On his walk to the library, Remus shifted his gaze outward through the open corridor. A subdued shadow in one of the greenhouses forced him to do a double-take. At first, he thought it was one of the school's many ghosts, Peeves, loitering or doing Merlin knew what. Intrigued, he walked over to the arches with narrowed eyes, but almost immediately, he gathered from its size that it couldn't be Peeves. The wizard's head tilted. It was Saturday, and he knew no one was supposed to be in there right now. Not without supervision, not without good reason— and yet, there was someone in what should've been a locked greenhouse.

Now, Remus was a prefect and, admittedly, a terrible one. He tended to use his own judgment rather than the stipulated one to determine what merited even a minor infraction. So, seeing someone in a greenhouse was not a phenomenon that would make him stop and think. This would've merely been cause to walk away, shrug it off, and pretend as if he hadn't seen it. But, at the same time, Remus was not in any way exempt from the cabinet of curiosities, and there was nothing but a library and books waiting for him. Taking all this into hand, added to the fact that the morning itself had been remarkably uneventful, he headed towards the curiosity in the greenhouses.

Little did he know that the curiosity was one he knew rather well.

For Eve Kavanagh and her cabinet still had much to offer. Remus was working off the basis that he did not know that Eve had explicit permission from Professor Sprout to be there whenever she wanted. Why? Well, because Eve Kavanagh was actually one of her best students, Professor Sprout left her to do as she pleased, whenever she pleased. And Eve's duty was to tend to those in her responsibility, the plants. Even on days when no one was supposed to be doing much of anything at all.

Except, her responsibilities had been tended to, and for some reason or other, she had found it more than necessary to attain solace in her other habits, which were not tending to plants. Because the pain, the bruises, and the gash that lingered in the form of a scar on her temple still stung. Left with nothing to do, having even reorganized all the supplies, it was just her and her thoughts. Alone in the greenhouses, she had almost succumbed to tears. This would not do, and the vial in her pocket offered the next cure.

So, just half a drop would make her feel okay again.

So, she took it.

She had nowhere to be.

No one would come looking for her.

She frowned when the bitter taste enveloped her senses, but the medicine began to take effect almost immediately. The witch started to drift off. It was like a fog rolling down a mountain— knowing it was about to envelope her but knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Pritcher's Porritch looked at her, so she forced herself to appear normal in front of it. To give it the attention that it sought. But it didn't want attention because it didn't have eyes to begin with. What Eve thought were eyes were just pods leaking a thick blue liquid. She knew that better than anyone, if she focused enough to realize, but Eve couldn't manage so much as caring about focusing, much less the act itself. So, to the hell with it, and she left everything behind. Except, there was an incessant tapping coming from somewhere. As if it were ramblings clobbering for her attention.

What is that? Eve thought, laughing to herself without doing much to stop the sound from rolling off her.

It was early on a Saturday in December. There was snow now. No one would be out and about, for it was too cold to meander outside. So, what was with all this tapping? All this noise? Did it even exist, or was it a dream? Her head was canted to the side as she heard the knocking against the door again. And Eve's laughter slowed as the recognizable face appeared somewhere beyond the thick fog.

Though Remus could not hear it, he could make out the grin, and he took it as an invitation to enter.

"Hi, I saw someone was in here, and I thought to check," he informed her almost immediately, almost in line with an apology.

"To check?" Eve repeated with a slight smile on her lips.

"You know, funny business and whatnot."

His chin inclined downward as Eve began to laugh at his response. A nervous smile crept onto his lips, surveying her bent posture, and the lazy grin still slapped onto her face. His brows pulled together, but he stepped into the greenhouse. The door automatically closed behind him. Though he wasn't quite sure what caused the witch's giddiness, he wasn't in a position to challenge it, either. Besides, it filled the humid greenhouse in a comforting way, starkly contrasting with what was outside it.

"All right? Did someone burn the sneezewort again?" Remus gibed, eyes wandering around the room as if searching for evidence of the burnt plant that could have Eve giggling as if Christmas had come early that year.

"What're you doing here, Remus?"

"I could ask you the same," he retorted, lifting his brows and putting his hands into his pockets. But it was playful banter at most, for her eyes still shone brightly as she placed her rose-tinted cheeks into her palms.

"I'm mending…" Pause, wrong word. "I'm tending to the plants."

"Are you?" Remus quizzed. He spared another examination of the greenhouse before finding his way back to her. "Tending by sitting, Eve?"

"I tended to them," she clarified, still smiling up at him.

Remus returned her smile, but something was hesitant in how it had lifted. Sure, their recently rediscovered friendship was no longer a point of concern, but her loose words and actions were entirely new territory. On top of that, there was also a slowness to them. The slowness of a drunk. His eyes narrowed on her— and there was every reason to think she was drunk.

"May I?" Remus asked, pointing to the stool next to her.

"May you?"

He didn't move, unsure whether he was meant to entertain that or not. But he shook his head, cleared it of whatever obscurities filled it, and made his way to the stool. She didn't seem to take much notice of his proximity. As a matter of fact, she didn't seem to take much note of him at all. The silence that ensued was more than evidence of it. Curious, Remus tried to follow her gaze— but all he discovered was the snowy grounds and the barren forest beyond them. He pursed his lips.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Better," she replied as he finally relented and sat on the stool. Remus placed his back against the edge of the long table rather than facing it as she was. The ache in his shoulders was not fertile grounds for sitting with the same slagged posture that Eve had taken.

"Better, why? Did something happen?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Remus answered, shrugging. "You said better— which would imply that something had to be worse for it to be better." He looked down at her, but all of her hair was out of its usual ponytail— and she had long hair, too long, so it completely curtained over her face. Eve lifted herself slightly, almost on cue, to meet his stare. Remus scanned her face— her eyes were low, and her head slumped to the side. If she took one blink, he swore she would simply fall asleep. "Tired?"

Drunk? Remus really wanted to ask.

"No, I'm good," Eve assured him.

"Could've fooled me," he muttered under his breath, but Eve caught it.

So, in the exact opposite way of what she had done with the plants around her, she forced herself to focus on him. The rest of the world around her would disappear, and she would not be able to know where she was or what day it was, but she would put her all into acknowledging and recognizing the person before her.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Eve asked, smiling politely.

"Me?" Remus returned, brows slightly raised. She nodded. He pulled his attention away from her and focused on the castle through the glass partition. "Nothing. I was on my way to the library. I saw someone in here, I thought to check— only coincidence."

"Hm," she managed, only having heard — or understanding — half of it.

"No one's supposed to be in here unsupervised without permission," he added because, truthfully, he hadn't expected to find Eve in there. At most, he had thought it would have been someone toying with someone else's work— and he had enough time on his hands to tell them to boot it or face detention for it, of which he wouldn't have been fucked to actually report. Except, Eve was doing nothing of the sort. She was just sitting there. Probably drinking or drunk. Why was Eve drunk in the middle of the day? "This just another one of your hiding places, is it?"

"I suppose," she answered with a laugh.

"How come?" Remus returned his stare to her. He watched, not knowing what to think of it, of any of it. He had seen Eve in nearly every state one could see another human being, yet this was untouched.

"It's safe," she disclosed easily.

"Safe," Remus repeated, lifting his eyes to the greenhouse's roof, then to the castle, and then to the plants lining the shelves in front of him. His eyes thinned on one in particular, his head slightly tilted to the side.

Now, sure, Remus — when she had first said the word — had thought of someone. Someone Eve could be hiding from, except the greenhouses were not precisely designed to keep the wandering eye away. The entire infrastructure was glass. See-through glass that made it one of the few places in the castle that one couldn't hide in. So, what about the greenhouses made it so safe? And what was he doing staring at the fucking mandrakes?

Mandrakes.

Screaming mandrakes.

He paused, or rather, he froze.

Why was Eve really in the greenhouse?

Though it had been a lingering, brief thought, the conversation from a couple of days ago before the Drunken Monks still sat in the shadows. In light of everything, it came rushing back. His own assumptions, his own wonderings. Admittedly, he had pushed them aside as it had been outrageous to think something of the sort— but, in that greenhouse, he was beginning to question every little thing Eve did in a way that was unlike he had ever before. Maybe because she had a reason to be there and for him not to be.

Why was Eve Kavanagh the way she was?

His breath stopped, but the sloppy witch beside him fell far from a threat. Still, why here? Why would the greenhouses be one of her hiding places? Were its walls sufficient enough to close off a banshee's scream? They could do just that for a mandrake, but was a banshee's scream the same as a mandrake's? No, he thought. There was no way that the greenhouse was a suitable or sustainable way to hide a condition like that.

Or, maybe, it was.

For all Remus knew was that he knew nothing.

He turned his full attention back to her. Eve had stopped smiling and instead held her temple in the palm of her hand, facing him but with her eyes a million miles away. She wasn't looking at him, nor did she realize he was looking at her. She did not seem like she was about to scream— sleep was more like it. Another oddity: Eve's inebriation in the middle of the day. Why?

Suddenly, a restlessness in his legs sparked off, and the urge to get moving took flight. But it was not fright. It was the same feeling one had before embarking on a trip. Their luggage packed, their train tickets in their pocket, and a map of the world waiting to be discovered.

"I have to get to the library," he announced without making any immediate action to move. "Arithmancy coursework." Eve's stare finally refocused on him.

"Coursework?"

"Loads," he lied. "You'll stay here, then?"

"Where else would I go?"

"Right," he said, taking a deep breath.

"Are you good at it?"

"Good at what?" Remus asked, his muscles loosening as he leaned back to engage her.

"Arithmancy," Eve articulated.

"It's not anything but practice, really," he replied with a short chuckle.

"Doesn't answer the question."

"If I stay diligent, I'll probably finish with an O," the wizard finally admitted. Eve nodded, pressing her lips into a thin smile.

"You're smart," she noted, and Remus' smile fell as he took in her words. Any compliment would have had him turning red, but the bordering dismay in her tone and the fallen expression made him come to terms with what could only be explained as an obscure admission of insecurity.

"You know, you should be in Arithmancy."

"I should?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding.

"Why?"

"You're great with numbers," Remus answered, shrugging. "The way you did all that betting in your head. It was brilliant."

"Numbers," she repeated, sighing. "I hate numbers."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Eve said. The two of them were staring at one another again.

"Any particular reason why?"

"So boring, numbers," she scoffed. Remus had to bite back a chuckle.

"Sure," he agreed. "There are more exciting things, definitely."

"I like plants," she continued on as if not having heard him.

"Figured as much," he said, glimpsing around the greenhouse.

"They're my friends," Eve added, looking at all the pots around them. She began to smile softly, and Remus took to following wherever her attention moved. "I like talking to them, looking at them. I know every name. I know everything there is to know about them."

"You talk to plants?" Remus would have laughed, but Eve spoke as if she was in prayer, and he would not impede her mass. Not again. Ladybugs, Evan Rosier, Ireland, family, plants… The list was looking more and more promising, although still far from his own interests and bank of knowledge.

"All the time," she admitted. "They want to be listened to, need to, but everyone ignores them. They're just things to do for a good mark, then they're forgotten." She paused, running a hand through her hair as she sat up. "If it wasn't for me, half of them would be good for dead."

He didn't respond, instead considering her words in depth. So, maybe that's what she was doing there. Indeed, tending to the plants for Eve meant spending time with them, conversing with them. It went beyond potting and fertilizing. And, in a way, Remus now understood what she had meant when she had insinuated he was close-minded. He, too, had fallen into the practice of regarding the plants around them as nothing more than to achieve a good grade in Herbology. Then, life moved on for him. Eve, however, and apart from their professor, had actually continued to take care of them even after they had been abandoned.

"Right, well," he began, standing up. "I will leave you to hang out with your mates, then."

"No, you can stay," she told him, shaking her head. As she spoke, her eyes moved from the Pritcher's Porritch to him.

Remus tapped his finger against the wooden table. He had a choice— he could take her up on her offer, he could spend the rest of his day in there with her. Couldn't he? But the things Eve was keen on speaking about and the things he was bent on asking her were on two opposite ends of the spectrum. Besides, he was yet in a position where he could ask her of such things. He knew better than to pry where he did not belong unless he came with a better offer. The next time they spoke, he wanted to make sure he had that offer prepared, at least to a larger extent than where he was right then.

"As much as I would like to stay, I do have a lot of coursework to get through," he fabricated once again.

"Okay," she ceded, nodding.

"But I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye, Eve."

"Bye, Remus."

On that note, the Gryffindor exited the greenhouse with the goal of not daring to look back at her. Except, this was a sort of Greek tragedy— and as the door closed behind him, he did just that. She was watching, but the same eerie emptiness lined her features. A familiar sight. There were no surprises there. It was her notorious look— what made Eve who she was.

There was no good reason for it, for up close, that was not how she was at all.

Not unless Eve had a reason to ward off anyone who wandered too close. An armor of some kind. What better way to hide than to completely block off? Indeed, how many times had he thought she must be hiding something? She was keeping secrets and only allowed people to see what she wanted them to see. And whatever it was she kept under close watch could not be good. He had told himself this was all lies, but within a new framework, he began believing that he had not been wrong. Yes, there was something dark about Eve. Something that made her the way she was. And it wasn't Evan Rosier, it wasn't being a Slytherin, it wasn't being a pureblood. There was something else, something deeper.

Something inside him told him he had hit it right on the head. There was something that explained it all. All of it.

Remus stifled a groan, his eyes roaming back and forth over the ancient binds in front of him. His hand rubbed over his face, the dampness of his palm pulling down his pouted lip as he stared at the titles repeatedly. Though the school's library had been less than serviceable in aiding him in his newest inquiry, he could not help but think there was something absolutely godawful about what he had just read. All of it the same, none of it rich or illuminating. He took a deep breath, reaching for the fifth book he had selected— Banshees: What You Should Know But Don't.

So what was Remus doing that Saturday afternoon in the library? Not Arithmancy— that was for shit sure.

He had decided to satiate his thirst for knowledge and to figure out if his intuition had anything logical to substantiate it. It had become too much for him to handle— the feeling that he knew something but didn't at the same time. It was sound time to close that loop, so that's what he was doing. First and foremost, what was this nonsense about banshees being a sort of family heirloom? If anything of what Enya Fitzgerald had told him was true, then he didn't know shit about shit concerning banshees, and he had made it a point that he would — that Saturday in December — learn a thing or two about it. A thing or two that would give him another reason to believe what he believed about Eve.

He was an inch from being nose-to-page with the miniature-sized print lettering, continuing to bite on his bottom lip as he tried to find something, a word that would — could — fit.

Banshees: Physical Features.

Unlike the other books he had read, there were no images on those pages, only paragraphs upon paragraphs describing the physical features of the creatures. But Remus didn't need a drawing. Everyone and their mother knew what a banshee looked like.

He skimmed over the dense page.

'Banshees are in a state of constant fury, ready to kill at any threat, extremely volatile beings with nothing but blood on their mind.'

Harrowing, indeed.

'Floor length black hair, skeletal face, hostile, and green-tinted,' it wrote. 'Secretive and solitary spirits without love, filled with hate and anger at those who have wronged them,' it continued. Except, it had been their third-year curriculum, too, and the words he read didn't contradict those learnings or anything else he had read up until that point.

A disappointment— that's what the information displayed to him felt like.

Not the answer he was looking for, not by a long shot.

He sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he tapped a foot against the floor. Half his face scrunched as he stared at the row of books dedicated to Banshees, Beasts, and Boggarts. Eve was nothing like what these books said. Ms. Abbie O'Brien was nothing like what these books said.

The most volatile part about Eve was running out of a room mid-panic, blacking out, and drinking in the middle of the day. The most deathly detail about her was the motionless, the speechlessness. Eve wasn't in a constant state of fury. The worst she did was huff and slump when their beloved apple didn't transfigure how it was supposed to. Even the Medusa stare was fake. She wasn't actually looking a million yards away because she didn't or couldn't be bothered to look at anything closer; she was looking a million yards away because her mind was actually a million yards away thinking about fucking plants or ladybugs.

And yet, even though all the information said otherwise, one point stuck. Harbingers of death, messengers of death, omens of death. How she would know— the answer to how she would have been sure if Lily would die while remaining innocent. It would be why all the color had drained from her face not once but twice. The first time when she had admitted it, and the second when he had brought it up again during the apology. He knew that response: the response to a secret. A secret that no one could find out. These books did not just write that banshees were green, spirit, or mummy-like— they also very readily wrote out the legislation and law concerning banshees.

The punishment for being a banshee was death.

Death by drowning.

Not imprisonment, not being sent to live in a colony, not being discriminated against— no, it was death and only death. They were too dangerous to be handled any other way unless someone managed to feed them a laughing potion— which was impossible because they were absolutely lethal and uncontrollable. So, it was better just to kill them and be done with it. As the readings went.

Remus filled his lungs again, looking over the books in front of him. None of it except for one minor detail pointed to Eve Kavanagh being a banshee. He was, at that moment, doing the absolute most to prove nothing more than an inkling. It was all for waste, and the journey he had set out on was no longer igniting him the way that it had when he left the greenhouses. Remus shut the book in an act of surrender.

No, he thought— where the fuck is this nonsense about the O'Briens, then? Where was all the information that Enya Fitzgerald had said over their cigarette chat? Remus' brows furrowed as he leaned forward, scanning his eyes over each and every book.

Banshees: Nothing Beats the Beast by Wolfram Lupin.

He snorted.

Who's Who?: An Illustrated Encyclopedia on Banshees, Boggarts, and Brownies by Maximus Williams.

A Pocket Book of the Banshee by Frances Hall.

Banshees, Werewolves, Vampires, And Other Nocturnal Creatures by Thurston Bulstrode.

Remus began to feel the corners of his lips turn down.

Banshees: A Completely Cluttered Collection by Janet Smith.

Banshees: What You Should Know But Don't by Pyxis Black — Remus took the book and pushed it away from him.

He placed both his hands into his hair, grasping at the strands. Enya Fitzgerald had spoken of Abbie O'Brien— a woman who constantly cried and handed out candies. To Remus, that was not a monster, and yet, the Irish still considered her a banshee. Why? And why couldn't he find a single goddamn explanation in any of those books? This should've been more apparent— but where the fuck were the O's, the Mc's, the Macs, and the Fitzs? Honestly, the fuck did he even know— maybe that was all stereotype. Perhaps none of them were even— no, what the fuck was he saying? Laura's last name was O'Garvey, Enya's was Fitzgerald, and Art's was MacMorough. All Irish. Fully and proudly. So, fuck, the Blacks, the Bulstrodes, and even great-grandaddy Lupin had made the cut— but the Irish themselves were nowhere to be found? No, he must have just picked the wrong books. He looked up, scanning quickly over the binds in front of him. The knot between his brows deepened further: Jones, Davies, Campbell….

Remus immediately stood and hopped back down the staircase. He landed on the ground floor, making his way over to Madam Pince's circular desk located in the middle of the library.

"Yes?" she drawled, a book opened and covering her face, which she did not seem quick to relinquish just because Remus had shown up.

"Er, afternoon, I was wondering if we had anything on banshees written or published by, you know, Irish wizards or witches?"

She sighed, shutting her book with a sharp snap! and peering up at him. Her eyelashes were spidery from the amount of mascara she wore and blue eyeshadow covered her lids. Without another word, she twisted about in her chair and waved her wand to open the archaic book register. Dust particles and the distinct musky smell of page rot rose up from it and into Remus' nose, causing him to viciously rub at it as her finger ran down a list.

"No," she answered, flicking the book closed with another wave of her wand.

"Okay," Remus puzzled, blinking as the two stared one another down. "How come?"

"There are no books on banshees written by an Irish wizard or witch," Madam Pince answered unemotionally.

"Right," he began, his feet shuffling as his mouth slightly opened. "But how's that possible? I mean, aren't… I thought—"

"There are no books on banshees written by an Irish wizard or witch," she repeated, this time glowering at him. Remus took it as his cue to drop the subject. It wasn't as if the witch had any reason to lie to him— she did do him the favor of at least checking the gigantesque registry for his sake.

"Oh, all right. Thank you all the same," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

His eyes scanned the library around him, remaining for a second in front of the librarian as he tried to configure how Enya Fitzgerald had gotten it so wrong. There had to be something in that library that contained her side of the story, too. What was her side of the story? Where had Enya gotten her information from? He rummaged through his brain for an answer.

'As legend has it,' Anwen's words repeated in his head, and then he made a connection: Enya Fitzgerald was a muggleborn. Her side of the story was not formed within this world. It had been created in another. His eyes fell back to the librarian, and he realized a librarian would know the English dictionary better than anyone else. He leaned forward over her desk again; Madam Pince cocked an eyebrow to indicate for him to continue.

"Is there anything on Banshees written by any Irish at all? Muggles?" She took a deep breath but obliged— this was part of her job description. She returned to the registry and repeated the same motions.

"Yes," she drawled in response.

"Okay," Remus said, waiting for her to continue— she wasn't. He hadn't asked the right question. "And where can I find these books, exactly?"

"In the Mythology section," she answered.

Remus paused, his face dropping— the mythology section? Was it possible that Enya Fitzgerald was just talking out of her arse? Maybe, Abbie O'Brien had just been a victim of myth and not actual fact. It did not deter him, though. It was still worth a shot.

"Under?"

"C or I."

"C or I?"

"Celtic or Irish."

"Right," he finished, his cheeks reddening because that should have been obvious.

He pursed his lips into a tight smile and returned to the section he had just departed from. Remus collected his things, but abandoned the books on banshees and made his way to the Mythology section as directed by Madam Pince. It was empty, not a single soul to be found. One of the quietest parts of the library, as most of it, he assumed, was muggle. He placed his bag onto one of the tables lining the bookshelves and selected the first book that seemed promising. It wasn't a vast selection, to begin with. He could probably run through all of it before dinner, but he wasn't interested, yet, in every detail of Irish or Celtic mythology. So, The Banshee: Ireland's Death Fairy by Grace Hayes seemed reasonable enough.

"Fairy?" Remus repeated to himself, opening up the book with a pinched expression.

"Huh, Mary did say she'd seen you here," a voice announced in the distance. "Remus? Remus? Hello?"

"Yes," he mumbled, turning to look up at the person standing before him. Lily had her brows raised, staring up at Remus. He blinked, lifting his chin from the reading he had been enmeshed in for so long. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since he had seen another human being. "Lily."

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forgot?"

"The snowball fight," Lily reminded him.

"Right," he said slowly. "I didn't realize that was an obligation."

"It wasn't," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "It was meant to be for fun."

"Well, did you have fun?"

"Yes!" Lily gawked at him. She was not dumb to the fact that Remus did not seem the least bit concerned that he had missed out on the battle that had been organized between her and his friends. "Remus, you've been in here all day! That's not healthy, you know? You need some fresh air every once in a while. It does wonders."

"Why? What time is it?" Without waiting for Lily to respond, he glanced down at the wristwatch. His brows lifted as he realized he had spent every hour from lunch until dinner in the library that Saturday. Fuck, had he really? "Fuck, I didn't realize."

"God, what're you even doing here on a Saturday?" Lily interrogated. "Why didn't you want to come to the snowball fight?" Her eyes dropped down to the book in his hands.

Remus had been standing while reading it— because the journey of which had almost become a dull task had turned itself into a world of wonders. There was more to be found than he had expected, and he couldn't even bring himself to sit down between each page of information. At one point, it had just been a back-and-forth of collecting more and more books.

Noticing where her eyes had gone, his own face fell.

"Nothing," he sputtered. "I'm not doing anything."

"Nothing?" Lily spat out with a look of incredulity sketching her face. Her chin tilted forward, and she reached out her hand to the book he was holding. He had been prepared for this, so he held the book straight into the air. Remus was taller, much taller than Lily, and with the added extension of his arm, there was no way she would ever reach the book.

"Oh my God, Remus!" Her eyes widened. "Why're you hiding it!?"

"I'm not hiding it," Remus blurted out.

"Then, let me see it! Why won't you let me see what you're reading?"

"Because… It's not important. It's nothing. Just for NEWTs. Boring, dull, you know?"

"If it's nothing, let me see—" But Lily's eyes fell to the stack of books just beyond Remus, her eyes scanning over the titles. All of them were different in subject, but there was one common theme that she could pick out in the quick glance. "Ireland!?" Her nose scrunched as Remus remained still, his eyes placated on her face.

"No."

"Are you taking a NEWTs on Ireland, Lupin?" Lily continued to drive into him. "What class is this?"

"Uh, History?"

"Oh my God," Lily nearly gasped, her mouth dropping as a smirk began to line her lips. She had run through Remus' weekly schedule and found precisely what the NEWTs on Ireland were. She pointed a finger at him. "Oh my God, oh my God— you, aah!"

"What?" Remus quizzed, the hand holding the book coming back down to his side.

"Oh my God, Remus, do you fancy her?" Lily jibed, poking at his stomach with the same finger that had just been pointing at him. He immediately placed the book over his body to shield himself from a second attack. "Do you? Do you fancy her?"

"Who!?"

"Eve!"

"What!?" He returned, his head leaning forward. "No, that's bloody ridiculous! How'd you come up with that?"

"What do you mean? How did I come up with that?" Lily gaped, her eyes glancing at the books lining the table. "What're all those books? What're you doing on Saturday reading about Ireland? You missed a snowball fight for Ireland!"

"What? A bloke can't read about Ireland?" Remus defended quickly. "What's so wrong with that? They're our neighbors. I don't see how that's not reason enough. Honestly, Lily, it doesn't need a whole essay."

"Yeah, but why'd you start now?" Lily egged on, placing her hands on her hips as the two stared one another down. "What's changed? They've always been there, you know? Centuries, Remus."

"Nothing's changed," he replied with a frown. To him, nothing had changed— he had just become acutely aware that he had jack all to say or think when it came to Ireland. He had been reminded, not once, but several times now.

"Really? So, this doesn't have to do with a certain Irish witch you so happen to be tutoring in Transfiguration?" Lily brought her fist to her mouth and feigned a cough. "I have to study for my NEWTS on Ireland, code—" Cough. "—Eve—" Cough. "—Kavanagh."

"Are you finished?" Remus asked pointedly.

"Barely," Lily answered with a mischievous grin.

"That's not what I'm doing," he reasserted, rolling his eyes. At the same time, however, Remus began to blush at the accusation from seconds ago, and he was starting to feel that the damp library was a bit too hot for his liking. But it was the accusation alone that bothered him. He knew it stood on nothing but muddy ground.

"Remus— you're here on a Saturday, there's about ten, no, twelve books about Ireland stacked one on top of the other—"

"Right, but, I mean, maybe I just really wanted to read a bit on Ireland."

"A bit?" Lily challenged.

"I really don't see how you're concluding otherwise. I don't really like being the ignorant Englishman, you know?"

"Why, who's calling you that?"

"What?" Remus scoffed. "No one." Lily rolled her eyes.

"You have to stop hanging out with Ed Siencyn."

"Why? What's he have to do with any of this?"

When no response came beyond Lily's death stare, Remus turned down to look at the creation of his own doing. He bit on the inside of his cheek. Indeed, one book on Ireland would have sufficed— anything exceeding five dwelled into the realm of obsession. But, now, he couldn't tell the witch before him that he had an irking suspicion that Eve Kavanagh was a banshee— and that somewhere in these books, he had managed to come closer to finalizing a conclusion. He lifted his eyes back to Lily's.

"Your journey of the world just coincidentally coincides with you tutoring Eve Kavanagh?"

"Coincidentally, yes," Remus answered.

"Uh-huh." Lily titled her head, looking at all the books."You're saying you became fascinated with Ireland out of the blue?"

"Hardly out of the blue," he inserted.

"Hardly?"

"I've been— I share a smoke with Laura and Enya all the time," Remus pointed out. "But somehow, Eve's the only Irish bird around?"

"I didn't say that," Lily retorted. "And exactly, you've been friends with Laura and Enya for years! Not once had you taken to the books like that. If it was really Ireland you were fascinated with—"

"It is!"

"Then, why'd you start now? What's changed?"

"I, I don't know," he stammered to find an answer, and Lily was aching for an answer. She would not drop the matter unless he came up with something quick. "I was with Enya during our last Charms class, and she was talking about Ireland. I realized I didn't know much of... I was a bit lost. I couldn't keep up."

"Right, but she's always talking about Ireland," Lily fought back. "Enya— that's all she talks about. How'd you miss that for years and just come to realize it now?"

"I'll have you know, she talks about other things, too."

"Like what?"

"Like school."

They both paused, and a brief silence followed. They would have broken out into laughter if the line of inquiry had been anything else. Except, for whatever reason, what should have been five seconds had turned into a fight for higher ground. Both of them aching to prove themselves right and the other wrong.

"Why're you being like that?" Lily quizzed, eyes narrowing.

"Like what?"

"Suspicious."

"Am I?"

"Just admit that you fancy her," she asserted, not backing down.

"I do not," Remus said, shaking his head. He knew that he didn't— but he also knew that Lily knew he was lying about the real reason he had missed the fucking snowball fight. "Honestly, Lily, how does that make any sense? I do not fancy her."

"Oh, really? How does that make any sense?" It had been the wrong thing to say, for it shot at Lily as if she had to catch it. It had been something short of a challenge. "Eve Kavanagh! Remus, EVE. Admit that you fancy Eve!" Lily threw at him in a raised voice. Remus lurched forward to grab her, covering her mouth with his hand. As he pulled Lily deeper into the aisle, his cheeks were fully lit up from the inside out. She began to laugh against his grasp.

"Let me go, Lupin," she demanded, though her words were stifled through his clammy palm. Remus abided immediately, his eyes firmly set on her own.

"Could you not, maybe, do that?"

"Why not?" Lily teased. "If you don't fancy her, and if it's not true, then what'd'you care?"

"Because it's not true. I don't want people thinking that's true," Remus explained as he leaned against the table lining the bookshelf.

"But it is," Lily said again. "Look at you— reading up on Ireland. God!"

"Lily, I highly doubt when someone fancies someone else, they take to reading up about where they're from and all—"

"—Uh-huh—"

"That'd be positively ridiculous," Remus finished, shaking his head.

One thing missing from this part of the story was that Lily had not found Remus in the Mythology section. Lily had discovered Remus in an entirely different area that had nothing to do with Irish or Celtic mythology. As a matter of fact, the book in his hand had nothing to do with banshees at all. What happened was that one question had led to another, had led to another, and somehow he had been led to begin reading the historical framework of Irish politics.

Naturally, he had convinced himself that it was all extremely essential knowledge. Remus Lupin found it of the utmost importance that he knew about the Norman invasion that happened circa 800 years ago. What kind of half-Welsh, half-English arse would he be if he didn't know about everything that outlined that landmark event? Truthfully, he wanted to ask Lily if she knew half of what he had managed to learn in six hours. He already knew that she didn't. It would just be for the sake of rubbing it in her face.

On the other hand, Lily wanted to tell Remus that, yes, that was what someone did when they fancied someone. It was normal to want to learn every single detail about them. To know everything there was to know. To find common ground. To impress them. To show off that they knew a thing or two about what was relevant to them. Those were all very well-known and ordinary things that someone did when they fancied someone.

It began to dawn on Lily that maybe she had come to a conclusion before even he had. Her shoulders fell as the thought took place. Remus had never fancied someone. It wasn't that he had just not told her, that it was something he had been keeping as a secret from her. Remus had actually been successfully suppressing, to an extreme extent, a naturally occurring thing between two people. Between two humans. Lily looked at him, his eyes to the ground as his teeth played with the flesh of his inner mouth. She swallowed the ache that enveloped her heart and expanded into her stomach.

"You can fancy her, you know," Lily whispered to him. "It's not a bad thing, don't make it seem like it's the end of the world." His eyes lifted to hers, and the scrunch between his brows drew deeper. "It's okay. She's pretty. You'd look good together— why not?"

"Lily," he whispered back to her. "I don't fancy her. I'm telling the truth."

"Remus," Lily said in almost a plea full of sorrow. "Come on. I won't tell anyone."

"I'm just reading up on Ireland. I don't see the connection."

"Then, why're you always talking about her?"

"I'm always talking about her?" His chin flinched back, yet he still felt as if he had been caught red-handed. Merlin, he wasn't sure why. "You're the one who brought her up just now. Maybe, it's you who fancies her."

"Remus," she said with a sigh. "You're not going to admit to it, are you?"

"Lily, I'm not going to admit to something that isn't true."

"You're not going to admit to something you haven't realized," she amended quickly. Remus opened his mouth to speak but found he had nothing to say.

How could Remus state his innocence in this case? What could he say? Lily was convinced of something that wasn't true, and he had his hands tied behind his back because he couldn't tell her the whole truth either. He knew the repercussions something like this could have for someone, and he never would do that to someone else. Not when he lived through it himself everyday.

Remus kept hammering away, pursing his lips as he looked at the books he had collected. The real question he was just now coming to ask himself was why? Why had he locked himself up in the library to answer a simple question of whether Eve was a banshee or not? What business of his was it whether she was or wasn't?

"We... I don't even think we'd be good together," Remus said, looking back at Lily.

"How come?"

"We might have too much in common," he wove the truth into a riddle.

"Really? That's good!"

"It is?" The wizard's face pinched at her sudden excitement.

"Yes, Remus, you want to have things in common with the person you fancy—"

"—I don't—"

"That's how you know it'll work," Lily explained.

"But opposites attract," Remus said slowly.

"Who told you that?" Lily asked. But it did not need saying, and it forced a great breath of air from the witch. Of course, but of course, how could she blame him? Remus' only reference to these sorts of things was James Potter, seeing as he steered clear of any conversation concerning it. James bloody Potter who had made it a point that Lily and he were destined to be because they were opposites— and opposites attract.

"No, Remus— that's shite. Most of the time, you're going to fancy people who are like you, similar to you, have things in common with you."

Oh, well, if that's the case, he thought to himself.

"Well, Kavanagh and I are hardly similar. I mean—" Lily's mouth dropped open. Was he really going to backflip every other sentence? As if she needed any more proof, he was reaching for threads now, and those threads all led back to exactly where she thought they did. "What? Come on, you know it. She's a bloody pureblood, Sacred— Ancient Five, whatever, Slytherin, and I'm…" His shoulders slumped. "I'm me."

"Remus?"

"What?"

"Can you promise me one thing?"

"Sure?"

"When you do fancy someone, please come to me first," she told him. "Don't, for God's sake, go to Potter for advice." Remus began to chuckle, and a grin grew on Lily's face.

"Fine," he relented, nodding.

"Good," Lily said as his laughter came to a close. "Are you coming to dinner, at least? You should eat something."

"Yeah, I'll just be a second." They were looking at one another again. "What? I have to put these back."

Both he and Lily knew there was no need to put the books back in their spot— abandoned books found their way back to the shelves.

"All right, fine," Lily ceded. "See you in a bit."

"Mhm," Remus returned, keeping his eye on her. The moment she turned, though, all thoughts of what had transpired evaporated, and he opened the book back up to where he had held it bookmarked with his thumb. He began to take in the words like they were his medicine. It wasn't until he reached the end of the page that he stopped himself.

Remus sat against the table's edge and placed the book to his side. He scanned all the material in front of him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Even he could see that he wasn't reading about banshees anymore. He had, indeed, stemmed beyond and was reading about every aspect of the nation. He could paint an entire picture of the country by the end of dinner. But that didn't mean he fancied Eve, of all people. He could admit, however, that she fascinated him. Fascinated and fancied were two entirely different things...

Were they?

Did he fancy Eve Kavanagh?

No, that's ridiculous, he immediately thought to himself.

What if she's a banshee? Another voice said. It was angel and devil on each shoulder, bantering one with the other.

No, Eve being a banshee did not change how he felt for her. He was tutoring her— that's all. He just wanted to know a bit more. Yeah, but what if she is? Would that change anything for him? No, of course not. It would be ridiculous. Right?

Besides, surely, people did not just develop those kinds of feelings out of thin air, as Remus felt like that would be the case right then and there. To fancy someone meant… He fell back on others who had easily professed their fancies for others, and most often than not, it had been something seemingly random. Peter would just come out with it, basing his claims on a handful of excursions or sometimes even a glimpse his way from someone. James had known much less about Lily than Remus knew of Eve, and yet he had easily chased after her without knowing so much as her mother's name.

What? Remus thought to himself. That was cheating. Someone could not develop feelings for someone else from nothing— it could not just creep up on them and then exist. That would be unfair and unjust. No, what was he saying? Nothing had crept up on him. What was he feeling so taken aback by in the first place? What was he trying to convince himself of— that he fancied Eve Kavanagh? That the constant fascination, onlooking, thoughts that steered in her direction all the time had not been from curiosity, but from that?

Do I fancy Eve Kavanagh?

Lily certainly thought he did.

Remus stared at the books on the other side of the aisle.

How the fuck did this happen? And when? No, what was he doing? Nothing happened. He was just letting Lily's words get to him. Then, what was he doing there? He just wanted to know more about banshees, just banshees. That was his goal. Why was he so fascinated with banshees? Because he was a werewolf, and he wanted to know what other monsters lurked about. Easy. Simple.

Remus was driving himself in circles, ready to lose his mind. He leaned his head all the way back to stare at the ceiling.

He was annoyed. This was annoying.

Besides, if he fancied her— didn't that entail that he would be attracted to her?

That was a can of worms that Remus should have left closed. In general, he left these lines of thinking often because they were always met with a reminder that he was a werewolf— no one could possibly or would possibly be attracted to him. Remus did not feel attractive, so he could not bring himself to think of being attracted to anyone else. It was revolting.

Except— what if Eve's a banshee? Merlin, he wanted to hit himself. What the fuck was actually wrong with him?

'She's pretty, you'd look good together,' Lily's words rang in his mind. The fuck was that supposed to mean? Look good together? They wouldn't look good together, he knew that. And not because Eve was ugly; no, actually, Eve wasn't ugly at all. She was just plain. None of her characteristics really stood out, but Remus didn't think that made her not pretty. Apparently, Lily thought the same. Brown hair, brown eyes, average stature— everything fit. It wasn't extreme or extraordinary. But it all looked good together. Remus, actually, kind of liked that about her. That she wasn't on the extremes of anything because then he would just feel like the odd one out. He had since the beginning— oh my fucking... He mentally smacked himself.

Fuck, he repeated to himself— what the fuck was he actually doing? Was he entertaining this? Did he just think he had been attracted to Eve since the beginning? What beginning? Was he insane? Was he making things up now because of Lily?

Without so much as another thought, Remus nearly ran out of the section and made his way not to Great Hall, but to the garden for a smoke.