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. Something warm pressed against her back. She felt her torso lift, but she could not control the movement. Her head lolled to the side, and foreign arms caged her in on both sides. Something came 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. No, this wasn't the afterlife. This was in no way the end.
"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 whimper before the liquid was back in her mouth. This time, however, she could make it out. It was sweet, nectar-like, and 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 her stomach cramps 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 sedatives 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 lay across her stomach. "You don't have a clue." She twisted her torso around, the light entering 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? Full 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 peeked over at her. A pain in his own heart developed 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 and 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.
"Dunno," 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 Remus could not help his wandering mind despite his and his friends' reassurance. 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 briefly, staring at the ink dripping off the quill's tip. Only time would tell, he supposed, and despite the incessant questions in his head, accompanied by 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 at Sirius. Remus didn't respond, instead keeping his stare fixated on 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 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 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 difficulty grasping this year's material and requires extra help."
"Okay," Remus said, his eyes narrowing 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 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 would 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 also follow that week's lesson plan. 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 tightly as she stared at him from over 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. He had 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 standing straight as they rushed to Remus' side. The three 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. Sirius stopped in his tracks, 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 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, emerged. Eve Kavanagh was a doll— not in how she looked, but in how 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 modeled in his mind, at least what he could muster. 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, and 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 something to do. Eoin wasn't like the other wizards in her year— he was simple, rough— the others wanted 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 her as she scrambled 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."
"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 who began to 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, 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 of what was happening.
Her mind was empty. It had been for a while now, she supposed. However, somehow she knew 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 sat 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 the bare requirements for the class, nor those that you will need to pass the N.E. 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, open your book, and then 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 at that moment: Why do you care what happens to me? But how could McGonagall explain 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, 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 you to sort out what works best and when. I recommend you start fast, as you have quite a bit of catching up to do."
"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 she was letting a bit too much slip. She immediately collected herself, straightening her back and 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, unsure whether it was because she had mistakenly called someone the wrong name for years or whether there was something a tad 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 classroom, all recollection of the conversation faded away.
"He's a fucking blood traitor, the fucking fat drunk," Cedric Avery cursed through a mouthful of sausage. Eve would have easily sent him a vexed look without thinking twice if it hadn't been for the potion coursing through her veins. But, alas, she was 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 and fantasies to realize that she was sitting right there and could hear all of it.
And how had she come to sit there, exactly? What in her right mind had told her to sit next to Evan Rosier that evening? Eve sighed, shoving their conversation as far away as possible 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, and even the tomatoes looked green. Why in Merlin's name is everything green?
"You've barely touched your food," Evan noted, observing 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, 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 like 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 his words switched from investigation to interrogation this time. It didn't last long. As if he had a checklist ready in his head, as if he were ticking off boxes. Without a second thought, he turned his attention from Eoin to Eve. His eyes were 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 tortured 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."
Sirius' eyes darted between them, and James had long gone quiet from whatever he had been discussing with Peter moments ago. Remus 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.
"So? You gonna tell us or not?" Sirius said as he chewed obnoxiously on the piece of cheese he had 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 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. They all averted their gazes as fast as 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 to banter with the Slytherin but not without first catching Remus' face from the corner of his eye.
"Yikes," Sirius commented, keeping his head hung as they all waited silently 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 a hearty 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 the students trailing into the Great Hall one by one. He hadn't slept well, playing over and over again in his head the speech he would 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 and 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 not have 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 or 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 a favor. I doubt she ran back to Rosier with the happy news." Remus frowned but 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 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 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 also missing from that group.
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. As a matter of fact, it seemed as if there was no pattern. One moment she was with this person, and 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 he eyed her towards the end of each class, 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.
Later that afternoon, in between two classes, the four of them spotted Eve Kavanagh walking towards them. For the first time that day, she was alone. Truly, singularly alone.
"Okay," James said, turning to look at Remus. 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 pushed back over her shoulders so that he could actually see her face. They all slowed down, eventually coming to a complete stop as she walked past them. Not once, despite the four of them all looking at her, had she made any suggestion that she even noticed their presence. "Now— do it now. Now is good." Remus froze. His eyes placed 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 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 entirely 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, especially 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 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, which 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 and 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 at 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 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. As a 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 and 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 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 Rosalia Selwyn had when she spoke. All in all, the only thing he could pinpoint in her words was exhaustion and 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 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 would 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."