"How was it?" Sirius asked, looking up from where he had been laying on his bed, Remus' newspaper from earlier that day laying across his lap. James was absent, most likely at Quidditch practice, but that hadn't seemed to stop Peter from sitting on the edge of his bed. On the nightstand between them, an unaspiring game of wizard's chess was unfolding, but Remus hadn't looked long enough to know who was winning. He figured it'd be one of those things where Sirius would let Peter think he would carry the day just to smash his King to pieces in the last three seconds of the game.

"Wouldn't know," he answered, placing his bag on the floor and taking a seat on his trunk. He lifted one foot to untie his laces. "Didn't show."

"I knew it," Sirius said, breaking out into a laugh.

"How?" Remus muttered as Sirius' palm stretched out to Peter, beckoning forward with his fingers. "What? You bet on it?" The pair looked over at him, Remus' stare moving between both of them. "Whatever, fuck it." He blew a raspberry and kicked his shoes under the bed as he moved to lay in it. Despite staring straight at the red canopy, he could hear coins jingle in Sirius' palm. "You really knew she wasn't going to show?" Remus asked, turning to him. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I knew she wasn't going to make this easy for you," Sirius snickered. "No bloody way."

"I can't believe she didn't go," Peter mused, for whom McGonagall's words were God's commandments. "What're you gonna do? Gonna tell Minnie?" Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he straightened his view back to the canopy.

"I should, shouldn't I?"

"What else is there?" Peter asked. "Lie and say she came?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, feeling the cloth of his pillow bunch up underneath his shoulder. "Talk to her? See what happened? Benefit of the doubt?"

"That's just stupid," Sirius snorted.

"Why's it stupid?" Remus countered.

"Because she didn't show up the first time— what makes you think she'll show up the second time? Or ever? You're a half-blood… and a Gryffindor, mate. You're beneath her, no way she'll take orders from you."

"Yeah, but... something could've come up," Remus reiterated. "You don't know, we don't know. Maybe she's ill."

"Did she look ill?" His eyes narrowed at Sirius' question, recalling the few glimpses he had gotten of her throughout the day. No, she didn't look any paler than usual, nor did she seem as if she was in pain— but she didn't look swell, either. He had to admit. Since Tuesday, he had spent quite an ample amount of time trying to learn about her as well as he could from a distance. All he could gather was what he had already known, for the most part. Except for that touch of languor— he hadn't forgotten that.

"I'll talk to her first— you never know," he said, sighing and reaching over into his bag for his pack of cigarettes.

Though, sure, Remus had a bunch of better things he could have — should have — been doing... It didn't stop him from scanning the Marauder's Map every few minutes — or, rather, whenever the chance presented itself — that Saturday. Eve hadn't been at breakfast that morning, which had been the initial push to check, and so he had found her in the Slytherin common room during his morning solo smoke session. Hours had passed, morning turned to noon, he went to lunch, and now the sun was making its way back down— the day had gone by and she hadn't left the common room.

She hadn't eaten. Unless she had food in her room, of course. But who kept that much food in their room?

What the fuck? He had thought to himself when he initially realized. But then, towards the late afternoon, when the sun was just about to set, he caught her in the hallway just outside her common room. At that moment, he had been alone in the Gryffindor common room, finishing up that weekend's coursework. He sat up straight, his eyes on her name, following her as she meandered throughout the dungeon corridors. Eventually, she had made her way to a staircase, heading up— and without thinking twice, without even collecting his belongings, he pocketed his wand, cigarettes, and sped off from the tower.

Remus couldn't quite explain it himself. Just a couple of days ago, he had needed the support and force of his friends. Now, he was on his own, trudging forward to accomplish what he had set out to do. It was almost as if he had reached a maximum limit to the endless amount of questions that had piled up. It was almost as if he had spoken to her once, that she had proven him wrong and then resumed to prove him right— and he wanted to prove himself wrong again. It was a whirlwind of thought and ego, one that he couldn't understand in its entirety.

As he hopped down the stairs, he pulled out the Map from his back pocket to locate her name again. She seemed to be standing — sitting? — still just outside one of the exits leading to the grounds, facing Hogsmeade. Remus memorized it, closing the map and shoving it back into his jeans pocket.

"Hi," Remus said unostentatiously, revealing himself as he stepped out of the exit and turned to the left to look down at Eve. Unlike earlier that week, she immediately looked up, her eyes blinking as their gazes met. The sun shone directly in her eyes, forcing her to squint. Remus stepped closer to cover her from the sun's rays. She was sitting on a bench, legs crossed under her, back hunched. For the second time, it would disturb him how human she seemed, accessible. She wore nothing that any other witch at Hogwarts wouldn't have— a dark navy jumper and black, almost baggy, trousers. Beside her, on the bench, was a velvet black robe that she had most likely taken off as the uncustomary sun that day saturated her in its warmth.

Oh fuck, she thought to herself, turning away as soon as she realized who it was. She closed and opened her mouth, her eyes slightly wider, her breath held as she looked down at her hand. Oh fuck.

"Afternoon," she responded without turning to look at him.

"Afternoon, Kavanagh," he said, nodding, lifting his brows, and tilting his head as he tried to get a look at her face. All he could make out was her forehead and head of light brown hair that fell over her face and shoulders.

"Mhm?"

"Where were you yesterday afternoon?"

Fuck, she repeated for the third time in her head. She knew it had been inevitable the moment the scattered segments hitched to one another. Why else would he have been there? Of course, he would want to know where she had been— because he had been waiting for her.

"Busy," she said, lifting her face but not meeting his stare.

"Busy?" He waited to see if she would add anything else, she didn't. "Busy with what?" She continued to look past him, towards the coloring trees that lined the path to the village. Remus sighed, his shoulders falling as he helped himself to the open space at the other end of the stone bench. Eve's face scrunched up again, but he couldn't know if it was from the lack of sudden sun barrier, because she was searching for something to tell him or his overall presence.

He wouldn't know, couldn't know, but it was most definitely the second. Eve was reaping her brain to find him an answer that he would be satisfied with. How could she tell him that she had forgotten? Not only had she forgotten about their meeting, but she had forgotten about the tutoring altogether, their conversation, as well as where and when they were supposed to meet. Not only that, she had forgotten the day— she only knew it was Saturday because no one had been in uniform that morning. And the reason for all this? Well, Lupin, she thought: the reason she couldn't remember was that she was knocking back Dawdle Draught like it was her only life source.

Fuck.

Now seated, Remus had taken out a cigarette to put between his lips, lighting it with the tip of his wand. He took a long drag, the smoke swirling around them before being carried away by the slight breeze. The scent was foreign and yet familiar to the witch, but her mind was too tied-up in both excuses and intoxication to pay it any attention.

"You could've told me," he began, taking another sip from his cigarette. Eve glanced up at him. He was sitting forward, at the edge, his back curved over so that she could watch his profile in stealth. "I wouldn't have waited, you know?"

I'm sorry, the words sat there on the tip of her tongue.

"I was busy."

"Yes," he nearly snorted. "You said that. What was—"

"It was an emergency," Eve continued, the words coming out smothered as she bit down on her gums.

"An emergency?" Remus repeated, and Eve could practically hear it in his voice. He was laughing at her— he found this amusing. How could he find this amusing? It was disconcerting, to say the least. How could she skip out on him, waste his time, make him wait... how could any of that be entertaining? She almost wanted to tell him, to remind him why he was there in the first place. But, alas, he knew better than her— didn't he? No, she didn't need to tell him anything. Remus Lupin knew why he was there, it was Eve who began to realize that she was the one who didn't know.

Indeed, Remus did find it amusing. Actually, he had found it so the moment he had stepped into her view, and she had reacted as a deer would in headlights. He had almost wanted to laugh— he knew that she knew that she had been caught red-handed. And while it had rubbed him the wrong way yesterday evening, he couldn't come to it. Not then, not now. Almost as if he was dealing with a child. A child found with their hand deep in the cookie jar.

"Yes."

"You have a note?"

"A note?"

"Yes," he said in the same tone she had just used. This time, however, he turned to meet her stare out the corner of his eye. Eve could have sworn she saw a smirk on his lips— and she knew, she knew that he knew she was lying, that she was full of shit. It didn't stop her from playing.

"What for?"

"Listen," he said, leaning his back against the wall behind them. "Your tutoring isn't all that optional. I could've taken house points, assigned you detention, or just written you up to McGonagall— but I didn't." He shrugged. "I know you're not going to tell me what happened, but the next time just… let me know, yeah?"

"Oh, okay," she said in almost a whisper, nodding once. I'm sorry, she wanted to say. Because she was— and maybe it was the potion, maybe it was the fact that she had done nothing but roll around in her sheets, and her brain was turning to a pulp with every passing day, but she was.

"Good, now... does Friday afternoon after classes still work for you? And do you want to reschedule yesterday's meeting or are you going to skip out on that too?"

"Friday afternoon is fine," she responded almost instantly, not meeting his gaze. There was something to be said, though. No one else would have shown her as much grace and tolerance after having waited two hours after a full day of classes. Merlin knew that Evan Rosier would have smacked her upside down and then kept her there until all the blood had rushed to her face. But no, he had waited, she had stood him up with no explanation, and there he was— trying to find the middle ground, again.

Fuck, she repeated to herself. She needed his help, too, and he was doing more to offer it than she was doing to accept it.

"Whatever works best for you, we can reschedule," she added.

"Tomorrow, after lunch," he answered promptly. "Okay? We need to catch you up."

"Okay," she said, pursing her lips and nodding.

"Okay, then," Remus took the last drag from his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, smashing out the ember with his shoe. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," was all he heard her say. He stood there for a second longer, looking down at her. It had not gone unnoticed by him the way she had not once been able to look at him, but he supposed it wasn't his problem to deal with. The problem that had been his was resolved.

When Remus left, Eve leaned her head back against the wall behind her— the one he had just leaned against. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool wind pick up and whip around her. Eve wished she had been able to give a real explanation, something substantial to tell him to fuck off— that he was in the wrong, not she. But she couldn't. She didn't have anything to offer him besides fibs and white lies. Ones that would fall through the cracks if he took five seconds to look into them.

She wished at that moment she hadn't been inebriated, sedated. She wished she could have felt the full spectrum of human thought and emotion, that she could have felt present in the moment. But no, she felt far away, floating in the air and closed into a cage at the same time.

Did she feel bad? She couldn't tell... honestly— she couldn't. Sorry seemed like the natural response to fucking up, but besides that, she couldn't tell up from down, she couldn't tell east from west. All she knew was that she had done something wrong and that, despite it, he was willing to give her another shot. He was willing to give her a chance, and the first thing she told herself was: Tomorrow, no dawdle draught.

"Slytherins are the easiest," Marlene told them, mischief alight within her blue eyes. The rest of the girls sat two to one bed, a bottle being passed between them as they recounted, gossiped, and did what young girls did on Saturday nights. Mary handed the glass bottle to Lily, who brought the edge to her lips and poured the transparent pale yellow liquid into her mouth. She grimaced at its sourness, never quite understanding how anyone could enjoy the taste of elderflower. Sure, it made her feel light and euphoric, but she sure couldn't say she craved it. Not like others, not like them.

"I find they all look like hawks? Or some kind of bird, no?" Dorcas responded, nearly giggling. Lily scoffed, but grinning, as she watched her friend sway back and forth, the wine getting the best of her.

"Inbred freaks," snorted Marlene.

"Aren't you an inbred freak?" asked Mary, her eyes foggy as she stared at Marlene with an opened mouth.

"Not that inbred."

Lily chuckled at her friend's response.

"Welp, guess someone's a little blitzed," Dorcas teased.

"I don't know, not all of them are ugly," Mary said, completely ignoring the giggling redhead next to her, who had begun to clutch her sides to constrain the laughter. Lily didn't even know what was funny, just that something was. "Palancher's body... and Selwyn's got really pretty hair?"

"I think she means blokes," Dorcas told the Ravenclaw witch, who subsequently broke out into a deep blush.

"Don't talk about that snobby slag," scowled Marlene at the same time.

"But, to be fair, she does have nice tits," Dorcas added, sending Marlene a pointed look. Marlene leaned over the bedside table to grab the bottle out of Lily's hands. She brought it to her lips, eyeing the Gryffindor canopy and letting the alcohol pool in her mouth.

"I don't care," Marlene said after swallowing the vitriol. "She's a dumb whore— they all are."

"Hop off it, Marly. Not all of them are dumb whores," giggled Mary, shaking her head. "Kavanagh and Palancher are far from whores. I can't imagine that Gamp gets any action…Flint? Okay, sure— dumb, fair enough, but not a whore. And Selwyn?" Mary grimaced, trying to recall what she thought she knew so much about. "Fair enough."

"Fine," Marlene huffed as Lily and Dorcas joined in a shared laugh over Mary's observations. "They may not be dumb or whores, but they've their problems. Deep fuckin' issues, I'll tell you that."

"Yes, but who doesn't?" Lily challenged, looking over at Marlene. Marlene stared her down, the room going silent.

"Melisende Gamp is a bloody psychopath. I heard she killed Spring Parkinson's cat last year and hung it up in their common room."

"Bollocks," Mary blurted out.

"Actually?" Lily asked, her face growing with concern.

"Dun'know," Marlene shrugged. "Just what I heard."

"From who?"

"From someone."

"That's a serious accusation," Lily said. "How come— if that was true, wouldn't we have heard about it?"

"What happens in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin," Dorcas commented. Lily's eyes fled to hers.

"Fine, I don't know for sure," Marlene admitted, holding her hands up to re-establish the peace between them. "But she is a freak, you have to admit."

"All right, fine," Lily coincided, a sigh of relief leaving her at Marlene's admission. "But being a freak or being dumb isn't a crime, Marly."

"Flint?" Marlene asked, pausing as Lily nodded. "Not just dumb— thicker than a brick… And her brother's a complete perv, used to peek up girls' skirts and all."

"So? Just 'cause her brother's a pervert doesn't mean she is," Lily argued. "And, again, being thick was never a crime."

"Uh, if being thick isn't a crime, then being quiet isn't," Mary said, her brows scrunched together as she threw them all a reproving look. "And being tough, also."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Marlene asked, turning to the smallest witch among them.

"I mean Kavanagh, Flint, Palancher— they've never really done anything wrong. Why do we have to dislike them?"

"Oh, please," snorted Marlene, taking another sip from the bottle she still held. "Kavanagh is not quiet— she just can't be bothered, always with her chin up, chest out." Marlene broadened her chest and lifted her chin as she said the words. "Flint— whatever, and Palancher? Palancher would sacrifice her own mother if it meant getting what she wanted."

"I don't know," Lily began, shrugging ever so slightly. "I feel bad for her."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "She's doing it alone— she's got no help. Especially when they made Black captain— that shocked even me. She's just as good... if not better."

"She is a bloody good chaser," Dorcas agreed.

"She is," Lily said.

"She's fine," Marlene scoffed, rolling her eyes. The witch, who was also a chaser for the Ravenclaw team, would never admit that her competition was one of the best Quidditch players that the wizarding world had seen in decades. She would never admit that Moira Palancher was not only her enemy but also her fire— the one that got her up in the morning and said run!

"She's better than Potter," Dorcas continued absentmindedly. The room went silent at the mention of the name. They all looked at her. "What? She is— come on!"

"I'm better than Potter," Marlene snickered.

"Talking 'bout the buffoons," Mary began, waggling her eyebrows, a giddy smile on her lips. Lily eyed her, her brows furrowing as she scrutinized her best friend. "You know who became right fit this year?"

The bottle that had been in Marlene's hand was slowly passed over to Lily, who brought it to her lips. She shared a wary look with Marlene before both glanced back over to the bronzed Australian.

"Potter!" Lily coughed, choking on her alcohol-mixed-spit that had lodged itself in the space between her tongue and throat.

"I am not that pissed, not yet," Marlene said, shaking her head and looking out the window. "I mean, blimey— Mary, really?"

"Would you rather it be Black?"

"Fuck you," spat the blonde.

"Thought so." Mary sighed, her shoulders drooping and her arms hanging limply by her sides. "Why? Is it really such a terrible thing?"

"Depends what that thing... what this is... Do you fancy James Potter?" Lily asked, a wild tint to her tongue, green eyes carefully watching, not wanting to believe or attempt to comprehend her friend's admission.

"No!" Mary said. "Oh my god— no! Why is it that someone has to fancy someone else to find them attractive?"

"I mean," began Dorcas, her words trailing off into a nervous laugh.

"I don't like this conversation," Marlene announced, reaching over to pry the bottle from Lily. She held it back, her eyes defensive as she wagged her finger at the Ravenclaw.

"Still my turn."

"He's a lot better this year... Last year, too," Dorcas interrupted, looking to Mary. "I don't see why he's still such a touchy subject."

"Maybe," Lily answered, "but he's still a complete wanker."

"They haven't pulled a single prank! And... honestly? They were funny, yeah?"

"He sent Selwyn to the hospital wing," Lily reminded them.

"Which is all the money," Marlene said, giggling. Lily sent her a look. "Anyway— you sure you're not into him, MacDonald?"

She swallowed down her wine-touched saliva. Innocent, oh-so-innocent, Mary had secrets of her own— secrets that she didn't feel ready to indulge in. Secrets she had still to discover on her own. The secrets that had come out over the summer. Secrets that had made her realize why she couldn't be like the others, why she couldn't think like them, act like them. A delinquency— maybe, an illness— maybe, but it made her alive. It made her uncover parts of herself that had been dormant for years. She had been lying to herself for so long that she must fancy this bloke or the other— randomly selecting one from the crowd every so often in order to fit in, deciding to muse on the stranger when asked questions. They always would ask her why she never did anything, why she was so scared— but it hadn't been fear, she found out, it just hadn't been her.

"No, I'm not," she repeated.

Lily held her words tightly, frowning as she detected a hint of sadness on her friend's face. But that was the problem with secrets and half-truths, what one didn't know— they would assume. So the words were misinterpreted and a different reality presented itself in the redhead's mind. She curled her lips inward, licking over the chapped parts. She wanted to reach out and comfort her like she had done so many times before, but this felt different. There was both a small shiver of excitement and a cup of nausea when she realized that they were talking, actually talking, about James Potter. The boy that had made her turn around and walk in the opposite direction when she saw him coming, the one whose voice had made her want to plug her ears until they bled, the one who had already taken up so much time in her head.

There was something else, beneath the cup and the shiver. And Lily was cursed, she was cursed because she knew herself too well. Ignorance was bliss but not something that regularly came to her. She knew what it was, lying underneath it all: relief. Why, though? Why would she feel relief that Mary didn't have any intention to pursue him? Lily sighed deeply, a small scrunch between her brows, but before she could delve deeper into the thought, they all turned up to watch the door squeak open.

"Oh... am I interrupting something?" Their dorm mate, Marjory Bones, asked with a surprised tone. Her round brown eyes ran over the four girls in front of her, laying upon the bottle in Lily's hands.

"No, we're just drunk and drinking," replied Marlene. Lily held up the wine so that the witch could see.

"Care to join?" Mary asked.

"You sure? I wouldn't want to intrude."

"No! Come on, there's plenty of drink for everyone," trumpeted the now intoxicated Marlene. They all knew she had to be in order to invite Marjory Bones, one of Gryffindor's three chasers, to the party. For the most part, and something Lily had noticed over the course of their friendship, much of Marlene's antipathies were one-sided, and because they were, only a playful laugh escaped Marjory's thin lips. Dorcas moved over so that she was leaning against one of her pillows, freeing up the spot for the newest member.

"To friends," saluted Marlene, holding up the bottle and handing it over to Marjory.

"To friends," they all sang out in harmony, falling into a fit of laughter that resonated and lit up the entire tower.

She slammed the book shut before even finishing the last sentence, picking up the attention of the wizard sitting beside her. Her lack of gracefulness was far from ordinary, but — at that moment — she couldn't be bothered. Her muscles were dry ice and her palms a jungle as she brought a hand to run across her scalp. She let her hair fall onto her face. Her pulse raced, as if ready to jump out and growl at the next person to look her way. Her tongue was stuck in a permanent head-lock between her teeth— the tip had gone almost completely numb.

It had been over 24 hours since her last dose, and it was the first time in nearly a month that she was clean. The first time in a month that the poison didn't course through her veins. She hadn't realized that shutting down every aspect of her life, including her ability to feel anything at all, would end up in a complete spiral when she finally decided to stop.

Under any other circumstance, she would have found an excuse to be up and out of that seat, that room. But the witch was battling, trying to keep the chaos inside her under wraps as best as she could. It was nauseating, and that's what had worried her. A mentor: someone who looked over her, who watched her, who was there. Every act would be counted, every word, every breath. Exposed and vulnerable, so she had to remain in line.

But how to remain in line when it felt as if thousands of false alarms rung all around her? An emergency bell trilling over and over again, incessantly— all smoke, no fire.

Eve tried to release the breath she had been holding as carefully as possible. She lifted her stare from the table to the front of the classroom, clenching her hands, nails digging into her palms as the urge to rip at her own skin consumed her.

At the sound of her textbook slapping, his gaze had moved from the book in his hand to the side of her face. He watched as she sat, doing nothing but staring off into a far distance. Her face was placid but strained, and he could see her eye shifting back and forth, back and forth— as if the thoughts racing in her head were his own.

"Um," he coughed, trying to grab her attention. "So—" Eve turned her head ever so slightly. "Did you finish the chapter? Did you want to start on the exercises?"

"Okay."

"Okay, so," Remus reached into his bag and pulled out an apple, placing it between them on the table. "When you're ready." He jutted his chin towards the fruit but kept his eyes on her. She peered over her shoulder at him, looking as if he had left his lunch on his face. "The exercises based off the reading you just did— you did finish, right?"

Her only answer was a slow nod while picking her wand up from where it sat beside the book, lifting it, pointing it. The words: she knew them, she did, she had just read them. She knew how they were spelled, she knew how to move her hand, she even knew how to say them.

It wasn't that— but her hand came back down anyway.

Remus sat back in his chair, watching, eyes moving between the apple, the wand, and the witch.

"Why'd you stop?" Nothing. "Kavanagh." She tilted her head ever so slightly, indicating that he had her ear. "What's going on?" It came out almost too fast. Whatever discretion she was attempting to have, she could have just thrown it out the window. He could see all of it. This was not the high-brow, nose-raised, proper witch he had convinced himself of. Her foot tapped like a snitch, her hair was tied back in a low, disheveled bun with strands falling all around her face— he had watched her pull at it multiple times. Something was wrong— he just didn't know what.

"I'm fine."

"Really? Because, I mean… you seem a little… on edge?"

"I'm not."

"Then... why'd you stop?"

"I can't." But the words had been too quiet for him to hear.

"What'd you say?" Remus sat forward in his chair so that he could look at her face.

"I can't do it," she repeated, half his understanding coming from her lips.

"But... you haven't even tried?" He leaned his elbow against the desk to prop his chin up in his palm, sitting with his torso twisted so that he didn't miss anything else. "Try— at least once." Remus pursed his lips when he was met, yet again, with dead silence. "What do you mean when you say you can't?"

She knew why she couldn't— but how could she tell him? How could she tell the stranger sitting next to her that she couldn't do it because her body was ready to break? That her body was betraying her? It was betraying her because she had betrayed it first— the consequences of her actions. How could she tell him that?

Woe is me, the Ravenclaws wizard's words sung in her head.

She couldn't do this.

"You're wasting your time," she resigned, leaning back into her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Am I?" His eyes widened ever so slightly as he became witness to her all-too-willing submission. "How so?" She didn't respond, and it almost made him want to laugh because what the fuck else had he expected? "What is it? What? I'm beneath helping you or some bollocks like that?"

"What?" This time, she turned to look at him. Straight in the eyes. It was the first time she had that whole session. And it was all too clear that he had taken her aback— his words had caught her off guard...and that froze him. His face went blank as they looked at one another, the back of his neck heating up under her stare. "No," she continued, moving her eyes from his. "No."

"Listen, Kavanagh," he began after a pregnant pause, his words cooler than before. "We both know you wouldn't have shown up if you didn't think you needed help— so you want help… I think? But you have to meet me halfway or else there's very little I can do."

Weak, in need, and slowly going insane— what the fuck had she become.

"Why do you care?" she asked.

"Because I'm supposed to be helping you."

"But why do you care?" Eve was challenging him now, she was testing him. He knew because he had prepared for this— this made sense. Remus had been waiting for it. This was the defiance, this was the wall he had expected to climb. "You don't know me. Why do you care?" She wasn't stopping. "Because McGonagall asked?"

"Right… it's not so much about me is it, though?" They were looking at one another again. Her gaze was on fire, but her face was still, stoic. "It's about you and what you want. Do you want to be helped? If you want help, then it doesn't matter what I'm doing here. But if you don't want help, then…." He shrugged. "So be it— can't do anything about that."

Remus lifted himself from his bent position, flipping to close the manual on Transfiguration training McGonagall had lent him, and putting it back into his bag. Eve looked out to his shuffling hands, observing him collecting his things. This was the part where he gave up. She had driven him to the end, and he could no longer put up with her. It had been inevitable— she had prepared for it.

"Okay, so," he said after closing the strap on his leather bag. Remus sat forward in his seat, folding his hands together and placing his forearms on the desk. He didn't look to her but forward to the empty room. "Hopefully, you know this by now, but my name is Remus John Lupin— but it's okay if you didn't know my middle name, most people don't. I'm 17 years old, birthday March 10th. I'm in Gryffindor—" Eve's brows visibly furrowed, her chin moved forward with every spoken word, and her eyes squinted, fixating on the wizard's moving jaw. "My favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts— but my best subject is Charms. I'm terrible at Potions. Absolutely could never get the hang of it." He tilted his head slightly. "I'm part-English, part-Welsh, but I've lived in Wales my whole life— mum's Welsh, dad's English. "

"Lu—" but it came out too low for him to hear.

"—my favorite meal of the day is breakfast, but I'm not a morning person— at all. Actually, I hate mornings but I love breakfast for dinner. Those—"

"What're you doing?" Remus stopped, turning with lifted brows to look at her.

"You said I don't know you," he reminded her. "You're right, I don't. I figured… You don't know me, either, right? So I reckoned maybe you'd feel a bit better about all this," his eyes glanced around the room before coming back to hers, "if we knew one another just a bit better."

She didn't know what she was meant to do at that moment. This wasn't the script she had played out in her head. His words were wrong, his moves were off— he had thrown in his own improvisations. He wasn't supposed to still be there— he wasn't supposed to be this way at all.

"What'd'you think?" He asked after a moment of silence.

What the fuck? She wanted to ask him— what was he doing?

"I don't want you to know me," she told him.

"Okay, then," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So… what do you want? What do you want to do right now? Hm? You just want to sit here and stare at the wall?" He leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms out in both directions. "Open to anything, any suggestions, at this point."

"You won't give up, will you?" It didn't sound like a question he was meant to answer, but...

"Do you want me to?"

"Because you can't go back to her and tell her you failed, could you?" She was still fighting him, attacking him with words, and he knew it. But he had known that she wasn't going to let him win that easily. And, sure, he did question what the fuck he was doing fighting it— what he was doing on that Sunday trying to convince the help that it needed to be helped — but, oh well.

"Could you?" He shot right back. Eve's thoughts stood still at the sudden role reversal. He was good, he was slick, he could think on his feet— and it was impressive. Damn impressive, so much so that the back and forth banter almost made her lips break out into a smirk of her own. "If you can: be my guest," he gestured towards the door with his fingers. Eve bit down on her tongue, holding back any reaction that would indicate her thorough bemusement. "Okay, look, I'm willing to work with you, right? You just… You need to trust that I have good reasons to want to help you."

The game came to an abrupt end and a wall of silence built between them. Remus leaned his head back, almost as if stretching, to look up to the ceiling, counting the cracks he could spot. He was five minutes away from calling it an end to the day, for both their sakes, for both their sanities, but a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Eve had lifted and spread out her thin, piano-like fingers in the space between them, the dark stone floor acting as a backdrop against the paleness of her skin. His brows knit together and he looked— really looked.

"You're shaking," he commented in a low voice. She quickly folded her fingers into a fist and placed her hand back on her lap. His eyes searched the side of her face. "Why're you shaking? Are you nervous?"

"No," she whispered, he could barely hear it. Eve hoped he wouldn't try to dig deeper than that, but Remus couldn't wrap his mind around it— what could have her shaking, then?

"How long has this been happening? You know… I hate to be that person, but…"…but I've noticed you don't show up to meals… "have you eaten anything?" She didn't respond. "You want some choco—"

"I can't do it," was all she said, the same words from before. "Not today."

"Yeah, no, you're right— you can't." Remus took a deep breath, nodding his head. They both knew what fatalities lay ahead if she tried with trembling hands to conjure a spell, any spell. So, he took her answer at face value: if she couldn't today, that didn't mean she wouldn't be able to— which meant this wasn't always. This was just something that was happening then and there. He supposed that was enough of an answer. He supposed that was the closest thing to an answer he would get. "Okay, then, how about… Let's just work on getting through the assignments you've missed. What'd'you think? Can you do that?"

She pulled a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear, nodding once before pulling her bag from the side and placing it on the desk. She brought out parchment, an inkwell, and a quill and re-opened the textbook to the pages he had assigned for her to read earlier that day.

"Okay, yeah, just work on that, uh, and as you finish, I'll go over and make sure…make sure it's all good and then— yeah," his words trailed off with a sigh. Remus didn't move, didn't have anything left to say. He had fought and he had won, he supposed— but if that was what winning felt like, they could keep it. It didn't feel like winning. It didn't feel like they had made strides. It didn't feel like they had gotten anywhere. If anything, shit just took a turn for the worse, because Remus was beginning to feel as if something else played around the corner. Something darker. But he couldn't put his finger on it, and that didn't sit well with him. It didn't sit at all. There was a reason why she trembled, there was a reason why she couldn't conjure a spell, there was a reason why she thought he was wasting his time— but what the fuck was the reason? If only she would tell him. If only she would say something— anything.

Hi, I'm writing like crazy these days. We're making headway in our story here. Just a reminder that I know some of you are fog&fire readers, the original story (incomplete) is still up on ao3 under the same title (Fog & Fire), username (MaMaquillerie) if you ever become nostalgic and want to read through it again. The link to it is also in my bio on fanfiction.

xx MM