howl & scream

by MaMaquillerie

Gryffindors fighting, Slytherins partying, & where are the Irish? Loyalties are questioned, nothing is as it seems, & everyone's got a secret. The blurred lines between friend & foe begin when Remus Lupin crosses paths with a notoriously cold-blooded Slytherin witch. The lost story of those never destined to meet— but they do, so all bets are off. (Fog&Fire rewrite & worldbuilding)

12. what's up by the 4 non blondes

Saturday, 5 November 1977

"Has anyone noticed the Slytherins this morning?" Dorcas Meadowes' inquiry broke through the collective humming of restlessness that conditioned their side of the Great Hall that morning. She had asked while making her way over to Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and Mary MacDonald, and though they were a few bodies away, Peter had heard her all the same as if it had been directed at him. It automatically placed his attention on the opposite end of the room. His chin tilted downward, and his lips slowly parted at the sight in front of him.

"Padfoot! Selwyn's got her tits out," Peter hissed to his side, jutting his foot into Sirius' shin, though his eyes remained firm on the witch in question, who was currently cutting away at something with a knife. From his viewpoint, the Gryffindor could not see what she was cutting, but he could make out just fine the cleavage that was pushed up and forward by an all-too-tight corset. The Gryffindor blinked, half of his mouth lifting up into a roguish grin as he leered at the witch, skewering away the contents of her plate.

Sirius, who sat across from him, turned with a cocked brow to peer over at the Slytherins. Unlike Peter, he was not entranced by the witch's vise, so Sirius had managed to notice something other than Rosalia Selwyn's cleavage.

And, as it turned out, it was not just her.

"What the fuck?" Sirius muttered, fixing his twisted position, so he faced James and Peter again. James was in a hushed, speedy discussion with his co-captain, Emmeline Vance— he had been all morning. He hadn't managed so much as a gulp of orange juice before beginning to rattle on about bludgers, quaffles, and snitches. "Pst, Prongs."

"Not now, Pa—"

"The Snakes," Sirius reiterated, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. James paused but did not turn his body to Sirius or the Slytherin table. Only his eyes moved, peering out and scanning what little he could see of the topic at hand. It was only when he caught Melisende Gamp standing up in a floor-length sheath dress that he shifted his entire head to look at them.

"What're they on?" James' asked, his face slowly beginning to crease and wrinkle anywhere and everywhere it could.

There was not a green and silver scarf to be found among them. Instead, their colors were adorned and weaved into cloth and metal. The green was silk, velvet, and linen, and the silver decorated their fingers, ears, and necks.

Remus, sitting next to Sirius with his back to the Slytherins, had not noticed, either, but turned when James did. He did not have to look long, nor did he have to put in much effort to find what he was looking for in the first place. For as he turned, he spotted Edmund Nott and Oliver Wilkes walking through the entrance, both dressed in all black from head to toe in the finest fitted suits that daddy's money could buy.

"What're they playing at?" James continued to pose. "What's going on?" By that point, none of them were sure whether he genuinely expected an answer from them or not.

"The players look normal," Emmeline offered, shrugging as Remus returned to face her.

"And everyone else looks like they're going to a bloody ball," he spewed, his foot tapping against the floor, his jaw clenching.

James huffed a bout of air as he tried to piece it together. It would have been utterly unhinged had it been only one of them. As a matter of fact, he probably would have laughed himself all the way down to the pitch had he seen Evan Rosier show up to a Quidditch game in a suit and tie. Except it wasn't just one. It wasn't just two. Shit, it wasn't even just one year. It was all of them, the entire House, every Slytherin down to their youngest.

He pulled his stare from them to look up and down his own table. The corners of his lips flickered downward, and he did little to skirt around it, even though there was no real reason for the unconscious reaction. His house wore casual attire and the usual Gryffindor emblems to support him and his team. They had done nothing wrong. So, why was he looking at them as if they had?

James would never admit, not even to himself, what the brief thought was that had fluttered in his mind at that moment. It had lasted all but a second. A second that — and though none of the others had been quick enough to recognize it — had not been lost on Remus.

"They're showing off," Remus assured him, bowing his head down and leaning his body forward so that he could whisper.

But it did little to help James feel any different— because what difference did it make whether they were or weren't?

---

Remus sipped on the cigarette slower than he usually would, for when he happened upon the spot he went to every morning, he had discovered that it was not just his anymore. There were now two others sitting on a bench that outlined the cloister garden, doing the same exact thing he was doing.

Yes, indeed, Alexander Sykes and Eve Kavanagh were having a chat and a smoke in the cloister garden. The two of them also took ample time to do the same task he could do in five minutes. Neither one seemed to be in a rush to go anywhere, so Remus decided he would take his time with it, too.

Mainly, Remus couldn't quite place his finger on which part of the image in front of him intrigued — perturbed — him more.

First, had Remus bet that Eve, somehow, would have been exempt from that day's Slytherin dress code— he would have run himself into the ground going broke. Eve was far from exempt. Though, he wasn't sure who had dressed her that morning. There was no way Eve, of all people, had decided on her own to wear what she was wearing at that moment. Silk robes with a black dress underneath— if it hadn't been for the robes straps that tied around her waist, she would have been nearly shapeless. But it was far from simple; these were not just any robes— the silk pale green robe was adorned with obsidian jewels that formed a paisley pattern, and she wore a long cluster of silver necklaces that swayed every time she leaned forward to look at the wizard beside her.

Now, was it seeing Eve in something that looked like nothing he would ever find in his own tower that bothered him? Or was it Alexander Sykes who had pulled out the most eccentric, Victorian-esque era green shirt tucked into tight, black leather pants that came up to his navel and knee-high black lace-up boots to match? And as if to etch it into Remus' memory forever— every one of his fingers bore an obnoxiously oversized silver ring. It could not be missed, even from a distance. If anyone were to ever mention it, Remus would run to vouch for it. It had been clear as day.

But no, he had seen Slytherins all morning sporting silver and silk. This was not news. How could it be? So, what was it that had him slowly smoking a cigarette that morning? Maybe it was that Alexander Sykes, too, smoked cigarettes. Except, Alexander Sykes wasn't the kind of bloke who should be smoking cigarettes, or so Remus had once believed. Maybe it was the wild assortment of animated gestures and expressions that the wizard constructed while he spoke? One hand flinging north while his head bent south. Whatever they were talking about, it sure as shit must have been important enough for Eve Kavanagh to listen as if her life depended on it.

Eve Kavanagh, the person Remus had, once upon a time, believed, did not speak at all.

Except she did, and she was. As far as he could see, Eve was conversing relatively freely and easily with Alexander Sykes— as if the two of them had been best friends since birth. Though the wizard seemed to be conducting most of it, she responded with enough enthusiasm to convey that she was, at least, engaged. Engaged enough for him to continue blabbering about whatever it was he was blabbering about, to begin with.

No, Remus knew — thought — she wasn't supposed to be like that. Eve Kavanagh was supposed to be Eve Kavanagh. Without motion or emotion. But, at that moment, she was plenty of both.

He lifted his chin, inhaling the smoke and waiting a second before releasing it back out.

It was beginning to look a lot like Eve did not have any problem talking— she was just acutely selective of who she spoke to. And it was dawning on Remus that, even though she had shown him an inch of this, she was not like that with him. Not at all. Never to that extent. So, what else could he do but conclude that she behaved the way she did for the exact reasons his friends had implanted in his mind.

Oh, boy, would Lily be in for an earful. She had been wrong, and Sirius had been right— and that, well, that was what intrigued — perturbed — him that morning, at that moment, while smoking his cigarette.

"Slughorn invited me to his bloody dinner again," Alex recounted to Eve, shaking his head as he smoked on the last puffs of the dying stick. "Bloody awful those dinners. The worst part is that it's a one-stop away from hell, you know?" Her eyes were on him as he spoke, but she did not say anything. "Next is his bloody Christmas party, blegh. I would rather vomit than go to that. Almost as bad as going to the Black's for Yule. Eve, you ever been to the Black's Yule dinner?" She shook her head to indicate that no, she had not.

"It's a day meant for family."

"Right— Irish, almost forgot. Honestly? Thank god! If I never had to go again, I could die in peace. You know, one time, Walburga bloody Black put her claws on me," he lifted his hands up and curled his fingers inward as if he was scratching a wall, "and I knew, I knew that was the end of me. I was gone after that— I'm sure she cursed me or some bullocks like it."

"Really? Why?"

"Because, ever since Slughorn's been inviting me to his bloody dinners, so she's definitely bloody cursed me. Also, she's had it out for me. She can't stand that I ended up in Slytherin and that other wanker didn't. But, you know what? Who cares," Alex took a drag from his cigarette, "who cares? They're all bloody koo-koo bananas bonkers up here." He brought his finger and pressed it into his temple. "All of 'em— they keep hanging out with each other. You know? Like, as if that's going to get them anywhere. Meanwhile, all I had to do was open my mouth for more than two seconds, and I had the whole Caribbean in my pocket."

"You do?"

"Yeah, Moira fucking Palancher— smartest move I've ever made was becoming friends with her."

"Why?"

"Bloody hell, if your family had a monopoly on every fucking fruit, vegetable, and anything that needs sugar, really, you would have more friends, too, I reckon." Alex took another draw from the cigarette. "Honestly, if you think about it, it's just a numbers thing. Moira fucks off back to the islands, and I've got a nice place to go on holiday every Christmas."

"I thought Palancher lived in London," Eve mused, a lost look befalling her face as she turned to look through an archway into the school's corridor.

"She does, but not, you know, it's like temporary. Who the fuck would want to stay here?" Alex posed rhetorically, frowning as he looked up at the overcast sky. He had counted on his fingers how many days had passed since he last saw the sun— only to find out that he did not have enough fingers.

"Yeah."

"Honestly, though, if I was Moira, I wouldn't give a shit about any of it," Alex continued.

"No?"

"Nah— and I think she cares too much. Honestly, I haven't seen her all week. She's been down at the pitch with Black. As if— I would never. I would have fucked off back to the islands, on a beach, in the sun, with a fucking coconut in my hand. Really, Eve, think about it. Like, Eve, where are you going to fuck off back to? Hook's Head? Really?"

"What's wrong with Hook's Head?"

As if a reminder of what was wrong with everything at that moment, the Scottish winds blew over her, causing goosebumps to erupt all over her body. She sighed, pursing her lips together as she looked out into the distance.

How had she been roped into baring her legs, dressing up, and going to a Quidditch game? She had not been to a Quidditch game since first year. What had changed? What made November 5th of 1977 different from any other day of any other year?

Ah, yes— easy, because the thing that Alexander Sykes had that no one else had.

First, Alexander Sykes was a pureblood wizard from the cream of the crop. This was not just any pureblood— it went beyond being listed and labeled by some idiot. It was not just one thing— despite whatever the Gryffindor lurking in the shadows believed it to be. This family knew how to play the cards right and had gotten themselves to the top of everything: magic, law, and money. The things that ruled the world. So, when he asked Eve to do something — like demanding that morning that she turn around and dress up — she did it.

Except, Eve Kavanagh was made of the same cream that Alexander Sykes was. No, Eve wasn't just the cream of the crop— she was whipped cream, the same thing they would put on strawberries and serve for dessert during the summer. Her father was not just Ireland's Master of Coin— he was the descendent of an unbroken chain of Kavanaghs that had held that same title for centuries. Centuries. They ruled Ireland with the other four families that made up the Ancient Five and had done so since before written history. So, what and who was a Sykes before written history?

So, no, that would not suffice, and when she had complained that she did not want to go to the game— Alex Sykes was now not only just a creamy pureblood, but he had become an outlier, too. He could empathize with her pleadings, assuring her that this time would be different— he promised her. They would have fun. They would have fun together. They would be together. They would do things together— things that no one else would do. It would be their little secret.

Because the reality of what convinced Eve to go to a Slytherin Quidditch game was that he, Alexander Sykes, was an addict. Both of them were, even if neither knew it. This addiction went beyond anything tangible— those were merely consequences. They were effects and not causes. The actual addiction was the escape. They were running— but how to run when they were both stuck in a castle in the middle of nowhere Scotland? So, they took to other forms of running. And they ran. They ran together, even if they did not see it or realize it— they were on the exact same track.

So, in all honesty, it had not taken much to get Eve Kavanagh dressed up and excited for a day of running.

"What's wrong with Hook's Head? Blimey, Eve, it's not like you live in Dublin. Fuck, you don't even live in Wexford itself. What do you wake up in the morning and see, the fucking seagulls?"

"Well, I reckon it's a lot better than whatever castle your family managed."

"I don't live in a castle," Alex retorted, frowning.

"You don't?"

"No, what do you think this is?" He loosely questioned, hailing a hand over the length of his sitting body. "We've got two houses, obviously. The estate in Oxfordshire, a townhouse in London, and some other places you don't need to know about." Alex drew oxygen through the last of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. "Now, luv," he exhaled the smoke in a speedy huff, "my morning duty calls."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it, just wait here. I'll only be a moment," he assured her, standing up and entering the archway right next to the bench they were seated at. Eve, at first, only heard his footsteps, and then his body emerged to her left but only to appear and disappear between the pillars — like blinking except without blinking — before he vanished around the bend and into the castle.

Now alone, she looked up to the sky, her mind filled with nothing. It was empty. She was neither on Dawdle Draught nor had she taken any crystal. There were no voices, no whispers, no sounds— she was just doing what she had been told to do: wait.

So, she waited with a brain as empty as a fresh sheet of parchment.

Because it had been so long since Eve had done any real thinking — years, really— that she had forgotten what that was. Or, maybe, she had never even had the chance to become acquainted with it, not really. So, now that she was somewhat temporarily distanced from subjugators and fundamentalists, she had nothing to do.

She placed her chin on a propped-up fist that made her bend over, knee digging into her thigh. Her eyes scanned the surroundings: a tree with no leaves — it was going to be winter soon— the gothic architecture delineating the garden, Remus Lupin, and the empty bench on the other side of the archway she sat at.

Wait, who?

Her eyes refocused on the interloper standing at the second exit sketching the square garden— diagonal from where she was.

Remus immediately froze as Eve's eyes met his, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that he had been snooping about for much longer than five minutes— as he had so easily promised his friends. How long did she think he had been there— observing, prying, staring? His eyes dropped to his hand, lifting it to draw from what was now the second cigarette of that morning— something that he seldom did during sober daylight hours.

To be fair, Remus began to excuse himself. He came here nearly every morning for the last year. Not once had he stumbled upon the likes of Eve Kavanagh or Alexander Sykes. Not once in his academic career had he spotted a Slytherin so much as puff on anything that could resemble a cigarette or come close to anything reserved for muggles. So, he justified to himself that it was really them, if anyone, who were intruding on his space.

As the Gryffindor attempted to run through a hundred and one excuses — excuses that would never reach Eve Kavanagh's ears — a movement flashed from the corner of his eye. The suddenness of which made him immediately turn to identify it.

It was Eve.

It was Eve smiling — a small, close-lipped smile — with one hand raised up, her palm opened to him. It wasn't a wave. It was just a hand. Once she registered that he had seen it, she returned it to her lap. Remus turned his torso to glance over his shoulder, but no one was there. It was empty— it was just him in that archway. He blinked, realizing that the greeting had been meant for him.

Oh, he thought.

Remus instinctively pressed his lips into an uncertain smile and lifted his own hand up in a motion that mimicked her own. It was not a wave but a simple hello. She smiled again with the same gentleness as before, and then they were left in what could have been a staring match if either one of them kept their eyes on the other for more than a second. But both of them were playing hide and seek. Every time she would look— he would look away, and when she would look away— he would find his way back to her.

What was he supposed to do? Was he meant to stand there, finish his cigarette, and rejoin his friends? Smoke the futile cigarette he had only brought out so he could continue scrutinizing the two Slytherins? Or had that been an invitation for him to approach her? If she wanted to— wouldn't she have gotten up?

No, of course, she would have, he thought. But when he decided to make way to remove himself from her scope— they caught one another's eyes again. She repeated the same salute from mere minutes before: a fleetingly raised hand and a cherubically ditsy, yet delicate, smile. As if she had forgotten that she had done just that.

The second gesture forced Remus to reconsider his qualms and reservations— and what exactly was keeping him in that archway? Eve had clearly just invited him over— that had to be obvious. There was no other way to read those gestures. And yet, something made him pause, and he wasn't sure what it was or why. Had he not just been intrigued — perturbed — that Eve had been full of appetite with whatever Alexander Sykes had been telling her? So, why was he doing everything in his power to avoid her now that her attention was on him?

What gave him reason to question the sincerity of her invitation?

Remus brought his lower lip into the clutches of his teeth, blinking back up at the witch. It wasn't as if they didn't know one another… Besides, even if she had something to say, Remus had plenty to say in return— this was the person that he, the half-blood Gryffindor, was tutoring in Transfiguration.

Okay, fuck it. And on that note, Remus brought the cigarette to his lips and made his way towards the witch, keeping his eyes on anything that wasn't her during the short journey to the other corner of the garden.

"Remus," Eve greeted when he stopped a couple feet in front of her. "Why were you standing by yourself?"

"I, uh," he began, his head slightly bent forward. Her eyes fell to the Gryffindor crest he had pinned to his jumper. "I came for a smoke."

"So did we," she responded lightly. "Sykes and I. He just left to go somewhere, though."

I know, Remus wanted to tell her, but then that would entail detailing just exactly how he did know— and admitting to Eve that he had smoked not one but two cigarettes that morning because of them wasn't something he was all too keen on sharing. And with her short response, he could figure out that she had no idea how long he had been standing there for.

Thank Merlin.

"Do you— I didn't think you smoked?" Except Remus knew she didn't smoke. When he had seen Alexander Sykes puffing away on the cigarette, he had also waited to see what Eve would do. She had done nothing—acting as if Alexander Sykes was not as taken to the muggle habit as Remus was. Except Remus had an excuse— his mom was a muggle. What reason did Alexander Sykes have, exactly?

Truth be told, he just needed something to say because Merlin forbid he asked Eve, on a Saturday morning, about something or anything related to Transfiguration. With Eve, it would be like asking about the weather, and surely he could do better than that.

"I don't," Eve answered. "I've been with Alex all morning. He's, I don't know, pulling me along to wherever it is he goes."

"Has he?"

It did not need a book. Remus could draw the lines by himself just fine. He had the numbers to do so. But what he did not realize — hadn't realized — was that Eve was left without them. She did not know the numbers and could not draw the lines. In retrospect, it made all the sense why he had seen the two of them together that morning. How he had not been able to put that one together earlier was beyond him.

"Yeah, he's also making me go to the game," she sighed, biting down on her lower lip. Remus did not respond immediately, continuing to look at her with a look that read a bit too much like you're having a laugh, aren't you? But she wasn't— he could tell from the almost indiscernible jitters underlying her muscles, the haste of her words, the way her eyes darted every which way except his. "And there's going to be a party, too. He's making me go to that."

Now, Remus, under any other circumstance, would have blurted out that no one should be made to do anything they did not want to— this was tried and true. But, at that moment, he knew he was in a bit of a predicament, left speechless. Not only because it continued to become more and more apparent that Eve hadn't a clue that she had been served up on a silver platter but also because he needed her to be on that platter.

Surely, he reckoned, being made to go to a party or a Quidditch game didn't fall under the realm of the worst possible things someone could be forced to do. So, he kept his mouth shut, opting to busy himself with what was becoming an increasingly sickening task.

"Why aren't you sitting?" She looked up at him as her proposal finished, and Remus found that he could not respond immediately. This would not, should not, have been cause for concern, but it was the first time since his arrival that she looked him straight in the eye.

"Uh, sure," he eventually answered, taking the seat that had once been Alex's. Eve bent forward as Remus leaned his back against the wall behind him, left to stare at the back of her head. She looked over her shoulder at him. The movement caused the jewels on her shoulders to shift the glimmer that imbued them— forcing him to remember that she, indeed, was a Slytherin and that he may be the only one with the opportunity to ask what every other non-Slytherin had wanted to know that morning.

"Why are you all dressed up?"

"Alex made us," Eve replied easily, shrugging. "It's how you get invited to the party."

"By going to the game dressed up?"

Of course, the real question he should have asked should have been what party, but Remus had only realized that in hindsight. He almost wanted to kick himself, but Eve did not seem to notice his miscalculation at all. All she did was shrug again.

"Yeah."

"Interesting," was the only thing he could manage, his eyes still carefully observing the side of her face. Hers were moving all over the place— one moment on him, the next on the castle, then to the ground. And yet, somehow, he knew that he still had her attention. "But why? If you know."

"I don't, sorry."

Sorry? Remus repeated to himself.

"Well, I mean, I don't know if you care at all— but it took James for a spin this morning, definitely. We all look like right idiots in comparison to you lot. Reckon whatever it is, it's working," Remus snorted, leaning his head back against the stone wall and placing a hand on his thigh as he felt over the cloth of his cotton jeans. Regular, plain, muggle jeans. The washout that had briefly befallen James that morning after intaking the Slytherins' exhibition flooded his vision.

"You look good."

"I do?" Remus spat out immediately.

One brow slightly jerked, and Remus' eyes fell back on her. Whatever image of James he had entirely evaporated as he found Eve's stare glancing over his face, then to the scarf around his neck, to the pattern of the sweater he wore. She moved her eyes back to his, smiling, one again, softly. Nothing in her demeanor indicated she had not meant it— she had meant what she said wholly.

For Eve only knew what was in front of her. Yes, even though Eve was sober, it had been a long time since the witch had done any real thinking of her own. She knew what was in front of her, and she knew that Remus did not look bad. His clothes were simple, his hair was washed, and he was overall well put together… So, why would he think he looked bad?

On the other hand, and despite himself, Remus felt as if he had been struck by lightning. The burn began to spread as soon as the words hit him, and he blushed. The feeling made him chew and gnaw at the inner flesh of his cheeks. He could not recall anyone who had not been his mother or his friends telling him he looked good. Concerning compliments from others, they were usually reserved for his scholastic and magical abilities— pranks included. His looks, he had concluded, were meek compared to his friends. He often avoided bothering with his reflection because, honestly, what was the point? As it stood, Remus could not stand to look at himself, so his lack of recollection, and his astonishment stemming from what had only been three words, was much warranted. This was not something someone like him would wave off so easily.

"Er, thanks?"

What was he supposed to do? Was he meant to return the compliment? That's what people usually did, no? Not that he would be lying—Eve did look good. How could she not? As he had come to learn, Eve Kavanagh was not someone who put in much — if any — effort on how she looked or presented herself. So, even the fact that she had run a comb through her hair that morning was doing wonders for her appearance. If the bar was set that low, passing it didn't take much. She walked those halls with limp hair, oversized robes, and an anemic-like pallor that turned her ghostly.

And yet, somehow, none of that mattered, did it? Somehow, that name still clung to her like a captured fly in a spider's web. No matter what she looked like, he had come to realize her name would swoop in and save her. She could get away with it— she didn't have to present herself in any type of way to demand respect; her name would handle it for her. Anyone else, though, would have had a damn hard time getting away with half the shit Eve Kavanagh got away with. And though Remus knew what most anyone knew of blood politics, he had grown conscious that he had never spent as much as ten seconds on the Ancient Five. He had always assumed they fell into the same category as the rest of the British purebloods— except none of the others could evade the browbeating descended from unwashed hair. There was no need to look further than Severus Snape or that the Slytherins — wizards and witches included — would always appear as if they had woken while the morning was still dark as night to begin charming their ways to pomposity. They needed to— who else would bother, to that extent, if they did not?

And they dared ask what is in a name? A fuck ton, Remus would respond— all but throwing Eve Kavanagh to the forefront of that argument. The one part missing, however, was his own uncultivated knowledge of just who the Ancient Five were and how they had managed to rise to such a standing.

"Look, there's a ladybug on my leg!" Eve announced, tearing through his attention and disengaging him from his thoughts.

Eve moved her leg to the side and lifted it up, tilting her head in Remus' direction so that she could observe the red and black spotted specimen crawling up her leg. Remus leaned forward, watching her watch it and then watching it. After a handful of silence, he dared to, once again, observe the side of her face.

Never had he seen someone look as satisfied and elated by a ladybug as he saw Eve being at that moment. It was almost childlike.

It hit Remus what Eve was, what she was like, what she had been like that entire time. It was neither polite nor open. It was not kind nor soft— she was a child. She was acting like a child. The jumpy movements, the lack of eye contact, the sporadic way she sputtered information. There was no emotion— which was typical for her, but, this time, it was not cold. She had been the same way at the lake. She had been the same way in the kitchens. It was still an emptiness— but not the kind he had thought it was. It was the same kind of emptiness that a child would have, as if — and in the nicest way he could possibly put this — she didn't have a fully developed brain, to begin with.

Eve placed her hand on her leg, allowing the ladybug to climb onto it. As the ladybug ran over the length of her hand, knuckles, fingers, Eve would twist and shift along with it so that it was always in view. She began to laugh softly as it made way for the center of her palm, displaying it to Remus as she rested her foot back on the ground.

"You think you could transfigure it into a cockroach?"

"What?" Remus blurted all too quickly.

"Like at Halloween," she continued, her attention still on the ladybug.

"What're you talking about?" Now, Eve looked at him, but there was no malice or anger in her eyes. There was nothing. He could find nothing.

"Oh," Eve said, shaking her head and looking back at her new discovery. "Aphrodite said it was you, but she's probably wrong." Remus assumed a good handful of minutes had passed before he found his voice again. He was back to being left with only her profile to watch as she had refocused on the ladybug, continuing to tinker and play with it.

"Eve," he said, almost in a whisper.

There had been three things wrong with the Halloween dinner prank. Three things that had left him itching at his own skin. One of them he had dealt with, one of them would probably never be dealt with, and the last of them was seated next to him. No matter what would come after, he knew he would never get over it if he didn't do it. It was now or never.

"That's, actually, I suppose, I just want you to know that I felt, feel, really awful for that."

"For what?" The question had been as genuine as genuine could be, and Remus couldn't help but feel a pain in the back of his throat as he replayed over and over again the same thoughts and images that had chased him ever since. Unlike Alexander Sykes earlier that week, it did not seem as if Eve was playing a game of tricks and kicks.

"It was me— us," he admitted. He knew he was dead meat if his friends found out that he had actually said it aloud. It had been a promise, an oath: under no circumstance would any one of them ever admit that it had been them, even if everyone knew it had been. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Eve."

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because…" He stopped, pressing his lips together. "Because you had just told me that you weren't eating because you were…." He let the rest of the sentence speak for itself. "And, then, I saw you leave, you— you missed another meal because of me." They both knew why she hadn't been going; there was no need to bring it to life in that untainted garden.

"That's why you showed me the kitchens," she reminded him. Remus blinked, his eyes narrowing as he realized, despite his admission, she wouldn't place any blame on him. He let go of a breath he didn't know he had been holding, the tension in his muscles evaporating as the morning became light, easy. Something it had not been since the moment he had woken up for a variety of reasons. Though it was an unexpected surprise, who was he not to welcome it with open arms?

"Right, yeah— you're right. Did you go?" The words flowed out of him with ease. During their entire conversation that morning, it was the first time that he had not spent half an eternity planning every one of his actions, no longer carefully selecting his words or picking through his thoughts.

"No," she admitted, and the pain in Remus' throat dropped to his chest. "We were a big group when we left. It was hard to get away. I tried. It's okay."

"Right," Remus sighed.

"You shouldn't be sorry," she continued, the ladybug now on her wrist. Eve wrapped her other hand around her arm so it would have no choice but to continue its journey onto her once empty hand.

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Evan was sitting next to me."

Oh.

"Eve," he began, but there was no reason to pause— he knew what he wanted to ask. He had wanted to ask it more than once, but he had kept himself from doing so, fearing that he would only be met with a slammed door. Except Eve was awing at a ladybug, and she seemed to be in a fine state to talk— this did not seem like someone who would be slamming doors anytime soon. "Why? What's so bad about sitting next to Rosier? What, I mean, what does he do, exactly? What happens?"

A pregnant pause passed between them, and he wasn't sure if she would make a run for it, ask him why he cared, or just ignore him. Three of the things he knew her to be perfectly capable of doing.

"Eve, pick up your fork; Eve, stop drinking like that— you're so loud; Eve— ew, why would you eat that? Eat this," she repeated quickly without taking a single breath, her once star-like stare growing blank — the same emptiness he often found during class, in the halls — as she mimicked not only the words, but the tone, as well, of what Remus would assume was a summary of the multitude of commands Evan had imparted on her over the years. She had done very much the same at the lake. It wasn't more than what he already knew, but the picture looked clearer now. It was as good as he was going to get.

Remus took a drag from his finishing cigarette and narrowed his eyes at the ground because he didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to say at that moment. He was furious while simultaneously solving many questions regarding Eve Kavanagh. If she did anything— would Evan Rosier come running from behind to put her back in place? It was beginning to make quite a bit of sense why she was so still, motionless.

He grimaced as he remembered what he had found when he returned the Transfiguration exam to her in the corridor earlier that week. Petrified her, placing her about the castle as they wanted, when they wanted. His stomach tightened at all the jokes and jests he and his friends had so quickly partaken in. Though, of course, these were only his own configurations of what she had allowed him to see— but was Eve who she was because of Evan Rosier? No, that couldn't be right— could it?

"So, could you?" Yet again, Eve managed to retrieve him from his hastened contemplations of Evan's three commands that she had just repeated for him.

"Could I what?"

"Could you turn it into a cockroach?" Remus had entirely forgotten the question, but Eve seemed bent on knowing the answer. As if to emphasize her point, she held up her hand so that the ladybug was in direct view of his line of sight.

Remus had to focus on something else, or he would have a couple of reasons to make sure Evan Rosier was the only thing being turned into a cockroach anytime soon— so he began to consider her inquiry.

"Well, it's an exoskeleton, so I would be turning it into another exoskeleton. That wouldn't be difficult since, well, like I said, their skeletons are on the outside, um, that's what exo- means." Remus knew damn well that he was spouting out whatever he could, even if it was repetitive. "Yes, yeah, I probably could. It's not as easy as with food or, I don't know, a, uh— well, food doesn't have a skeleton and other… You know, it's not a living thing, but yeah."

"Could you turn it back after?"

"Yeah," Remus nearly snorted— of course, he could; it was a given. He had almost even continued with an obviously, but he was conversing with the person that he tutored in Transfiguration— so it was best to leave anything seemingly obvious out of the picture when it came to that matter.

"Would you?"

"Would I?" Remus asked, slightly taken aback. "I don't know? If I had a reason to, I suppose."

"A reason," Eve repeated in a hushed voice, her eyes trailing to the ground and then finding their way back to his. "Wouldn't it being a ladybug and not a cockroach be reason enough to turn it back?"

"I mean," Remus looked down at the tiny thing still on Eve's skin.

Was he talking about fucking ladybugs with Eve Kavanagh? As of right now, after about a month of getting to know her, he had managed to create an inventory of topics Eve would talk about that didn't have to do with her inability to conjure a Transfiguration spell— which was an absolute no-go. So far, the list was not all that promising. At that moment, however, he could include a third topic, so at least it was growing. It was slow, but it wasn't static. His inventory of Eve's safe topics was currently at Ireland, Evan Rosier, and ladybugs, apparently. The first one would have been just fine, except he knew fuck all about the country right next door. He knew Dublin was the capital, they had some odd taking to four-leaf clovers, and their beer was a tad too dark for his taste.

It was a bit stereotypical, but this is also the same person who had grown up isolated from his own country and had spent what little exposure to the world he had been granted at Hogwarts, of all places. Ireland had not been in the picture, well, up until now.

"Would it even know?"

"Wouldn't it?" Eve returned, but it wasn't an argument— it was a question. A simple question that Remus found himself incapable of answering immediately. "How could it not?"

"I don't know, it's just a ladybug," he explained. "I don't think… You reckon it'd know the difference even if it were to become a cockroach?"

It went a lot further than that— this conversation could really delve deeply into ontology and whatnot, but Remus was going to put those books under his bed for now and stick to the basics. Unless, of course, Eve ended up being a philosopher of sorts. Maybe she enjoyed questioning the existence of things— what the fuck did he know? Now, he was beginning to wonder how much Eve Kavanagh questioned her own existence. Remus stared down at the witch— but it didn't seem to him that she was spending a lot of time reading or thinking about anything that came close to that. It looked a lot like ignorance is bliss, and shit, Remus wanted in on this one.

"I think the ladybug likes being a ladybug," Eve continued. "I don't think it would like being a cockroach."

"I don't know if cockroaches and ladybugs do a lot of thinking."

"Why not? You don't think that they think?"

It was like a labyrinth— again, Remus could pull out those books if she really wanted, but where to even begin? This was a topic that a lot of the muggleborns had often thrown at Professor McGonagall. They could not wrap their heads around, or get over, the ethics of transfiguring a cat into a chair. But, over the years, their professor had become somewhat acclimated to it, opting to ignore ethics — and any questions of — for the sake of education.

At Hogwarts, that was kind of the undisclosed motto— nothing new there.

"No," Remus admitted.

"That's a very small way of looking at the world, I think."

His brows shot up into his forehead as — what was not an insult, but rather a comment on his perspective of things — made him realize that Eve genuinely thought the ladybug was a thinking and feeling being. Even the way she had been handling it, acting with it, moving with it so that it did not disappear into the unknown, was as if she had been taking care of it this entire time.

"What's all this, then?" A voice spun out from their right, and Remus sat straight up as Alexander stepped into view. His muscles tensed again, and he held a breath in his throat, but the new member of their company was not looking at him so much as he was staring down at Eve.

"He's smoking," Eve answered, laying her hand on the ground and setting the ladybug free into the grass.

"You know Lupin?"

"I do," she admitted readily. This would be not the first, but the second time she had. And Remus was beginning to think that Eve had a lot of an easier time telling people that they knew each other than he did talking to his friends about it—and they already knew. They had known since day one. What?

"Yeah, right," Alex forced back, placing his hands on his hips. "There's no way you know Remus Lupin."

"Why not?"

"Because," Alex huffed, staring pointedly at the which as if challenging her to a debate. "What do you know about him?"

Eve shrugged her shoulders and looked off into the distance. Remus watched the two of them. Even though this should have been the opportune moment to excuse himself, something kept him from leaving. Almost as if he was waiting for a show to begin. Actually, after the stunt Alexander Sykes had pulled at the last prefects' meeting— Remus had found something, someone, new to ruminate about. Truth be told, where had Alexander Sykes been for the last six years? This wizard was a whole circus, and add some sprinkles to top it all off.

"He's a Gryffindor," Eve stated.

"No shit."

Remus bit back a laugh— unsure whether it had been because of the witch's certainty or Alex's response to it.

"He's a Gryffindor seventh-year prefect. He's tall."

"Your observational skills are muah," Alex commented, puckering his lips up and blowing a kiss in her direction.

"He's half-Welsh and half-English. His mother's Welsh. He doesn't speak Welsh, though, which is sad, but he knows some words— I think, I don't remember, actually. But his middle name is John. You probably didn't know that. Also, his birthday is March 10th, and— did I mention his mother is from Cardiff. She's a muggle, too, and she likes to talk on the phone a lot. Have you ever been to Cardiff, Alex? He doesn't live in Cardiff anymore, though."

Remus' mouth had slowly dropped open as Eve effortlessly spilled out all the particulars from their handful of conversations that had gone beyond Transfiguration. Carbon copies, even going so far as citing his quick quirk on his mother's phone habits. Eve didn't know what a phone was, but she remembered it nonetheless. He hadn't known, or thought, that she would. He had simply believed that she was being polite when she had asked about his life. But Remus' amusement was quickly taken over by the look of utter disgust to be found across every corner of Alexander Sykes' face. Whatever he thought of Eve dropped as soon as the pain that had been in his throat enveloped his stomach.

Sure, people at Hogwarts knew he was a half-blood, but they didn't exactly know what that meant. It was the peculiarity of being a half-blood— no one really knew what the fuck it meant, ever. It had always been one of those highly contextual things, and each person had a different opinion on who was and was not a half-blood. Since no one could reach a consensus, half-bloods dangled in a limbo between pureblood and muggleborn. They could get away with a lot— as long as no one asked for the details. It was within the details that the proper determination could be made, and Eve had just announced in broad light those precise details to a pureblood Slytherin.

Remus cleared his throat, preparing to face the onslaught alone.

"What the fuck?" Alex whispered, now eyeing Remus.

Eve paused, pressing her lips together as she peered at Alex. There was a profound innocence in her eyes, signaling to Remus that the witch had no clue what could have generated the Slytherin wizard's reaction.

Really, Eve? Remus wanted to ask her. He also wanted to ask her where she had been the entire time and whether she knew if a whole war was happening for precisely those same reasons.

"Lupin—" Alex stopped, coughing as if his last name was causing an allergic reaction. "Are you a—" Remus' breath stopped as he prepared for what was to follow "—a fucking Pisces!?"

The world stopped spinning for a swift second as the two stared at one another.

"Uh," Remus uttered, looking to Eve, who was also looking directly at him. Remus felt his body ease somewhat, but he was unsure whether this was the cause of the wizard's allergic reaction or if it was only a distraction that would lead somewhere else. "Um, yes?"

"Oh my god," Alexander all but shouted. "Eve— luv, can you? Can you believe him, a bloody Pisces? No, not you, Lupin— come on, you can't be a Pisces. There's no way you're a Pisces. You?"

"What's wrong with that?" Eve questioned, and Remus, too, couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He brought his fingers to his forehead, pressing them into his skull as he brought his attention back to the wizard before him.

"Absolute worst," Alex articulated, shaking his head and slashing a hand through the air as if he was signing no. "Absolutely not— especially the blokes, luv, the blokes are god-awful—"

God-awful? Remus repeated to himself.

"—terrible. Pisces men? I can't. I simply can not."

"Sorry?" Eve offered to Remus. Their eyes were on one another again, and they both looked like they had missed this class. Alex, however, had not been looking at either one of them as he jabbered on about Remus' fault, which — out of all his faults — had never made it on the list.

"Don't be sorry— he should be sorry. Fucking Pisces."

No way, Remus thought to himself, his face pinching.

Was Alexander Sykes having a go at him because of when he was born?

But nothing indicated that the conversation would turn for the worse, so Remus decided he would go along with it. Why not? He was already there— take it and run with it, see where they were headed, if anywhere.

"Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking," he responded. "Should've picked another day to be born."

And with this, and for the first time ever, a giggle erupted from Eve.

Remus Lupin had made Eve Kavanagh laugh.

"So inconsiderate, honestly, mate," Alex muttered, but that's all it had been to Remus— but a mere mutter, for he was now grinning. A source of pride that had stemmed from the witch's laugh planted itself inside of him. Even though the laughter did not last long, Remus cast his stare back to the wizard in front of him. He was on a mission, now, to do it again.

"And what about you, Sykes? What are you?" Remus returned, tossing the now long-gone cigarette to the ground. He had been holding it the entire time as if it had been a bodyguard of sorts. Something to do, that's what it was. That's all it ever was and would be.

"I'm a Capricorn, obviously," Alex stated blatantly as if Remus should have known that, too. "January 1st, 1960."

Of course, it is, Remus couldn't help think— but, of course, Alexander Sykes' bloody birthday was January 1st.

"Aquarius Moon, Sag Mercury and Mars, Scorpio Venus."

"I don't know what any of that means," Remus admitted.

It dawned on him that were a number of things not up his alley. Like Evan Rosier and ladybugs, the topic at hand was just one he had never come around to. Astronomy and divination had been the bane of his existence. It had been Sirius' expertise— and it was because of Sirius that the rest of them had managed to scrape by.

"Venus in Scorpio makes me sexy," Alex began to explain. "The Aquarius moon makes me smart in a cool way, not a weird way— that would be Gemini, and not in a nerdy way— that would be Virgo. And the Sag Mercury and Mars keep things exciting, moving, you know? Capricorn sun makes me a kind of, how would you call it, innate leader of sorts, but not in a cringey way— that'd be Leo."

"Ah," was the only thing Remus could manage without breaking over in a laugh.

"You don't know astrology?" Alex asked, shooting him a curious look.

"No, I don't. Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't really, well…" Remus lifted his finger to scratch at his neck as he thought it over— but he didn't really need to think much about it at all. He had answered this question plenty of times over the years. "I don't really believe in it."

Remus reckoned he would have been better off slapping the wizard in the face.

"You don't believe?" Alex gasped for air, even clasping his hands at his neck as if searching for oxygen. Remus' chin shifted inward as he stared at the theatrics— this was slowly coming to surpass the prefect meeting stunt. "You don't believe in," Alex made a sound that seemed as if he were about to vomit. His eyes went glassy, looking up to the sky through his eyelashes. Remus began to feel like he was in a dream— none of this could possibly be real. "It's the magic of the stars, the power of the celestial beings— honestly, Lupin, what're you on?"

He wanted to ask him much the same fucking question, actually.

"Right, but there's not just 12 personalities. That would be a bit mad, no?"

"No! That's why there's a whole bloody chart, a bunch of planets, and houses, too," Alex shot back at him, shaking his head. "What's the rest of your chart?"

"I have no idea."

"Honestly, Lupin," Alex heaved a great breath of air, taking out a cigarette from his pocket as if Remus' admissions had been too much for him to handle.

But Remus' attention was put out when he watched Alex light up the cigarette with a small snap of his fingers. All thoughts about the stars and what they did were gone as he watched the smoke rise up from the burning end.

"How—"

"You got to open up your mind and believe in something bigger, Lupin. We're all but tiny, tiny little insignificant particles of dust," Alex cut him off, pointing a finger straight between Remus' eyes and then up to the sky, not once taking his eyes off of the Gryffindor.

Remus sat back in the bench as both Slytherins looked at him.

What the fuck's going on?

Remus felt as if he had exited reality and entered something that surpassed even fantasy, if that was even possible. He began to wonder if this was what it meant to be a Slytherin— was this what they were all like? It wasn't that bad, honestly, but he still felt like there was something they all knew that he did not. He felt as if his brain was broken in two, smashed to smithereens in their presence. If he had been placed in Slytherin— was that how he would have felt for seven years?

To begin, he had Eve — dressed in clothes that only came to her knees in November in Scotland seated next to him — who had just been on about some fucking ladybug, the implications of turning it into a cockroach, and then all but denouncing him for believing that human capabilities didn't extend to insects.

Next, there was a green bedazzled pirate in front of him spewing out shit like the power of the celestial beings. The same pirate was also a pureblood wizard who smoked muggle cigarettes. And last but not least, he just got berated by both of them — both pureblood Slytherins — for how he had to open his mind. He — Remus Lupin — was being told that he was close-minded by the likes of these two.

Remus was absolutely beside himself.

A whistle broke their conversation, and they all turned to look at Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, head to toe in Gryffindor attire, standing in the archway that Remus had been at earlier that morning.

"Right, I should get to the game."

"We're going to the game, too," Alex told him. "We should go together. This was fun, right, Eve— wasn't this fun?" Eve nodded once in response.

"Uh," Remus turned to look back at Sirius, who was eyeing the three of them. He knew if he didn't make a move — and quick — they would end up a pool altogether. And he didn't think Sirius' amusement of the decked-out Slytherin pirate would be coming anywhere close to his own anytime soon.

And yet, he didn't want to tell Eve or Alex to bugger off— and he wouldn't, not at all. Even if he did feel like he couldn't catch up — for whatever reason — he could have continued bantering with Alexander Sykes about the stars and whatnot until lunch, easy. Even if they were on the other team, he had been enjoying the morning. It was much better than the despair that had hit James when he saw the Slytherin house dressed in Diagon Alley's fanciest that day. Now that he thought of it, there had been a lot less nerve coming off the two of them.

The missed opportunity fell upon him: he had been spending so much time trying to figure it out, doubting himself, that he didn't even get a chance to take the mickey out of Alexander Sykes. It would have been one for the books. Where had he been that entire morning, and why was he waking up just then— when it was time to leave?

Now, he really didn't want to go.

"Let him go with his friends," Eve intervened.

"He doesn't like us, does he?" Alex asked.

"No, I do," Remus said immediately, and it wasn't an attempt to be polite— he did enjoy their company. It hadn't been the smoothest of rides, but he knew now that it had been his own fault, not theirs. While he had been worried and nervous the entire time, they had only sought a casual chat. There was no talk of politics, school, or anything else that he had to endure most of the time. This was entirely new territory— and he would have stayed to explore it a bit longer.

At the end of the day, this was the same person who had been sorted into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw for the sole fact that he had managed to talk to one other person on the train ride to Hogwarts. Remus Lupin was a friendly bloke. He liked people.

Merlin, Lily had been right— and he was satisfied with it, sort of. Yeah, he had gone into this with a dagger behind his back, and he might have missed out on one of the most intriguing conversations he would ever have because of it.

"No, it's not that," Remus continued, pausing as he watched Sirius raise his brows and shake his head in his direction. "I don't know— you know? I wouldn't mind, but seeing as we're on opposing teams..."

"Oh, yeah, the game," Alex sighed, nodding. "I forgot who was playing."

"Did you?" Remus asked, but Alex just kept nodding.

"Why? Who's playing?" Eve spoke up, and Remus had to hold back a snort.

"We are," Alex whispered to her slowly, as if it had just dawned on him, too. "And them."

"Oh," was all she said.

"Well, I guess that makes us frenemies," Alex directed this at Remus with a mock scowl.

"Frenemies?" Remus shook his head once, raising a brow.

"Yeah, you know, friends and enemies— frenemies." Remus did not hold back on any laugh this time, instead letting it spill out and forward. He would be keeping this one for himself. Peter and Sirius would just have to be left in the dark.

"Sucks for you. We're much better company. Believe me."

Remus stood up, still laughing, and didn't think twice before putting a hand on Alex's shoulder. Truth be told, he only left because he knew if he stayed a second more, he would end up on the ground crying. And, somehow, he could see himself ending up on the Slytherin side of the pitch with these two. Or just blow off the game entirely to spend the rest of that Saturday in the garden with them. The possibilities were endless.

"Have fun," Eve said, and Remus nodded once, pressing his lips together to keep the laughter in.

"Yeah, Lupin?" He turned back around in search of Alex's eyes. "It's just a game, you know?"

"I know," Remus responded. And, at that moment, it was as if he had answered a question beyond quaffles, bludgers, and snitches. "I'll see you around, Sykes."

"That's for sure," Alex said, turning back to Eve as Remus turned to his friends.

---

"We're going to win," Sirius said, his eyes darting along with James' body.

"What makes you so sure?" Peter asked.

"We always do, we always win the first game of the season."

The Gryffindors were all on their feet, jumping and hooraying at everything and anything that any of their players did. If Emmeline Vance so much as passed the quaffle to Kyra Reddy or James Potter, they would start chanting their names and banging on the floorboards with their feet.

It was a different story on the other side of the pitch.

It was already past noon, and the greatest party that Hogwarts had ever seen was taking place right then and there. On the other side of the pitch, few Slytherins could actually remember what the score was at that moment. Alexander Sykes was not one to confine himself to temporal boundaries— time was not of the essence here. Time was nothing to someone like Alexander Sykes, who had a lot of fucking time on his hands.

As ridiculous as it may have seemed, or sounded, to anyone else, it was true, and it was precisely how they could get away with it because the professors would have never thought that Alexander Sykes would be serving an open bar in the Slytherin pitches during mid-day. Precedence had given that one to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs; Slytherins had never partaken in such acts. What difference would November 5th of 1977 be?

None— that they knew of.

That is how the entire Slytherin house was plastered, save for anyone under thirteen. Alexander Sykes had shown up already drunk and high with an Eve Kavanagh that was in much the same state. After their small chat with the Gryffindor, they had scurried off for a quick breakfast and then ran down to the pitch— whiskey in their coffee and crystal ready to go right after.

During his party planning week, Alex had gathered who he thought was the least broom-in-arse of their house and given them the job of making sure everyone was being served for as long as the game lasted. If supplies ran low, he had already given them instructions to signal someone else to procure more— that's where the first and second years came in. No one would have ever suspected an 11-year-old of anything if they were making their way down the stairs to a carved-out, hidden stockpile of liquor.

Now, someone may question the ethics of a thirteen-year-old drinking liquor. While these ethical questions were fair and well-grounded, this was the House of Slytherin. If morals were at the pinnacle of anything they did, none of them would be seated on that side of the pitch. Plus, Alexander Sykes didn't quite consider it unsupervised drinking if people of age were drinking alongside them. The first and second years were given butterbeer— he knew the pseudo-effect would do a fine job, but the third years and up had been to Hogsmeade, and they knew that shit wasn't going to do much of anything at all.

So, while the Gryffindors screamed their hearts out — which was exactly what Alex had hoped would happen — the Slytherins were quite literally playing music. No one could hear anything or even realize what was happening because he had made sure to charm the sound to reverberate from the center of each section and not at the ends. This meant that while the Gryffindors screeched and squawked, the Slytherins were drinking and swaying back and forth to songs they had never heard before. Because Alexander Sykes wasn't boring, he wasn't going to play something lame from magical Britain, which is how— at that precise moment — Tu bois beaucoup by Le Ry-co Jazz group from the French West Indies was filling up their stands. Of course, this was Moira Palancher's contribution. Still, none of them had a clue what this song was or where it came from— he had banked on their superficial knowledge of anything beyond the Isle of Man to come to his favor when he selected the playlist for the game. And he had made sure it was one long playlist because even if the match had finished 20 minutes in, the music would keep on playing in the common room.

While the music played, the Slytherins also shouted and hollered to their own teammates— but not in the acute way that the Gryffindors were doing, the latter commanding and complimenting each player. The Slytherins were confined to whistling, clapping, and wooing— there were no names, insults, or curses— it was just sound. Pure sound.

"How're we doing over here?"

"I'm great," Eve responded quickly, her eyes big and wide as she unknowingly bopped her head to the beat of the song. Besides that, she stood still, eyes focused on what was in front of her. Alex grabbed her by the hand, making her face him, and the two of them began to dance. Eve broke into a grin as Alex danced in a way she had never seen before. It was neither Irish nor ballroom dancing. It was just moving his body to the rhythm of the music. He wasn't trying to get her close, nor did he want to dance alone. It was utterly lost on her, but she tried to follow his steps as best as she could, all the same.

"You're trying too hard," Alex told her. "Loosen up a bit, just feel the music. Feel it, Eve, can you feel it?" He leaned forward to whisper to her. "How's the rock doing?"

"It's good," she said, smiling. He leaned back, giving her a thumbs up as he nodded slowly.

"Drinks— who's doing shots!?" Alexander shouted to everyone in his vicinity. There was a collective agreement either in some form of a verbal yes, nods, thumbs up, or just grins. He reached down to the seat and brought up a bottle of Dingle Drown. He made his rounds, pouring the drink into everyone's hands. Then, he looked over at the other end of his section to Lenna Skidd, giving her the signal to do the same. She nodded, bringing forth a bottle of Aurora Vodka and beginning to pour for her section.

One may ask how the fuck Alexander Sykes was just blatantly holding a bottle of liquor and how all the Slytherins had managed to have glasses. The glasses had been handed out by him and his recruited army of bar-backs when the rest entered the stands— it had to be those specific ones, too. Alexander Sykes, all week, had put in the work to charm every single bottle, every single glass to look blurry to the person not holding it. This meant that when Niger Seacole was pouring one out for his housemates, all it looked like to Alex was a blob. The glasses were also transparent, which made them appear almost invisible from a distance. For all anyone knew, they were drinking tea and apple juice— at most, if they could even discern that much. It had not been easy, it had taken a lot of time and diligence. At one point, he had wanted to say fuck it, and whatever happened would happen. But no, he had forced himself to continue charming his way, one by one, through the convoy that would make the Three Broomsticks look like patty cake in comparison,

Only a Slytherin could pull some shit like this off and not get caught. The Gryffindors would have just shown up with mugs and their whiskey in flasks— but what kind of party was that? The point was for all of them to be together, and Alex had ensured that's precisely what was happening.

The best party Hogwarts had ever seen.

And if he got caught, which he wasn't, but if he got caught, so what? He knew there was no way in hell that they would expel an entire House. And even if someone did point their fingers at him, Alexander Sykes would just skip on down the hall, on his merry way to class, because he knew no one could touch him. He was untouchable. Not because of his last name — but also because of his last name — but because he was Dumbledore's new favorite pet. And nobody, except for one other person in his house, knew that.

Last but not least, they weren't getting caught because there wasn't a single person from any other house in those stands. No goody two shoes Ravenclaw was going to be running back to McGonagall to tell her that they were drinking from the tap. No, the others would sit with and mingle with the Gryffindors even if their teams weren't playing, lending them the exact kind of privacy these sorts of things needed to work.

Sometimes, it wasn't that bad being the bad house.

Notoriety had its uses.

"Why Dingle Drown?" Eve asked him as she sipped on her drink. Alex poured the last of the drinks out and placed the bottle back on the seat.

"It's a good whiskey."

"The best."

Because Alexander Sykes didn't know Eve Kavanagh well, but he had met plenty of Irish people over his lifetime. Though each one had been different from the next, there was one thing they all had in common: they would wear green, orange, and white no matter what. Would Eve Kavanagh have drunk at all? That wasn't something Alex had been sure of, so he knew if there was something this witch was going to drink— it was going to be Irish whiskey. And she was drinking it a lot faster than he was.

"I can't feel my face," Eve began to laugh as she continued to dance with Alex. Alex paused, a flicker of worry covering his face, but she hadn't noticed and was still laughing. "I kind of love it."

"Bloody hell, Kavanagh, you know… You're kind of crazy," he commented, nodding his head in approval as he slowly retook his moves.

"What d'you mean?" But Alex didn't say anything.

"This was a great idea," came a slurred voice from his side, a heavy hand planted on his shoulder. Alex turned to look up at Edmund, who was halfway gone from the drink.

"Nott! Where've you been?" Alex asked, putting a hand on his shoulder— both holding onto one another.

"I've been up there." He jutted his head to the upper right of their section. "With Rosier, Avery, and Gamp."

"Blanchet doing a good job?"

"Perfect," Edmund drawled. Alex grinned. "Listen, this is great. How'd you think of it?"

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"The party, Nott?"

"Yeah, how?"

"Mate, no one knows the power of the party better than I do."

With those words, the memory of when he and Fabian Prewett, who had graduated the summer before Alex's fifth year, had taken him with his twin Gideon and some muggleborns and their friends to a rock concert in London.

It was all uphill from there— Alex could not get over the bodies moving in unison. Everyone faced the same person, the same thing. He did not know the person standing next to him, but for some reason, he had felt that he did. They had fed him water and alcohol without so much as knowing his name, not knowing anything about him. Though rock music wasn't his taste — he learned later on — it didn't matter, not really. What Alex had discovered that day was his love of the dance floor.

Another memory flooded him: when he had fainted outside of a New Year's rave during his fifth year. A whole group of people had come forward to take care of him. One woman had handed him some fruit juice, remaining with him and nursing him back to life. He didn't know any of them, but they loved him — he knew that — and he had let himself love them, too.

Despite what everyone thought, Alexander Sykes had no ulterior motive. He really just loved dancing— that's all he ever wanted to do. The dance floor had become his home, and the people that filled it were his family. Eve Kavanagh getting on a table was not some trick to embarrass her. He had every intention of being on that table first— lifting her up. He had chosen her over, say, Severus Snape because she had taken the crystal off of him without so much as blinking, and he had begun to believe that there was more to this witch than just a nice name and some pretty robes. He wanted to dance with Eve Kavanagh— that was it. There was nothing else.

Love and let the self be loved.

"I'm a dancing man, Nott," Alexander said slyly, moving his shoulders up and down. Edmund laughed, beginning to move his shoulders in the same way. "Fuck yeah, Nott— let's go!"

"WOO! LET'S GO SLYTHERIN, LET'S HEAR IT," Edmund shouted, lifting his hands up to the crowd behind him as if this was his choir and he was the composer.

"LET'S GOOOOOOOOO!" Oliver Wilkes followed as the crowd broke out into a series of sounds that followed in line with Edmund's demand.

"Fuck you, Mulciber, fuck you," Sirius scowled as he watched the bludger hit the tip of James' broom, sending him jolting down and left as Kyra tried to pass him the quaffle. The quaffle was now in Slytherin's possession, Leo Jacknife making headway for Isla Baxter, Gryffindor's keeper. Leron Wade was right behind him with a bludger ready to go.

"JACKNIFE!" Moira shouted, having eyed Leron. She held out her hand, yet Leo did not pass it to her, eyes aimed at the goalposts.

"JAMES, UNDERNEATH, GO FROM UNDER," Peter shouted into the unknown. Remus stood with the rest but kept his hands in his pockets, refraining from saying anything. The only time he would was when the quaffle was in Gryffindor's position, and they were chanting on their team.

"JACKNIFE!" And Moira did everything in her power to make it seem as if she thought the wizard would try to take the win on his own. In the last second before approaching, Isla Baxter eyed him and only him. Ensuring her attention on him — as Regulus had told both of them to do — he tossed the quaffle to Moira, who immediately zoomed right past the unsuspecting Gryffindor keeper to make the goal.

Because, and as Regulus Black had pointed out, the last thing anyone would expect was a team effort from Slytherin's side of things.

Again, notoriety had its uses.

"FUCK YES, PALANCHER!" Leo Jacknife applauded as the score was registered.

"Ace, fucking ace," Beon Shafiq commended her as they made their way back to the center of the pitch.

"Fuck," Sirius said under his breath for the millionth time.

"She's so good," Lily mumbled from Remus' right. Remus looked down at her as she eyed the Slytherin witch with fondness— a very different look from the envy seeping out of Marlene's eyes. Lily had been watching Moira Palancher the entire game. Sure, she would chant along with them when it came to it— but her eyes remained on the Slytherin witch. "She'll be recruited, definitely."

While the rest of the Gryffindors were too busy looking at their own game, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that had joined were doing the same— his eyes fell on the Slytherin crowd. It had not gone unnoticed to him that for the last three hours— they had not seemed to be partaking in the same way that the Gryffindors were. He could not see them all that great, but it wasn't difficult to notice Twila Blishwick and Sophia Blanchet making some sort of motion — are they dancing? — with Cedric Avery in between them. Not for nothing— but they looked so bad doing it, too, that there was no way those were stomps to cheer on their team. Remus bit back a laugh as Cedric Avery tried to lean as far back as he could without snapping his spine in half to look up at Severus Snape, grabbing his face in between his hands and placing what looked like a playful slap against it.

"GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR!" Began to be sung all around him, but Remus' eyes were still scanning the Slytherin pitches. The fact that the quaffle was now in Gryffindor's possession did not seem to annoy them in the slightest— some of them laughing, putting their hands in the air, and others conversing jovially with the group they surrounded themselves with.

In general, they looked like the bunch having more fun.

What the fuck? Remus asked himself, wondering who else from their side had noticed. When he turned around to examine, all he found was a group determined to shout, "Go, go, Gryffindor." Remus pursed his lips, but just as he placed his attention back on the game— the pitch grew quiet, all eyes and bodies turning to watch a figure flying in from the distance, growing ever larger as it approached the pitch.

Except, it wasn't all that quiet— for the Slytherins had not seemed to notice what everyone was waiting with bated breaths to see.

And then, Regulus appeared, swooping in with his hand held straight to the sky and a giant grin etched onto his face.

"REGULUS BLACK HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS!"

"Holy fuck," whispered Peter.

The pitch turned green: confetti and fireworks being sent into the sky as their Slytherin peers began jumping and clapping.

"WE WOOOOOOOOON!" came out a bellowed howl from Art MacMorough, who had been one of the first to notice. They all turned to look together, but the green sparks that blew off shook them before they knew what was going on.

"YEAAAAAAAH," screamed Cyrus Baddok, unable to contain himself, putting all his force into his fingers and ripping his shirt off. The buttons popped off, and the seams came undone as he shook his body with the ripple of screams and shouts that ignited their side of the pitch.

People did everything and anything: Cedric Avery grabbed both Sophia Blanchet and Twila Blishwick and hugged them while shaking out his own yell. Alex's eyes widened, his hand placed on the edge of the stands as he leaned forward. Eve began to laugh. Aphrodite was high-fiving Oliver Wilkes. Lenna Skidd, somehow, made it onto Niger Seacole's shoulders.

"REGULUS BLACK, EVERYONE," shouted Edmund Nott from where he stood next to Alex.

All of them began to clap as their seeker made his way over to their side, flying over them, showcasing the caught snitch. He smiled and laughed along with them as they continued to clap for him. The rest of the team came to join his side, spread out evenly between the entire House. Regulus turned to look at Moira, who was hovering a few meters away to his right. He held out his hand to her, and she made her way to him. When their hands collided, Regulus jousted their arms straight into the sky.

"AND THIS IS SLYTHERIN!" Alex hollered, his hands spread far and wide to the sides as if embracing the team flying in front of him.

The words resonated into the field, onto the grounds, and through the halls of Hogwarts.

Sirius, without thinking, stood up and threw his bottle of ale over the edge of the stands and into the pitch.

"BOOOO!" Some Gryffindors shouted, others merely shrugging and beginning to part from the pitch.

"What an ugly game," snorted Marjory from next to Sirius. But Remus stood up, looking over the edge as he noticed James smashing the quaffle into the ground, stalking off into the dressing room with the rest of the team following behind him.

"Whatever, it's just the first game," Sirius mumbled, eyeing the Slytherins with distaste.

"Yeah, they still have to beat Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Peter added, his eyes darting between Slytherin's captain and co-captain.

In the dressing room, another story unfolded: James' face was red, and a vein popped out from his neck. The Gryffindor captain couldn't even think straight. He had been so focused on himself that he hadn't even realized until green fireworks appeared in front of him that the game had ended. Now, alone in the confines of his dressing room, James threw his broom across the floor, not wanting it anywhere near him. He glanced around, pulling off his uniform as his body heated up to a temperature not even he knew it could manage. Everything had happened too fast. Everything was happening too fast. And before he knew it, his fist repeatedly smashed into the mirrors that lined the ceramic walls. He didn't care about the blood or the glass shards stuck in his knuckles. He just really wanted to hit something.

---

Lily walked into the common room and couldn't help but notice that the usually blinding crimson had turned grey in a matter of hours. The fire didn't burn as bright, and no one smiled as they spent the rest of the before-dinner hours finishing assignments for the next week.

"Lily." She turned to find Dorcas waving at her from one of the tables. Lily made her way over, dropping the books in her hands onto the wooden surface.

"Rather dull, no?" Lily asked as she pulled back the chair diagonal from the witch. Dorcas shrugged, placing her quill down and leaning back in her seat.

"Quidditch does that."

"It's just a game. Nobody died."

"Reckon Potter's pride did," Dorcas snorted.

"Finally," Lily whispered with a smirk.

"It's not just a game."

Both witches jumped in their seats at the sudden intrusion. Lily turned around, only to be met with hazel-turned-black eyes that belonged to an already inebriated and indignant James Potter. She sighed and shook her head.

"I'm not fighting tonight, Potter," was her only response, turning back around in her seat and opening one of the books she had acquired from the library.

"You think everything is a game, don't you?" He continued. Lily gaped, a scoff hitching somewhere in her throat.

"Excuse you?" She turned back around, a shocked expression on her face. One thorough reading and it dawned on her who and what she was dealing with. "Before I even entertain that, let me ask— just how drunk are you?"

"Admit it, Evans, everything's a bloody game to you, isn't it?" It was as if her words had fallen on deaf ears. "You think Quidditch is just a game?"

"It is."

"Everything's a fucking game, isn't it? Huh, no wonder."

"No wonder what, Potter?" Lily spat out.

But this was not a James Potter she had ever seen before— this was not a James Potter she ever wanted to see again. His eyes twitched, his knuckles were bloodied, and his jaw clenched. Before he responded, his lips lifted into the ugliest sneer she had seen on anyone— and she had seen quite a few.

"Everything's just a game to you," he began again, his voice lower and rougher than it had ever been. Dorcas' widened eyes stared at the back of Lily's head as she could no longer bear the sight of the wizard before them. She held her breath as she calculated whether she should intervene, something she had never had to do for Lily before. "Quidditch is just a game, snogging me is just a game, pretending I don't exist is just a game. It's all just one big fucking game, isn't it?"

"What's he on about, Lils?" Dorcas whispered to her, leaning forward in her seat. When no one bothered looking at her, the witch leaned back in the chair with fright in her eyes, and her lips pulled tight into a line as she scanned the room for James' friends.

James didn't even notice Dorcas seated beside Lily, his eyes having been set on the redhead ever since she had stepped into the common room. The same redhead who had not uttered so much as a word to him, beyond the prefect meeting, since their run-in at Halloween. And with the loss of that day's game, James was looking for a fight, and he had a couple of words to share with his fellow Gryffindor witch, words that he had promised himself would never find their way to his lips.

"I was drunk. I thought we had established that." James' nostrils flared, grinding his teeth with an angry smile as he finally looked away and nodded. A demeaning laugh escaped him, his head cocked slightly to the side as he brought his attention back to her.

"Sure, you're right, Evans. You're always bloody right. You know, it's not as if you didn't know exactly what you were doing—"

"And what was that?" Lily challenged, lifting herself, her chin and chest up. While she had been taken aback by his demeanor, there was not a thread of fear inside her. She dared him to continue.

"You wanted a shag," he growled at her, stepping closer so that only he, Lily, and Dorcas could hear what transpired between them. The former witch crossed her arms over her chest as Head Boy and Head Girl stared one another down.

"And what's so wrong with that?" Lily retorted.

"You could've picked anyone else— anyone fucking else, and you picked me. You fucking picked me because you knew I wasn't going to say no, and I," he pointed to himself, digging his finger into his chest, "when I did the right fucking thing, you didn't even so much as fucking look at me at breakfast. You haven't looked at me since."

"It didn't mean anything," Lily said quickly.

"It didn't mean anything?" James repeated. "It meant something— to me, it meant something."

"Oh, please," Lily sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're having a laugh." He wasn't stepping down, nor was she— not until he surrendered first, but James' face fell, and something froze within her. "What're you trying to say? What do you mean it meant something?"

"It meant something to me," James repeated again. He was drunk, very drunk, and all he could see in front of him was Lily Evans. "You knew that. You knew it would."

"No, I didn't," Lily said, shaking her head tightly. "Why would it mean anything?"

"Because you know how I feel about you," James scowled. "You know— how could you not know!?"

"How you feel about me?" Lily's eyes widened, and her brows knit together. "How would I know what you're bloody feeling or thinking, Potter? I can't read minds."

"I was in love with you," James heaved. "You— I was in bloody love with you."

The past tense did not go unnoticed by Lily, but she blinked, still finding the sight before her pathetic and sad. James Potter had gone full-on delusional from losing a quidditch game, and now he was going to take down the entire tower with him— as if she would ever let him.

"You weren't in love with me," she clarified for him. "It was just a crush, you wanker."

"FUCK YOU, EVANS!" James bellowed, pointing a finger at her face. He leaned forward, exceeding the boundaries of what would have been socially acceptable at that moment. "Fuck you. You used me because you were drunk and randy, and you knew how I felt about you, and you knew I wasn't going to say no. So, fuck you. You fucking played with me because EVERYTHING IS JUST A FUCKING GAME, ISN'T IT?"

"Woah, James." Remus came running down from their dorm as soon as he had heard the first ' fuck you, Evans!' from the common room.

His hand wrapped around James' shoulder, forcing himself between him and Lily, who remained starstruck with a wide-eyed expression. She couldn't even bring herself to meet his gaze, remaining as still as she could after James' outburst in front of an almost full tower. She was used to his obnoxious banter, and smug remarks, but never in his life had he raised his voice at her. Never, not once, had his fist clenched at his side — as it had in those moments — when she reprimanded him for going after Severus or Benjy Fenwick. This shocked her, it made her feel small, and Lily hated feeling small. So, had Remus not come rushing down the stairs at that moment— she would have sent James to his death out the Gryffindor tower window for ever putting her there in the first place.

Luckily, nothing else came after that. James yanked away from Remus' hold, throwing one last death stare at Lily before hiking up to their dorm. Remus stood there, turning to look at the witch.

"Are you okay?" Remus asked as a door slammed shut somewhere in the distance.

"Fuck him," was all she managed.

"Yeah," he agreed, inhaling, nodding once. "Should I stay? Do you— what do you need? Do you want me to stay?"

"No! Potter needs to sober the fuck up— don't let him leave his bed until that happens," she demanded.

"Will do," he obliged, pausing for a second as Lily grabbed her items in a sloppy pile. "Lily?" But she was already past him and out the portrait door before he could get a second word in.

Remus stood there, looking at everyone staring at him, and then looked down at Dorcas— who was still shocked into place with an expression that looked like she would need a drink, too, at some point in the next couple of minutes. "You're okay, right?"

"She snogged Potter?" It was the only thing to leave the witch's mouth, her eyes focused on the space in front of her. Remus pursed his lips and nodded awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah."

"Blimey."