A regular housewife
Creamy pumpkin soup, beef in red wine sauce with roasted potatoes, red beans salad and tiramisu for dessert. Meat. Check. No rice. Check. No mushrooms. Check. Nothing green. Check.
It sounds like a gourmet meal and it better taste like it too, after all the effort Eva has put in it. It was not easy, bullying the cook into changing pea soup to pumpkin and rice to potatoes, and begging the serving lady to save her some beans salad from the previous day.
Eva checks the containers in her bag for spillage before she mounts the stairs to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. (Even if she has charmed them closed before leaving the hospital cafeteria.) She is nervous, there's no denying it. She takes a shaking breath that feels too big for her lungs. But she refuses to linger, overthinking every possible outcome of the day. She is not that person. She will not awkwardly stand in front of the door and change her mind ten times. She will just… plough on.
And plough on she does, up the stairs, through the front door, down the hall, down the stairs, into the kitchen, a casual greeting on her lips… Only to find it empty. Eva deflates, feeling kind of disappointed. Relieved. But disappointed. What was she expecting anyway? For him to sit in the kitchen every day at all hours of the day in hope that someone shows up? Well, he could be. What else does he do in this house by himself besides getting more and more crazy? She bites her lip guiltily. It probably doesn't help she herself has been avoiding coming here. And she figures none of the others (except maybe Remus) has been to visit the gloomy house and its gloomier owner much, if not necessary for the Order business. She knows, in a big part, Sirius brings it upon himself, but her heart still aches.
Shaking her head, to get rid of the depressing thoughts (at least for now), she sheds her outer cloths, bunching them up carelessly in the nearest chair, and puts her bag on the counter to put the containers with the food out of it slowly. Finishing this, her eyes travel around the unkept kitchen, like she expects Sirius (or at least Kreacher) to be hiding in the corner. Or behind a pile of mouldy dishes on the counter. No such luck. She is torn between scouring the house for its inhabitants or simply sitting down and waiting for Sirius to appear. He has to get hungry sometime, right? Though, this could be hours. Prolonging the action, she searches the kitchen for plates and cutlery, bumping her head in the process of retrieving a salad bowl, she deems acceptable, from the back of the lower cupboard and has to, in the end, still admit defeat. Eying the pile of dirty dishes with a sneer, she even makes a large dent into getting rid of them. But not even all the banging, she has been doing, has brought Sirius Black to light. She rolls her eyes, not sure if she is more annoyed with stubborn mould, that refuses to budge, his non-appearance or her own reluctance to seek him out.
Approaching the second floor, she hears a series of determined bangs and a string of colourful curses coming from a partially closed door at the end of the hallway. She walks along the hallway and pushes lightly at the door, waiting with raised eyebrows to see what will be revealed to her. She tilts her head to the side as she is met with a jeans-clad behind, sticking in the air, and a pair of legs. She just stares for a few moments. It is a nice view. The rest of Sirius' body (She has determined it is him by the shape of his arse. And the fact that he is the only person living in the house.) is hidden somewhere inside the laundry box. Angry bangs and echoing curses can still be heard.
Eva takes a look around the room and finds it full of stacks of dirty clothes. She squats to see what is going on but can see nothing but Sirius' arse.
"Are you having problems?" she asks, without previously alerting him to her presence. His body twitches and a loud bang is heard from inside the laundry box, where he presumably hits his head quite hard. Eva cringes but has to bite quite hard down on her lip to hide a grin.
"Fucking hell and Merlin's bloody balls!" He emerges cursing violently and rubbing his head. Eva moves backwards, standing up and raises her eyebrows at his topless state. Sirius glares up at her from his crouching position. "What the bloody hell, Marlowe? Can you not give me a warning? Do you want me to have a heart attack?"
"You're only thirty-six, Sirius. I don't think you are in line for a heart attack just yet," she says, keeping a straight face. He narrows his eyes at her, still holding a hand to his forehead.
"No? Well, I could die from a brain-bleed you caused," he accuses her. Eva rolls her eyes at his dramatics.
"You don't have a brain-bleed."
"How do you know?" he challenges.
"Because you don't. Don't be dramatic."
"Dramatic? I could be dying here, right in front of your eyes while you call me dramatic. Imagine, how you will feel then? Not to mention, it will be your fault."
Eva shakes her head exasperatedly. He's full of it, but she does feel a tiny bit bad, that she made him hit his head. "Fine. Let me see then." She takes a step closer to him, but he twitches away.
"No! You'll probably only make it worse."
"Hello, a trained Healer here."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"How can it not mean anything?! Don't be ridiculous! Let me see."
"No, you don't have to."
"You just don't want me to look because you know there's nothing there, and once I see that it's nothing, you won't be able to hold it over my head." She practically forces his hand away while he pouts at her, whining like half of his head is missing. She runs a diagnostic charm and gently probes his forehead as his mutterings slowly die out.
A strange expression crosses his face as her palm slides over his spotless skin. Her eyes flicker over to his and she shivers at the intensity, with which he stares up at her. Up close there is no overlooking the bags underneath his eyes and the tiredness hiding behind the façade. Her fingers caress his unshaven cheek, and she resists a powerful longing to pull his face into her stomach and keep him there just so she doesn't have to see the ghosts of their past in his eyes.
Eva is roughly shaken from her fantasies as Sirius clears his throat, breaking their connection, and her hand falls away from his face.
"So, what's the verdict? How many days do I have to live? Or is it hours?"
She can't help it then; she laughs. And Sirius too, dropping his act, gives her a small smile, a long-absent dimple appearing in his cheek. The one he used to call a chick-magnet.
"No brain-bleed. You'll live," she tells him chuckling. "Healer's advice though; stop doing…" She looks around the room. "What are you trying to do, actually?"
"Laundry." He gets on his feet finally and only then does the full impact of his naked torso hit Eva. She wills herself to not take a step backwards. His muscles are slowly starting to form but his ribs are still protruding painfully as if they are about to pierce his translucent skin. She swallows hard, dragging her eyes away from him.
"That's not how doing laundry usually looks like. You're not supposed to climb inside the laundry box. That's where the laundry goes," she tells him mockingly, disguising her unease. He would hate her pity.
"I know that!" he sneers. "The stupid box doesn't work." He kicks it for good measure.
"Yes, that's going to help," she says sarcastically. "Alright, let's see this thing." She rolls up her sleeves, pushes her hair out of her face and inspects the laundry box. "Why doesn't Kreacher do your laundry?"
"Because I can make him do laundry, but I can't make him do laundry well."
"Oh. And where did you get this thing?" she asks, frowning at the partially familiar design.
"Arthur brought it. It seems, it was once a muggle washing machine, but he made it work on magic. Molly explained how it works but…" Sirius shrugs sheepishly. Eva gives him a pointed look.
"You didn't listen."
"I listened! Just… Not that well."
Eva sighs at this. She can make this work. She has a laundry machine at home. One that runs on electricity, but it can't be that different. Right?
An hour later, a bit more of cursing and a lot more of banging, she throws in the towel.
"I give up." She looks at Sirius, still topless, who has taken to sitting in the midst of all the dirty clothing. "Let's just pick up all these clothes and I'll take them home with me to wash. You'll get them back in a few days."
"You don't have to do that."
She waves him away. "It's no problem. The machine does all the work anyway." More or less. Not to mention, it gives her a legit excuse to come back to see him. Without anyone around, he seems to be slowly regressing back to the homeless state of before Christmas with his days old stubble, unwashed hair and lack of clothes. "At the next meeting I'll ask Molly to show me how this thing works." She gives a laundry box a dirty look.
"You'll ask her?"
"You won't remember the instructions anyway," she says dismissively. It's true, too. A few weeks later they would once again sit in front of the box, banging on it helplessly. Eva enlarges a bag, she finds in a cabinet on the wall, kneels on the floor and starts shoving the clothes and bed linens in the improvised bag. "Is this all or do you have more dirty clothes in the bedroom?"
"That's all I have," he says pointedly, gesturing with his hand to the room and himself and only now does Eva realize, why he is sitting there topless.
"You mean, you waited for every last one of your clothes to be dirty before you attempted to do laundry?" she asks incredulously. Why is she even surprised?
Sirius shrugs unconcernedly and Eva shakes her head. Has he ever, even once, done his laundry when they lived together? He probably thought the laundry just magically appeared back in his closet; fragrant, soft, and clean. Sometimes he really was the epitome of a spoiled rich pureblood boy. If there is a touch of resentment in the thought, it is wiped off by her longing for that cheeky boy.
She clears her throat, trying to get rid of the sudden suffocating nostalgia, but when she glances at Sirius, he stares at her, like he can feel it too. Certainly, he feels the change in atmosphere. Eva busies herself by picking up more clothes. She inspects a strange brown shirt with a frown, before throwing it in the bag.
"Where did you even get these clothes?"
"Remus bought them for me."
"You let Remus be your fashion guru?" she teases.
"I gave Remus money, and he went and bought me clothes," he states firmly. Eva inspects a very wide leg pant.
"I still can't believe you let Remus choose your clothes. Where did he even find this? I didn't think they even sell trousers like this anymore."
Sirius tilts his head, looking at the pair of trousers she is holding up. "I thought they were strange. But I figured I was just so out of the loop…" He trails off, uncertainty seeping into his words and Eva's breath hitches. So many lost years. His youth tragically wasted. His unnaturally good looks withered away. The regret in the room is almost palpable.
"Yes, thirty years out of the loop," she teases feebly, trying to get back to a more light-hearted mode. But it is gone. And like always, the realization, that comes after she lets herself forget about all the tragedy and hurt for a moment, hits her in the face all over again. Still, it occurs to her for maybe the first time ever, that it is worth it. She wouldn't change that moment of sitting on the floor amongst dirty clothes and bickering teasingly for anything. And she can never regret seeing him smile. Even if it kills her later.
"I have more, you know," he declares suddenly, and Eva is startled out of her thoughts. She is only partly aware, she had been kneeling on the floor with the same trousers bunched up in her lap, staring into the air unfocusedly for quite a while.
"Hm?"
"Clothes. I have more clothes. Those from before Azkaban. I haven't worn any yet. It seemed kind of strange. I don't even know how they got here." He gives her a questioning look and Eva shakes her head. She remembers digging through his wardrobe when he had the flu and finding clothes, she recognized, but she never wondered how they got to Grimmauld Place.
"It wasn't me. I have no idea. The Ministry probably. Or Dumbledore. I don't know. I didn't even take my own clothes. Dumbledore packed them and brought them to me. Or Minerva. I'm really not sure. It's all a blur," she says softly, staring somewhere over his head, lost in her memories.
"I don't understand. Why would they bring you clothes? Weren't you at home?" he asks forcefully, and Eva starts, finally looking him in the eyes. For a second, she is confused. What is he asking? Doesn't he know? And then she realizes that of course he doesn't. How could he know? He knows nothing of the aftermath.
And then she hesitates saying anything.
"Marlowe?" Of course, he will not let the issue rest. She sighs, forgetting about the dirty clothes for a moment and slides sideways from her knees to sit on the cold cement floor, leaning on the laundry box.
"I was… Well, I was at the Ministry. They came, no less than six aurors… Six! For me, sleeping unaware in our bed. They dragged me to the Ministry, middle of the night in my pyjamas." She laughs harshly. "Never has there been a woman at the Ministry less-decently dressed."
"What did they want from you? Wasn't it enough that they had a fall guy in prison?"
Eva shrugs. "They thought that I knew something. Maybe that I was in on it. I don't know. They interrogated me pretty intensely-"
"What?!" Eva jumps as she hadn't expected him to yell. "That bastards! That bloody bastards! How dare they-"
"Sirius!" she stops him as he looks ready to jump to his feet and charge right up to the Ministry to beat up a few aurors. "It doesn't matter. Not anymore. In comparison to everything else it was… nothing. Literally nothing."
What was a little Ministry interrogation in comparison to her best friend's death? In comparison to her boyfriend being a traitor? In comparison to Harry becoming an orphan? In comparison to the crushing pain that threatened to bury her?
Sirius shakes his head. "It's not nothing. What right did they have?"
Eva shrugs. "We lived together. Our relationship wasn't a secret. Nor my connection to Lily and James."
"Did you even know what happened? Did they tell you?"
"They told me. But I didn't believe them. Not a word. I didn't believe that Lily and James were gone. And I believed even less that it was you, that-, that-" Suddenly she can't even finish the sentence. "I thought it was all some elaborate scheme by the Order. I thought that they were faking their deaths. And then Dumbledore came, in all his fury. Nobody even thought about going against him when he informed them, that he was taking me with him. I remember I was happy to see him. Happy that he was so furious on my behalf. But then, his face, when he looked at me. I'll never forget it. So old and so tired. I can't remember his words, but I can still see his face. I believed it only when it came from Albus Dumbledore. And I never doubted it." To doubt it, it would mean, to have hope. About something. Anything.
"Eva-" She doesn't look at him as he tries to stop her. She doesn't need him to assuage her guilt again. She isn't ready to forgive herself. And she might never be.
"Anyway, Dumbledore put me in a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He arranged everything. He brought my clothes. Or sent someone. I don't remember. I know I never went back to the apartment but those days after, those weeks, are all one big blur. I have no idea if I slept or ate or drank or cried. I think someone shepherded me to the things I needed to do. And sometimes I left, wandered around without a purpose. I didn't want to see anyone. You accused me of abandoning Remus, and you were right. But at the time I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at anyone. And I couldn't stand people looking at me. Not in that way. Like I must have known something."
"Which you didn't."
Eva chuckles bitterly at this, averting her eyes. "Of course not. I knew nothing, did I? But people still assumed. For years. How didn't you know? And the worst of all, I asked myself all the time, how didn't I know. Went over things in my head over and over again. I analysed every little conversation we had, searched for clues and hints. I almost went crazy over it."
She looks at him and finds regret written all over his face. And she doesn't want this. Doesn't want him to torture himself over this. So, she doesn't tell him, that when she says, she almost went crazy, it is not just something people say. She doesn't tell him, that if it were her patient, she would have them committed. She doesn't tell him, how she finally lost it over some flowers. Somehow people kept coming to her for pointers, when Lily and James' funeral was being arranged and for a while she cooperated, albeit unenthusiastically, chose coffins, place, inscriptions, food, songs, but then someone pushed two bouquets into her face and wanted to know if Lily would prefer lilies over roses. And Eva was just done. Because what did it matter? Lily wouldn't care less about flowers. Lily wouldn't give a shit about any of this. Lily would prefer to be alive. Lily would prefer to hug her baby over lying in the cold hard ground.
Eva doesn't remember much but she thinks she has screamed and cried and raged and ripped all the flowers to bits, tearing her skin on the thorns and someone, (she has no idea who), must have restrained her. She has no idea which flowers were used at their funeral. Or who choose them.
After that, she turned to her trusted bottle.
"I don't know if the drink helped but at least it helped me sleep," she says with a sort of finality, one that says, that there is nothing more to say about the subject and goes back to shoving clothes into the bag. This time Sirius transfigures another bag out of a handkerchief and starts to slowly help her put the clothes in the bags.
Once all the clothes have been picked up, the bags minimized and put into her pocket, they are suddenly left standing there and having nothing to do. Sirius looks around the room and Eva looks away from his face as he crosses his arms across his still naked chest.
"You should get dressed. You'll catch a cold." And here they are, total strangers. When has she ever been as fucking polite as this? You'll catch a cold? What is this?
"Yes, it is kind of chilly." And he makes it even worse, not only letting her get away with this, but being awkwardly complacent himself. She almost wishes he yelled at her; at least there was no pretence about it.
"Right. So, you should just… Go do that. Now. Put clothes on," she babbles, cringing as she hears herself speak.
And suddenly his eyes sparkle mischievously, and Eva braces herself.
"Why, Marlowe, you weren't always so eager to get me dressed. Am I making you nervous?" He props a hand on the door frame above her head and somehow manages to tower over her, even if he is not that much taller than her.
"Pft, as if. There's nothing here, I haven't seen before," she quips.
And just like that, they are back to being them.
"Even more so, the temptation is fierce when you know what awaits you." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she can't fully suppress the twitch of her lips. She thinks back on how most of the girls used to either giggle at his flirtations, or take offence, but Eva always found them funny. The fact is, he knew perfectly well, that cheesy flirting is not something Eva Marlowe will take seriously, but it never failed to make her laugh. It was how they communicated; flirty banter or screaming their heads off.
She slips under his hand into the hallway. "I'm sure I'll find the strength to resist. Now, go get dressed and come downstairs to eat."
He stands up straight immediately. "Eat, what?"
"Lunch. I brought it. We talked about it last week, remember?" The sentence comes out uncommonly self-assured while her insides tremble uncertainly. That's what she was afraid of, his unconcerned casual dismissal.
"You actually brought lunch?" he asks almost disbelievingly.
"Of course. I suggested it, didn't I? You want it or not?" she asks over her shoulder, halfway down the hall. She hopes to portray aloofness but can't afford to let him see her face.
"Sure. I'll be right down" he yells after her.
And the lump in her throat dissipates.
"Don't primp too long or there will be nothing left."
"I don't primp," he shouts indignantly.
Eva still wears a smile on her lips as she passes the row of house-elves' heads.
Eva feels like a regular housewife (one that doesn't cook, does laundry sporadically and only cleans when stressed out) when she sets the table with delicate porcelain plates and silver cutlery. When was the last time she actually set the table instead of holding a plate in her lap, with her feet on the couch?
Hearing him enter, she stifles a gasp as she looks up to see him pulling at the sleeves of a grey coloured sweater. The sweater is slightly loose on his form but not nearly as it would have been three months previously. Still, the homeless vibe seems even more prominent with the sweater's stretched collar and a slightly musty smell of old clothes. Sirius is inspecting it critically and Eva blinks hard a few times before looking back down to continue uselessly moving spoons and forks from one place to another.
"What do you think? This one looked half decent to me. Although there's a weird stain on the sleeve. I hope it's not something disgusting."
"It's ice-cream," she answers automatically, still arranging the table, that needed no arranging in the first place. Silence ensues and Eva only looks up when she can't even pretend, the table needs her attention anymore. She finds him looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "What?" she demands uncomfortably.
"Ice-cream? I've never been much of a fan."
"How can you not be a fan of ice-cream?" she asks incredulously.
"Ah-ah, don't change the subject," he admonishes. Eva rolls her eyes.
"Do you really want to discuss how ice-cream got on your sweater fifteen years ago?"
"Maybe I do," he says childishly. "Since obviously you know all about it."
"Merlin, I 'll buy you a new sweater, alright?" She wishes she never said anything about it as she doesn't want to recount the story of how ice-cream got on his sweater. Those were some of their best, most true moments and if he doesn't remember, she can't bare to recount them for him. She knows she shouldn't resent him. It is not as if he has forgotten all of their moments, she is sure of it. They were many of them and after all those years he can't remember all of them. And Eva herself certainly doesn't remember all of them. It is natural that certain memories stay more vivid, almost touchable in one person's head and completely forgotten by others. But a few months ago, the memory of it almost brought her to her knees and she can't help the bitter feeling rising in her chest.
"Why are you here?" he asks, startling her out of her thoughts.
"What do you mean?" She frowns. "I brought food."
"Why?"
"Because we agreed. Or have you forgotten about that too?" She mutters that last part to herself, occupying herself with more tiny table arrangements.
"I know we did but that was only after I goaded you into it. You don't actually have any obligations to come here," he says with a hard face.
He is giving her an out, she realizes. She remembers how happy he was when the house was full of people over the Christmas holidays. And how miserable he was when he realized that the holidays were coming to an end. Sirius hates to be alone. He has always hated to be alone. He thrived among people. Among the masses he could hide from himself. This imprisonment in his parents' house must be his kind of hell. And he is giving her an out.
"I wanted to come." The words rush out of her mouth before she can put much thought into them. As much as she can sometimes rip into him, she can hardly bare to see him hurt. "I wanted to come even before you said anything. I just wasn't sure if I was welcome. I know we talked some but… I didn't know if you actually want me to come or if you would rather not look at my face," she tells him uncertainly.
"Sometimes I don't know either," he confesses quietly. The words cut her, but she is still grateful for at least he chooses to be honest with her. Funny, how their dynamics work, sugar-coating would hurt her even more as it would imply a certain distance between them. And she would know if he was humouring her.
She doesn't know how to reply to this, so they just stare at each other. His face remains hard, and she desperately wishes to smooth the deep lines of his face with her palm. (If only it was as easy as that.) She wishes she could just hold him to her. Tightly. She wishes she could make it all better. She wishes she could protect him. From pain. From loss. From loneliness. This sudden deep longing leaves her breathless and on the edge of her treacherous tears. Merlin, how she hates to cry.
"I can- I can leave," she offers hoarsely but Sirius shakes his head immediately.
"No. No, please stay." His words come out rushed, almost panicked and once again she realizes how lonely he must be in this house. "I am glad you came," he adds, more composed.
"Me too," she confesses with shaky voice. And she is. So, what if he is only glad someone came so he isn't alone? So, what if it could have been Tonks or Moody or even Molly and he would be just as grateful for the company? None of them are there. And she is. And he needs her. Even if she could have been anyone.
"So," Sirius claps his hands, his face relaxing and the tone of his voice taking on another quality, "What are we eating?"
Still a little disoriented, Eva puts the pumpkin soup on the table and they both sit down at the overly set table, opposite each other.
Sirius inspects the table strangely, lifting a spoon parallel to his eyes. "What's with the silverware?"
Eva shrugs. "I found it in the back when I was looking for a bowl. It is very nice."
"My mother's favourite. It says toujours pur on the back," Sirius informs her with an ironic smile.
"What?" Eva grabs for her spoon, finally snapping out of her unfocused thoughts. "Well, shit. Do you want me to put those away?" She asks wide-eyed. His was always touchy about his family's beliefs and she knows very well he could fly off the handle at the slightest mention of anything related to it.
"Don't bother. We can reminiscence about the good old days. You should put on my mother's old robe," he tells her with an ironic twist of his mouth. Eva rolls her eyes, snatching the offending cutlery from his hand and throwing it in the back of a drawer. She replaces it with the one they have been using at the Order meetings.
"I'm glad you have not lost your sense of humour," she tells him dryly. But she really is glad. Even if his humour has always been an acquired taste.
Lunch passes in almost amicable atmosphere. With occasional awkward silences. And tense looks brought on by one of the myriad of memories they share.
"You brought this from the hospital cafeteria?" Sirius asks and Eva nods at this. "It's pretty good."
"I told you so. I'm an expert on hospital food," she boasts. As if that is something to boast about. Pathetic, Marlowe.
"Do you eat there every day?"
"Not every day. Sometimes I eat out. Or order take out. Occasionally I even cook. Or try to." She cringes, remembering the food she has ever managed to produce. Sirius smirks at this. He also clearly still remembers her attempts at cooking.
"I still can't understand how you can produce the most complicated of potions without breaking a sweat but can't make a simple pasta without burning down the house."
"Potion making has nothing to do with cooking." She can feel her mouth form a pout. "Cooking is hard." Sirius snorts, either at her pouting or her childish statement. Both are ridiculous on a grown woman but her mouth refuses to cooperate.
"It doesn't seem all that different to me. You just have to follow the recipe when cooking just like you follow the instructions when making a potion," he says, annoying Eva with his condescension.
"I don't remember you doing much cooking," she snaps at him.
"You won't remember me doing any potion making either," he smirks. Eva rolls her eyes.
"Fine." He wins this round. Cooking is still hard though. And nothing at all like making potions. "Who does your cooking now? Kreacher?" She asks, her voice hard as she is still a little miffed with him.
"Naaah, it's the same with cooking as with doing laundry. Who knows what he would put in my food if I made him cook," he says almost cheerfully.
Eva stares, her annoyance forgotten. Evan if she has figured out not long ago, that she cannot read him like she used to, she can still tell, if not by something on his face or body posture, then by history alone, that he is not as indifferent to this as he wants to make her think. The old house-elf has been the Black family elf since before Sirius was born and was as such so deeply integrated into his childhood and his life, that he was practically family. In fact, in time when everybody else was dead, he represented the said family. The family that belittled him, disowned him, abused him and made him as miserable as they could. And no matter how much he has always claimed to hate them, somewhere deep down, like every child, he craved their acceptance and love. And even now, as a grown-up, some of the old insecurities and longings persisted. They never go away completely. She would know.
He would hate it, though, if she voiced any of this, exposing him like this. In the old days she would sooth him by taking him to bed for an angry shag. Not an option.
"So what? Has Remus taken a pity on you? I know he refuses to do your laundry, but does he cook?" She forces a smirk and wonders if he can tell that she has went down a dark road in her head.
"Sometimes he whips something up," he confesses. "When he isn't on some mission," he continues more bitterly. "While I sit here completely useless."
Eva bites her lip. She can only imagine how much he hates this. Him, who could never sit still, much less watch on the sidelines as others were in the throes of things. She wants to say something. Either something soothing and encouraging (but she has never been good at that). She hates when her words sound hollow and she knows that's exactly how anything she could say would sound. And it would only make him take his anger out on her. She is more inclined to just tell him to get over himself, that there are worse things in the world and that he should think of his godson. But that would also lead to an argument. So, she doesn't comment. And she says nothing of his self-pity when once she would have ripped into him for feeling sorry for himself. Maybe it's a sign of growing up but the unsaid words leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
"And Molly occasionally leaves off some leftovers." He continues the conversation as if he hasn't noticed the momentary stall in the conversation.
"Oh." All Eva can tell from this is, that he mostly eats old bread with butter and washes it down with firewhiskey. It's no wonder he is gaining weight so slowly. He really should eat at least one hot meal a day. Now, listen to her, being all mother-like. Is she turning into Molly Weasley? What's next? Quitting her job to be a housewife? (A terrible one at this.) Those motherly instincts seem to be spreading to all aspects of her life. The constant worry she feels for Harry has turned to constant worry. Period. Despite her inner monologue, she swears to herself she'll come by with food more often. She gets up suddenly with no definite goal in her mind.
"Where are you going?" Sirius asks, frowning.
"Uh, coffee. I'll make coffee. Do you want some?" She turns away, looking for the kettle. Sirius gives a weird look to her back.
"Since when do you drink coffee?"
"Since medical school. Wonderful substance." She gathers the dirty dishes and takes them to the sink to wash them while waiting for the water to simmer.
"Not very British of you, Marlowe. Isn't it time for tea?"
"Do you want tea?" she asks incredulously. "You used to say tea is for old ladies."
"It is."
"Then why are you complaining?"
"I'm not complaining."
"It sounds like it," she mutters grumpily into the sink. She really should learn some household charms. Maybe she should ask Molly for some pointers. She makes it look effortless; the way she makes the sponge scrub the greasy pans. Though, Lily had tried to teach her once upon a time and nothing had stuck with her. Maybe because she thought that she could just call Lily for help whenever she needed her for the rest of her life. A breath catches in her throat.
"You used to think that coffee is disgusting."
Eva shrugs. "Things change."
"Apparently."
"I'll put a splash of firewhiskey in it," she remarks offhandedly.
"Now why didn't you lead with that." She can hear a smirk in his voice and a curtain of thick hair hides her smile. They find themselves to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the strangest things. Their unhealthy lifestyle being one of them. They always had expected to be dead long before it could catch up to them.
Soon they are settled back at the table with two cups of enriched coffee and two pieces of tiramisu for dessert. Sirius practically devours his.
"Did you hear from Harry yet?" she asks, taking a small bite of her dessert.
"Not yet. Albus hasn't been around since we gave him letters to pass on to Harry."
Eva fidgets at this. She desperately wishes to hear from Harry. It hasn't even been a full month since he left for Hogwarts but ever since she found out how the Dursleys treated him, she has this uncontrollable need to be reassured, that he is alright. That nobody is hurting him. That he is happy. That he is loved. If she had it her way, she would be by his side all the time. Reassuring him. Protecting him. Loving him. As she can't be there… "I hope we hear from him soon," she murmurs softly, watching the tabletop.
"I'm sure Albus will bring his response at the next meeting," Sirius says reassuringly, monitoring her closely.
"He better."
"Or what? You will blackmail him some more?" he mocks her.
"No." She looks him dead in the eye. "I'll just go see Harry in person. I will, Sirius. I swear I will," she says passionately, pointing her fork threateningly towards him to make a point. "And I don't care what Albus says! He and Voldemort and Death Eaters and the Ministry can all go screw themselves! I won't let Harry down again. If he needs me-" In fact, she is about ready to charge to Hogwarts right this minute. If she just remembers his anxious green eyes, that followed his godfather's every move on that last day before returning to school. As, if he left him out of his sight, he might just disappear on the spot, and he will never see him again.
"I know." Sirius puts his hand over her clenched fist (that is still gripping the fork) and this more that anything stops the onslaught of angry words. "And Albus knows it too. Which is why I am certain he will bring Harry's letters first chance he gets." Sirius smiles at her, but Eva doesn't see it as she stares at long pale fingers, covering her hand. "He doesn't want us wreaking havoc at his school."
Eva frowns at this. But, oh how she would like to wreak havoc. She tells him this. Sirius laughs loudly, leaning back in his chair and dropping her hand. She wishes he didn't release it. Merlin, she is so hungry for affection. She should be embarrassed.
Losing her appetite and suddenly feeling lost for words, she pushes the rest of her dessert towards Sirius. "Here, finish this. I'm full." Besides, he needs it more. He raises his eyebrows at her but digs in with gusto.
"I just want to hear how that occlumency thing is going. Poor Harry, having to deal with Snape." Sirius sneers, stuffing the rest of the tiramisu into his mouth. The sheer thought of his old archenemy darkens his disposition. He summons a bottle of firewhiskey, she left on the counter and pours it into two glasses. She really should decline. Terrible things happen when they are both drunk in each other's company by themselves. It can go in one of many ways.
"As long as Snape is acting like an adult and Harry keeps a leash on his temper…" Eva trails off. That's the most optimistic she can make herself be. Sirius scoffs. Which of the two seems more unlikely to him, she doesn't have to inquire.
"As if! It's the same old Snivellus. He's probably making Harry's life hell. You heard him at Christmas, didn't you? Insulting him and comparing him to James as if that is something bad!" Sirius snarls, emptying his glass.
"I heard. And that was terrible, but I'm sure he's not like that when you're not there," she says and then cringes. Sirius looks from his drink to glare at her.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? How is that my fault?"
"I never said it's your fault," she placates him. Although, she thinks he too should act his age and not antagonize Snape every opportunity he gets. She doesn't say what she thinks though. Just once she wants to leave this house not feeling exhausted from all that fighting. "Just that seeing you and Harry together probably brings up unpleasant memories for him and that's why he's so vicious."
Sirius slumps back into his seat but is still scowling at her. "What unpleasant memories could he have?" he asks petulantly. "He was the one that was unpleasant to look at." Sirius crosses his arms over his chest and Eva rolls her eyes. Men. Deep inside they are all still stuck as schoolboys.
"And you were all so nice to him and other Slytherins? Or people you didn't like in general?" She raises her eyebrows at him but doesn't let the tone of her voice get too heavy. He winces almost imperceptibly at her words but shrugs as if unconcerned. She can tell that it bothers him, though. Not that he would ever admit that.
"We could be jerks. But the Slytherins deserved it. They were Slytherins after all."
Eva closes her eyes in exasperation. He tries to make it seem like a joke, probably knowing not all Slytherins can be bad, when he thinks rationally about it, but she isn't sure that a part of him doesn't really mean that. She knows that a lot of his hatred for Slytherin comes from the fact, that his entire family were Slytherins, but she still wished he could wrap his mind around the fact, that not all of them were destined to be dark. But that was Sirius Black for you, loyal to death to those he considered friends and an immature prat to anyone that reminded him too closely of his family and their beliefs.
She hides her face into her glass, not wanting him to see any of that written all over her. Seeing the bottom of the glass, she gets up from the table. She needs to leave before she gets drunk and tells him exactly what she thinks of his immaturity. And that wouldn't go over well. At all.
"Well, I'm off," she declares, spying the bunched-up coat in the chair besides her. She should have hung it on the wall or at least on the back of the chair.
"Where are you going?" Sirius asks surprised by her abrupt leaving.
"Home." She tries to straighten the coat but soon realizes it will not get any better even if she continues to beat on it. She puts it on resignedly. "I've been here for the better part of the afternoon."
Sirius stares at her forlornly. "Oh. Right. Don't forget the food containers."
Eva nods, gathering the containers and putting them in a bag.
"I put a cooling charm of what was left of the food and put it in the pantry. There is still enough for another meal. Sadly, there's no more tiramisu." She smiles at him, but he only nods tiredly, pouring himself another drink. She fingers the vial in her coat pocket and opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind, leaving the Dreamless Sleep Potion besides the leftover meal. She has a feeling he might appreciate her not making a big deal out of this.
"Thanks." He salutes her with a drink, and she is left standing at the door, ready to leave, staring at him with clenching stomach. The image with which she is leaving, fills her with dread; him sitting there, by himself, unfocusedly looking at the table, a bottle of firewhiskey, gradually getting emptier, at his elbow.
"I'll be back," she stutters, and he raises his eyebrows at her as she sounds fairly dramatic. She clears her throat. "I mean with your cloths. In a few days. And I can bring food again. If you like it."
"You don't have to do that."
Eva shrugs. "It's no problem. I buy it for myself anyway," she assures him. "I'll see you soon, then," she says in a rush, not waiting for him to respond. She gives him an awkward wave and practically runs upstairs and out of the house, leaning on the outside wall.
If Remus were here, he would say the visit was a success. And Eva might agree as there was no crying or yelling and hardly any arguing. But between the flirty banter and a path down the memory, lane there were still a lot of silences that spoke volumes. A lot of unsaid things that will not stay unsaid forever.
