"He's a fucking blood traitor, the fucking fat drunk," Cedric Avery cursed through a mouthful of sausage. If it hadn't been for the potion coursing through her veins, Eve would have easily sent him a vexed look without thinking twice. But, alas, she was drained, too drained to even recognize Cedric's threats and insults as threats and insults. Besides, it wasn't as if they were a foreign language to send her tumbling. No, not at all. On the contrary, it had become an all too common phrase those days. It was odder when one didn't hear it rather than when one did, so no one bothered to blink twice when the spite-filled words went flying forward.

"The whole lot of them are," Eoin Mulciber added gruffly. "Mudbloods, blood traitors— everywhere. No one does, no one says anything." Eve would never see the look Regulus Black gave Cedric from where he sat beside Edmund Nott. A look that so clearly told him to quit-it.

"Easy, give it time," Evan reassured in an undertone, lowering his head so only they could hear. But his voice was too close for her not to turn. Eve glanced sideways at the Slytherin boys, all their eyes fixated on the wizard sitting beside her. They seemed too involved in their obsessions, fantasies, to realize that she was sitting right there, that she could hear all of it.

And how had she come to sit there, exactly? What in her right mind had told her she should sit next to Evan Rosier that evening? Eve sighed, shoving their conversation as far away as it could go while simultaneously forking into the lamentable pile of food she had served herself.

The witch picked up a tomato, eyeing it, twirling it around as it bled at the end of her fork. She wasn't in her right mind— that was it, nor could she recall whether it had been her own decision or Evan's that had placed her there that evening.

Everything looks green, she noted with disgust. The plate looked green, the chicken looked green, even the tomatoes looked green. Why in Merlin's name is everything green?

"You've barely touched your food," Evan noted, having observed her onslaught of the tomato. "Why?"

"Not hungry," was all she said, placing her fork down.

"Okay." Evan reached for his goblet and took a sip while scanning the crowd in front of them. "You look terrible, fucking eat something." She ignored him or simply didn't have the capacity to care, and Evan's grip tightened around the goblet's stem as he took note of the inaction. "Are you going to eat?" Eve looked up at him, his icy stare now on her. The same story, the same script every time— she knew how this would go, how it would finish. She sighed, reaching forward for the piece of bread she had put out for herself. The moment she took a bite, though, she wanted to spit it back out. It mushed and mashed in her mouth like cement, absolutely tasteless, exactly like glue. "What's wrong with you?"

What a question.

"Fuck's sake." Evan turned back to his food with a huff, his foot now bouncing— she could feel the vibrations against the bench they shared.

Why did he care? She thought, grimacing as she swallowed down the clumpy bread she had taken another bite of.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?"

The words shook her to her core, almost as if it had been a slap on the face. Her fork dropped with a clang on her plate while the rest of the table went silent, looking to Eoin Mulciber. He took no note of it, the wizard was too busy scowling out to the rest of the Great Hall. Eve tried to follow his line of sight to where the curses had been aimed at, but came up empty as a hoard of people had also turned to look.

"Shut the fuck up, Mulciber," Moira Palancher barked from way down towards Eve's right.

"What the fuck did'y—"

"What's gotten into you?" Melisende interjected, averting his attention from Moira to herself. Eoin jutted his head over to a group of students with their backs arched and their heads huddled at the center of the Gryffindor table.

"Always fucking prying, always in our fucking business," he sputtered.

"Why? They were looking at us?" Evan asked as the sound of hundreds of conversations returned to the Hall.

"Always."

"And so… Let me understand, you find it appropriate to just shout across the room while everyone's eating?" Evan continued, but, this time, his words switched from investigation to interrogation. It didn't last long. As if he had had a checklist ready in his own head, as if he were ticking off boxes. Without so much as a second thought, he turned his attention from Eoin to Eve. His eyes alight with white flames, his teeth grinding in his jaw. All of them could see it. "And what the fuck's wrong with you? Pick up your fork." She did as she was told, not wanting to push him further onto the edge he so obviously clung onto. Eve sat forward and forced herself to eat even if every bite was torture to her senses.

Because that's what this was: torture— and she questioned what the fuck she was thinking when she willingly agreed to sit next to Evan Rosier that Tuesday evening.

"What's wrong, Remus?" Lily whispered to him as they sat beside one another. She bowed her head down and placed a hand on his forearm.

He shook his head slightly, "it's nothing."

"Then how come you haven't touched your food?" Lily watched, not moving as he lifted a hand to run through his hair. "And how come your leg has been going crazy since we sat down?

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Come on." She tugged playfully at his sweater. "You know me. I'm not going to stop pestering you until you tell me."

Remus smiled slightly, but his eyes still faced down, tracing the outline of his plate. He placed his mouth against his forearm, finally shifting his gaze to Lily's.

"It's okay," he assured her, his words muffled against his arm.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Really?"

"Lily, I don't—"

"Want to bother me, yeah, yeah." She made a motion in the air with her hand as if his words were flies and she was swatting them away. "Remus, please."

He glanced around the table, wondering if any unwanted ears were eavesdropping on the conversation. But, of course, he had shown up too late to the game. Sirius' eyes darted between the two of them, and James had long gone quiet from whatever he had been discussing with Peter moments ago.

"So? You gonna tell us or not?" Sirius said as he chewed obnoxiously on the piece of cheese he just shoved into his mouth.

"I'm grand," he repeated. "Really."

"Mate..." Sirius began between chews, "...everyone knows you're not. I know it, she knows it, and that first year—that's been staring at you since we got here— knows it." He continued to eat as he threw a thumb in a random direction.

"I thought we agreed it wasn't that bad?" James inquired, looking between Sirius and Remus.

"Yeah, but—"

"You're nervous?" Peter finished for him, the two of them sharing a look. Remus nodded once.

"I can't shake it, I don't know why. I know it seems ridiculous to be this worked up over—"

"Ha, cheers," Sirius said quickly, snorting. He threw a look over his shoulder at the Slytherin table. "Especially with that." All five of them turned their attention to where Sirius pointed— the person in question sitting next to the most unwelcoming group of people that had and would ever walk those halls.

"You're right… It's just so pathetic, that's why. It's not that big of a deal, and I'm turning it into one," Remus said.

"So if it's not that big of a deal, can you tell us?" Lily asked.

"We already know," Sirius told her.

"Great, so can I know? Or is this a boys-only sort of thing?"

"Up to Remus," James said, shrugging his shoulders, trying to ignore the slight twinge of frustration he had — always had — when Lily would pry into Remus' life. What worried Remus, was Remus okay, where was Remus, how was Remus doing...

He shook his head and bit into a chicken leg.

"Mate, just bloody spit it out already— she won't quit," Sirius told him.

"I've got to tutor Kavanagh," Remus finally whispered to Lily.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, in Transfiguration, apparently she's not doing well," he continued.

"Says who?"

"McGonagall."

"Right, okay... Odd… But is that it?" Lily ignored the tittering wizard across from them. Remus nodded. "And the problem is?"

"Look who she's sitting next to," Sirius said, looking back over his shoulder. "That's bloody scary, that is." Lily couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Oh, come on, she's—" Lily looked over at the witch. "She's… she's—" She turned back to Remus. "You're right, you're making this a bigger deal than it is. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Right, thanks, I know," Remus responded.

"Have you spoken to her at all?"

"No."

"No?"

"THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?"

Remus damn near paled at the sound of the deep shout. All of them averted their gazes as fast they could count to three. James bit down on his lip, Peter's face turned the brightest shade of red that it could manage. Sirius scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, instinctively turning back around to banter with the Slytherin but not without first catching sight of Remus' face from the corner of his eye.

"Yikes," Sirius commented, keeping his head hung as they all waited in silence for what would come next. None of them dared to look over again. Eventually, Remus let out a sigh of relief as the sound returned to the tables. It seemed they had been spared this one.

"We deserved that," Peter mentioned, breaking their silence.

"Are you mad?" Sirius blurted out.

"We were all fucking staring," Remus told him.

"Half of these bitches stare at us all the time," Sirius argued, waving his knife around. "Do we, I, scream at them?" He turned to look at James, then Peter, then Remus. "No? That's what I thought."

"Okay, no," Lily interrupted, shaking her head. "You're not tutoring Mulciber— that's a different story. It's Kavanagh— don't let her intimidate you, that's all. Easy."

"What if she brings Rosier with her?" Sirius jibed, a grin growing on his face.

"Would she do that?" Remus asked, his eyes widening.

"She's not going to do that. Why would she do that?" Lily countered.

"Because… look at them."

"I'm not looking back over at them, Black. Mulciber's going to throw a fork at me." This time, all of them broke out into an unrestrained laugh. Even Remus, who had been anchored to his unease since yesterday afternoon; and even James, who had remained, for the most part, quiet— as he told himself he would when concerning gratuitous conversations with Lily. But he couldn't help himself at that moment. He couldn't help himself ever.

5 October 1977

It was the day after tomorrow, and Remus wanted to positively kick himself from behind as he watched one-by-one the students trailing into the Great Hall. He hadn't slept well, playing over and over again in his head the speech he was going to present to Eve Kavanagh. How he would approach her, when, and where. Each option seemed worse than the one before. He had surveyed the Great Hall the moment he had entered, looking for her, but she had yet to arrive.

"Mate," James said as they took a seat together, squinting his eyes as he, too, scanned the Slytherin crowd. Much like Remus, he came up empty. "She's not here, is she?"

"No," Remus said, shaking his head, beginning to stack whatever was in front of him onto his plate.

"Why're you supposed to be the one to do this, again?" James asked, pouring himself some juice.

"Because, even though she should— she's not." They may have not been the exact words McGonagall had used, but it was the version of them that waltzed in his mind.

"That's rubbish," James said, grimacing. "Why should you care, then?"

"I don't know," Remus responded hastily, exasperated. "I don't fucking know, honestly." James turned to look at him for a second.

"Sorry, mate," he said.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" Remus asked, turning to look at his friend. "Just go over there and ask her when she's free?" James stopped him with a snort that soon lifted into a chuckle.

"No, don't do that," James told him, shaking his head with a grin lining his lips. "Most definitely not that."

"Then what?" But Remus had to wait while his friend amused himself that early morning at the prospect of Remus walking over to the Slytherin table and, in front of all of them, asking when Eve would be free— as if that wouldn't have been a sight to see in and of itself. Not that James would have ever let it get to that, but the image itself was enough to write off as a healthy dose of comic relief.

"I would wait," James offered. "I would wait until after class or until this afternoon, evening. See if she's in the library or somewhere alone or something." Despite last night's attack, he quickly spared another glance at the Slytherin table. "If she's alone or with Flint then I think it's okay. Flint doesn't seem to have much of a working brain, anyway, to process much— but if she's with one of the others, don't bother. They'll just tell you to bugger off before you even get close. Even though, if you think about it, you'd be doing her the favor. I doubt she ran back to Rosier with the happy news." Remus frowned but then began to break out into a light chuckle as he shook his head.

"Fuck me," he managed, hiding his face in his sleeve. James caught on, the two of them laughing openly as their eyes peered every so often at the Slytherin table. It wasn't long, however, until his gaze latched on to a pair of eyes looking back at him and he, too, covered his face by lowering his forehead into his hand.

"Moony, stop— Snape saw us," James said, still snickering. His words and laughter combined somehow made it worse for Remus.

"Oh shit," Remus said, the laughter too far from stopping.

But as the hour passed, both of them had taken to their food, and any conversation or thought of the Slytherins dissipated as the rest of the day welcomed them. Sirius and Peter eventually joined them, and some of their housemates would greet them every so often. Though they spared him the thought, Remus couldn't help but look every so often at the Slytherin table. And as the hour grew closer to an end, he began to question: where the fuck was she? Had she shown up earlier and eaten? Maybe she had to complete coursework and had gone to the library? But still...

Now, James was known to be an early-riser, and though he — Remus — was most definitely not, the knife at his throat those last two days had offered little room to breathe. So, with James, bright and early, he rose. They had entered a near-empty Great Hall that morning, the sun was still low in the sky. So was it possible that Eve came, ate, and left before them? Sure, but it seemed unlikely. Unless he wasn't seeing her? But the setup wasn't much different from last night's, except she was now missing from it and, he realized, there seemed to be an all too empty space beside it.

He searched the table for Aphrodite Flint and found her seated next to Rosalia Selwyn and a sixth year, Sophia Blanchet, at the far end of the table. Next to them were Alexander Sykes and Moira Palancher, but Eve seemed to be missing from that group as well.

He wondered where Eve would have sat amidst this mishmash that morning. Would it have been with Evan Rosier or with Aphrodite Flint? He couldn't help but notice that the latter group seemed oddly placed at the end of the table, closest to the entrance. It seemed as if they had come, taken the first seat they could find, did what they needed to do, and then fuck off out of there as quickly as they could. Admittedly, his ignorance was what gave him a hard time placing her. Sirius would say Evan Rosier, but the truth was that Remus, the few times that he had noticed her, had only really seen her with Aphrodite Flint— who didn't seem all that keen to be close to that group... At least, not right then.

Remus shook his head and looked down at his plate.

And with a sigh, he announced to his friends, "I'm going for a smoke."

It had turned into some sort of a manic fixation as the day passed on. Even though he hadn't seen her at breakfast, she had been in class that morning. It didn't stop there. During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus had remarked that she had been there early, opting for a seat somewhere in the middle, closer to the back. She had sat next to Rosalia Selwyn. During Charms, she took the seat between Alexander Sykes and Edmund Nott. Again, they sat somewhere in the middle of the spectrum— not too far to be forgotten, but not too close to be recognized. Remus had tried to piece together some sort of pattern, but it seemed haphazard. Matter of fact, it seemed as if there was no pattern. One moment she was with this person, the next with another. His question from earlier that day continued to go unanswered. The mishmash still just a mishmash.

He was on the opposite side of the room and, despite being across from her, he could barely make out her face as it hid behind thin locks of brown hair. He observed how she didn't move— at all. At times, Remus couldn't help but wonder if she had fallen asleep, but her head never fell to the side to indicate it. It was disturbing— to say the least. It would have almost been better had she fallen asleep. Never had he seen someone with the capability to sit so still for so long. Not a quill, not a page, not a hand was lifted in either of the morning classes they shared.

Remus tried to focus on taking notes, reminding himself that the moment would present itself— but towards the end of each class, he eyed her, waiting to see if the opportune moment was then and now.

It hadn't presented itself. There always seemed to be someone lingering a little too close. Which bothered him even more. It was yet another unanswered question facing the plethora of unanswered questions he had come up with in the span of a couple of hours. How could someone who didn't speak possibly have that many people constantly trying to talk to them?

They would circle in his head for the rest of the day, but they would remain unanswered forever.

"Okay," James said, turning to look at Remus. It was later that afternoon, in between two classes that the four of them spotted Eve Kavanagh walking towards them. For the first time that day, she was alone. Truly, singularly alone. Her stare was glassy, distant; her steps were brisk but controlled. She walked as close to the wall as she could, but her hair was now pushed back over her shoulders so that he could actually see her face. They all slowed down, eventually coming to a full stop as she walked past them. Not once, despite the four of them all looking at her, had she made any suggestion that she had even noticed their presence. "Now— do it now. Now is good." Remus froze, his eyes on the back of her head. "Go!"

"Uh, okay," he managed. James pushed him in the same direction as the witch. Remus moved without thinking, nearly running after her as she had made ample range in the five seconds it had taken him to realize that this was it. This was what he had been preparing for.

Behind him, Sirius turned to look at James.

"What the fuck?"

"It was now or never, Padfoot," James told him. "He was shaking the table in every class, smoked nearly an entire pack. Bloke reeks. I couldn't take it anymore."

"Merlin, who the fuck cares?"

"McGonagall, obviously," Peter responded.

"And because Minnie cares, Remus cares," James added.

"Reckon we should wait?" Peter asked, but James' only response was a single nod. His mind was entirely focused on the pair at the end of the hall.

"Or… at least one of us," James said, his eyes not moving.

"I doubt it'll take long," Sirius voiced, leaning his back against a pillar and, like the other two, turning his attention to their friend.

"Kavanagh," Remus called, but it hadn't been enough. Or, as it would be completely appropriate for her, she was pretending that she hadn't heard him. "Kavanagh," he repeated a little louder. This time, however, he had finally reached her side and moved in front of her. Eve jolted in place, her eyes widening and finding their way to his. Remus could see her chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he began, having thought of every possibility of how this conversation could go, but leaving out the part where he frightened her before even greeting her. "I didn't mean to scare you." Eve didn't respond, her eyes focused on his. Her heartbeat slowed with every second that passed, her breath eventually coming on more even.

"Did you need something?" She asked, breaking their silence.

"Uh, yeah," Remus responded, his eyes narrowing slightly at the odd choice of words when regarding the situation at hand. "McGonagall asked me to mentor you? I don't know, did she speak—" The way her gaze fell from his was enough to tell him that they had. "Right, well, I figured— I figured we should begin this week… or even weekend for time's sake... to, you know, figure out a plan and do whatever it is that… Whatever it is."

The only immediate response he got was from the hand she had placed over her stomach, holding it as if pained. He couldn't place it and that bothered him just like the rest of his observations of her had bothered him.

Remus would remain blind to the fact that Eve, in all essence, was coming off of the last dose of sedative. Its hold weakened, allowing her mind to link the two separate conversations: the one she had had with their professor, the one that was unfolding in the present. She wanted to tell him he had the wrong person, that he had mistaken her for another Eve Kavanagh. No, in truth, she didn't want to tell him anything. She wished she could have just walked away, but she knew she would be triple-fucked if she did something like that. She would end up flunking out of all her classes and spending the rest of her days rotting away with Dipsy in Ireland.

Eve glanced out to him from the corner of her eyes. Was this kid in front of her the answer? What was he supposed to help her with? How could someone help her, the helpless? She supposed that was something either time would tell or he would give up. Eve almost wanted to warn him that he had agreed all too easily to a lost cause, but that would be a bit much to unload on someone she had been calling the wrong name for years.

"Yeah," she finally said along with a sigh. Her hand ran through her hair, pushing the strands away from her face. Remus' brow furrowed slightly. He had expected... Well, Remus wasn't entirely too sure what he had expected, now that he finally stood there. The reluctance? The defiance? Hadn't he driven himself insane for two days, mentally preparing himself for the fight that they were inevitably supposed to have?

"Right, then, when works best for you?" Eve pursed her lips, mulling it over. She shrugged. Remus watched every single movement. At that moment, right then and there, just the two of them, Eve Kavanagh didn't seem like a haunted doll at all. Matter of fact, he couldn't help but be caught off guard by how human she was up close.

"I don't know, whenever?" Her voice was low, soft, and more realizations continued to dawn on him. As if the entire day was the dawn of the realization or something. He realized that he had never really heard her speak— not in a conversation, a real conversation, at least. Of course— if one could even call this a conversation. Nonetheless, she didn't have the same cut-throat edge that Melisende had when she spoke, or the teasing, deriding tone that Rosalia Selwyn had when she spoke. All in all, the only thing that he could pinpoint in her words was exhaustion, fatigue. "What works for you?" His head jerked back ever so slightly.

"Um, let's see...I can— for me, I have prefect duties... but I can work around whatever it is. Maybe Friday afternoon, after classes? What'd'you think?" She nodded slowly.

"Sure, where?"

"Right," another part of the story he had failed to foresee. "Good question, uh."

"I'm sure we could just use the old Transfiguration room on the fifth floor," she offered.

"Right...Right, I'll have to ask—"

"I don't think McGonagall would mind." She was right, she wouldn't— but Remus had to salvage himself from his own fumble.

"Yeah, no, you're probably right— I'll still… I'll give her a warning, though, just in case."

"Okay," she said.

"Right, okay," Remus paused, looking down at her. "Okay, then I suppose that's it then. I'll see you on Friday?" Eve didn't respond, and he figured he didn't need any more than that. He got what he came for. With a single nod, he finished, " Right, thanks." Eve thinned her lips into a tight, polite smile, and he took it as his signal that they had both found a mutual conclusion to their hurried discussion. He walked back towards his friends who had taken up host in one of the alcoves, standing up as he approached.

"How'd it go?" James asked.

"Pleasantly well?" Remus responded, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, she doesn't— it was easy? I don't know. Almost anti-climactic."

"Did you think she was going to hex you?" Sirius snorted.

"I don't know? I didn't… I'm not sure what I thought was going to happen, but she seems calm? Easygoing? Laidback? Is that completely mad?"

"Yes, she just doesn't bloody talk," Sirius said.

"Or move, apparently," Remus added.

"I told you," Sirius reminded them. "It's mad."

"Well... she talked to me— so that's something."

"Thank Merlin," Peter commented.

"Well, okay— are you feeling any better?" It was James who asked, refocusing their attention from the witch back to their friend.

"Yeah," Remus responded, nodding. "Definitely, thanks for that." They shared a look and James patted him on his back.

"Anytime, Moony."

6 October 1977

"Ooh, I bet the bastard is having a good fucking laugh," Alexander Sykes slammed as he read over the list posted on the board in front of him. "The complete twat gave me Gamp, again." The wizard turned with a bitter, bordering theatrical smile that scrunched ever so slightly upwards in quick intervals. "Fucking Gamp." Moira let out a short laugh, placing a hand on his back as his own reached up to rub his face. "No, fuck him— she's a bloody creep. She's such a creep. Why does he do this? Like… what the actual fuck, Potter? "

"Because no one else wants to deal with her," Moira reminded him.

"Right, but just put her with Black? Yeah? They're the same breed of weird." He paused momentarily as the witch began to laugh again. "No, Moira, you don't understand— she's like super creepy."

"No, Alex, believe it or not, I do— I've had to sleep in the same room as her for six years now."

"You should hear the rubbish she says," he continued, his eyes widening.

"Like what?"

"Like... fuck do I know. Always complaining about this person or the other. Got something to say about everyone... Merlin, how is it possible to hate everyone?"

"Well, yeah," Moira concluded, looking through the doorway and into the room behind them. She took a second to absorb the image in front of her. There was a large, round table stained mahogany-red with the same chair replicated multiple times at regular distances. The walls behind the furniture were stained with smog and smoke, and the scent of grape-flavored tobacco and burnt autumn leaves filled the air, a smell that only centuries vegging out inside a castle could create. "You reckon they know about the Parkinson thing that happened last year?"

"No," Alex said bluntly, shaking his head once. "No, if they did, they wouldn't put her on prefect duty. That'd be bonkers." Moira broke herself out of the daze with one of her own chuckles. "The fuck? Imagine? You have someone who not only killed someone's cat, but who also hung it up in the common room after going on prefect rounds? Ooh, I feel so safe."

But Melisende's disparagement came to an unceremonious halt as Alex caught wind of James Potter coming around the bend. "Anyway," he said, running a hand through his tight curls, shaking them so that they bounced. Moira looked over her shoulder to see what had caught the wizard's attention. "Gotta go."

"I'll see you at dinner," Moira told him. "Courage, brother." They looked at one another, both of them breaking out into a chuckle as James Potter passed behind the witch. The Gryffindor couldn't help but throw them a glance, causing Alex to roll his eyes as he followed in the Head Boy's steps.

The Slytherin looked around the room, grimacing at his options. But rather than wait around to be hassled into sitting somewhere he would much rather not sit, he took the first seat available to him without so much as a peek at who was next to him. Serendipitously, it also happened to be the seat directly opposite from James Potter.

Lovely, he thought, holding back a grin.

Though he had expected his move for attention to go mostly unnoticed, James Potter had not succeeded in scratching the itch that the Slytherin pair's laughter had created. He eyed Alex, feeling his stare on him as he settled his belongings. They both eyeballed one another, a blank look on James' face. A chair screeched against the floor next to him, but he still couldn't wake from the spell Alex had cast on him in those few seconds.

"What?" Lily asked, following James' gaze across the room. He shook his head, finally coming to.

"No, nothing," he responded, taking a seat in his chair. None of it made any sense: since when did Moira Palancher and Alexander Sykes hang out? He had just caught them nearly falling on top of each other with laughter— an unseemly sight for who they were. As soon as Lily took her seat next to him, and even though James had taken to only conversing with her when necessary, he turned to her and asked, "Why is Sykes looking at me like that?" Lily's mouth opened slightly just to close again, moving her sight from James to Alex. She quickly covered her mouth with the back of her hand as soon as she had seen the Slytherin's expression, pulling her stare away and erupting into giggles. "What!?" James turned to look at her.

"Probably because you paired him with Gamp, again," she whispered, looking down so that no one could see or hear them.

"What? Aren't they mates?"

"Nooo," Lily said all too quickly, too easily— as if James had missed the obvious. As if it was basic common sense that he should have known. As if it had completely flown over his head. He sat back in his seat, his lips turned faintly downward as he internally scratched his own head. How had he missed this one? And since when were Alexander Sykes and Melisende Gamp not friends? Since when were they such not friends that Lily had felt the need to not only respond with no, but to respond like that with no. What did everyone else know that he didn't? He turned to look to his right where Remus had just arrived, taking the seat between James and their fellow younger housemate, Leron Wade.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning away from Lily towards his friend. Remus looked at him. "Did'y'know Gamp and Sykes weren't friends?"

It was as if a lightbulb had lit inside his head as soon as the question came out of James' mouth. Like a breath of relief after holding it in for so long. A breath of relief because it had been tickling Remus since he, too, had come to that same observation earlier that week. A breath of relief for James because he realized that it wasn't him just having his head too far up his ass. He almost wanted to tell Lily to take back the tone she had used when she said no— almost.

"Yeah, right?" Remus sat forward, hunching over to close the gap between them. "I noticed, too— Sykes and Palancher? Since when?"

"Yeah, what the fuck?" James asked rhetorically, sitting back in his chair as he looked over to the rest of the table's members.

"You two are worse than girls, oh my God," Lily reprimanded from the other side, her eyes wide as she stared at Remus. Despite her plea, Remus couldn't help but bite back a smirk, and James did nothing to stop himself from responding with a snort.

There was one thing that no one knew about the Marauders— they were some of the biggest shit-talkers at Hogwarts.

Back in the corridor, Moira walked against the crowd, weaving and winding around until she approached the small, grass-covered yard situated between four corridors. Most had escaped to the confines of the library, but she wanted to be under the sky. She always wanted to be under the sky.

"Pst," she heard someone hiss before she could manage even one step into the garden. Moira swiveled around, her wand out, and pointed in the direction she had heard the sound come from. From the shadows of one of the alcoves stepped out a boy fitted in all-black from head to toe. Black jumper, black trousers, black shoes. He held his hands up as if surrendering to her.

"Fletcher, you loathsome git," she sneered, shoving her wand back into her robes.

"I've been called worse," he said.

"What are you doing here? And why aren't you in uniform?"

"Just came back from vacation," he joked. "Couldn't you tell?" This time he held his arms out, turning around in a full circle to give the witch a full view.

"And why are you pst-ing me like I'm a cat?" Moira looked up and down the corridor and then out to the garden. A couple of younger years loitered around the edges at the opposite side. "Aren't we not supposed to be seen together?"

"No one's going to see us," Mundungus snorted, looking lazily over at the younger years. "They don't give a fuck." He caught her scrupulous peer. "What? You don't trust me, do you? You don't think I know what I'm doing?"

"On the contrary, I don't know how to feel about you at all," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest. "And no, I don't understand how you of all people are running the show— but okay."

"That's a start, at least."

"Don't get too excited," she warned. There were a few silent beats before he began to close the distance between them.

"Walk with me," he instructed her.

She paused, mulling it over. On one hand, she was nosy, she wanted to know what he had stopped her for. Because it most certainly was something. Mundungus Flecther was a cave creature who never came out unless there was something important enough to merit it. Much like a slug coming out after the rain. On the other, she really didn't feel like taking a walk. Whether it had been Mundungus Fletcher or by herself— walking had been the last thing on her mind.

"Couldn't we just stay here?"

"No," and he moved past her, out of the exterior hallway, and onto the grassy grounds. She sighed, following him.

"I'm walking," she pointed out to him when he turned to look over his shoulder.

"Indeed."

"I will hex you if you don't quit this mystery act," she warned him. "It doesn't suit you." Though he had had a head-start, Moira soon caught up. Her long strides and Quidditch-made muscles were no match for whatever poor excuse Mundungus called a body.

"Am I being mysterious?" The smirk still holding strong on his lips— she couldn't help but think how much she wanted to wipe it off his bug-looking face.

"My wand is in my hand."

"That's nice."

"You bet your bony little arse it is."

"My arse is not bony and, besides," Mundungus paused, looking around as they passed from the garden back into the school's corridor. Except, here, there was nowhere for someone to hide. There were no alcoves, no pillars, nowhere to pst at passerbyers while covered by the shadows. "You're a good person, Moira."

"Says who?"

"Please, don't play tough. You're a good person, deep down, no matter how much you try to hide it."

"Fletcher, is this some sort of paid intervention? Get to the point," she demanded.

"You're not even going to deny it? Wow," he marveled.

"I could drown you in the lake and let the grindylows feed on you but, then again, I'm a good person," she mocked. The Ravenclaw responded with an all too deep eye-roll that almost sent his own vision dark.

"I really was hoping to have a nice chat."

"Really?"

"No, I'd rather be inside with my girlfriend and a spliff."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Something like it, but yes."

"You know, for a moment there, I thought I actually cared, but wait... I don't. Why are you bothering me? This looks fishy— we really shouldn't be doing this?" She watched as Mundungus stopped and scratched the back of his neck, looking out to the empty hall.

"We're having a meeting," he finally said out loud.

"Where? Here?" Despite the urgency in her voice, Mundungus remained stoic.

"Yeah, this weekend, midnight— Hog's Head. It's been a month, the Ministry hasn't been able to find the pair that went missing a while back," he added, feeding her more information.

"Okay?" Her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes narrowing on his face.

"And Dumbledore has some doubts on the Ministry's willingness to…" His already too-low voice deepened further, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Willingness to do much of anything."

"So?"

"So, he thinks it'll keep happening, and it's too close to look the other way." Mundungus paused, finally bringing his gaze up to the witch. "He thinks they've infiltrated the ministry, which is why the investigation is going backward— someone's fucking them up from the inside. Deatheaters in the Ministry isn't a good look."

"And that's what you've stopped to tell me?"

"No, not exactly," Mundungus sighed. "Dumbledore is afraid that if they've managed to infiltrate the Ministry, what's to say that they aren't here, too?"

"Here?" Moira whispered, squinting. "At Hogwarts, you mean?" Mundungus responded only with a nod. "And he wants to know if and who?"

"Mm… and what they're planning, if they're planning anything," he finished. "Right now, the biggest concern is that there may be students at Hogwarts who are," his eyes met hers, "directly involved in the disappearances. Dumbledore doesn't think they'll do something inside the school."

"Why not wait until the meeting, then?"

"Because... It's not certain, and some of the members have children here, loved ones—again... it's too close. If any of them suspected, there's no saying how they would react."

"I see." Moira lifted her stare from him. "And what's to say they aren't exactly who we suspect them to be?"

"Meaning?"

"I mean," she tilted her head back, "I mean… If anyone's going to be, it's going to be one of... you know—"

"No, you can't assume that," he said, shaking his head. "Then you would be just as much of a candidate as the rest of them." Their eyes met. "It's a serious oath with serious responsibilities- not just whoever wants. Okay? You need proof, got it?"

"Okay."

"Good," Mundungus nodded once. "Then you know what you've got to do. Let Sykes know as well."

"It's not going to be easy," she said. "They don't trust one another— much less me. Alex even less, I think."

"None of this will be easy," and though that should've been the end of it, with the wizard turning away, Moira spat out the one question that had lingered since she had seen him over the summer during carnival.

"What's in it for you, Fletcher?"

The Ravenclaw only threw her a look that ended with, what had now become, an all too familiar smirk. He lifted his hands in a fuck-do-I-know motion as he walked into the distance backward, facing her.

Because while she could figure out why she and Alex had been hand-picked — Alex being an outcast his whole life, existing on the outskirts to make sure no one found out what they believed to be a sort of delinquency; and her, the witch who spoke with an accent, who came from the other side of the world, who had constantly tried to attain first place but failed because of the frontiers she tried to break on her own— she could not place Mundungus.

Mundungus Fletcher: the boy with many faces. The Janus of Hogwarts. Everywhere and nowhere all at once. Moira had tried to piece him together, but it was a tireless maze that didn't have one resolution. She had tried to figure out what exactly he was doing running around, abiding by Dumbledore's every wish, disappearing in robes and coming back in a suit— but all he ever did was show up, say what he had to say, and then vanish into thin air.

"Bloody Santa Claus," she muttered under her breath as he disappeared around the bend.