be careful what you wish for [Deirdre]

Dermod hadn't slept much. He'd gone to bed at a relatively sensible time, but woken in darkness with his head filled with too many thoughts. As was still his habit when wakefulness occurred he slipped from the bed, pulled on a robe, and headed for his desk. Despite no longer having a public outlet for his writings, the Irishman was still regularly to be found with quill in hand. Sometimes it was liberating, knowing that he could write whatever he chose without the need to edit his more extreme ideas. But at others, the knowledge that Kevan Taite had 'died' at the Battle of Hogwarts, that it was Kevan and not Dermod who was the published, successful author, that Abercrombie publishing would never welcome him through their doors again...

Sometimes he wondered how things could have been different. The fact he hadn't been thrown into Azkaban like so many others had infuriated Farren Abercrombie, but it was no more than a quirk of fate that he was even alive, let alone free. Had Cliona not been gifted at divination, had Ivana not risked her life apparating into the midst of the battle when they saw he was wounded, had Gabriella not been as skilled at healing... As it was, he hadn't left the Schull estate for months following that night, and for a long time afterwards hadn't wanted to risk going anywhere he – or Kevan - might be recognised. He'd considered polyjuice potion, as Declan had so often favoured during their Death Eater days, but that was a step too far. Either he lived as himself or not at all.

But this hadn't been the source of his restlessness. The previous week, they had bid farewell to Rhiannon as she left to begin her third year at Hogwarts. His younger daughter was growing up so fast, it seemed. Sometimes it felt like he didn't know her any more; that she was slipping away from him. Part of him wanted to prevent that, to lock her away and keep her safe from the world, but...what if she ended up like her Aunt, cloistered in the castle for the better part of her adult years until age had stripped most of her chances away? Far better she take after her older half sister, outgoing, successful and strong.

This would be the year she truly gained a measure of independence though. Dermod recalled with strange clarity his own third year and the wonderful sense of freedom that visiting the village of Hogsmeade had brought. But he had been sensible, cautious, thoughtful, aware of the possible dangers from unpalatable influences – or at least so he told himself with the benefits of hindsight. The fact remained that he wanted to see what the village was like now. The last time he was here it had been under Death Eater control. Not a mudblood in sight and though even Dermod admitted it had hardly been a safe place for a young girl to visit, he was no more comfortable now about her visiting anywhere alone. Until now, she had only ever been out in public with her family. During the summer she'd gone to Diagon alley with her stepmother, but even when she'd met a friend from school had only been allowed to go off alone for a little under an hour, and then just to the ice cream parlour. Now, she would be going where she liked with just other children for company. Dermod knew some of them by name and was relieved that a good number were from good pureblood families, but still...

The writer knew he could have simply refused to sign the form, but that had never really been an option. Despite his misgivings, he wouldn't let Rhiannon suffer the disappointment and ostracism form her friends that would surely lead to.

He was dressed by now, in what appeared to be muggle clothing but had been sewn by the finest pureblood tailors, with a lightweight black cloak that suited the beginning of autumn. Already there was a slight chill in the air in the shortening evenings. He left a note explaining where he was going and that he would be back later, but it wasn't the brevity of the words but what he wasn't saying that would be understood. As he left the castle and walked the grassy-edged path to the boundary from which apparation was possible, he found his heart beating a little faster. The last time he had been anywhere near the school had been... he forced the memory down, but it was immutable, scarred into his flesh for all time. He still wore gloves whenever he left the castle, charmed to make it look like his right hand was complete, something he told himself was simply to avoid uncomfortable stares from those who might wonder what had happened. Certainly not for his own comfort – or vanity, he insisted to himself.

It was still early when he arrived on the outskirts of the village, something after ten in the morning, but already there was a number of people around including several teenagers. Was the first Hogsmeade weekend for students this early in the year? Or...had he finally reached the age where anyone under the age of 22 looked like they should still be in school? Dermod shuddered at the thought, and decided on impulse to buy a copy of the Daily Prophet, to give him an excuse to sit alone in a cafe and drink coffee. Belatedly, he'd realised that he hadn't eaten breakfast.

He was also oblivious to the fact that two kittens had been playing amongst the cloakrack recently, and their claws had torn a hole in the inner lining. As he folded the paper and went to slip his purse into a pocket of his robes, the worn black leather fell through the tear and landed almost silently beside the newspaper stand. Oblivious to the unexpected loss of 30 or so galleons, Dermod turned and walked down the street.

@Deirdre Coltrane <333

Time was such a strange thing. Deirdre Coltrane was a seventh year now but she could well remember the day when she had first come to Hogwarts. It was just like it had been yesterday and yet so many things had happened since then and she had certainly changed a lot during her Hogwarts years. Somehow the girl found herself struggling. With graduation in sight she felt like she should look ahead and make future plans. However, for some reason she was mostly looking back these days. The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year made the girl think about her first ever Hogsmeade weekend rather than of her future where she'd be able to go whichever place whenever she wanted. What was wrong with her? Was she not ready for adult life? No, this couldn't be it. Deirdre felt very much like an adult already. She also thought herself superior not only to her pals but also when it came to most older witches and wizards.

Nonetheless she was not relaxed when it came to her future. Something in the past was not quite settled and she wasn't sure what it was. Her mother was, if not supportive all the time, still on her side. Having no siblings (that she knew of), Deirdre had learned to focus and rely on herself and yet something did not feel quite right. She was good student and knew that she would not fail on her NEWTs. She had the determination needed to find and pursue her own way but lacked direction. She felt incomplete, imperfect.

What was worst about this all was that the girl did not want to confide in anybody. She had friends that she really saw as minions. Was any of them worthy of knowing her innermost feelings? Deirdre did not think so. She knew what she did with such intimate details and did not want to give any person this sort of power over her. However, struggling without letting it show to anyone was actually the hardest struggle of all. 

The usually confident and strong girl sought solitude more often now, feeling most at ease when she was not under observation. She was pensive these days but her deliberations never seemed to make any real progress. All her thoughts went in circles, leading to the one and only conclusion - she didn't really know who she was and her future was entirely uncertain at this point. The power she thought to hold over some of her schoolmates would turn into nothingness once she'd leave the safe boundaries of Hogwarts. In the real world Deirdre Coltrane was a nobody who still had to make herself a name.

What could she possibly do with her life? Deirdre had difficulties to imagine herself starting low. She wanted to give orders rather than follow them. However, what kind of path could she choose for herself that was feasible and still not disappointing?

The Slytherin had reached Hogsmeade by now. It was still pretty early in the day but Deirdre noticed that she was not the first student to arrive at the village. Since it was quite a chilly day the girl put her hands into the pockets of her coat that had actually been her mother's for as long as she could think. Deirdre had received it during the last summer holidays as her mother claimed that it did not fit her anymore but would look just lovely on her. Both women had the same green eyes and light red curls that formed a nice contrast to the dark green suede coat with a peacock feather boa attached to its collar. As her right hand reached deep into the pocket, it touched something. Deirdre pulled out a scrap of an old Daily Prophet issue. On one side was an obituary of a writer and on the other side, quite incomplete, a section with job offers.

Deirdre walked to a newspaper stand, thinking that her discovery was maybe an omen that she had to get the newest issue of the Daily Prophet today. However, when she stretched out her hand to grab the paper, she saw a pursue slip out of the pocket of an old wizard's coat. She lowered her hand and looked at the purse for a moment. Being aimless and believing ins signs, the seventh year student figured that she had to return the item to its rightful owner. Hence she picked up the purse and hurried to catch up with the man.

"Sir," she said, the address sounding somewhat sharper than the occasion called for. "You've lost your purse." She looked at him intensely, trying to figure out if this meeting was really meant to be or if it was just a random meeting with an old wizard that was of no consequence at all.


OOC: @Dermod Larkin Morfessa I'm so so sorry that this took ages. I wrote this now because I was desperate to write and tried to ignore the fact that typing still hurts. Also, I'm quite rusty. So, please let me know if anything does not work for you. <333

The village was not as he remembered. Granted, the Irishman recalled Hogsmeade under Death Eater occupation, a time when a good number of shops had been boarded up or simply abandoned. Not that he had spent time in the village for any purpose other than gathering with others of his mindset, and rarely had that occurred before the sunset hour. Little wonder then, that he looked around as if seeing the village for the first time in forty years.

Almost nothing remained that he recognised, save the Three Broomsticks sign in the distance. This early in the day, he doubted that establishment would yet be open, but with no better plan he selected that direction in which to walk until he could find a suitable cafe in which to read his paper. He had gone no more than a few metres when he heard a shout. Instinctively he turned, a frown creasing the space between his eyebrows, hand dropping to within easy reach of his wand even as his subconscious recognised the voice as young and therefore unlikely to be a threat. He relaxed his arm immediately so it would seem as though he had simply moved the position of one hand whilst turning around, and when he heard the next words his frown altered, becoming  something between surprise and confusion.

Lost his purse? Dermod started to say no, she must be mistaken, it was right in his pocket - he reached into his robes and he spoke - and promptly discovered his error. Not only was the pocket empty, but now he discovered the tear in the fabric that could only have been caused by... "Kittens!" he exclaimed under his breath, all of which took a mere couple of seconds but only now did he address the girl who had called out to him.

"Thank you, I appreciate your honesty" he said, reaching out a gloved hand to accept the purse, and seeing the girl for the first time. Despite his earlier concerns the writer felt certain that here was someone who hadn't yet left school. Before he could reconsider the wisdom of engaging in conversation with a total stranger, Dermod found himself asking "Forgive me...I assume you attend Hogwarts?"

[I've kept it short so hopefully replying won't be too uncomfortable ]

Deirdre could see that the man was surprised, did not really believe what she said. He checked the pockets of his coat though and realised that he had indeed lost his purse. When he mentioned kittens, Deirdre's expression remained impassive and unimpressed. She looked at the man though, trying to figure out what kind of guy he was. However, she came to no real conclusion in the brief moment she had until he engaged her in a conversation.

Honesty. As he mentioned it, the girl wondered why she had not at least gone through the contents of the purse before following the man to return it to him. Maybe something in there would have even kept her from returning it at all? Maybe keeping the purse would have been more interesting than having a conversation with an old man. The girl did not even smile at his comment as she put the purse into his gloved hands. He should not think that she was a person who tried to please everyone even if she had just been an honest finder.

She was unsure why he tried to talk to her now. He could have simply thanked her and turned around but he actually asked her a question. Immediately the girl wondered if the old wizard had ulterior motives. Maybe he came to Hogsmeade to hook up with some school girls. Maybe this was his thing. There were blokes like that. Deirdre knew guys at her mother's establishment who liked to role play and pretend they were seducing a school girl rather than having sex with a prostitute. Apparently some men liked the inexperienced girls rather than the professionals. With that thought on her mind, the Slytherin was wary but also curious to find out if she was right. Maybe she should tempt him a little, just to find it out sooner rather than waste her time with an old guy.

"I do," Deirdre responded after a brief delay. "I'm in my last year there." She added just in case he was what she thought but preferred to still shag girls who were of age. After a second or two the girl even added one of her rare smiles that made her look a lot friendlier even though it did not reach her eyes. Deirdre briefly wondered if she should ask a question herself but she decided against it for the moment. If he wanted to chat she'd still get an opportunity later.

Something in the girl's stance and response intrigued the writer. Aside from his daughter he had practically no interest in children, which in his mind was anyone who hadn't yet reached the age of twenty, but there was something interesting here. Perhaps the fact that she didn't produce a sickly sweet smile when he thanked her from returning his property. Most children would have done so after having right and wrong drilled into them by well-meaning parents over a period of years, without bothering to even consider what they were doing. But this one hadn't returned the purse because someone had told her that was the way nice girls behaved, he imagined. She'd come to the conclusion on her own that honesty was what worked in her own world, and that was rare.

Rare, and interesting enough that when he learned that his suspicion had been correct, he nodded with the barest hint of a smile. "My daughter is in her third year" he commented, wondering why he'd volunteered the information. For all he knew, he could be conversing with a mudblood, even if he'd somehow found a rare one with moral standards. But somehow that possibility, even when forced to the forefront of his mind, held no sting. Dermod couldn't have said how he was certain, but he felt certain there was at least some pureblood ancestry within this girl. As if for the first time he noted the colour of her coat, and something slipped into place. Surely now he knew why the girl had returned his property; she had weighed up the pros and cons and decided that there could potentially be more of a reward in calling him back than if she slipped the purse into her own pocket and crept back to school.

The thought slipped through his mind, certain and comfortable, in the space of less than a second as he contemplated his next move. If his suspicions were correct, he could put his own mind at rest now with a few simple questions. Not that he believed Rhiannon needed the assistance of anyone, be it an older student or mentor; but this was, his own concerns may be satisfied. And should he be entirely wrong, he had revealed nothing more than the fact he had a daughter attending Hogwarts; a student from a rival house would likely have never heard Rhiannon speak and so would be unlikely to link them together. So it was that he asked, with a gesture towards the green coat which seemed to make the girl appear more mature than she may be "is this your house pride showing itself, perhaps?"

Deirdre looked at the man impassively as he mentioned he had a daughter who was in her third year. Maybe this was true and maybe he was just saying it because he thought she'd be less wary if he claimed to be the father to a younger Hogwarts student. She didn't turn her gaze away from him as she considered the two options. Somehow she felt that she could feel more comfortable with the second option. That would somehow fit better into her world than a caring father. She wondered how she'd feel if her father came to the village on a Hogsmeade weekend except for that she didn't even have a father. Would she feel embarrassed? Flattered? Happy? Angry?

She didn't know. However, the consideration made her feel somewhat sad. It must be great to have parents who actually care, who love their children. Of course, Deirdre had her mother and got along fine with her. However, her mother hardly fit the common description of a loving parent. Since her mother ran a brothel, Deirdre had learned early in her life that affection could be bought even if only for a limited amount of time. Attraction and consequently also affection could also be forced by magic. Natural affection and real love though were things the girl had yet experience.

His next question made Deirdre wonder about his motives again. He could have asked her quite plainly which her house was but he asked in a way that gave her the option to not reveal her house just yet. There was nothing wrong with telling him her house but the Slytherin did not feel like making things simple even though she still had that thought on her mind that this encounter was meant to happen, that it was their fate.

"In fact, this was my mother's coat," Deirdre said, the corners of her lips twitching slightly as she tried to hide a smile. "She gave it to me this summer." She paused briefly, thinking that this information, although personal, was hardly anything that would reveal much about her and it certainly give the man the piece of information he had been hoping to hear. "Why do you ask? Is your daughter a Slytherin?"

His instincts had been correct, and Dermod was amused. Children didn't often play games of this sort unless they had been raised to it, and only then not many were capable of subtlety. Far from feeling irritation that the girl hadn't answered his question, the Irishman was rather pleased that she not only neatly sidestepped and evaded responding, but managed to ask a question of her own. He was almost tempted to give in right away and answer her. Even if she turned out to be the sort of person who would try and make things difficult for Rhiannon, there were ways of dealing with that. A word in the right quarters, a properly-brewed potion...Dermod recalled an occasion during his sixth year when his then-girlfriend Tegan had made an enemy of an older girl in their house. This one lacked subtlety and preferred to use her fists when nobody else was around. The seventeen year old Dermod had been quite prepared to hex the girl and leave her missing some memories in the Forbidden Forest, but his girlfriend, her cheek still swollen from a recent encounter had instead appeared quite unconcerned at dinner that evening. It hadn't been until the following morning when her nemesis woke up entirely bald and with green pustules all over her body that she had slipped a small potions volume to Dermod and asked if he might return it to the restricted section of the library for her.

He smiled at the memory. Yes, there were certainly subtle ways of dealing with any kind of problem, even if that problem wasn't immediately obvious. "Your mother clearly has excellent taste" he responded, though it seemed a surprising admission. In Dermod's privileged world, one simply didn't wear hand-me-down clothes...well, aside from Cliona. His sister regularly wore their mother's old robes, claiming it was part of her heritage. That was an exception of course. Most people didn't wear their mothers' clothes, unless this girl was wearing it in memory of her mother...no, that made no sense, she said she'd been given the coat. Not that it mattered either way, the writer briefly wondered why he was even thinking about it, other than because he liked to lift every bit of information out of every conversation, no matter how mundane.

On this occasion though, there would be only one way to get the information he required. "She is. I -" he paused and settled the newspaper more comfortably under one arm, a slight smile on his face as Rhiannon was mentioned "I confess I was curious as to how much the village had changed since I last came here, not realising that students would be visiting today... This is a Hogsmeade weekend, is it not? Or do you have special privileges to visit?" Alternatively, it crossed his mind that the girl may have slipped out of school unnoticed, in which case he suspected she would bring the conversation - such as it was - to a rapid conclusion.

It was odd when old people smiled without an obvious reason. It always made Deirdre feel rather uncomfortable. People who smiled or laughed without a reason were really odd. Deirdre never did that herself. She found that showing any sentiments was rather a sign of weakness. Therefore, the girl tried to look impassive for most of the time, using a smile only when she deemed it worthwhile.

The man now complimented her on her mother's good taste and the seventh year looked at him, her expression neutral. How strange it was that he said this. She doubted that any man had a real opinion on the coat. Therefore, it seemed that he was just being kind. However, why should he be kind if he had no ulterior motives? The man did not strike her as an overly charming guy who just said this kind of things automatically. The girl merely shrugged in response to his assessment of her mother's taste. She really loved the coat but would not make a general statement that her mother's taste was good for it was hardly impeccable.

So his daughter, so she existed, was a in Deirdre's house. The way he had asked about it made her think that he, too, might have been in Slytherin at some point. Or maybe this was all nonsense. Deirdre had to admit that she didn't really care. She began to find the conversation somehow interesting, even not knowing if he was being honest with her or not. In fact, the girl would prefer to uncover the secrets of this stranger just by asking the right questions but even so, she did enjoy talking to an adult. Being a seventh year most students at Hogwarts were younger and the girl did not think that younger students were good for more than being minions.

"Which year is your daughter in?" Deirdre asked sincerely curious. Before they'd part ways she'd know if this man really had a daughter and if he did who she was.

He said that he had been curious about how much the village had changed since his last visit. When had his last visit been then? However, he kept talking, not giving her the opportunity to ask anything. ""It's a Hogsmeade weekend." Deirdre confirmed quickly. "So when have you last been to Hogsmeade?" She was really interesting in hearing the answer to it. If he had last been here in his student days then it had most likely been a long long time ago.

His opinion of the girl slipped a little. Hadn't he already said that Rhiannon was in her third year? Or was she simply searching for comfirmation of what he'd said...or testing to see if he was going to become bored and walk away now? Truth be told Dermod suddenly found his interest in this conversation waning, but he wasn't quite ready to walk away just yet. "She's in her third year" he said, having already decided that revealing this would cost neither him nor his daughter anything. The only thing it would likely reveal would be his reason behind visiting Hogsmeade, that he wanted to see what he village was like these days before his daughter arrived.

Ah. Now that was an interesting question, and he would clearly not be giving an honest response. "I should take my leave before she arrives. Surely nobody would be happy to see a parent unexpectedly on a day like this" he said, attempting a light tone as he decided how else to respond. The safest reply would be that he hadn't been here since he was a student, but it didn't sit comfortably with the man. Strange, because he was usually happy to stretch the truth all the way to breaking point.

"Not for some while. I met with friends here some years ago while we were making plans for a business venture, but I had things on my mind besides the shops or pubs at that time" he said. That was close enough to the truth, if one considered that those friends were fellow Death Eaters and the business venture had been the attack on Hogwarts. Dermod did a quick mental calculation. If this girl was in her seventh year now, she would have been a young student at the time of the battle. He wondered what she had witnessed that night, reminding himself of the rumour that many of the Slytherins had been rescued early and thus had remained safe. It seemed right that a child of his former house and less than Rhiannon's age should have been kept safe from...

For the first time he wondered of the blood status of this one, though as there was no way of finding out he dismissed the thought immediately. Besides, given that she was a member of his former house it was extremely unlikely that she was a mudblood. Rhiannon would surely have told him if she was forced to live in such proximity to one of that kind.

"The village hasn't changed a great deal since I was a student, it seems" he added, glancing around "Although I presume the bookshop is no longer run by that ancient witch who always wore bright blue robes? She must have been well over one hundred years old already then..."

A third year... If he was lying then he had probably chosen an age for his fake daughter far enough away from Deirdre's so that the likelihood of her knowing the girl was small. Then again the seventh year reminded herself that the old man might be speaking the truth. It was not so odd for a man to have daughter at Hogwarts and to come to Hogsmeade around the time when she would allowed to visit the village for the first time... Yet, for Deirdre who never met her own father it was an impossible thought.

"I don't know. I wouldn't know how it feels," Deirdre said bitterly in response to him mentioning that his daughter would not be please to see him here. She was surprised to hear herself speak these thoughts aloud and by the sound of her own voice. It was not like her to shed any unnecessary information and she regretted having spoken these few words. She had even turned her gaze away, signaling thus that this topic was not an easy one for her. However, she reassured herself that these words could be interpreted in different ways and that she had not revealed anything too personal.

"A business venture in Hogsmeade?!" Deirdre quickly picked up on this, trying to lead the focus of the conversation onto the man. "That sounds rather interesting. Especially when you say you were not thinking about shops and pubs at that time." She did not ask a direct question this time, thinking it would be impertinent given that the older wizard had been so vague and evasive. However, she figured that if he was willing to share any further information she had signaled enough interest.

"I am not sure," Deirdre said, subconsciously looking at the bookshop a few steps away. "As far as I am concerned the witch running the shop is very old." She offered an apologetic smile, thinking that the woman they were talking about had about the age of the man she was talking to. "It's a great shop though. They have a vast collection of books there and they can get you anything you like, even... well, things that might not be accepted at Hogwarts." She offered something close to a smile. The girl was curious to see if he picked up on this or not. Given the fact that he seemed Slytherin biased he was probably also not appalled by dark magic and that again was a topic that was of interest to Deirdre.

The former Death Eater felt a sudden and unexpected surge of something similar to triumph! His adversary had revealed more than she had intended! Quickly, he quashed the feeling, reminding himself that he was speaking with a teenaged child who he had encountered purely because she had returned his property. There was no adversary here, no game to be won. And yet...his complex mind was analysing what had just been said, the tone of voice, the words...

She had no father. He deduced that immediately; hadn't she received the coat from her mother, and recently too? Even if she had subsequently lost that parent, they had clearly enjoyed a close enough relationship that gifts had been exchanged. He doubted that was the case though; her tone of voice, her stance, they would be different...she would not display bitterness at the lack of one parent if she had recently lost the one who had cared for her. Therefore her mother was still alive and well; her father, on ther other hand... had abandoned the family? It seemed the most likely option. He said nothing though, there was nothing one could say in response to such a situation and besides. Dermod had never been comfortable with such discussions, even with those he knew well.

Far more amusing was to frame his true previous visit to Hogsmeade in such a fashion that it was entirely ambiguous. "Indeed; Hogsmeade was merely a convenient meeting place on that occasion" he said, as if providing a helpful explanation "and I'm sorry to say, our venture was wholly unsuccessful on that occasion, though I haven't given up hope that under the proper circumstances it could yet succeed in the future." The writer almost smiled, pleased with himself. Only he knew he was speaking of the failed assault on the castle and while he doubted the need for such a thing would ever arise again, there was always the possibility that...what? The Dark Lord was gone, who would lead them now? As much as he enjoyed being admired and considered powerful, Dermod had little desire to organise a disparate group of purebloods to an uncertain purpose. He brushed the thought aside; that way lay disappointment at best and madness at worst. He was glad to turn his attention the more cheerful matters and his gaze drifted back to the bookshop.

His interest was raised once again when the girl implied that she may not always wish to step entirely within the proscribed guidelines. "While Hogwarts library is - or certainly used to be - entirely adequate for most purposes, there are always circumstances in which a signed note from a professor is unlikely to be forthcoming...or so it was in my experience" he said agreeably, as if confiding a dark secret "it is simple enough to find a reason to study an otherwise forbidden spell. Forbidden beliefs, on the other hand, were censored heavily during my schooldays. I would be surprised if that were not still the case." This time. the writer did allow himself a small smile. While at school, of course, a good deal of the unacceptable literature he mentioned had either been smuggled in or actually written by his own hand.

The man did not react to her saying more than she had intended. It was natural that a stranger would not pick up on her bitter remark. Even people who were not particularly polite would probably hesitate to make a comment and the older wizard certainly did not seem to be impolite. Nonetheless the girl war relieved. She did not want to share any personal details with anyone, after all. She wondered if he thought it at all or if the remark had passed unnoticed. She could not influence his thoughts, of course, but surely hoped that their further conversation would erase her words in his memory.

When the older wizard spoke about his business in Hogsmeade, Deirdre wondered what it really was that he had been working on. His words were cryptic, almost implying something dark and illegal. It was rather interesting and tempting to try and find out more. However, he hadn't been impolite and the seventh year definitely didn't intend to be obtrusive either. She could not deny that that she was dying to find out more. Maybe some clever remarks might help to make her sound interested rather than bold. Just what would be such clever remark?

"I can hardly believe that Hogsmeade is an ideal meeting place for any occasion that has nothing to do with shops and bars or the school for that matter. However, I understand if you do not want to share any details about a failed business venture, especially not to a total stranger. I'll wish you luck for the future though. Maybe the right time will come for you." She hoped this was polite enough and enough to distract him from her rash comment about her father who ever he was. 

The topic of the Hogwwarts library seemed to be an easier one for both of them and Deirdre was glad to hear him speaking rather freely. "It still is the case," Deirdre agreed. "In fact forbidden spells are hard to come by, even in the restricted section. I feel like they banished most books about dark magic - or hid them even better than just putting them into the restricted section." She paused briefly, looking thoughtful. "I personally believe that books about forbidden magic do not make dark witches or wizards. It's rather the lack of them that makes people curious and might lead them that way. Besides, no matter what your beliefs are, you can only make up your mind properly when you know all the facts. Hence I think even the lightest of light wizards should not keep information on dark magic and beliefs hidden unless they think that their stance is weak and their arguments little convincing. I do believe that there are more facets to the world than we are taught about and I'd like to find out more," she said, implying thus that she was interested to learn more about forbidden magic and beliefs. After all, Deirdre had got a hunch that the man she was talking knew what he was talking about and he had certainly made the impression that he'd share more of his knowledge on dark magic than her professors at Hogwarts. "Do you have any recommendations as to what I should read to broaden my mind?"

Dermod chuckled; he wasn't laughing at the girl's words but rather her assessment of the situation. While she couldn't possibly understand to what he had been referring, he was nonetheless amused by how accurate she was. And indeed, he certainly wouldn't wish to disclose such details to a complete stranger, although he supposed it would be safer than disclosing them to a member of the Ministry of Magic. At least with a stranger one could cast Obliviate without fear of discovery and leave them in an out of the way corner to find. There would be no chance of that kind if someone official ever asked such a question.

"You are clearly an inteligent and astute young woman" he remarked, which appeared to put the girl more at her ease. Indeed, she seemed positively to open up after he mentioned the Hogwarts library. It seemed her assessment of it's shortcomings were similiar to his own of several decades earlier. Little had changed, it seemed, though he suspected that those in charge were now even more careful about what they allowed the students to read. he smiled and nodded thoughtfully at her words, surprised that one so young could be so articulate. In that respect, she reminded him a little of himself at that age, at least from what he could remember. By the time the Irishman had been in his final school year he had already had several essays and short stories published and was establishing a name for himself, but he knew there were few who matched his own achievements. It was surprising how little he judged people on their successes or failures these days. Dermod supposed that the past few years had been a bitter lesson in that respect.

"Hiding darkness with light is always doomed to failure" he observed, in response to what was rather a long and impressive speech "Even a child should be able to reason that. Sooner or later, the light will fail, or the darkness will beckon those curious enough to seek the knowledge..." he shook his head "But I speak in riddles. You asked what I should recommend...nothing, I'm afraid, that you are likely to find either in the Hogwarts library or any shop this side of Knockturn alley...and I might say, that is not a place I would recommend you go alone even after you graduate, unless you are prepared to use your wand for more than defensive magic. But there was an author...an acquaintance of mine, as it happens, by the name of Kevan Taite. I believe his works might be of interest..."

Deirdre found it a little weird to hear the older wizard chuckle at her words. For a moment she wasn't sure if he was laughing at her or not. It felt a little awkward but in the way the conversation went on she decided that he simply amused by how accurate she had apparently been. It flattered her to be more or less at eye level with the man.

His compliment did not go unnoticed but Deirdre tried not to let it show how delighted she was that this man remarked that she was clearly intelligent. While the girl naturally also appreciated compliments on her looks it had always been more important to her that people recognised her wits. She felt how, against her will, she straightened up some more and how she blushed ever so slightly.

She nodded as he said that hiding darkness with light was doomed to fail. She assumed that some people would still prefer the light side if they had all the knowledge because some people were just weak and easily scared but everybody should have enough information to make their own choice, right?

“I think you can only choose a side when you know the facts,” Deirdre added to what the man said. “I suppose more would join the 'dark' side if they had all information on it but they won't get it, not at school anyway.” She shrugged and nodded eagerly when the man spoke of recommendations.

“Kevan Taite,” Deirdre repeated thoughtfully. The name rang a bell but she wasn't immediately sure why it sounded so familiar. For a moment the girl didn't say a word, just trying to place the name. Then she nodded. “My mother mentioned him. He died during the Battle of Hogwarts, didn't he? She was sad to hear it because, apparently, she knew him quite well.” Deirdre looked at the man again with interest now. Maybe this man was not only acquainted with Kevan Taite but, through him, even with her own mother… This was far fetched though. She never seen him at the brothel. Then again, she spent most of her time at Hogwarts already for the seventh year now.

It was fascinating to hear the girl's view on what she so charmingly referred to as 'the dark side'. For decades Dermod had attempted to persuade others to the cause and now here was someone who appeared to be halfway there herself, without any obvious encouragement. Of course, he didn't know who her mother was; the woman could easily have been educating her since before she could talk. At this thought, the writer had a twinge of unease at speaking so openly of his former self, even if 'Kevan' was known to be deceased.

Besides, there were more children in the village now; some walking in groups and chattering, loudly entering the tearoom, others who were clearly visiting for the first time running straight to the sweet shop and exclaiming their excitement. The Irishman felt faintly uncomfortable. He wanted to see Rhiannon and be certain she was alright, but he didn't want her to see that he was checking up on her. With any luck, she would make a beeline for the bookshop or Scrivenshaft's, paying no attention to any adults who happened to be in the vicinity.

There was nothing initially in the girl's voice to suggest that the name meant anything to her. Dermod began to relax, and then she continued, and his curiosity was picqued. He ran over what little he knew of the girl in his mind. Seventh year...Slytherin...wearing her mother's cast-off coat...absent or deceased father...honest. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing really of interest or concern, and yet...who was her mother, that she had known Kevan? How many women had there been who he had considered acceptable enough that he had left their minds intact once he had lost interest? Unless she was a bookseller, or perhaps had worked for his publisher at some point. It was possible...the with who had been responsible for text layout had always flirted and shown an interest, though he quite forgot her name now.

"Indeed. A sad loss to the literary world" Dermod said, nodding thoughtfully. He had had decades in which to perfect speaking of himself in the third person to those who didn't know his public persona as Kevan; to shopkeepers who liked to idly gossip as they sold their wares. It amused him even now, that he knew something that few others did. "I admit, I suggested his works because I too enjoyed a long acquaintance. it seems your mother and I have something in common in that respect." This was said matter of factly; a throwaway comment not intended to make the girl feel awkward.

"I have spare copies of...several of his works, if you're interested" he added "I could arrange to have them sent to you - or I could send them to my daughter if you prefer - charmed so only the recipient can open the package, of course" he appeared to hesitate, because even Dermod didn't feel entirely confortable asking such a young girl her name "I would just need to know who to tell her to hand them to..."