1 October 1977
"Okay, here we go," she heard a voice say amidst the darkness. Her vision fluttered before her. It was harsh and filmy, the memories of how she had come to be there nothing more than a distant memory as the world came to take its place. Besides the chills and sweat that drenched her skin, and the cracking pain in her temple, she felt nothing but an unfathomable detachment.
"All right, sit up, drink this," the voice continued to guide her, so close yet so far. She felt her torso being lifted, but she was unable to control the movement as something warm pressed against her back. Her head lolled to the side, foreign arms caged her in on both sides. Something came up to her lips, and though she couldn't open her mouth, the person holding her tilted the cup anyway. Her lack of effort caused the liquid to dribble down her chin and onto her chest.
Her breaths came forward deep and shallow, not enough to feel fulfilled, having to remind herself that dying now would only be a burden and not at all purgative. That this was in no way the end, that, no, this wasn't the afterlife.
"Come on, you need to drink this," the voice commanded, but with ease and serenity— completely mismatched to the situation at hand. "Let's go, Kavanagh." The cup returned to her lips.
She made a noise, letting out a small wimper, before the liquid was back in her mouth. This time, however, she could make it out. It was sweet, nectar-like, syrupy. Her taste buds sprang back to life, her head lifting for a whole second as she took it in.
Eve managed a full sip before lolling her head back onto the stranger's shoulder. She could feel their jawline placed along the top of her head, but she could not manage the strength to open her eyes. Some of it was weakness, but mostly it was fear. Fear that opening her eyes would only make the cramps in her entire stomach come up through her lips.
"Bloody hell, how much sedative did you take?" she heard the voice ask— it was familiar in the sense that she had heard it before, unfamiliar in the sense that it wasn't every day that she heard it. She mustered what she could and forced herself to open her eyes to catch a glimpse of her nurse. Albeit its quickness, she managed to make out the tight curls, the consistent five o'clock shadow, and the doe-shaped brown eyes.
"Fletcher? What're you—" she wheezed.
"Be grateful it was me who found you," he said, bringing the cup back to her lips. She took another sip. "What the fuck are you doing overdosing on sedative in the middle of the day? Are you trying to kill yourself?" Eve didn't answer. She didn't know how. "If it had been anyone else— you would've been expelled." Mundungus tightened his grasp around her body as he saw her eyes flutter again. "But luckily," he continued. "Your neighborhood drug dealer found you."
"Where am I?" Eve asked.
"The boy's bathroom on the fourth floor." She let out another whimper, willingly closing her eyes this time. "Don't worry, anyone who matters is at Hogsmeade right now," Mundungus assured her. "No one knows you're here— and no one will. But, Kavanagh, what the fuck? You need help or something?"
"Please, not now."
"No, look at yourself, look where you are—"
"Oh, fuck off," she groaned, swatting his hand away from where it laid across her stomach. "You don't have a clue." She twisted her torso around, the light entering into her, the image clearer, the situation illuminated as whatever he had fed her did its work. "Do you?"
"Woe is me, Kavanagh," he responded, leaning back against the toilet and removing his grasp from her body. "Every addict has a story to tell.
"Addict?" She repeated, almost too astonished to speak, but his face remained stern.
"You're not the first and won't be the last to have a shit life— doesn't mean you can off yourself in the fucking fourth-floor boy's bathroom."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"Oh, really?" he said before she could finish. "How long have you been taking sedatives?" Eve didn't answer, her back bent over as she stretched her legs out. They felt like they could break at any moment. How long had it been? She looked around the bathroom stall, the words escaping her as she gulped down the saliva pooling in her mouth. She blinked, trying to remember the day, the month. How long had it been? Nights had passed into nights, and nothing but the next dose mattered. She did what she had to do, but it was superficial, it was routine. It was nothing more than the bare minimum.
Weeks had passed and she hadn't a clue, she couldn't recall a single memory. There was nothing that stood out, there was nothing she had noticed. Who did she speak to? Who had she eaten supper with? Had she eaten?
"Right, I bet this isn't your first go— is it? For you to be here on a Saturday afternoon? Complete daylight? You know what you're doing— you knew you took too—"
"I didn't take anything." Mundungus snorted, placing the cup to the side as he shook his head.
"I sell this shit, Kavanagh, and I know an abuser when I see one. And not only that, I know you haven't been buying from me—"
"Is that why you're here?" She retorted, the corner of her lip lifting up. "To find your competition?"
"No," he spat back almost immediately. "You didn't even let me finish— I know whatever you're taking is rubbish. It's dangerous. You're taking huge risks." Eve could not believe this was where she had ended up: in a bathroom, having just overdosed, with Mundungus Fletcher of all people holding her and bringing her back to life, lecturing her on what she should and should not be doing. "You need help," he said. "Or you're going to end up killing yourself."
"Why do you care?"
"Is that what this is?" He asked. "A cry for help? For someone to care, to notice?"
"Oh, fuck off, Fletcher. You think I want help? You think I want people to notice me? I don't want anyone to notice me. Ever."
"Well, you know, maybe overdosing in the bathroom isn't quite the way to go about it? If it had been anyone else— everyone would know about your little problem by dinnertime."
"I'm not arguing with you," she responded, shaking her head. The seconds that passed made her soberer and soberer. "Besides, how do I know you won't use this to blackmail me?"
"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not cruel," Mundungus answered. "You've got a serious problem, and... you need help— I'm not going to make your life harder than it is." He glanced at her up and down, a pain in his own heart as he found himself in an all too familiar setting, with an all too familiar conversation. Of course, she didn't know that, nor would he indulge her with his own torments. "No matter who you are or where you come from."
Eve reached up to grab at the edge of the stall's door and lifted herself up. Her legs were exactly as she thought they would be— jelly, barely able to keep her up. Her entire body felt as if it was not hers. She stretched out her fingers, they were shaking. Mundungus didn't get up from the floor, his legs spread apart, having just cradled the witch between them.
Eve rubbed her head, turning around to look down at the Ravenclaw. She nodded.
"Thanks, I guess," she muttered, holding onto the edge of the door.
"Get help," Mundungus told her.
"Yeah," she scoffed and didn't bother saying anything more as she made her way out of the bathroom.
Mundugus had been right, she thought as she looked up and down the halls. They were dead empty. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, the first of the year she reckoned, and a beautiful, sunny day at that. No wonder there wasn't a soul within those halls.
Thank Merlin, she said, trudging down the empty halls. Her stomach panged, growled at her, but she had no intention of making it down to the Great Hall.
3 October 1977
"Oh, by the way, Lupin, a word after class," Professor McGonagall said to Remus as she passed by his desk. He looked up from the exercise he was working on, nodding his head once to confirm that he had heard. She didn't linger longer than that, moving on to the next pair to ensure their compliance with the assigned task.
"What's that about?" Sirius whispered when she was far enough to the back of the room. James, too, turned around from the desk in front of them to look at Remus, both waiting for a response with eyes fixed on him.
"Dunknow," Remus said, still hunched over and writing. "Reckon I should be worried?"
"Nah," Sirius answered, fiddling with the quill between his fingers. "If we were in real trouble, we would've been grabbed by our collars and dragged away." Remus let out a short, low snort in response.
"True," James added before turning back in his seat.
But despite his own and his friends' reassurance, Remus could not help his wandering mind. What exactly could make McGonagall single him out like that? Did he accidentally plagiarize entire parts of his transfiguration book? Did he leave a cigarette in the Gryffindor common room? Or no, he thought, maybe she had seen him helping — full on doing — Peter's transfiguration work at breakfast?
Remus stopped writing for a brief moment, staring at the ink dripping off the tip of the quill. Only time would tell, he supposed, and despite the incessant questions in his own head, accompanied with the sudden heat, he continued to write— albeit a bit faster than before, as if that would make the clock go forward.
"We'll wait?" Sirius asked as James stood to join his side.
"No, go on. I'll catch up," Remus responded, sitting back in his seat as he watched those in front of him exit one by one.
"I have class. Care of Magical Creatures," Peter reminded them.
"Okay, we'll wait then," James confirmed, looking to Sirius. Remus didn't respond, rather keeping his stare fixated to the front, biting his inner cheek. His friends left with the remaining stragglers.
Despite coming to the conclusion that he had done nothing wrong, he could not help but think that he must have done something wrong.
"Lupin," he heard his professor call from the desk. She peered at him over her spectacles, as if that alone were a signal for him to approach. He scrambled to his feet, lifting his already-prepared bag and strapping it across his body. His thumb hooked around the burnt leather, running up and down it as he neared her.
"Professor," he greeted, nodding his head once.
"Yes, I need a favor from you."
Remus released a breath that he hadn't realized he had been keeping.
"Sure, of course, Professor— what is it? What can I do?"
"Well, I have a student, a peer of yours," McGonagall began, folding her hands together and laying them firmly on the table. "At her current pace, however, she will not be able to pass the first exam much less the NEWTs..." She paused, peering up at him and waiting for a reaction. Remus nodded, remaining silent as he figured that there was more to the proposition. "Now, normally, I would not make this exception for a student, but she has done remarkably in my class in previous years." McGonagall looked back down at her papers, picking up the one in front of her and scanning over it. "Seeing as that is the case, it seems she may be having some difficulty grasping this year's material and is in need of some extra help."
"Okay," Remus said, his eyes narrowing in on the paper in his professor's hand. He knew that it held the secret of who this person was. The paper floated back down to the desk and McGonagall sat straight up.
"Well, in return for extra points on your exams, including five house points per every hour, I've decided to delegate this task to you."
"Mhm, right. Um, professor, if you don't mind me asking... Why?"
"Why?"
"Why me, I mean?"
"Because the only person I would trust with such a thing has enough on her plate," McGonagall responded simply and quickly as if she had already thought this through.
Remus quickly caught on. Even though both Sirius and James were better than him at Transfiguration— James was Head Boy, Lily was Head Girl, and Sirius, well, there was no way Sirius was going to show up to an extracurricular, non-obligatory appointment. And McGonagall was still a too-proud Gryffindor to be going around willingly giving out house points to other houses.
"I expect you to meet at least once a week. Not only will she need to be caught up with the last month's coursework, but you will follow that week's lesson plan as well. You will report back to me at the end of each week. You are not to do the work for her, but rather go over the assigned work and explain to her whatever it is she does not understand, ensure she completes it. When and how is up to you to decide," McGonagall explained.
Her, Remus repeated, his fingers reaching to scratch at his temple.
"And, Professor, who am I meant to be helping?" There was a slightly too long pause of silence after his inquiry, making Remus' mind race a mile a minute as he tried to put his finger on who exactly was in such a state that McGonagall was asking him to help.
"Kavanagh," McGonagall finally answered, her eyes steady on his face.
"Kavanagh... Eve Kavanagh?" Remus repeated, the name coming out with every syllable more elongated than the last. "From Slytherin?"
"Yes."
"Yes, okay, but," Remus hesitated, blinking as the full scale of the operation dawned on him. There were a billion questions he wanted to ask, not knowing where to begin, not knowing how to pose them. "How?"
"Pardon?"
"Excuse me, Professor. But does she know? Am I just meant to approach her?"
"Well, I reckon that would be a good place to start, Lupin." McGonagall read his strewn, perplexed expression and sighed. "Ideally, one would expect her to take the initiative, but I am afraid that will most likely not happen."
"Right," Remus nodded, pursing his lips. "Right, and so, so she's agreed to this?"
"Yes, wholeheartedly," McGonagall responded, a slight tease in her tone that went unnoticed by him.
"Okay, and, well—"
"Any problems, come see me," she cut him off, reassuring him but putting an end to what she knew could last the rest of her afternoon. "You are not obligated, if you change your mind at any point, come see me."
"Sure ok, yeah, I'll give it a go," he said. Did he really ever have an option, though?
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Right, so I'll just— I guess I'll go talk to her?" McGonagall sighed, pinching her lips into a tight line as she stared up at him from her spectacles.
"From the day after tomorrow."
"Excuse me, Professor?"
"I had to ensure you were willing," she responded.
"Right," Remus finished. "Okay, then, I suppose... The day after tomorrow, right. Uh, I suppose have good rest of your time, Professor." And with that Remus turned to leave.
Have a good rest of your time? He repeated in his head. Fucking idiot, scrunching his face as he shook his head. The heels of his shoes against the stone floor were the only sound that resonated in the room, a knot in his chest as he exited, feeling his professor's eyes on the back of his neck.
"What'd she want?" Sirius asked as Remus stepped out of the room and into the corridor. James slouched with his back against the wall while Sirius stood to his side with his shoulder pressed against the same wall. They had both looked up as their friend appeared.
"Where to begin," Remus replied, snorting as he moved past them and walked down the hall.
"Well, what did she tell you?" James added, both of them standing straight as they rushed to Remus' side. The three of them fell in line, seemingly running away from McGonagall's ears. Remus glanced behind him to ensure they had reached a safe distance before speaking.
"She wants me to tutor Kavanagh," he whispered.
"What?" James said.
"Yeah, mate, speak up," Sirius added, leaning in closer to Remus, albeit hard to do as neither one of them slowed down their walk. Remus grimaced as if repeating himself would end the world.
"She wants me to tutor Kavanagh, Eve Kavanagh."
"What!?" Both his friends let out at the same time. Now Sirius had stopped in his tracks, with Remus and James not realizing.
"Wait," Sirius said to them, this time both of them stopping to turn around and look at him. "What'd you say?"
"What do you mean?" Remus asked. "What was I supposed to say?"
"Did you tell her you would do it?"
"What the fuck else was I supposed to tell her?"
"How about no?"
"Tell McGonagall no?" Remus asked, his eyebrows raised— as if he could ever.
"Bloody hell, Padfoot, as if Moony even knows how to say no," James said.
"Kavanagh needs tutoring?" Sirius asked, his face scrunching up. "Why not just kick her out?"
"Because apparently, she's 'having a hard time grasping this year's material'," Remus quoted his professor directly, a stain of cynicism in his words.
"Minnie said that?" James asked.
"Bloody hell," Sirius commented. Remus looked between the both of them, unsure who to answer first— or if to answer at all. He sighed, pursing his lips.
"Yeah, well, I get extra points on exams," was all he managed.
"Do you need extra points?" James asked.
"Sure?" Remus replied. "I don't know." Both Sirius and James, mainly Sirius, relaxed their once perplexed faces. Because they knew that it wasn't that he wanted to say no, it was that he did not have the same privilege to say no. "Maybe she won't be that bad," he added, sounding like he was trying to rationalize his own decision to himself more than to his friends. Will she though? He thought to himself almost immediately. "McGonagall said she would, you know, not be..."
"Yeah right," scoffed Sirius, almost laughing.
"Is she really that bad?" Remus began, unsure what or who he was trying to convince. "I mean, I've never really spoken to her, right? I don't know her…" He tried to recall their encounters over the years, coming up empty. "Like at all."
"Richard?" James added, his eyebrows raised.
"Right," Remus grimaced, "how could I forget."
"Does it matter? Look at who her mates are," James said. "Look at who she hangs out with— Rosier? Flint?"
"No, believe me, she's worse than the rest of them," Sirius began. Memories from his childhood, spent at the Rosier's summer estate in Brittany, appeared. Eve Kavanagh was a doll— not in the way she looked, but in the way she acted. Quiet, statuesque, emotionless— she would sit there in the summer heat and stare into nothing. She would not bother speaking to anyone. Narcissa and Bellatrix would sit in the shade and pick her apart in whispers— all of them, Sirius, Regulus, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Bellatrix would sit and wonder whether she was even alive or some sort of mirage created by his mother to make them feel bad. "At least the others make it obvious that they're made of shit on the inside."
"Well, she's the one that needs help," Remus reminded him, glancing between their two faces. "That's gotta be a bit tough on the overall superiority thing, no?"
"For your sake, I hope so," Sirius said, the three of them falling back in line to continue walking. It wasn't five seconds in before Sirius snorted, subsequently breaking the silence. "Eve Kavanagh needs tutoring in Transfiguration? And you, Remus Lupin are going to tutor her? That's rich. Bloody rich."
As they walked, the image of Eve Kavanagh, at least what he could muster sat in his mind, sat still. Of all people... Eve Kavanagh. The same Eve Kavanagh that called him Richard once in Divination four years ago? Who didn't even bother to apologize when James and Sirius had corrected her? The Eve Kavanagh that had cut him and Lily in line at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour two summers ago and pretended not to see or hear them when they protested?
To be honest, Eve Kavanagh was not someone that crossed his mind often— not someone that had much of an impact on his day-to-day life, but every small, brief encounter he had had with her had left him feeling bitter and worse than most others. Her nose was always up, her face always turned away as if everyone else besides a select few were too ugly to bear looking at.
Ugh, what had he agreed to?
Melisende sighed as Eoin announced his final grunt, paused, and then rolled over onto his back. She looked straight up to the canopy, grimacing as the last five minutes of carnal "pleasures" evaporated and left behind only regret and sweat. Every time was the last— that's what she had told herself. And somehow, here they were, going into their second year of humping and whatnot. It wasn't even good— she knew that but it was easy, and it was something to do. Eoin wasn't like the other wizards in her year— he was simple, rough— the others liked to play games, or treat her like shit if they knew she was willing to bypass social etiquette for a quick fuck.
Eoin was the only one who didn't care— and he could keep a secret, she appreciated that.
"Let me guess," he began, Melisende not turning to look at him. "Never again?" Her face pinched.
"Please... shut up."
"Whatever," he said, lying there in his naked glory as Melisende got up to locate her undergarments. Eoin turned his head to watch as she pulled the straps of her brassiere up onto her pale shoulders.
"Are you going with Black and Avery?"
"Maybe," Eoin answered, shrugging. "The less, the better, though— I reckon. But Rosier isn't going, so I guess..." He didn't take his eyes off of her as she scrambled about to find her missing pieces. "He never comes, though."
"He's busy."
"With what? What's Evan supposed to be doing, anyway, that's got him running 'round barking at people?" Melisende grimaced, looking out to the rest of the dim-lit room.
"Recruiting."
"Recruiting?" Eoin repeated, snorting. "Who?"
"Kavanagh, I think." A silence ensued, Eoin looking out the corner of his eye to Melisende and Melisende staring straight ahead at some weeds or branches that floated by the only window in the room.
"Kavanagh," he repeated in a low tone. "What for? I know she's your friend—"
"Hardly."
"—but she's not particularly… uh," he scratched his chin, "good at anything, is she?"
"She's part of the Ancient Five," Melisende explained. "They hold all of Ireland, there is no Ireland without them." She turned to look down at the wizard's scrunched face, sighing. "I mean, trust me… Like, I get why, but I don't know at the same time."
"What?"
"I don't know. Eve's odd," she answered, reaching over to grab the bottle sitting on his nightstand. "I can't understand her. I don't know where she stands." She took a sip, letting the firewhiskey burn her tongue.
"You think she's—"
"I think the Irish have never liked being too involved in English business," Melisende said, cutting him off. "Much less a war. They've done a mighty good job of staying out of the mess in the past— what's gotten into Rosier that he thinks something will change now? He's convinced he'll be able to change historical precedence— I think he's going to make himself look like a bloody idiot." She shook her head once and then got up, putting on the rest of her fallen clothes. "We'll see, though."
4 October 1977
McGonagall had her eyes planted on the all too thin, limp-looking child that stood with the rest of the Slytherin witches that began to make their exit from her classroom. The others spoke among themselves, but she stood silently, her gaze low but wandering around the room. Her movement was slow, almost lazy as she grabbed what she had taken out and placed it back into her bag. But McGonagall had watched her, had been watching her for days now, and though it was not the first time she had had a child fall behind in her class, she could not sit back without uttering a word.
"Kavanagh," she said to the emptying room. Some other students turned around before the witch did. She hadn't even noticed her name being summoned until her peer, Melisende Gamp, tapped her on the shoulder. Eve looked into Melisende's pitch-black stare that led back to McGonagall. She turned to their professor, whose eyes were fixed on her. She blinked, standing still, unsure what was happening.
Her mind was empty, it had been for a while now, she supposed. However, somehow she knew that she should make her way to her professor's desk, and she did, but she could not register why; she could not register a single thing.
"Good afternoon, Kavanagh," McGonagall greeted as she took a seat in her chair.
"Afternoon, professor," Eve responded, standing lamely in front of the desk.
"Now, I will get straight to the point. Your performance has been appalling in the last two weeks, and dare I say the entire month. You do not meet even the bare requirements for the class, nor those that you will need to pass the N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year. I will not put up with this kind of behavior, and while you are well on your way to being kicked out of the class, your past performance merits a warning." Eve blinked, the seriousness of the conversation kicking in as she took in her professor's words.
"I—"
"I will not ask for an excuse or an explanation, Kavanagh," McGonagall interrupted. "You will be assigned a mentor who will keep track of you to the best of their abilities, but it is up to you to do the required work."
"A mentor?" Eve asked, repeating the word in her head. The idea alone repulsed her, someone who would have to watch over her? Be on top of her all the time? What the fuck had she done? How had she gotten here?
"Yes—"
"But—"
"But nothing, Kavanagh. You come to class, you open your book and then you sit there with your head in your hand as if you would rather be anywhere else. You have failed to submit any of the assignments, to participate. You leave me with little choice, and seeing as I have hundreds of students, I simply do not have the time to pamper you. You will be assigned a mentor for as long as I deem necessary. And if there is no improvement, then.." Her words trailed off as the rest was better left unsaid.
Their gazes met and Eve could tell that she could read her mind in that moment: Why do you care what happens to me? But how could McGonagall explain to her that she could not let another witch lose her footing? She had seen it happen before, she had seen what happened as they grew older. Going from ambitious, in-line with their wizard-counterparts to becoming nothing more than complements, to disappearing behind a curtain. Maybe if Eve had been a boy, maybe, McGonagall would not have given him the same grace as she showed Eve, but she felt something within her that could not let this girl become a ghost of herself.
Eve would never know any of that. She would simply write it down as protocol.
"Now, I've already gone through the trouble to find you a mentor," McGonagall continued. "Remus Lupin has offered to help you. I expect the two of you will sort out what works best and when. I recommend you start fast, as you have quite a bit to catch up on."
"Lupin?" Eve asked, the name resounding in her head as she tried to place a face to it.
"Yes, your peer, Remus Lupin from Gryffindor," McGonagall reminded her.
"Remus," Eve repeated almost with no sound. "That's his name?" The young witch's eyes met those of her professor, and she realized that she was letting a bit too much slip. She immediately collected herself, straightening her back and her character as the potion streamed through her veins.
"Yes."
"But doesn't he look like a Richard?" Eve asked, despite herself, as the image of Remus Lupin came to her inebriated mind. "Right? You can see it, no?"
McGonagall was not amused in the slightest, nor had Eve been attempting to amuse her. She felt heat creep up the back of her neck and she was unsure whether it was because she had mistakenly called someone the wrong name for years or whether it was because there was something all too entirely off with her... and McGonagall was becoming keener of it with every word that came out of her mouth.
"Right, um," she said, nodding. "I guess I'll figure it out with him, then."
"I hope for your sake that you will," McGonagall answered.
"Right, okay, is that all, Professor?"
"For now."
"Okay," was her departing word. The name Remus repeated in her head once more, but as soon as she was out of the class and in the corridor, all recollection of the conversation she had just had faded.
Sorry for the lack of updates in the last couple of months. I plan on getting through this story as best as I can, but life gets in the way.
Here is the next chapter. Im thinking of creating a counter-part to this story that is more Regulus-focused. Not sure of that yet but it would coincide with this story. More will follow. Stay tuned, xx.