TWELVE
When Eve returned to her dormitory after her detention, she was immediately imposed upon by Lucie and Fiona. The girls had waited in the common room for her with the intention of an explanation for Eve's impulsive, and generally out of the ordinary, behavior. Initially, Eve had felt defensive by her friends' questions, as if she was meant to doubt her anger towards the situation that she felt justified for having.
For the first time, Eve had felt a distinct separation between her and her friends. Before this moment, she had never given much thought to being muggle-born amidst her pureblood and halfblood peers. Sure, there were moments when Eve didn't understand certain things. There were, in fact, countless instances like this. But she had never seen it as something that made her intrinsically different from them.
But at that moment, with the cuts on her hand and the echoing of Marcus Flint's voice in her head, she felt must have been from a completely different world than them. They couldn't even possibly begin to understand the turmoil she was feeling, the wrapping of anger, shame, and bewilderment all in the same ache of her heart.
"I can't believe he said that to you, Eve. I'm so sorry," Lucie finally said, seemingly reading the anguished expression on her friend's face.
"Douglas is looking for Flint now. The prat took off right when class ended," Fiona muttered, giving Eve her own look of sympathy.
"God, he's going to get himself kicked off the team," Eve sighed heavily, shaking her head at the thought of Douglas running around the school for the Slytherin.
"Yeah, I know. Wells and Dawson went after him," Fiona replied, this comment now letting Eve release just a bit of the anxiety she was feeling. The last thing she needed was for her situation to cause everything else to be ruined for her and her friends.
"Eve, your hand…" Lucie started.
Lucie's curious eyes now peered at Eve's left hand that was hanging limply at her side. A single blood drop had traveled from the wound and down her hand, now dangerously dangling from her index finger. Almost instinctively, Eve shoved her hand in the pocket of her robes. She felt a wave of embarrassment instantly as if every single eye in the common room was looking at her, and her legs began to move as she flew to the comfort of her dormitory. Her friends followed quickly behind, though.
"Show us," Fiona commanded the second the three girls were behind the closed door of their bedroom.
Please, Eve," Lucie continued in a far gentler tone. Eve felt too weak to protest, and she knew the reveal was inevitable anyway, so she raised her hand for the girls' display.
For a moment, the girls just stared at the cuts in Eve's hand as if unable to comprehend why any such thing would be anything more than an accident. But when they distinguished the words and the message they read, their eyes widened in identical horror. Lucie spoke first.
"Umbridge…?" She started, unable to form anything more of a question.
"What do you think?" Eve replied, much harsher than she had intended, but Lucie's concern did not waver in the slightest in her facial expression.
"You need to go to Dumbledore," Fiona stated, her voice sounding of its usual confidence, but there was a glimmer of panic distinguished by Eve.
"When was the last time Dumbledore was around to stop anything that has been going on?" Eve countered now, and she could tell by the look on her friends' faces that they didn't have a confident answer for her.
Because it was almost entirely true to each girl. The headmaster had been separating himself from Hogwarts as the year had gone on, taking one trip after another before he seemingly ended up showing no signs of being on castle grounds at all. He was a lost cause as far as Eve was aware.
"We should at least tell Sprout; you know she would not stand for this. This is proper medieval," Lucie reasoned. Eve sighed, taking Lucie's point into consideration for a moment.
"I don't know… I just don't see what Professor Sprout could possibly do," Eve started, releasing her hand now from its vulnerable display and taking a seat on her bed.
"Please, Eve. Just tell her," Lucie pleaded now, and Fiona nodded her head in earnest agreement from her position beside her.
"Okay, I will," Eve replied, but she knew immediately when the words left her mouth that it was a lie.
And Eve kept that lie with her through the following week, even when she found herself finally in the Herbology classroom, in regular and ever pleasant conversation with her beloved teacher. Professor Sprout gave no inclination that she knew anything was wrong with Eve, but how could she? The girl smiled, laughed, engaged eagerly in her work. For all Sprout knew, it had never happened.
But it had happened, and Eve couldn't quite shake it. She carried it around with her, on the breakfast table, through the dark stoned corridors, and up and down the stairs that led her to the safe haven that was her bedroom. The incident with Umbridge left a remaining feeling of heavy anguish from Eve that far surpassed the physical scarring that now developed on her left hand.
"What are you thinking about?"
The question seized Eve from her thoughts and brought her back inside the glass confinement of the greenhouse. She wondered how long she had been staring at the same unmoved flowerpot. She turned to the long table beside her, where Neville sat across and looked at her with curious concern. She could hear the soft patter of early raindrops over their heads.
"I don't know. I'm just tired, I guess," Eve shrugged, turning back to her work. She studied the plant in front of her with mild hesitation before steadily grabbing the bottom of the pot and bringing it over to the table Neville sat at.
"I don't see why this Lady's Mantle is having such a hard time," Eve sighed, observing the small yellow bulbs that sprouted from the long-stemmed plant. One of its large fan-shaped leaves was wilted beyond repair.
Taking her shears, Eve carefully placed them between the stem of the dying leaf and snipped right at the edge where the branch met the soil. Eve was not in the slightest prepared for what happened next.
The plant seemingly sprang to life, the yellow bulbs opening their mouths and spewing at least half a dozen steady streams of water directly at Eve's face. A yelp escaped her lips as she pathetically tried to cover her face with her hands, but the damage was done. The curls that framed her wet face hung loosely now, and she could feel her shirt become uncomfortably damp even from the layers she wore.
A crack of laughter escaped Neville's lip, and Eve turned to him, still in a mild state of shock.
"Perhaps it was overwatered?" Neville offered, and with his words, the two students burst into a fit of laughter. It was the first time Eve had had a proper laugh all week, and it felt divine.
"I can't believe I just got spit on by a plant," Eve said, finally containing her laughter and judging the Lady's Mantle from its spot still in front of her.
"I mean, you did cut off its arm technically," Neville shrugged with a smile, glancing back down at the pile of seedlings he was organizing between sizes. Eve rolled her eyes and grabbed the plant, placing back in its original spot and far away from her.
Eve sighed, throwing off her now soaked planter's gloves and rolling up her sleeves. She combed her damp hair with her fingers before throwing it over her shoulders once more. Eve considered for a moment to casting a drying charm, but a quick glance through the windows assured her there was no point. The heavy rain would soak her again once she left the comfort of the greenhouse doors.
"Eve, what happened to your hand?"
Neville's question caused an almost visceral reaction from her. She quickly placed her unmarked hand over her scar, but she knew it had already been seen. She watched the boy stand from his spot and make his way around the table to her.
"Let me see," Neville said, in a tone she had never heard from the sweet, awkward Gryffindor before, "Please, I know what it is."
Eve didn't understand what he meant when he said this, but she released her grip still and lifted her marked hand. Neville studied the scar closely, his mouth slowly moving as he read the words. His face fell to something very dark.
"Harry has his own. I didn't know Umbridge was doing it to other students," Neville's revelation also caused Eve her own. She hadn't even thought about the possibility that other students had the same thing done to her.
How many other kids had this already happened to?
For some reason, the look of sympathy on Neville's face made Eve want to cry. She took her hand back and shrugged in her best attempt at dismissiveness.
"Well, it already happened. There's nothing that can be done now," Eve replied, but she knew her voice cracked when she did.
"It's not right," Neville shook his head, turning towards his work still on the table. Eve watched him pack up his things and throw his robes back over his shoulders, the look on his face now a mix of anger and alarm.
"Come with me," he continued, but his voice was softer now, and he shot her a look of encouragement. Eve trusted Neville enough to just nod and follow the boy out the greenhouse doors.
The rain hit the two students immediately, causing them to break into a sprint up the castle hill and into the closest outside corridor.
"Where are we going?" Eve asked as they finally made it inside the warm relief of the castle's corridors. The rain-soaked the two from head to toe, but Neville just continued his stride.
Eve followed the boy through a number of corridors, passing small groups of students here and there that lingered from the end of evening classes.
"Uh oh, looks like someone overflowed the Prefect bathtub again! And it wasn't even Peevsey!"
The poltergeist didn't even get a glance back from the two as they made their way onto the chamber of moving staircases. They jumped on one and waited as it slowly began to move to a higher level above them.
"I really hate Peeves," Neville muttered absentmindedly as they awaited the connection between stairs. Eve nodded in agreement and followed once again as they met the opening of another open corridor and climbed another flight of stairs. Eve was about to ask again about their whereabouts before Neville finally stopped at another level, coming face to face with a portrait of an auburn-haired Roman-styled woman, grapes filled in her hands and everything.
"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Neville muttered at the woman, who looked at him with mild interest. Eve shot them a puzzled look, not understanding why Neville said the name of a magical plant. Her confusion was answered when the giant portrait swung open to reveal a doorway.
The Gryffindor common room, of course.
"Wait here," Neville said, giving Eve a glance before disappearing inside. Two minutes later, the portrait swung open again, but this time Neville was accompanied by three other students. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley stood in front of her, looking just as disoriented as her.
Neville turned and climbed the stairwell closest to the doorway, and the group followed him before they made it outside the chamber and into an abandoned corridor. Finally, he turned to the four of them again.
"Eve, show them," Neville said in a low tone, his eyes flashing between her face and her hand.
Eve felt strangely uncomfortable, now with the added display of the three kids she only knew in passing. But remembering the mention of Harry earlier, she let out a sigh and lifted the sleeve of her robes. She raised her marked hand and watched the three trail their eyes to its direction, each one reacting in their own versions of disbelief when they finally read the scarred words.
"She's doing it to other kids, Harry," Hermione said, looking toward her friend, who now had a grave continuance under his round glasses.
"I don't understand. What could a Hufflepuff possibly do to piss of Umbridge?" Ron asked. His question would have seemingly insensitive if not for his genuine tone. The group turned to Eve, Neville included, who now must have been wondering the same thing as the rest of them.
Eve dropped her glance, studying the scar for a moment, before stuffing her hand back in her pocket.
"Umbridge had us do a lesson that involved muggles," Eve started giving a nervous glance between the faces in front of her.
"It was awful. I couldn't believe it. So, I raised my hand and told her it wasn't true. But she fought back. And then Marcus…" Eve's voice trailed off at this as she recalled the painful moment. She could feel the glimmer of tears in her eyes, and she prayed that they wouldn't come out.
"Flint?" Harry offered, and she nodded.
"He called me a mudblood in front of everyone," Eve finished, watching the look of astonishment fall upon each face in front of her.
All, though, except Hermione, whose face wasn't taken aback in the least bit by the utterance of the word. Her expression was calm, but there was sadness to it, and Eve could see the empathy in it as well. For a moment, Eve recalled a memory last year of a Daily Prophet article that mentioned Harry's female friend. She remembered now the mention of the witch being muggle-born.
"And Umbridge was the one that gave you detention? She didn't say anything to Flint?" Neville asked, an incredulous look in his eyes. Eve shrugged; she didn't have an answer for him.
"Of course, she didn't say anything, Neville. Look what she wrote on the girl's hand. Umbridge made her message loud and clear," Ron replied angrily. Eve watched Hermione flinch at his words, but Eve understood them.
Eve had spent many nights rereading the words written on her hand. She had come to understand them for what they meant from someone like Umbridge. I must not speak unless spoken to was not for an unruly student that needed to be quieted down. It was meant for someone that was not meant to speak at all, for someone that, in Marcus Flint's eyes, wasn't meant to exist at all.
Eve's eyes met Harry's now, and he sent her a sympathetic look. He raised his arm and revealed his own scarred hand.
"It happened two weeks ago," Harry started, watching Eve read the words slowly. I must not tell lies. She furrowed her brows at the obscure message.
"She was saying all this rubbish about last year, the Tournament. She said what happened to Cedric-," Harry paused when he saw Eve wince at the mention of the name.
"What happened to Cedric was an accident," Eve finished nodding her head.
Fernando had told her weeks ago that Umbridge had been claiming this false story, the same one the Daily Prophet had been printing. Eve never doubted it was all lies, though. She knew Cedric, and though she didn't know Harry, she knew enough about him to know he had no reason to lie about something like that. She had spent many months replaying the sound of Harry's sobs on that night outside the maze.
Eve brushed the single tear that escaped her tired eyes and moved her glance towards the far end of the empty corridor.
"Things seem to be getting worse," Eve found herself saying, "I know things have been scary for a while, but it feels different this year."
"I know. I feel it too. We all do," Hermione replied, and the girls exchanged knowing looks at one another, "I'm Hermione, by the way."
"Eve," Eve nodded, taking Hermione's hand in her own. They smiled and shook hands politely.
"Harry," Harry said, pulling his own hand out for Eve, "We play quidditch together."
Eve smiled and nodded at his statement, even though it would be ridiculous to think Eve only knew Harry Potter as just one of the Gryffindor boys she plays quidditch with. Hermione nudged the redheaded boy now, who mumbled an "Ow" before extending his hand to Eve.
"Ron Weasley," He said, giving Eve a slightly awkward shake, "Are you friends with my brothers? I've heard them mention an Eve before."
"Yeah, somewhat," Eve shrugged.
"I'm sorry about what happened to you," Hermione said now, but Eve shook her head.
"It's okay. There's nothing we can do about it," Eve replied, causing Hermione's face to scowl in frustration.
"But that's not true. We have to do something about Umbridge. I've been telling Harry endlessly-" Hermione began, but she cut herself off when she glanced at Harry, who had the same look of passive hopelessness Eve had.
"I have no idea what we can do, Hermione," Harry replied, letting out a frustrated sigh, but Eve could tell it wasn't meant to be directed at his friend.
"I'm still figuring it out, that's all," Hermione sighed, looking back at Eve. Eve did not understand in the slightest what the girl could possibly mean, but she gave Hermione a small smile of encouragement anyways. The Gryffindor girl seemed earnest enough, and Eve, at the very least, was comforted in knowing that other people understood the impending darkness she was feeling.
Neville walked Eve back to her dormitory that evening, the meeting of the infamous Hogwarts trio still playing in her mind. She thought of Harry's scar and Hermione's words, and Eve couldn't help but feel like something significant was waiting to happen. And she couldn't help but feel like she was going to be a part of it.
Author's Note: AHHH, no twins but I've been waiting to introduce Harry and the gang in this! I absolutely adore the next few chapters I've written, I can't for you all to read em! Thanks for reading/reviewing as always, beautiful people.