Tuesday, 22 November 1977

Edmund opened the door to his dormitory, finding it empty except for one other occupant. He paused at the entrance, sealing it off behind him as Evan turned from his trunk to look up at him. He lifted his chin, eyes thinning on the newcomer, who stood with his back against the wooden doorway as if to keep anyone else who dared enter out.

"What do you want?" Evan muttered, turning back to his clothes. He tossed a white button-down onto his bed, followed by a black button-down.

"Did I say I wanted something?"

"Then, why're you standing there, looking at me?"

Edmund frowned slightly, gaze dropping to the ground before lifting to the back of Evan's hunched body. A few seconds of silence passed between them, with only the sound of Evan rummaging through his trunk breaking it.

"Was it you?" Edmund posed. Not an accusation, an investigation. Evan paused, fisting cashmere cloth between his fingers and then releasing, scanning the imprints it had left behind.

"Was what me?"

"Don't do that," he said, sighing. "It's just us."

"I don't know what you're on about," Evan spewed, shaking his head, refusing to turn around to entertain Edmund.

"You can't do that to her," Edmund continued, remaining by the door, watching every single one of his movements. "She's Eve Kavanagh— she's not one of us. There are larger implications going after a foreign—"

"She is," Evan bit back, swiveling around to stare daggers at Edmund. "Eve's been by my side since we were born. We were born a single day apart! She's one of us, even if you lot don't think she is."

"No," Edmund issued. "No, Eve Kavanagh is a Kavanagh. She is part of the Ancient Five, not the—"

"SHUT UP," Evan snarled, hurling the cashmere sweater at Edmund. "I know her better than any of you— you don't know anything about her! You never will!"

"But I know the Ancient Five better than you, better than any of you," Edmund returned, scrutinizing the cashmere at his feet. It had been his gift to Evan for his seventeenth birthday last July. "They won't appreciate what you did. You can not bully her, Evan, into joining our cause."

"I didn't do anything," he countered, shoulders rolling back. "I didn't bully her. She just… She fell out of line. I had to put her back. You wouldn't understand. She sometimes loses the way, you see? But you wouldn't know, though, because you don't know anything."

"What're you expecting to achieve?" Edmund probed, both of them staring at one another. "We have tried and failed for centuries to convince the Irish. It won't change now because of—"

"It will," Evan interjected.

"No, it won't."

"It will."

"Why? Because you, you specifically, grew up with her?" Edmund shot at him, his brows slightly furrowing. "You hurt her, Evan! I don't think she sees you as much of a friend. Besides, she won't join because you two are mates. You don't—"

"She's not going to join, and neither will her family because we're mates," Evan stated, agreeing. "They don't fight wars for mates, Nott. You should know that since you know so much about the bloody Ancient Five."

"Right—"

"Right," Evan cut him off. "She'll join because we'll be married."

"What?" Edmund scoffed, his chin flinching back. Evan slowly approached him, a finger pointed at himself as he leaned down to meet Edmund's stare.

"She'll join because we'll be blood, family— and the Kavanaghs always fight for family. Eve loves her family more than anything else," Evan sneered, but then he fixed himself. A smile bright as day glowed and danced over his mouth. "You see? I know her better than any of you."

"Have you gone mad?" Edmund eyed Evan up and down, his fingers twitching for his wand. But he knew any indication of a hex shot Evan's way would have him on the floor before he could spell out a counter-charm. "You expect Eve to marry you? Do you... She won't marry you!" Edmund's face scrunched up. "You've not even so much as dated."

"And yet, she will," Evan asserted confidently, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, she won't," Edmund retorted, snorting. "She may be quiet, but she's not stupid... Evan, you beat the witch. Why would she marry you?"

"Because Eve does as I tell her. She always has, and she always will."

Edmund blinked, pausing as he observed Evan. He thought he knew the person in front of him— yes, he was erratic and could fall into brief delusion at times, but he was also clever and savvy. And yes, while Edmund had known that Eve and Evan had been childhood friends, he did not realize that it had continued. He also didn't know what Evan meant when he said that Eve did as he told her to do. Even for someone like Edmund Nott, the words were ominous and daunting.

"You really want to marry her?" Edmund asked, his voice dropping.

"Yes," Evan answered quickly. "Yes, I always have. I was always going to. It was only a matter of time. Now, it's time. We're both of age."

"What? Because you were childhood best friends?"

"Because, with her, no one'll ever question my family or me again. We'll have the Kavanaghs on my side— they'll be my family. No one would dare throw the Black name against me. We will be Rosiers and Kavanaghs, revered and respected. It is the strongest match, the only one to get me where I need to be so I can stamp that bloody twat into the ground once and for all."

"That bloody twat is your cousin," Edmund pointed out.

"And I've constantly been measured against him my entire life," Evan confessed with irate haste. "Regulus has done nothing, and yet he gets everything. I vouched for him to..., and now their house is base of operations? Why!? I'm, my father— we're bloody looked over, and we were first. One of the first. Before even Him. But everyone kisses Regulus' feet just because his last name is Black and mine isn't. Well, this— at least, once I marry Eve, no one'll think twice."

"But it won't be the Dark Lord who commands them," Edmund noted slowly, scratching his forehead as he pondered Evan's declaration. "They'll be your blood, not His."

"Precisely," Evan smirked.

"What?" Edmund asked. "You would go against— You would… What? Blackmail, Evan?"

"No, but I will have unquestionable power at my fingertips," Evan explained. "The Blacks will fall back to second place… No, third."

Evan was not wrong, Edmund knew that, but he still could not believe what he was hearing. Whatever dream Evan had gone and drawn out for himself was his to discover and play out, but Edmund could not help but notice that one part of this drama was missing. There was a scene that had been skipped. His eyes dropped back to the ground. He shoved his hands into his trousers' pockets.

"And what about me?"

"What about you?" Evan hissed, teeth bared. Edmund felt his heart clench.

"Us, Evan," Edmund said in nothing more than a whisper.

"There is no us," Evan spat at him. "That was just for fun— this is real life."

"You used me?"

Evan didn't respond. All he did was laugh.

"It was never going to be you, Nott. Be serious."

"I thought this was serious," he admitted in a strained voice.

"It is and always will be Eve," Evan whispered, his laugh dropping to a smirk.

"You— you… How do you, what're you going to tell her when she expects children?" Edmund interrogated, his eyes narrowing on the tips of his shoes. "You can't give her children, not unless you force yourself. You're going to— what? Have someone place you under an Imperius? Have her feed you Amortentia? Do you not see how ridiculous this plan of yours is?"

"If that's what I have to do."

"No... No!" Edmund scowled, shaking his head. This time, he met his glare. "What about her? You're going to force her, too, are you? You'd stoop so low?"

"No," Evan said easily. "No, if she doesn't want children… So, what? That was never a concern of mine. I just need her as my partner. She's my best friend, you know? Always has been. I love her. I've only ever loved her, you see. She's almost perfect." Edmund's stomach turned with such ferocity at Evan's admission that all he could think of was sending him blasting into the wall behind him.

"You love her because she listens to you," Edmund said, glowering as his hand wrapped around his wand. "Because she obeys you— that's not love, Evan. That's a slave. You could buy yourself a house-elf and feel the same way."

"Eve is not a house-elf."

"No, she's not," Edmund agreed firmly. "You can't treat her like one."

"That may be how you see it, but that's now how it is," Evan rebutted. "You don't know anything, Nott."

"What about your legacy, then? No children, no family… You'll have nothing."

"The only person who gives a fuck about legacy is you, Malfoy, and the Blacks," Evan listed, breaking out into a taunting chuckle. "I don't give a fuck about legacy. I only care about me."

"Right," Edmund managed, biting down on his own tongue.

It was not as if he had expected Evan and himself to have ever been anything outside of that dormitory, but he also had not known that the entire time, every moment they laid together, Evan had been planning on marrying Eve Kavanagh. He had thought that, at least, they would get what they could of what little they could while they could. He also knew that if he didn't turn around and walk away, he would end up crying, cursing, or clutching onto Evan.

"Good luck, then. You have my blessing if you're so sure she'll marry you. Just, you know, maybe don't hurt her, yeah? No one liked seeing that; the Irish won't like it if they find out. For your sake, that is."

Evan did not respond as Edmund turned around and reopened the door, stepping out of it and closing it behind him. Now, it was just him in that room. He ran his fingers over his knuckles— it had not just been Eve with bruises. His own were stained purple and yellowing. Evan didn't wince as he pressed into them. Like Eve, he, too, had not healed the wounds. At that moment, though, it was the only pain he felt. There was nothing of what Edmund had said that remained or lingered. He felt nothing. He thought nothing of it. For Evan knew Eve better than anyone else did. Like his own, those bruises on her face would fade, and she would remain. Those wounds would heal, and she would still stand. Evan knew Eve because he had built her. He had made her into the perfect soldier. And Evan Rosier was the only one in that entire school, in all of the British Isles, that truly and honestly thought Eve Kavanagh was strong. Evan loved Eve because he knew she was stronger than all of them.

Wednesday, 23 November 1977

"How'd it go?" Remus asked, rising as Eve emerged from the Transfiguration classroom. He stepped out from the alcove. Sure, his exam was after hers, but he'd arrived a bit earlier than necessary because, well, not because he wanted to be there when Eve finished. No, of course not. He had arrived early because he always showed up for exams ahead of time. The jumpy little critter that he was— he couldn't afford to be late, right?

"Better than expected," Eve replied.

"That's great," he congratulated, smiling down at her. "An Outstanding, then?"

"No, a Poor." His face dropped. Eve lifted her eyes to his, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"You failed," he pointed out— in case she had missed that part.

"I suppose."

"Why? What happened?"

"Here," she said, handing him the circled rubric with a red-stained P in the top corner. Eve pressed her shoulder against the wall as he took it, glancing over it. "She also told me to tell you to go in—if you were already here." Remus looked up at her, his lips slightly parted. Was she feigning positivity to keep herself from tipping over? But Eve had slowly begun to notice his tiny quirks. Over time, she figured, that was normal. They did spend a god-awful amount of time together. "Coupled with the Exceeds Expectations, it averages out to an Acceptable," she added, tilting her chin to the paper in his hand.

"Sure, I suppose," Remus forced out, but Eve only offered a single shrug that broke fast. She wasn't on the verge of tears; he could tell. In fact, she didn't appear disappointed at all. "What happened? You were able to do it two weeks ago. We made sure."

Fuck, Remus realized that their missed appointment last week might have led Eve to a less-than-ideal mark. Although she had admitted to him at some point that practical exams always overwhelmed her. In her words, they had for years because it was easier to write things down and work it out than to keep everything in her head and be forced to remember on the spot. Remus, too, had come to learn that Eve performed better when tasks were listed or written out for her. Memory wasn't her strong point.

Right, Richard.

"You could've gotten an Acceptable," Remus sighed. His hand dropped to the side, the scroll rustling against his trousers. Her eyes located the itching sound. "Do you want to try again?"

"No," Eve answered easily.

"Well, what happened?"

"I don't know."

"It says you messed up the equation. Did you forget the equation?" Eve's chin dipped, peering up at him through her eyelashes. It was a laughing play at innocence.

"Sort of?"

"Sort of?" Remus repeated, eyebrows raised.

"I was—"

"Lupin," their Professor's voice interrupted.

He held back a smirk as he turned to face McGonagall, offering a sheepish smile while displaying Eve's exam rubric to her. As Eve turned away from the entrance of the Transfiguration classroom, Remus spared her one last glance. She wore her hair up, though, so he could spot the reddened tips of her ears.

"Professor," he greeted, nodding once. It did not take more than a second for McGonagall to grasp what was happening, causing her to stare pointedly at the back of the witch's head. "She's able to do it— I'm sure of it."

"Remus," Eve breathed as she stared at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Lupin, it is time for your own examination. Unless, of course, you would like to fail it."

"But—"

"Just go," Eve nearly hissed at him, snatching her paper from his hand. By that point, her whole face had gone red, and Remus' belly lurched with a stifled chuckle.

"Would you wait?" Remus lowly requested, a lopsided grin curving half his lips. Granted, Eve was ready to rip and run, but she relented with a minute nod. Her hands curled around the paper, and she held it to her stomach, pulling her gaze off him. "Okay. Professor, after you."

Eve closed her eyes as soon as the door shut behind her. She made her way over to the alcove across from the classroom and sat on the cool granite. She took one last look at the paper in her hand and then shoved it deep into her bag so she wouldn't have that to fumble over. But there would be no fumbling; that's what she had Remus for. He would probably beg for it back, analyzing it until every word had been deconstructed, then spend a holy two hours explaining to her exactly where she had taken a wrong turn. The bloke did spend a lot of time thinking and talking. Actually, she was convinced he was the type to think out loud, unable to keep a single word in or he'd break. In fact, after yesterday's apology, Eve had concluded that Remus Lupin simply thought too much. Sure, she spent a lot of time in her own head, but she didn't think—not nearly as much as Remus, at least. It was no wonder he smoked cigarettes — something to do — she recalled him saying.

Yeah, something that wasn't thinking, she mocked.

Now, Eve was alone in the great stone halls, waiting for him. She could do that. There was plenty to keep her occupied that didn't involve shoddy assessments—lots that had nothing to do with dissecting those mediocrities. She could see the cloudy skies as she canted her head to the side. They always hung around in Scotland, making the lake look remarkably dreary. However, she became captivated by how the wind caused the waves to undulate back and forth almost dizzily as she focused on them as best as she could from the fifth-floor window. The lake was cryptic, unexplainable, and large enough for her to trick herself into thinking it was St. George's Channel off the coast of Wexford. It could have been home. Almost.

Except, the red ranks chose to rain upon her at that moment, bringing her daydreaming to a rude halt, interrupted by raucous laughter that echoed through the corridor. The sketch of her homeland was beginning to resemble the crumpled paper in her bag. There was no ignoring them; they were loud enough to make out every word, but she dismissed it as people carousing in the halls. Normal. There was no reason or interest in eavesdropping. Taking a deep breath, Eve straightened her back, smoothed her skirt—even though it was wrinkle-free—and placed her bag neatly at the edge of the alcove instead of on her lap. Once composed, she tried to refocus on the lake, but their images reflected back at her in the window. All three had positioned themselves right around the Transfiguration classroom door. There seemed to be no escape from this bunch.

Eve remained completely still, fearing that any movement on her part would be interpreted differently by the three wizards now staring at her. Naturally, they were unaware that she was aware of their scrutiny. Should she truly wait for Remus under this pretense? After what felt like an eternity, her doubt never materialized. She sighed, still apprehensive, with fingers digging into the side of her thigh.

"Eve?"

Thank Morgana's lovely Wand.

"Alex!" Eve said. "Hi!"

"McGonagall wants me to take my exam on Friday evening, but I've got places to be, things to do, so I'm going to try to take it right now. Who's in there?"

"Lupin," she answered as softly as possible, gazing up at Alex with wide eyes that begged him not to repeat the name.

"Excellent," Alex stated, leaning against the wall. He had immaculately understood the mission without needing any further direction. Slytherins. "Perfect, he'll be two seconds max— in and out. Did he just go in?" Eve nodded. "Bloody amazing, will give me half an hour to do my work. I'm set for an Outstanding, definitely."

"You can't change your exam slot, Sykes," James Potter muttered from across the hall. Alex briefly blinked at him, then turned back to Eve. He pressed his fingers to his temple, shadowing half his face, and then rolled his eyes so far back that all Eve could see was white. "What's that, Sykes?" Alex's hand returned to his side as he glanced out the window, lips pressed into a thin line. He and Eve exchanged a glance, her own muscles tightening instinctively. "I couldn't hear you."

"You already take your exam, Eve?" Alex asked, pretending that James Potter was just Peeves making a mess of the trophy room again. Eve nodded. "And?"

"Poor."

"Not bad, that's all right," Alex commented, dismissing it as if it were nothing more than a fallen feather. Eve could certainly relate to the sentiment. "What're you still doing here?"

"I'm—"

As if to answer for her, Remus opened the door but remained stopped in the doorway. Two minutes max— Alex had been right. Eve and Alex looked at each other immediately, and she gave him a crisp nod as he raised his eyebrow, conveying a very clear 'See?' Both Slytherins were left nothing short of impressed. Remus, on the other hand, didn't know where to look or who to address first. His mouth opened and then closed as he found not one but five sets of eyes on him.

"How'd you do, Moony?" Peter asked. Remus slowly turned to his friends.

"What're you doing here?"

"Happy to see you, too," Sirius retorted.

"We knew you had your exam now. We figured we'd catch you before dinner, find out how it went," James explained.

"Right, I need to speak to Kavanagh, though," Remus said, brushing them off and making straight for the Slytherin witch.

"What kind of mood is she in?" Alex inquired as he approached.

"Fine?" Remus offered— the fuck was everyone on today? What was this bombardment of human beings and bodies? Merlin, leave me alone.

"Right, here goes nothing," Alex announced, waltzing into the Transfiguration room.

"How long will you be?" Sirius posed once the door shut behind Alex.

"I don't know," Remus responded shortly. "Just go without me."

"We'll wait."

"Why?" Remus grilled, turning to them with an almost pinched expression.

"All right, whatever," Sirius muttered, rolling his eyes.

"No, we'll wait," James insisted.

"He's upset. Just leave him," Sirius told Peter and James as he moved to exit the corridor.

"Is he?"

"Yes," Sirius revealed.

He bowed his head, shooting James a pointed look. But it seemed lost on their best friend that Remus would be no more in two days. He grabbed James by the forearm, dragging him toward the Great Hall. James' eyes narrowed at Eve, but he sorted it off as a matter for later. There was something that still made the vein in his neck pop, thinking, knowing that Remus was willingly engaging her.

"I think I hate her," James grumbled to Sirius and Peter as they fell in line, one next to the other.

"Whatever," Sirius drawled. "Don't bloody bring it up, though, for Merlin's sake."

"Why? Remus can be reasoned with. He's just too nice for his own good."

"Not before the full moon," Peter reminded him. James felt as if he had been slapped in the face— the full moon, of course.

Back by the Transfiguration classroom, Remus slid into the seat next to Eve, leaning his head against the wall as he stared into the now-empty corridor.

"Bloody hell."

"Why?" Eve asked.

"I didn't expect that."

"Expect what?"

"Whatever the fuck that was— four people on top of me after a nerve-wracking exam. I never want to have to live through that again." Remus reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lit it with the end of his wand. "I didn't have two seconds to think, and I had four people speaking to me. Bloody hell. I love 'em, most of 'em, but seriously, let a bloke think, yeah?"

"Are you still overwhelmed?" Eve inquired, eyeing the stick gripped firmly between his fingertips.

"I—" Overwhelmed? he repeated to himself. "No, I feel a lot better now, really."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, just needed a second alone, a minute to think," Remus disclosed. Eve did not think this wizard needed another minute to think— actually, she wanted to tell him he had enough minutes as it went. He needed to do whatever the opposite of thinking was, truth be told.

"But I'm here," Eve pointed out, observing his profile.

"Yeah, you don't count," Remus snorted, shaking his head. "You don't really bother anyone. You're too quiet."

Eve's head instinctively jerked back at his admission. She had been convinced that she was nothing but a bother to Remus. How could she not be? She was constantly with a problem. She couldn't settle on one thing or another—one day this, another day that— it drove him insane going in circles, and she had taken him into plenty of those, willingly or not.

Unbeknownst to her, Remus was typically Eve. Remus didn't mind Eve because for once, it wasn't him with the problem. Eve's problems were her own set of whatever, and it was a breath of fresh air. For once in his life, he met someone who had secrets galore and the same tendency to panic that he did. Not once had it ever redirected toward him, though. It had always just been her—which was great for him. Well, there was that whole situation with Lily, but so what? Eve had made one too many bad choices that night. Whatever. It happened to the best families— cough, James Potter, cough.

"So, why'd you get a Poor, Eve?" Remus rehashed the abandoned conversation.

"I don't know," she lied. The two of them stared at one another. Remus was sending her a message that conveyed all too well that he knew better than to believe her. Honestly, Eve had not known that she could be figured out— what was there to figure out? But it seemed as if the non-verbal cues had been picked up on both ends. She sighed. "One part of the equation was missing when I conjured the spell."

"How do you know?"

"The tail didn't transform."

"Oh." He made a weak attempt to stop a laugh from bubbling behind his lips. "You forgot the bloody tail, didn't you? Not the tail, Eve." Remus smirked, looking down at her minutely dazed expression. "Everyone forgets the tail."

"Really?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Remus consoled. "You're right— with the theory part, you'll average out the mark. We'll work more on tails and… extra limbs, appendages, horns, and whatnot for next time."

"Okay."

"Which, by the way, I— um, I didn't… I went ahead and scheduled something for this Friday, so I'll… I can meet Sunday evening or Monday after classes, same time."

"Do you have a preference?" Eve asked, not thinking to question what it was that he had to do on Friday.

That was another thing about her that he had grown to appreciate but initially thought was a massive flaw— never speaking. Everyone thought it was a problem— it really wasn't. It turned out that none of that was a bad quality to have because anyone else would have speared him into two as to why and where he would be on Friday, but Eve respected his silence— the silence in general. And she wasn't actually mute; she spoke plenty— as long as she had something to say. To Remus, she was a bit of a rarity, and he didn't mind the attitude at all. Don't speak unless spoken to; it was a decent mindset to have. Go figure.

"Monday, preferably, yeah," Remus answered.

"Okay, Monday, then."

"Great."

"So, did you forget the tail, too?" Eve inquired.

"No, I didn't forget the tail," Remus responded truthfully, the sudden conversation turn making him smile. Eve pursed her lips, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly that he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention. He almost wanted to pat her on the head, but he held himself back. Or, rather, what came next was enough to keep any hand-to-head contact at bay.

Both turned to look at the person being shoved out of the Transfiguration classroom.

"THAT THING JUST TRIED TO BLOODY EAT ME, IT DID!" Alex exclaimed, wide-eyed and disoriented. Remus broke out into a deep, full-blown chuckle as he registered the scene and the words being sprawled out from it. It infected the witch next to him, who broke out into her own round of lighter laughs that unrolled into and filled the corridor. She lifted her hand to her mouth, watching Alex take deep breaths as he held his hand to his heart.

"ABSOLUTELY DISGRACEFUL, NOT IN ALL MY YEARS HAVE I SEEN SOMETHING OF THE SORT," Professor McGonagall bellowed from behind him.

"So, what'd I get?" Alex asked her, looking over his shoulder. "An Outstanding, is it?"

"A TROLL, SYKES!" The door slammed shut in his face. Remus turned to look at Eve with a dropped jaw, and Eve pressed the hand that had been covering her mouth into her skin to keep a gasp from escaping.

"Well, that's that," Alex said, dropping into the seat across from them. He shook his head.

"What happened?" Remus questioned, his body leaning forward.

"I don't know," Alex admitted, hunching his shoulders. "Reckon, I should've brought my wand."

"You tried to do that without a wand?" Remus asked, his startled expression evaporating into pure shock. He held his breath as he awaited the Slytherin's answer. Alex turned to look him in the eye.

"Oh, I did it," Alex confirmed confidently, placing his back against the wall and spreading his legs out. "Sort of... It wasn't exactly it, you know? But it was something. Should've gotten points for it, though. Bloody ridiculous, I say." He blew out air to wave a curl dangling in front of his eye to the side. "Whatever, a Troll isn't that bad. Could've done a lot worse."

Remus wanted to inform him that a Troll was, indeed, the worst grade someone could receive, but he kept it to himself. It didn't seem the Slytherins, any of them, were that eager to be proving anything anytime soon to the Gryffindor Head of House. Or, maybe, they were all just really terrible at Transfiguration. No, but Alexander Sykes may not have transfigured that gold brick into what it needed to be, but there had been a roaring, snarling beast in that room. As he had declared, it may not have been it, but it had been something.

"You don't carry your wand on you?" Remus probed, sitting back in his seat as he stared at Alex. He returned the cigarette to his lips as his eyes narrowed on the Slytherin.

"Nah," he answered, shaking his head. "Mate, I need a drag of that, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Remus told him, stretching his hand out to Alex.

"Cheers, mate."

The Slytherin took the cigarette out of the Gryffindor's hands and brought it to his lips. It would be the first of many cigarettes they would share with one another.

Saturday, 26 November 1977

"And all is right with the world," Moira muttered as she dropped the parchment, letting it fall to the ground. An owl had just flown through the Hog's Head, delivering a somewhat weighted envelope to her. She opened it immediately, and without reading the actual writing, a little gold badge dropped into her hand. She lifted it up to Alexander Sykes, Gideon Prewett, and Mundungus Fletcher.

"It was always supposed to be you, luv," Alex drawled as he lifted his whiskey to her. She tossed the badge up, spinning it once in the air and then catching it flawlessly in her hand. Moira pocketed it into her robes and grabbed her glass of rum, clinking it against Alex's drink.

"To the Irish," Moira saluted, drinking from the liquor. She smacked her lips as the sugary drink flooded her senses. "Who would've ever thought?"

"Dumbledore thinks Gamp was one of them," Mundungus informed them as the topic at hand led directly to where it needed to be.

"Gamp was a psychopath," Moira amended, shaking her head. "She doesn't need a reason, trust."

"Eve told me she didn't mean it," Alex added, grimacing. "She was trying a self-extinguishing charm— it went bad." Mundungus' brows furrowed, and he turned to look at the Slytherin wizard. It was a boot in Dumbledore's theory and an unwelcome one, too.

"Pyro-magic is a tricky thing," Gideon said. "Hard to control fire. It's got a mind of its own. Only the strongest of wills can wield it."

"Gamp learned the hard way," Alex quipped, looking at the long-time graduated Gryffindor.

"You think Gamp had doubts?" Mundungus asked Gideon, who only shook his head.

"No, I don't think she wanted to only use a self-extinguishing charm," Gideon answered. "I think she had every intention of killing the bird; that's why she lost control. It wasn't honest. What stopped her? D'you know?" Mundungus pressed his lips into a hard line, so Dumbledore was right. At least he could pass on the bittersweet news.

"Selwyn stopped her, and it," Mundungus disclosed. Alex and Moira both lifted their brows, the latter lifting her chin, too. "Dumbledore told me most of it. He thinks we can rule out Selwyn and Kavanagh, definitely Kavanagh— actually. He almost wanted to recruit her."

"Kavanagh?" Gideon repeated, his nose scrunching. "Duncan Kavanagh's kid?"

"Yeah," Mundungus replied.

"Why'd he want to do that?"

"Ireland," Moira and Alex sang together in unison.

"The Irish are ready to close their borders," Gideon told them, rolling his eyes.

"No," Alex spat out. "The O'Conors and the O'Gradys want to close the borders. The O'Neills and the Kavanaghs don't, but they're not joining. Not unless O'Brien makes them, which is never happening because Donough O'Brien hasn't done anything since 1921."

"Why don't O'Neill and Kavanagh want to close the border?" Mundungus examined, glancing upward.

"Country Antrim sort of falls under our Ministry of Magic 'cause of the MacDonnell's being half in Scotland," Alex explained, sipping his drink. He smacked his lips together in the same way that Moira just had. "They know to let Turlough O'Neill run it for them, though. Keeps it easy, but it's a shit show, really. Turlough stays under Irish jurisdiction as Master of War and Protector of Ulster Province, all of Ulster— imagine? The family works two different jurisdictions. Kind of messy and fucked." He grimaced. "But they're not looking for trouble, just want to make sure everyone can cross back and forth between the counties." They all stared at him. "The O'Neills have the most to lose by closing the border."

"Isn't all of Ireland under their own jurisdiction?" Gideon questioned.

"Sure, since 1921," Alex drawled, gaze distant. Then, he shook his head. "No, 1782, really, if we want to be specific. But they sent a delegate to the Americas in 1926— that slapped us hard."

"How do you know all this?" Gideon wondered.

"I know things," Alex responded. "It's something we do."

"We?" Gideon repeated, his brows knitting. "Who's we?" Alex did not respond, only looking at the wizard over the rim of his glass. "Why isn't this more known?"

"Our Ministry's main job has always been to hide as much as possible..." He tilted his head. "If you haven't noticed."

"From muggles," Gideon amended.

"From everyone," Alex returned.

"And Kavanagh, what's his reasoning?" Mundungus inquired, leaning forward.

"His family, probably," Gideon guessed as Alex was preoccupied with his drink.

"Yeah, right," Alex snorted loudly, relinquishing the glass to the table. "Duncan does business with us. He's a businessman, first. As long as Ireland stays in the green, he's good. And Turlough's best friend, if that helps."

"Still, then, they should join. They can't hide forever, especially if part of the country's under our jurisdiction."

"They'll just close the border," Mundungus said, shaking his head. "Leave County Antrim entirely. Close off everything else."

"The O'Neills would go to war before walling up County Antrim," Alex scowled, looking at Mundungus as if he had spoken parseltongue. "They'll have another rebellion before they abandon the MacDonnells. The Irish don't care. They'll put up wards around the whole country. And if the leprechauns are involved, no one's passing those wards. Whoever's upset can stay upset. Fletcher, for once, is right. None of the country's under our jurisdiction. That's why Turlough is still the Head of all of Ulster, not parts of it. Mael MacDonnell, an English ambassador," he made quotation marks in the air, "but leader of County Antrim, is a friendly gesture to the Scottish, not us."

"Even if they close the border, it'll only be a matter of time," Gideon said.

"They've stayed out just fine for 800 years," Alex countered. "Done a decent job at it, too. Completely unscathed by Grindelwald."

"Why should they join, Prewett?" Moira investigated.

"The Dark Lord won't spare them."

"The bastard won't go near them," Alex stated, snickering. He looked at each of them, the comedic relief dying out as he was met with utter tragedy. "Ireland's safe. Safer than Hogwarts, safer than Dumbledore. They made sure."

"Yeah?" Gideon argued, slamming his drink onto the table and leaning forward in his seat. "And what makes Ireland so safe? The leprechauns? The bloody sea? As if brooms, portkeys, and, fuck, boats don't exist."

"Yes, the leprechauns," Alex scowled, shaking his head. "If and when the leprechauns are involved, there's no chance. They don't like to fight, but they'll work their magic if they get a good deal. And... they have bloody banshees! The Dark Lord won't—" Mundungus broke out into a laugh, and Gideon lifted his brows in amusement. Moira glanced between the two of them and then cagily side-eyed Alex.

"What banshees?" Gideon ridiculed, emitting another short, dismissive laugh. "They're useless."

"Not those," Alex huffed. "Real banshees, not ghouls or whatever those are going around and pretending they're banshees."

"Real banshees? That's rich," Mundungus spat at him. "Those banshees that you think exist are a myth that the Irish muggles came up with to make themselves feel better for not having magic. Wizards and witches know that real banshees are monsters, murderous. They're useless, rogue, and hazardous. They can't be controlled— everyone knows that, not by anyone, much less the Irish. And, besides, they're all over the place— they're everywhere. We don't collect them. We kill them, Sykes. For good reason, too."

"Wow," Moira emitted, taking another go at her drink before she continued. "Wow, didn't take you to be one of those, Fletcher. What happened to being the beacon of equality?"

"You can't possibly want a banshee around, Palancher."

"No," Moira admitted quickly. "No, I don't want any banshee near me, thank you very much. .But myth to make themselves feel better? Strong words from a weak boy. I thought we liked muggles."

"You know what I mean, Palancher."

"Only you think muggles don't have magic," Moira told him, looking him straight in the eye. "My part of the world doesn't easily fall for such myths."

"Poking a doll with a needle isn't magic," Mundungus snorted. Moira smiled, blinking once, then reached out her hand and placed it on the back of the Ravenclaw's head. She slammed it down onto the table, their glasses shaking. "OW! Fuck! What the fuck, Palancher!?" The witch did nothing but take another sip of the rum, looking at Gideon, who was staring at her as if he wanted to high-five her.

"Dirty mouth," Moira said, unfazed. "Got no business talking like that."

"Fucking hell," Mundungus scowled under his breath.

"And they made you prefect, huh?" Gideon quizzed, smirking as he continued to look Moira up and down. Finally, he lifted his glass to her. She didn't raise her own, though, instead shifting slightly towards Alex with a grimace painted on her face.

"So," Mundungus continued, attempting to seem undeterred by the bang he just took. "Now that Gamp's gone— we can't exactly be sure whether she is or isn't, but it's a good guess. The Order's keeping an eye out for her now that she's not at Hogwarts. Is there anyone else?" He looked at Alex and Moira, both of them now staring at him. "Did you two manage…?"

"No," they both said together.

"Great," Mundungus sighed. "And why not?"

"It's not that easy," Moira answered as Alex finished his whiskey in one gulp, not meeting anyone's stare. "No one's running around with the Dark Lord's banners, yeah?"

"What about this business with Kavanagh?" Mundungus hedged on.

"What business with Kavanagh?" Moira asked.

"She's seen better days."

"We all have," Moira retorted. Gideon snorted, a silly grin still plastered on his face. Mundungus didn't seem to notice and instead rubbed a hand over his mouth. Moira glimpsed at him briefly— and, for the first time ever, she felt uncomfortable under someone else's gaze. What did this redhead want from her?

"Do we know who did it? What happened?"

"Catfight," Alex and Moira jointly said again.

"How do you two do that?" Gideon puzzled, holding back a chuckle.

"Sometimes," Alex began, the alcohol clearly having gotten him. "The answer is so bloody obvious. All you have to do is open your eyes, you know?" Gideon tilted his head, his smile tight— he couldn't piece together what exactly the Slytherin wizard was insinuating or whether it had been advice or an insult, so he returned his attention to Moira, who seemed to be more in tune with reality.

"Catfight with who?" Mundungus goaded, holding back an eye roll. "Not you, surely, Palancher."

"I don't have time for Kavanagh," Moira asserted. "Maybe Selwyn."

"Kavanagh did Selwyn a favor."

"Did she, Fletcher?" Moira returned apathetically.

"Selwyn-Kavanagh, huh? Well, if I had to bet—" Alex began but was quickly cut off.

"Stop, please," Moira begged. "Be serious."

"We don't know who did it," Alex continued, looking at Mundungus. "Best guess is Eoin; he had a thing with Gamp. Second best is Evan; he's closest with Eve. It can't be Snape or Cedric. They don't care enough for her. Edmund and Aphrodite care too much about their families' reputations, so they would avoid it even if it makes them thorny. Which, you know, I don't think it did. Edmund seems relieved she's gone, honestly. Aphrodite hasn't said a word and pretends Melisende never even existed. Even told me she's been sleeping better. And I highly doubt it was a younger year. They wouldn't dare. They'd have to be fucking stupid."

Moira knew damn well that Eoin Mulciber and Melisende Gamp were nothing more to one another than a thing to get off on. They used one another for pleasure and then went about their lives. Like Edmund Nott, Eoin Mulciber didn't seem at all bothered by Melisende being dragged out of the school. He had not stood up, had not come to her side. All in all, it was a stretch. She also didn't know enough about Evan Rosier and Eve Kavanagh to know what reason he would have to go after her— unless, of course, they really were that close. Then why? What did Evan Rosier have to lose by losing Melisende Gamp?

"Evan Rosier and James Potter are your best guesses," Moira offered up as her own two cents. Alex's eyes widened, turning to look at Moira. "What? Potter was running around for two weeks, ready to walk the three of them off the Astronomy Tower. Who says he didn't?"

"Potter!?" Alex repeated.

"That Gryffindor brat?" Gideon asked, leaning forward to close the distance between them.

"Potter would put his hands like that on a witch?" Mundungus questioned, brows lifted.

"Who said he used his hands?" Moira counterposed. "He's got a hard-on for the Dangling Jinx, tossed her around a bit, same thing."

"She had cuts on her cheeks," Alex mentioned. "Those didn't look like they were from being tossed about a bit."

"And Selwyn remained unscathed?" Mundungus continued. "I don't know, Palancher."

"Kavanagh doesn't fight," Moira said, frowning as she thought about the witch. "Rosalia would throw a temper tantrum. Potter's head would be served for dinner at the Selwyn Manor."

"Does this have anything to do with the Order?" Gideon asked, looking at Mundungus. "It sounds like a school brawl, nothing more."

"No, and yes. If it's Potter, no. He's angry because the apple of his eye got squashed," Mundungus clarified. "If it's Rosier or Mulciber... Or any of them. It looks like she made many people very upset, and if Gamp is one of them, as Dumbledore thinks, we could narrow in on some of them. Why go after Kavanagh? You don't go after a Kavanagh without a damn good reason to. Everyone knows that."

"You don't go after a Kavanagh even if you have a good reason," Alex mumbled under his breath.

"Right, well," Gideon began. "We can follow that— why not? What've they got to lose?" He jutted his chin towards the two Slytherins, then turned his attention to them. "Who was Gamp closest to— apart from Selwyn?"

"Eoin," Alex said immediately.

"Okay, let's start there, then," Gideon instructed. Alex's face scrunched as he remembered how Melisende Gamp acted with Regulus Black at the November prefects' meeting. Like she had been betrayed, almost. He scanned the near-empty pub behind them.

"Regulus Black," Alex added in the quietest of voices.

"Regulus?" Moira repeated in a hushed tone, doing a double-take of Alex's face. "No."

"That wouldn't be a surprise," Gideon agreed, nodding.

"He's sixteen," Moira flung at him. "And he's not cruel. Sure, he's got his—"

"What's this, then?" Mundungus snorted, sharing a look with Gideon. Moira inhaled deeply.

"He's my teammate," Moira informed them. "My friend, I know him."

"I don't know," Alex muttered from her side. "I know the Blacks. They interbreed to keep their line pure, Moira. It's a bit creepy. Since when'd you become a Black fan-girl?"

"Since he gave me a chance," Moira stated firmly. "And I'm not a fan girl. Don't ever fucking call me a fucking fan-girl again, jackass."

"He stole captain right from under you."

"And he knows that," she disclosed. "He knows that. He's not made a single decision by himself. I have full say in everything. He checks with me before doing anything."

All of them sat in silence, pondering it.

"Just find a way to confirm it, then," Mundungus finally relented. "At least we can rule him out."

"Fine," Moira ceded with a bout of air, finishing the last of her own drink. "He's not one of them, though. It's a fucking waste of time, but fine."

"All right, and, I don't know— Sykes, can you do the same for Mulciber?" Mundungus turned to look at him.

"Sure," he lied easily, shrugging. "Whatever."

Moira wrapped her leg around Alex's underneath the table, ensuring that he would not have to do any such thing. But Alex had abandoned that idea a long time ago— he would not be peeking or sneaking up on anyone anytime soon. Mundungus would be lowered into his grave before Alex so much as inspected what Eoin Mulciber had put on his plate for breakfast than what decorated his arms.

"We just want to ensure nothing like this happens again at Hogwarts," Gideon informed them. "It was hard to keep some members calm when news of what happened to the Gryffindor witch spread. Edgar Bones was not at all happy to hear of his daughter. He was ready to come to Hogwarts and deal with it himself. It's a threat. Hogwarts needs to be safe when nowhere else is."

"We'll do what we can, okay?" Moira half-heartedly promised. "We'll do our best."

"You have to do better than that."

"Don't tell me what to fucking do," she spewed, lurching forward as her seat screeched backward. "Is that what you came here to do? To tell me I'm not doing good enough—"

"No," Gideon cut her off. "I came to find out about this whole mess with Gamp and what it means for us. As I said, Edgar was ready to have her head for it. We can't have Order members fighting Hogwarts students— that's why we have you two."

"We're not good enough," Alex reiterated, rolling his head to the side. "Just say you're not happy with our performance, Prewett. Get it over with."

"That's not—"

"He's not happy," Alex sang.

"All right, I think we're done here," Gideon announced with a deep breath, lifting himself from his seat. He made his way to move but then turned to look at Moira. "Could we speak for a second?"

"Speak here," Mundungus told him.

"No, privately."

"Why?" Mundungus and Moira asked at the same time.

"It doesn't concern you, Fletcher," Gideon answered. "Nor you, Sykes."

"I don't give a fuck. Talk away," Alex said, reaching for Gideon's still half-full pint of beer. "What?" The two wizards stared at one another. "You were leaving, weren't you? Can't be wasting a good glass of ale like that."

"Bloody hell," he mumbled in a breath but then turned to Moira. Moira rolled her eyes but got up, all the same, to escort Gideon towards the exit. She stood there with tight lips, her hip jutting out, and her arms crossed over her chest.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"So, uh..." He looked her up and down, leaning against the doorpost as she scrutinized his face. "What— are you free next weekend?" Moira raised her brows, holding back a scoff.

"Am I free next weekend? For what?"

"We could get a drink," Gideon offered, shrugging. "Here, or somewhere better. I know Albus is looking the other way with you and Sykes. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if— you can apparate?"

"Not yet," Moira told him, eyes thinning. "I'm to get my license over holiday."

"All the same, I could meet you here, and you can side-along. There's a passage from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, secret tunnel. My brother and I found it in our fifth year. It's on the third floor, in the Gunhilda statue. Password's Dissendium. Don't tell anyone about it, though. It could be a security threat if it gets into the wrong hands," Gideon explained without taking so much as a single breath.

"You talk a lot," she told him, but Moira already knew of the passage because Alex knew about it, and Alex knew about it because of Gideon and his brother. It seemed this memory had been lost on the retired Gryffindor. And his lack of ability to remember and connect the dots wasn't faring in his favor. Gideon glanced at the door, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"My mother tells me that, too."

"Is your mother around a lot?"

A pregnant pause ensued between the two of them.

"Why? Is that bad?"

"Aren't you a bit old for me?" Moira examined. "What? Can't find someone your own age?"

"I'm 20," Gideon informed her. "And, no, I have no problem finding someone my own age." Moira snorted. "And you're, what, 17?"

"18."

"18, right," Gideon paused, "you just had a birthday?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"Um, yeah, well… No, you're just interesting."

"I'm not a fucking museum."

"No, you're fearless," Gideon continued, slightly taken aback by her choice of words. "Different."

"I'm not English," Moira corrected him. "That's what you mean? I'm—"

"No," Gideon assured her, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"Well, I don't like you."

Okay, now Gideon Prewett had never believed in love at first sight— but shit, if he couldn't help the feeling of wanting to grab her and never let go again. This was someone he wanted by his side. She took the liberty to grant him a once-over as he calculated his own chances. He had more hair on his chin than on his head, and he wasn't the tallest of the lot— she had to be taller. His clothes didn't fit right, they weren't tailored to him, and he was just another wizard, a product, of Hogwarts. And Moira had grown tired of them, all of them. She didn't have time for this. Moira had bigger plans than becoming a housewife. She could never place herself there, position herself beside someone else. She walked this world alone— she always had, and she always would. No one could or would change that. She had broken down too many glass ceilings to give or become a trophy to someone else. That trophy would be hers and hers alone.

"Okay, I respect that," he surrendered, figuring the silence had been too long. She was not changing her mind anytime soon. "All right, I just thought— I thought to try, at least."

"Nice try." Gideon laughed forcibly and tipped his head toward her before making his way out of the pub.

Author's note: a little more on Ireland (having a lot of fun researching & reading up on Irish history and mythology and trying to tailor it to the canon world, disappointing the lack of depth in the books but that is why I embarked on this journey)... A little more depth to this Eve-Evan mess of a thing...

Also, if you can't tell, whenever it's a Slytherin-centric section, I sub out Marauders to red ranks (as I don't see the Slytherins using the term Marauders to refer to James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter lol).

Moira will be further explored next chapter, as well. She is one of my favorite characters in this story.

Love, M.