In all technicalities, Mairead still wasn't really supposed to be in Professor Bombay's greenhouses without his direct supervision.  Apparently, the man was prone to carrying significant grudges when it came to things like fire and greenhouses.  Especially when the two were combined.  Even more so when they were combined during the first meeting.  And, the Professor in charge was a bitter prude. 

But, like with any of her classes, Mairead's herbology homework tended to take more time than she'd like.  Her reading had improved by leaps and bounds and she could get through a textbook page in under an hour, now - though it still required reading allowed.  Which, luckily, most of her fellow Gryffindors had grown rather tolerant of, especially since she'd learned to at least read quietly.  Writing was still hard, especially spelling.  With more and more of the road signs back home being written in traditional Irish, it was taking some time for Mairead to remember that, in English, the sound "w" was spelled with a "w" and not "bh" as in Irish.  Nor was it written "mh" and neither "mh" nor "bh" ever sounded like "v" in English.  And, there were no accents.  All in all, it was really bloody confusing.

With so little experience with using a writing implement to recreate what was in her head onto a piece of parchment, drawing and sketching were still exceptionally difficult.  It didn't matter how readily Mairead could picture a plant in her head she could never get it to look anything like what she wanted on the page.  Quite often, her mugwart looked like cabbages and her cabbages looked like...quaffles.  A fact which Professor Bombay never hesitated to point out and Mairead had started to suspect assigning more sketches than usual was part of his revenge for the minor fire incident.

She was being good - she was trying to get her current sketch done before meeting Grace on the pitch for some flying practice.  But, despite all her best intentions, the page in front of her was decidedly blank.  The last ten minutes (an eternity!) had been spent decidedly ignoring the strange fern-like plant in the pot in front of her in favor of watching Ailill doze in the middle of her piece of parchment.  Yes.  Somehow, a sleeping puffskein was proving more captivating to the precocious first year than the fern. 

She could feel Macha squirm slightly in her pocket as Mairead reached in for the comic book Tito had pilfered from a gaming shop in Belfast and had sent to her.  Balancing it between the fern's pot and the immobile form of the sleeping puffskein, Mairead crossed her arms on the table and rested her chin on them as she tried to trace the lines of the drawing with the dry, clean, tip of the pen Professor Nico had loaned her under the (correct) hope that learning to write with a pen was easier than a quill.

[Outfit]

The rain had started, the students were long gone, and Dazmond was lingering in Bombay's greenhouse -- taking deep breaths in the back by the freshly planted bed.  The pitter-patter of the rain on the glass roof provided a constancy that settled her, and Dazmond had left the door propped open to allow the fresh breeze in.  The smell of rain and soil was proper for her task of sitting with the plants to calm them after their hairy transplant with the lot of rambunctious teenagers.  It had been an... eventful day.  She hadn't heard the scuffling of a first year setting up shop in what she most likely thought was an empty greenhouse. 

She'd been sitting there for quite some time, seeing as how it'd taken a full hour to lull the bush into a sufficient trance -- to stop it from lashing out with her talons, biting at the air with her flesh-like trumpet mouth and spitting jets of poison on the floor.  With the last ten minutes stretching out in peace, Dazmond slowly came back to herself, stretched and stood.  For a moment, she just watched the plants -- feeling grounded, and yet how she was still pulled!  Pulled beyond control toward the sweet-smelling trap of claw-like petals.  She wrinkled her nose in a grin -- so cunning and crafty.  It was a real treat.  Dazmond fed a flower from each specimen an eyedroppers' full of bee tincture before brushing off her clothes -- which sent a smattering of dirt shards onto the greenhouse floor.  Her hands, arms and face were smeared here and there with dirt and dragon dung compost; it was a lovely thing, being back in the greenhouses.

Meandering back to the front where Daz had yet to do her written report before joining the staff for supper in the Great Hall, her eyes fell on a little bairn bent over a comic strip.  Curiosity peaking, she approached Mairead from behind and cocked her head at the young girl's tracing job.  Emerging as she was from a prolonged communication with the herbal world, Dazmond was in a much better place to deal with young ones than she might normally be:  Subdued.  Serene.  Attentive.

Her eyes went from the strange drawings to the pen to the sleeping puffskein.  Dazmond wound around to the opposite side of the table, hopping up on its surface and turning toward the mousy girl.  Her hair, Dazmond noted, was long and unruly, her appearance entirely modest.

She didn't speak right off, but rather looked on with calm interest.  For whatever reason she was feeling congenial.  It was probably due to being back in her old favorite haunt, reveling in the fact that Graham had made her Special Guest, pretending for the day to be the matron of this place -- wise and collected like Pomona Sprout -- trusted with plants and shaping children both.  She was proud and buoyant, and the little girl was in her good graces.  For the moment, at least.

"What's his name then?" she said, nodding toward her puffskein.  Dazmond didn't keep pets, apart from a small screech owl -- she much rather preferred to apply her knowledge of the 'care of magical creatures' to the hunt -- finding and opening them up to retrieve their potion parts.  But it was as good a reason as any to engage the girl in conversation.  She was curious as to why a young student might be caught alone in a greenhouse, when it seemed clear her intention was not with the plants. 

"I'm not doin' nothin'!" Mairead's brogue resonated loudly in the covered greenhouse the moment she'd detected movement behind her.  She'd jumped, all to readily, to the conclusion that Professor Bombay had been lurking upside down in a rafter somewhere, just waiting until she got good and settled to swoop down upon her.  The fact that greenhouses lacked rafters was irrelevant.  He was a wizard.  He could probably conjure rafters for his personal use. "Bruitheálach" Mairead muttered under her breath still without looking up or shifting a muscle.

While, until two seconds ago, Mairead would have loved nothing more than an excuse to be done with the hot, humid realm of Professor Bombay, the prospects of the surely man booting her from the place kindled that contrary voice inside.  She now had absolutely no desire to budge from her seat.  Professor Bombay would have to drop kick her and the bench out to get her to move. 

Which, normally, was how it would have been.  Without the man's influence, Herbology might have been one of those classes she would have enjoyed.  These practical, hands-on, shovey-our-hands-in-and-squish-them-in-the-muck classes were just the time type Mairead would usually lean towards.  Biting plants would hardly intimidate her and she loved any opportunity to get dirty.  She'd shoveled enough horse manure in her laborious eleven years - dragon dung was downright exotic!  But neither student nor teacher seemed willing to forgive the other and bitterness seemed to be seeping through the roots and spoiling the class. 

Mairead glanced up as a highly unfamiliar and un-Bombay-like figure circled around the end of the table and sat down on the table top.  Several seconds ticked by as Mairead stared at the woman until it was clear the dark-haired lady wasn't here to shoo her out.  "'Allo," Mairead offered, tentatively, uncertain.  The woman was unfamiliar - which was neither a good nor bad thing.  She was used to meeting strangers - though not necessarily at Hogwarts.  But, if one thing could be said about the stranger, unlike Rene or Ewfie or Rene's boyfriend, the woman wasn't clean.  From the dirt smudged unapologetically across her face to the woman's casual dress and dark hair, she was anything but clean. 

"I'm doin' me homework," Mairead stated, bluntly, during the woman's moment of silence despite her previous assertion that she'd been doing nothing.  It could have been intended as a proud declaration, an explanation, a defense or an apology. 

But, when the woman finally spoke, it wasn't to usher Mairead from the greenhouse or to question her activities (or honesty).  Mairead's eyes darted to the motionless, slumbering puffskein and back up at the woman.  "Ailill," she offered, unsure at first.  Then, as if the question had been some magic incantation to lift some awkwardness curse, Mairead sat up straight, completely relaxed. 

"Named 'im after Ailill mac Máta.  He was a king of Ireland but the King was named for his mother.  I didn't know how which ones were boys or girls so  I figured that'd be good till I found out.  Ailill's not very exciting but he keeps me hands warm during Astronomy."  A puffskein in the pocket made a wonderful hand warmer.  Mairead was quickly discovering two-headed snakes were far less effective.

Owing to the fact that the kid was quick with covers and blank looks with the tell of homework, yet almost immediately took to Dazmond's measured (and obviously nonthreatening) words, she could hardly have a complaint towards the girl.

Sure enough, her accent sprung a chord, but Dazmond couldn't place what chord had been sprung.  She continued her lazy, contented gaze toward Mairead, amused with her offerings as concerned the little puffskein.  This much showed on her face.  Named after a king of Ireland, who was in turn named after his mother... the whole thing sung of indifference toward gender, and Dazmond also couldn't complain much with that.  She didn't know much about puffskeins, otherwise she might've overturned the fluffy ball of an animal to look for protrusions.  Instead, she shrugged.

"Best to make use of a critter if you can," she said.  "Not many of the true sort that won't take your fingers off with enough prodding."  She loosened her gaze on the bairn and lifted it to the ceiling, remembering how she'd made good use of a few creatures during her time at the castle.  If anything, the child's reference to astrology strengthened her congeniality.  Of course, for such a small child, it'd be a required course -- not a matter of choice or preference could be intuited from her statement.  But still, the subtle reference did a thing to Daz's preference toward the unknown identity of the girl.  She assumed a preferential stance, against all odds, that she was a ready make for a good sort.  It was a stance that could do little harm; Daz hardly ever took to snarkiness unless given a preamble from which she begged to differ.  You could influence a feck of a lot more, if you held your tongue, smiled, and looked pretty.

"I once had a preference for horklumps," she said.  "Most likely because they're so much like a mushroom."  She gestured vaguely toward the room around them.  "Unfortunately, they really are carnivorous little buggers.  I've a right scar from carrying them round in my pockets."  She leaned forward with the index finger of her right hand.  "See this?"  For with her other digits, she was gently prodding at an obvious dent at her fingertip.  "Oughtta take care with their sort.  Unless you like bite marks and their frumpy gnome counterparts coming your way."

Dazmond smiled, pulling back, actually glad for the distraction which allowed her to continue with her current blasé attitude, which had been instilled in her by the (finally) subdued nature of the plants.  It was better than doing a curious write-up of the previous afternoon's proceedings, for which she wasn't quite sure where to begin.  It had been, as was stated, a particularly curious special guest workshop.

"Whatta you think of their sort," she asked.  "Horklumps and gnomes -- has Graham covered them yet?" 

Thin creases folded across the bridge of Mairead's nose as the young mousey-headed girl's eyes narrowed.  Mairead was just as aware as the next person that the furrier of her current companions wasn't very useful - beyond warming hands, the most Ailill did was provide a mundane distraction from Mairead's homework.  Which, if Mairead put her mind to it, a stray piece of lint could have achieved.  Her own observations were reasonable; such observations from a stranger were suspicious at best. 

"I know he's useless," Mairead quipped back, a hint of defensiveness to her voice, lest this woman thought she needed to inform Mairead what to expect from her own pets.  "But, he don't eat much.  And, it's not like I had much of a choice.  It wasn't me fault the crates only had these things in em when they crashed."  Though, the actual delivery crate crash itself, arguably, had been Mairead's doing -   she'd merely scooped up the stray puffskein from the mob that had started leisurely hopping its way down Diagon Alley.  "Had there been something more exciting in those crates, I'd of ended up with one of those."  Then, just to make sure her pet-worthiness wasn't being defined on the weight of one stray puffskein, Mairead added: "me dog is here somewhere, too.  But, they won't let her in the buildings.  And, they wouldn't let me bring me horse." 

The outstretched hand immediately caught Mairead's attention and she leaned forward to take another shamelessly close look.  "Eww," she breathed, though her tone rang more with fascination and excitement than actual disgust. 

"I don't even know if Ailill's got teeth.  Macha's got some pretty big teeth but she only playbites.  She don't break skin.  But, I think she's a hunter, too."  Mairead added, eager to point out she had a resident carnivore in her pocket, as well.  "I don't think she's big enough to eat Ailill, yet, though."  Though, Mairead had developed the habit of depositing her slithering companion in her trunk at night, otherwise she was constantly waking up to shuffle a grumpy and prowling Macha back in her pocket.

Mairead stared blankly at the woman across from her for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders slightly.  Graham?  Who the bloody hell was Graham?  The woman seemed to be under the assumption that Mairead would know this bloke - presumably, he was a fellow first year.  "Ye gotta kid that goes here?" she asked. 

"We talked about gnomes in class, though.  They kind of sound like dumb leprechauns if ye ask me.  Dump, poor leprechauns.  Can ye keep em as pets?  And, who are ye?"  Mairead tagged on, casually.  Moments after the question was out, excitement lit up Mairead's eyes.  "Are ye our new Herbology teacher?  Did they can Professor Bombay?" 

Dazmond had to laugh at the way the little girl's eyes lit up in hope at the thought of Bombay being sacked.  Apparently he was still in the habit of terrorizing his younger students, something that Daz had always found amusing -- mainly because she had never been on the receiving end of it.  Daz herself had declined his offer (or was it pleading?) to take over for the younger years as well for the day, and for much the same reason as his.  Although this girl was entertaining her, she shuddered to think what would happen with a roomfull of preteens and poisonous plants left in her hands.  The fifth years had been hairy enough for her tastes.

"No, no," she said.  "And no children.  I'm out of the habit of calling him such, but Professor Bombay is most definitely staying on.  I taught the fifth and seventh years yesterday, but only as a special guest.  My name's Dazmond.  I'm an herbologist and potions mistress," she explained, waving off the formalities.  "And -- you're right; they're dumb.  Gnomes are nasty buggers.  Get into everything.  I doubt they'd make very good pets.  Me -- I'm a plant person.  What's Macha?"

Daz had been detailing the expressions cropping up on Mairead's face, recognizing a boyish arrogance or perhaps pride that lit up at her quip about the puff ball.  A capable girl no doubt.  The subtlest hint of defiance itself was grounds enough for a sort of equity between stances.  She was making for decent company and Daz was, though mostly indifferent, enjoying the simple conversation they were batting around like a mouse.  She didn't doubt the girl's ability to handle a rough critter; she'd dealt with her fair share of dangerous dares during even her earliest school years.  And judging from the girl's slightly scrappy appearance, she assumed they were at least slightly similar in their love of romping around.  Shame about the lighter robes though; the girl was obviously not in either of her preferred houses. 

"Cause, what's big enough for a pocket that eats a puffskein?"  She mused.  "You got a baby bloodsucking bugbear in there?" 

Daz wouldn't put much past the girl whose story of the crashing crates struck a chord of smug satisfaction.  Getting into things was a prime childhood pastime of hers that had never quite passed as a phase.  At the earlier mention of her dog and a horse, Daz found herself willing to sniff out this kid's origins.  There was something rather strange about her accent and her form that somehow made Dazmond feel she should've been able to tell her backstory.  But she still couldn't put a finger on quite what it was.  Other than being of a poor Irish background, it seemed. 

Before she could answer, Daz hopped up and crossed the front of the room to squirrel through her bag.  It was there where, today, instead of potions and poisons and plant scraps, Daz had an arsenal of cakes and goodies given to her by her mother the night before.  Looking up at the girl, she asked, "You want a muffin?"

The woman's laughter was suspicious at best.  Maybe, if the impulsive Irish girl gave it much thought, she might have realized the laughter had been out of pure, good-natured amusement.  Unfortunately, to a young adolescent who was far too accustomed to being laughed at, it was much harder to see the more optimistic option.  Her mind was quick to assume that the laughter bubbled up from a belief that Mairead's hopes in a Bombay-free greenhouse had been so foolish and stupid as to be amusing. 

Mairead cast the woman the briefest suspicious scowl just to make sure they both knew that, while Mairead was willing to grant the woman with the benefit of the doubt and not make an issue of it, she knew full well the later was a distinct possibility.  Just so they were both clear.   

So, Professor Bombay had a first name.  Which was a far less important fact than this woman wasn't taking Bombay's place.  Nor did she have any kids.  Which exhausted all of the standard explanations for her presence in the Greenhouse. 

"Yer just teaching today?" Mairead asked, curiously.  "Why?  Why would ye wanna teach just one day?"  It made no sense.  If she wanted to teach - why didn't she just teach.  In the last five minutes, the woman had already proven herself cooler than Professor Bombay.  Was this to tease the students?  Torture them with a glimpse of what could have been?  "I'm Mairead," she offered in return already finding the subject of gnomes dull. 

Especially not when the subject had turned to Macha.  Her newest (and coolest) pet.  "I'm not sure," Mairead admitted as she reached out to scoop little Ailill off the counter and tuck him back in the safety of her other pocket.  "I know Macha's not big enough to really eat Ailill but I don't want to risk it, ye know?  I think she's a snake of some sort - but I don't know." 

At first, the serpent lay concealed in her hand, just a few shiny, scaly coils protruding between the girl's fingers.  "She don't like boys," Mairead offered, as she extended her arm and opened her fingers.  That was, after all, the most logical explanation for why the creature seemed to go racing after Keegan every time she saw him.  But, the moment Mairead's fingers fell back to reveal the reptile, four eyes locked on Dazmond and the creature lifted its head, two sets of fangs fell forward. 

Mairead didn't need to be told twice.  Her fingers quickly closed again, trapping the serpent inside.  Maybe it just wasn't boys.  "She's a bit temperamental at times."  Wrangling the snake had temporarily distracted her from the offer of a muffin.  A rather respectable feat given how rarely Mairead passed up on free food.

"Mairead," Dazmond repeated for memory's sake.  "Well, I prefer to have my hand in a little of this, a little of that.  You know," said Dazmond.  "Stay on the move."  The little girl's question made her wonder if she shouldn't just go and ask Graham if she could come back to teach the younger years after all.  This one wasn't so bad -- although the occasional sneer was quite impenetrable for Dazmond.  Kids spoke a different language, it was true.

Ruffling though her sack for her mother's muffins, Daz's attention perked at the word 'snake'.  She turned more on her haunches and peered up, lips parting as she spotted a fleck of orange, a flash of black.  When Mairead opened her hands to expose a baby Runespoor, Dazmond's eyes widened considerably and she scrambled awkwardly to her feet like a startled animal.  The tiny snake hissed its terrible teeth toward her and hands clamped closed to conceal the prize.  She knew at least two Witches offhand who would kill to get their hands on that little girl's pocket critter, and visions of galleons were already dancing in her head.

"I -- what -- how -- where did you get that?"  When Dazmond found her words, they came out as a laconic demand.  Any thought of muffins and jolly conversation forgotten, she quickly closed the distance between herself and Mairead, pressing herself in on the girl's personal bubble and trying to calculate how she should handle this situation.  She'd have to ditch out on dinner, which was really a shame.  Analiza would have been fine company, along with seeing Landis in his new proud position.  But, there were far more important matters to attend to at present.  This was suddenly business.

"I -- I would hate to see it taken away," she said.  "If any of the adults here find out you have that, they'll take it and kill it quick.  Not me," she added quickly, putting her hands up.  "But that's going to get a lot bigger, Mairead.  Seven feet bigger.  And not only can they kill a horse in a split second, simply having one can get you tossed in the clinker for life."  Her eyes flashed.  Dazmond's senses were on high alert.  If the kid moved to make a run for it, she'd be ready to react.  But that would have been difficult.  The way Dazmond was standing was meant to block any quick movement for the door. 

"I'm just glad it's me you found first.  I have a friend who can keep him safe.  You could visit him any time, but no one's to know."  Dazmond let the proposition prickle the air as she waited with bated breath and steady eyes.  She could hardly believe this was happening.  She'd never seen a Runespoor until just a few days ago, when Melanthe Grumman had introduced her before their little birthday soiree.  Now, a little guy in a first year's robe pocket!  Two in one week!  It was incredible, and gave her one of those good 'I'm a badass criminal' shivers.

Dazmond's reaction to Macha was magical and overshadowed any interest Mariead might have had in the previous conversation.  The weird, birth-defective, two-headed snake had instantly become so much cooler than the sleepy puffskein could ever hope to be.  With a distinct air of pride and smugness, she opened her hand again to watch her now prized pet.  With a clearly well-practiced familiarity, Mairead shifted her hands repeatedly forward, providing a neverending path for the serpent to slide upon as it attempted to slither forward. 

The grin that settled on Mairead's face when Dazmond asked about the snake's origins made it clear the girl was quite proud of the response she'd received.  "Found it," she announced, with a dismissive shrug that was in stark contrast to her smug grin.  The more astounded the adult seemed to be about the feat, the more cool and casual she needed to appear.  Like finding two-headed snakes was an everyday occurrence.  She was just that cool.  Normally, Mairead knew better than to confess to any potential-might-be-considered-a-crime activities but pocketing a stray animal couldn't be that bad, could it?  And, it was really a great story - almost as good as any of old man Murphy's.

"Me and me friend went wanderin' down this dark alley off Diagon.  Can't really remember the name - but, it was really narrow.  We were near that weird pet shop with all the spiders and junk and I heard this voice.  It must a been really quiet since Keegan couldn't hear it.  It kept repeating it couldn't get out and was starving.  Never knew snakes could do that, but I found her caught in this weird trap - it almost cut straight through her."  She hoisted the snake up, showing off the carefully-tended gash along the creature's body.  "She was wiggling and squirming and almost bit me but I told her I was going to help get her out and she got all quiet.  I pried the trap open and brought her back.  Been feeding her crickets and mice if I can find them and got some salve from the potions dungeon for the cut.  She's doing loads better." 

Mairead was quite proud of that story.  It was even better than the one about crashing the delivery carts and setting a mob of puffskeins loose on the alley only to pocket one of the mobsters. 

But, the woman didn't share Mairead's enthusiasm.  In fact, the woman's thoughts turned quickly to trying to take the reptile away.  A little too quickly for Mairead's tastes.  Reflexively, Mairead's short fingers closed protectively around the serpent and she drew her hand back closer to her.  "Ye'd hate to see it taken away yet yer offering to take it away?" Mairead asked, heatedly, the suspicion clear in her voice.  "I have no idea who ye are!  What's to say yer not gonna go and do something to her?"  Mairead wasn't a fool nor was she a sheltered little brat like Rene.  She knew how to barter and panhandle and, generally, the basics of how the ways of underhanded business worked.  She could recognize that overly eager grin on the woman's face a mile away. 

But, the woman's warnings were cause of deliberation.  Mairead looked down at the reptile in her hand and carefully coiled it up in a ball.  Using her hands, she tried to measure out what the ball would look like with seven feet of snakes.  She slipped her hand in her pocket and quickly came to the conclusing a seven foot, two-headed snake couldn't ever fit there.  "Cac!" Mairead breathed in annoyance.  The prospects of getting tossed in the clinker were less foreboding to the eleven-year-old. 

"I can't just give her to a stranger - ye might just sell her for soup."  That's what they did to exotic snakes in some places - Mairead had seen that the tele when she'd visited the McCormicks after they'd settled. 

There were a million thoughts to process, and Dazmond seemed to be thinking of them all -- and all at once.  As her eyes darted and flashed before her in short, lively movements, they focused on nothing in particular.  She was sincerely torn a moment between snatching the snake and running out or really trying to think this through -- a part of her would have bloody tackled Mairead if need be, but there was way too much at stake for careless actions of that sort.  The last thing that Dazmond needed was this little girl telling the authorities she had in her possession a little Runespoor snake.  She could be ruined forever, especially if it came down on Grumman as well. 

Dazmond wanted to avoid another trip to the Ministry obviously; she had a feeling there were only so many times she could weasel her way out of the system -- and another connection to the Runespoor market was not a thing she needed on her ever-thickening record.  That was for sure.  But she did wonder if she could negotiate with Mairead.  The little girl certainly couldn't keep the slippery serpent forever.  And it pained Dazmond to even imagine letting a bag of galleons like that slither away freely into the forest or be confiscated only to be placed in Ministry custody and shipped back to Africa!  Daz was ruminating over possibilities and threats, which energetically leveled the playing field a bit.  Or at least lessened the crazed look in her eye and the possibility of her jumping down Mairead's throat.

As the bairn grew defensive and expressed distrust and apprehension, Dazmond exhaled a shaky breath and lowered herself onto the bench next to Mairead.  Her greedy hovering was abated and she looked straight ahead, thinking hard.  The girl -- she wasn't in any immediate danger -- it seemed that she was a ... had to be a ... a parselmouth.  Though clearly she was ignorant of this incredible detail.  Having nursed the creature back to health after having saved its life, with the power of communication through slithering tongue, well, little Mairead was as good as 'Mummy' -- by all accounts.  Dazmond looked sidelong at her and wetted her lips.

"No, I get it," she said.  "You don't know me.  Fair's fair, right?  I won't take it from you.  Just... I don't see that you have a lot of options, you know?"  Dazmond turned more toward Mairead.  "The second someone here who knows what it is sees it -- she's soup.  And, you could let her go out into the forest, but -- it'd be a... it'd be a little bit of a waste to be honest."  Dazmond squinted a little at the girl, trying to decide how dangerous talking shop would be.  She herself had been into shady trades and less than legal dealings even at that tender age -- but such an attitude toward life in childhood was fairly rare.  She figured at the moment that words were safe enough for lack of evidence, and gave a quick visual sweep for shadows and bodies.  Seeing none, she looked back, bit her tongue for a moment, and continued on in a hushed voice.

"I wouldn't want this getting around," she said pointedly.  "But if you want another option, one that's a little dangerous and exciting but good for both Macha and you?-- I can let you in on a secret.  It's a big secret -- and not something that you could ever tell anyone."  She drilled in the words with pointed tongue and heightened brows and let it hang in the air a moment.  "You interested?"

The suspicious scowl on Mairead's face darkened and strengthened as she watched the woman's eyes quiver eagerly in the woman's head.  It wasn't an expression that instilled confidence or trust in the woman in any way.  Her fingers once more closed protectively around the serpent, she drew her hand back and slipped the reptile in her pocket, as if the girl's diminutive stature and fledgling first year abilities would provide the creature with much in the way of protection should the woman decide to act upon her greed.  Just to be on the safe side, Mairead quickly pushed herself to her feet, taking a few steps back from the bench. 

But, Mairead did not run.  She remained standing, just out of arm's reach of the woman, watching her closely as she settled into a terse, uncertain quiet.  She knew nothing of the true nature of the creature nor of its relative value.  It was the obvious fact that this woman seemed to know more than Mairead did that kept her rooted in place, staring curiously at the woman.  Mairead didn't budge or say a thing until, finally, the tension and crazed predatoriness seemed to fade from Dazmond's body. 

"No!  I don't!"  Mairead finally blurted, when the woman eventually spoke.  No.  Mairead didn't know the woman.  She'd never seen her in her life.  This woman had appeared out of nowhere and was now trying to take her pet - to do goodness only knew what to her.  "Well, she's not seven feet yet, is she?"  Mairead tried to reason for her sake as much as Dazmond's.  "I'll...I'll find her some place safe to go if I can't keep her ... A waste?"  Mairead asked.  The suspicion resurged in her voice as she spoke to the woman.  What did the woman mean by that?  A waste of what? 

"How so," she demanded to know.  "It's a ruddy snake.  Why do ye want it so bad?  Is she worth a lot?  Cuz of the birth defect?" 

Yet again, the tone of the conversation took a pronounced shift.  The woman was trying to strike a private deal.  Mairead had seen her father do quite a fair few of those and Tito had tried his hand with a few of them with Mairead.  "Alright," Mairead agreed, after only a moment's thought.  Dangerous and exciting sounded promising and if it was an alternative to Dazmond taking the serpent, Mairead was willing to listen.  Just to be sure, "yer not going to take her, now?  She's not completely healed yet.  She's cranky with other people." 

With her turn from instinctual predatoriness to smart thinking, Dazmond's eyes had taken on a nebulous quality.  It was an internal conundrum, wanting something right before you -- and not being able to take it.  What was this?  Did she suddenly have something to lose?  It felt like it.  As crazy as it was, it felt like she couldn't take the risk.  And it was all the Ministry's fault, all their doing!  Those execrable serpents were going to do her in.  But the girl.  The girl was sensible, so far.  How far did she want to go?

"I won't take him," she stated.  "I have information about Macha -- she's a very special snake, Mairead, and they will take her away if you're not very careful."  Dazmond hesitated a moment, but continued.  "She's what we'd call a Runespoor," said Dazmond heedfully.  "Smuggled here from Africa and extraordinarily illegal.  You'd see talk of them in the papers if you looked.  I don't think she'd hurt you, I just --wouldn't want to see her exposed to anyone else.  Runespoors are violent and dangerous with people they don't call mummy."  Daz wouldn't tell the girl her suspicions of parselmouth capabilities.  It would just complicate an already murky happenstance.  The girl knew they had a special bond.  That, for the time being, was quite enough.

"And that's no birth defect, by the way," said Dazmond.  "In fact it should have three heads -- but, here's the deal.  She is worth a lot, that's true.  She's worth more alive.  Sooner or later she won't be easy to keep hid.  If you don't want to get in trouble, you should give her to your Head of House, in which case... the Ministry would probably have her shipped back to Africa.  But if you want to keep her to a ripe old age and even make a small allowance, your best bet would be to have her live with a serpent handler."

There it was.  She was going to negotiate with an eleven year old.  Trust an eleven year old.  Actually, she'd just have to trust her own personal attorney to keep her name squeaky clean if things went amiss.  Dazmond was about ready to erect a shrine in Kingstreet's honor, to be worshipped at three times daily.  The woman was quite near god status in Dazmond's books, and at the moment her first line of defense against the Ministry.

"It takes a very skilled handler of serpents to milk and hide a Runespoor," she continued.  "I happen to know a couple.  It'd be dangerous, but it'd also be the only place to keep her well where you could visit.  But no one could ever know about it.  If you told, all bets would be off.  You have some time, if you're careful," she said.  "You don't have to decide right off if you don't want.  But if you're interested, I can tell you how to get in touch with me, and I'll bring you to meet the snake lady."

Mairead took the woman's agreement at face value.  If the woman said she wasn't going to take Macha, Mairead would believe her.  While Mairead wasn't foolish enough to think it'd really stop the woman, she took some faith in knowing that reaching in and grabbing the snake out of her pocket would be a foolish foolish thing to do. 

"A runespoor?" Mairead repeated, her eyes widening.  "Like they been writing about in that newspaper?"  Not that she really read the paper - she knew it more from hearing the rumors from her classmates that did bother to read the paper.  "Wait - but ... they're ..."  Yes, before she could even ask, this Dazmond confirmed for her.  The snake in her pocket was illegal.  Mairead grinned, reaching in her pocket to stroke a coil of illegal serpent.  This was fantastic!  She ... she had a valuable, illegal pet living in her pocket.  Mairead suddenly felt very big and powerful and she inhaled, expanding her chest accordingly.  This sounded like the big leagues.  "Naw, she said she won't hurt me.  She knows I'm trying to help her.  So - she's aggressive towards everyone else?  Not just Keegan?  Or other boys?"  Keegan, really, was the only other kid that knew about the serpent - he'd been there when she'd found the creature. 

"Wait?  Three?"  Mairead asked, bewildered.  Just to make sure she hadn't been miscounting the last few weeks, Mairead tugged the runespoor back out of her pocket and took a closer look at the front end.  No sooner had her hand opened then the serpent whipped around and started racing across the table towards the older woman.  Quickly, Mairead closed the serpent back in her hand, being more careful this time to peer at the pair of heads.  "Where's your other head?" she asked the snake, scowling at it, concern etched across her features.  The answer was, well, horrifying.  Mairead looked up across the table and slowly shook her head.  "That's horrible.  Unbelievable!" 

But, the sentimentalities of eaten heads aside, the conversation had turned back to business.  "A serpent handler?  How do ye become one of those?"  Mairead asked, letting the reptile coil itself around her fingers like a viper suspended in a tree.  So far, during her few months in the wizarding world, that had been one of few careers Mairead had found appealing, outside of profession quidditch player.  "And, how much would I get?  This allowance?  If they're valuable ... I don't want to be skimped."  What skimped would be, Mairead didn't have a clue.  Hoping to put her financial needs in perspective, though, she added, "I'm tryin' to save up for a new broom.  I'm gonna be on the team next year."  Actually, she hadn't considered buying a broom - she'd assumed Grace's old one would suffice.  But, that was before Mairead was looking at landing herself in an under-the-tables business venture. 

"I don't mind keeping a secret," Mairead admitted with a shrug.  That was easy enough.  "I don't like ruddy Garda, anyway.  Can't trust em farther then I can spit.  How can I get in touch with ye?"  She asked without hesitation.  "And, I'd get to meet who she'd be stayin' with?  And, Macha won't forget I'm mummy?"

Dazmond flinched when the serpent slithered loose and started barrelling after her, but Mairead had expertly caught it just a moment later.  "Yeah," she said nervously.  "Even at her size --"  The hissing vibration of the little girl's vocal chords caught her attention completely and she stopped mid sentence, stunned.  That was something she had never seen done before -- not until just the other night that was, when Melanthe had showed her the snakes she kept -- including a... Runespoor.  Shite, she was really in the thick of this, wasn't she.  The Ministry's top investigation and she was a part of it.  A flash of her new wand being ripped from her hand by one of three Aurors in the dark corner of the Alley resurfaced, but the girl's enthusiasm was infectious.  Dazmond did love it, the danger, the adventure, the monies; even if it was more -- difficult as of late.  She had never dealt with as many consequences as in the past six months.  But like a mythical lemming at the cliff's edge, she couldn't help but give in to instinct.  There was something in front of her that held promise of improved business relations, increased potions production and bags of galleons.  How could she not say yes?  The threat made it more profitable, and her new personal attorney (who also happened to be at the top of the Ministry's Most Wanted list) made her more infallible.

Dazmond nodded her head, looking for an opening.  The little girl, for how her excitement was matched with a certain level-headedness, was becoming curiouser and curiouser.  It was almost as if -- she had done this before.  "You'd get a fair cut," said Dazmond.  "But we'll have to work that out with the snake lady -- I'd say you're out to a good start for that profession."  Dazmond was both amazed and amused with this understatement.  The girl was impressive for her age -- she had an unrealized parselmouth ability and was safely tending to a baby Runespoor.  In her pocket.  It was incredible.  Melanthe would hopefully be interested in talking to Mairead.  She might've just discovered a bit of a prodigy.  "I think it's safe to say she'll remember you.  And when we get Macha settled in, I'll introduce you to the woman and you can talk with her, figure things out.   Here, let me --"

Dazmond got up and moved over to where her bag was leaning against a large pot on the floor.  She rifled through it, extracting a self-inking quill and scrap of parchment.  She returned to the table and wrote out her address at the Shodding Arms:

Dazmond Wiedman-Briggs
The Shodding Arms Hotel #76
333 Knockturn Alley
London, England

"I don't like the Gardai neither, doll, so don't tell a soul about me.  Maybe over Winter Break would be best, if you can get away to London for a little while.  You know, if you're in Diagon and can get away for a bit -- secret mission and all.  That'd be our best bet for a first visit."  She finished writing the address and slid it over toward Mairead on the table.

Mairead's eyes narrowed suspiciously and she leaned across the table.  She'd seen it before - less than a year ago.  Her uncle had just finished fixing an old man's car.  It was raining and the man said he was getting paid the next day.  He'd come by and pay Sean the next day, throw in a bit extra for the trouble.  The man never showed.  Two days later, they'd gone looking for him.  The Cábúnach claimed to have never seen Sean before and threatened to call the Garda.  It was obvious whose side they'd take.  A weeks work and nothing.  You hand over the goods before payment and you're powerless.  Mairead could smell the thick aroma of deceit, even if she might be making it up.  She hoped her hunching over the table gave her the determined, I'm-not-a-fool look she was going for as she pointed a finger at the woman.  "We'll figure things out and then get her settled." 

Reaching over the table, Mairead took the slip of parchment and held it under her nose.  Despite (and perhaps, to some extent, in spite of) her less than enthusiastic approach to her studies, Mairead's reading skills had managed to improve some.  Reading still required a little sounding out words aloud, which was part of why it was taking so long.  Mairead did everything in her power to avoid reading in class and she hardly spent hours practicing after class.  But, none of her fellow first years were around and Mairead was more inclined to reveal her less than stellar reading skills in favor of knowing she got the address right. 

"Knock- Knockturn Alley.  Ye live there?" Mairead asked, looking up from the slip to watch the woman for verification.  "That's where I found her."  Macha, obviously.  "Yer not nearly as funny looking as some of the witches down there.  Is that where this snake lady lives?  Do I get to go there again?"

"I'll be spending most of me holiday in London, I think.  The wizard that made me wand invited me to stay with him over the holidays.  All me family's muggle so he thought it'd help if I stayed with him.  We'll be camping in North London but I know me way around.  I can find me way to Diagon.  Or, Mr. Deaglan can show me."  Either way, Mairead was sure she could give the old man the slip.