the door and it swung open. Severus didn't look up as the person walked in and seated themselves opposite him at his desk.

"Why aren't you at home?"

Severus relaxed; it was Albus.

"Spinner's End?" he asked. "Not much of a home. I needed a Calming Draught."

"How did it go?"

"The Dark Lord is looking to recruit the Dementors of Azkaban. He's hoping to free the Death Eaters incarcerated after the last war."

Perhaps it was how small and defeated Severus's voice sounded, but it made Albus ask, "Are you alright?"

"Don't mind me," Severus said, focused on the stars swimming before his eyes.

"Severus – forgive me – but we cannot win this war if my spy is unwell."

Now it was his temper speaking: "Is the war all you care about?"

"The war is not all I care about," Albus said defensively.

Severus finally removed his palms form his eyes and let his head fall forward, his fingers in his hair. He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar and comforting smell of years of potions brewing that seemed to forever hang in his office. It felt good to be back, even if only for an evening.

"You're right," he said at last. "We can't win this war if I'm in this state."

"In what state? I have rarely seen you look so… exhausted."

"It's just stress," Severus replied, "and a headache."

"It's more than that."

It was no use hiding anything from Albus; perhaps it was his age and wisdom or whatever, but he had an uncanny way of always knowing how Severus was feeling, even without Legilimency.

Severus rose from his chair and walked over to the fireplace, where he muttered "Incendio," under his breath and a roaring fire appeared. The heat flickered against his face; he stuck out his hands and rubbed them, but that soon turned into a nervous wringing.

"I'm tired," he said. "Not sleepy – tired. Weary – worn-out. Not a physical tiredness either – this is mental."

"When did it start?" Albus asked. He had since moved to an armchair to Severus's left.

"As soon as I returned as a spy. I feel defeated – I feel like there isn't a point in fighting this war."

"Isn't a point?"

"There isn't a point in me fighting," Severus corrected himself. He glanced at Albus and found the concern in the other man's eyes too much, so he looked back to the fire. "Look at it this way: Minerva's got a school to protect – so's Filius, Pomana, everyone – you're – well, you're Dumbledore – you're doing it for the good of our kind… Molly and Arthur – they've got their children to look after…

"Last time," he continued, "I was spying for Lily's safety – but she's gone. Why – why am I still here?"

"You swore to protect Lily's son," Albus replied.

"I need a better reason than that to get up in the morning."

"You swore–"

"But I'm not doing my job right – you said it yourself – I'm useless if I'm in this state."

"Are you depressed?" Albus asked.

"No. Not quite."

"You have fatigue, then. And you've moved on from Lily – otherwise you wouldn't be feeling this way."

Severus just shrugged.

"We're going in circles," he said. "I do not believe the Dark Lord is undefeatable – but I still feel terrible."

Albus was quiet for a few moments, and then he flicked his wand and two glasses of mead appeared suspended in the air. He took one, and Severus took the other. They drank simultaneously.

"Sit."

Severus sat.

"Is there anything else bothering you?"

"Nothing but the usual," Severus said. Albus arched an eyebrow. "Sirius – you know how we hate the ground the other walks on. His presence is intolerable. The summer Potions marking feels like it'll never end. Then, of course, my house is infested with mice."

"All the more reason for you to leave," Albus said, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Being alone at Spinner's End does you no good – you should stay in your rooms at Hogwarts until term."

Severus gave a small nod of assent.

"You might find this a welcome distraction," Albus continued, reaching into his pocket and taking out a newspaper cutting. He passed it to Severus, who unfolded it. "Minerva and I have decided Hogwarts needs a secretary – between the Order and teaching and the Ministry, we need someone to do the everyday tasks. That advert–" he nodded at the newspaper "–went out last week."

"Has anyone responded?" Severus asked, putting the cutting aside.

"A few people – two from England and one in Scotland. The fourth is from Ireland – isn't that curious?"

"I can't imagine who would move country just for a secretarial job."

"That's what I thought," Albus mused. "Neasa Casey – anyone you know?"

"I've never met a Casey," Severus said simply, his eyes falling on the cutting. About now he could do with a good crossword to clear his mind – or, even better, Sudoku – but the Prophet had stopped printing those long ago.

Albus drained his glass and stood.

"Her CV is excellent," he said. "I look forward to her interview."

"I'm intrigued," Severus remarked sleepily.

0o0o0o

The lovers Disapparated from the rowdy pub in Diagon Alley – where their friends remained drinking – and reappeared in the musty hallway outside her cheaply rented apartment. The Muggle landlady was on holiday – no one had to know she'd brought back a man.

Still giggling about some clever remark he'd made on their arrival, she flicked her wand at the door and it unlocked – but not before his hands tickled her waist and she laughed out loud.

Shhh!" she said, as if he was the noisy one. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

She pushed open the door, and the moment it was shut behind them he pinned her against it, keeping his palms on the wood on either side of her shoulders. She gave him a look as if challenging him to make a move. Whatever about his running away from home or being the only Gryffindor in a house full of Slytherins or riding a flying motorbike – she made him nervous.

He softened, dropping his right hand to cup the side of her neck. Her breathing was a little unsteady for the anticipation that buzzed in the air; it hitched in her throat when he leaned his forehead against hers, their noses touching. The smell of cheap beer was on both of them, but they were far from drunk. Outside it was hardly dark; the night was still young.

Sirius," the woman whispered.

Róisín?" asked Sirius.

Róisín pushed Sirius's hair behind his left ear, and then held the back of his head in her hand. Meanwhile Sirius's other hand had fallen to her waist, pulling her a few inches closer.

Kiss me," Róisín said.

The other Auror didn't need telling twice.

Fifteen years later, Róisín Rí had a handsome office in Dublin with a drinks cabinet in the corner and a mantelpiece dotted with awards and trophies. (Silver Phial for potions abilities, Golden Sword for duelling talents.) She was no longer that carefree twenty-year-old apprentice; she'd made her life out of being the best Auror she could, had made it her passion – her obsession.

The light was now fading outside – the Muggle streetlamps were switching on, casting glittering lights over the River Liffey – but Róisín still sat at her office desk, because there was no one to go home to. She was surrounded by newspaper clippings –

BLACK STILL AT LARGE: AZKABAN ESCAPEE STILL MISSING

SCENES OF TERROR AT QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP

TRAGEDY AT TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR, SAYS THE MINISTER

THE BOY WHO LIES?

DUMBLEDORE: DAFT OR DANGEROUS?

DUMBLEDORE DEMOTED FROM CHIEF WARLOCK IN THE WIZENGAMOT

Róisín had spent all day poring over Daily Prophet clippings, updating herself on the situation in Britain. If she was going to be working there, she reasoned, she needed to know what had been happening in recent months. The idea still thrilled her: working outside of her little Irish bubble. She hadn't worked in Britain since the First Wizarding War, when she'd met Sirius.

That's where her mind rested now – not on the Prophet or Voldemort but on Sirius, the man whom she had believed, until very recently, to be a Death Eater guilty of thirteen deaths.

"Do you not have a home to go home to?"

The sing-song Cork accent of Róisín's secretary, Patricia, pulled her from her thoughts; she looked up to see the other witch poking her head around the door.

"I'd only be working if I went home," Róisín said. Besides, she added in her head, the house is empty. No one's waiting on me to cook dinner.

Patricia's eyes scanned the office distractedly, then fell to rest on the window and the city outside. Her smile faltered.

"Bags packed and everything?" she asked.

"Bags packed. Everything."

"I wish you'd tell me where you're off too. I'm worried about you, Róisín. Oh, I know you can look after yourself–" Patricia folded her arms tightly "–but, well, Dumbledore. Your job's dangerous, isn't it? If Dumbledore himself hired you?"

Róisín smiled gently. "All of my missions abroad are dangerous."

"Any idea why he asked for you?"

"No idea," Róisín lied.

"I still remember when you were just starting here," Patricia smiled fondly. "I've seen so many Aurors come and go – but you were something different; I knew that from the beginning. You were so driven. You always knew you never wanted anything but to be an Auror. I still don't know where you get it from."

Róisín just smiled. It had everything to do with Siobhán's death.

The women said their goodbyes and Róisín was left to her newspaper clippings. She began tidying them away into a folder and left it in a drawer, then she threw back the last of a glass of Bailey's and stood to gaze out of the window behind her desk.

Last time she'd been in London – as an apprentice with the Auror Office – she'd had a blissful year with Sirius, and the proof for that was the tiny moving photograph she now held between her fingers. It showed herself and Sirius on Westminster Bridge – Big Ben was in the background – with his arm around her shoulders, grins on their young faces. On the back was an inscription: Westminster, June 1981. Our one year anniversary. Taken by Remus.

Róisín still couldn't get used to the idea that he was innocent. Her heart had broken when she'd learnt he'd betrayed the Potters and killed twelve Muggles – she'd fled back to Dublin with nothing but her wand and the clothes on her back. While everyone else was celebrating the fall of Lord Voldemort, she was crying in her mother's arms.

Since Dumbledore had visited Róisín at the Irish Auror Department two weeks ago and asked her to take on this job for him and Sirius, she'd only seen the latter twice, both times in Grimmauld Place. The first time they'd spent most of it getting to know each other again – Róisín had stayed long after Dumbledore had left, talking and talking and talking right through the night with Sirius.

This had the consequence that she remembered very little of what they spoke about – but she remembered plain as day how it felt to kiss him again.

One word: different. It had been just a kiss to test the water – but she knew too much time had passed since their last, and however strong her feelings might once have been, they wouldn't come back so quickly.

It didn't mean she didn't love him, though. Sirius would always have a place of his own in her heart.