Eve was the last of the witches to depart, heading like the rest that morning to the train that waited to take them home. The only image of the room abandoned behind her was merely a crack through the door. There was nothing. No nostalgia, grief, or sense of impending doom that the year had somehow run its way into the depths of winter. No, the door shut as effortlessly as it could have opened, and she strolled through the corridors and out into the common room with the same white sheet thrown over her. It, too, was empty. The majority had gone to breakfast to link up before their journey to the carriages together.
Breakfast had once been the only sure meal of the day, but without Aphrodite, Eve no longer had the shield she needed to ensure she wouldn't be dragged into another political debate with Evan and company. She had learned to forgo the meal but, at the same time, to cling to Alex's side as if her life depended on it. It did— he just didn't know that. Yet, Alex had proven to be more than helpful, a step up from Aphrodite. The wizard read Eve's sudden and unorthodox friendship as friendship. Without question or thought, he had been quick to take her under his wing— and what a wing it was. No one approached Alex, ever, and because no one approached him, no one approached her.
"Eve."
The common room had seemed empty from the overhead gallery, so the sound jolted her right in place. She shifted her eyes to the left, one of the few areas that had been hidden both from the gallery and the stairs that descended from it. He would have known that, too, she supposed, examining the waiting body on one of the couches. Long-legged, fair-skinned, white-haired. It was the Christmas snow that all but her wished for.
"Evan."
Eve displaced her study of him to the exit, wondering who would reach what first: Evan-Eve or Eve-exit. But, alas, the witch was not known for her hastiness. Silent-footed? Yes. Quick-footed? No. For by the time she considered making pace to the exit, he had already stood up, standing only a mere foot from her. By his side, his vein-stained hand gripped onto a bundle of white roses.
"You weren't at breakfast," Evan stated, tilting the flowers towards the door as he spoke. "How come?"
"I slept in," Eve answered plainly, focusing on the exit.
"Then, here," he said, jutting the hand outside of her immediate vision right into the middle of it. It was an apple. A perfect apple. Completely, wholly red with not even a single streak of yellow. So perfect that it glistened even in their common room's dim, dull light. Eve's eyes briefly narrowed on it, and then she dared lift them to Evan's. He shook his head lightly, gesturing for her to take it.
She did, slowly. Her stare darted from it to the wizard in brisk beats.
"Thank you?" Eve managed, her grip on the fruit punishing as she let it brush against her robes.
"You will eat it, won't you?"
"On the train," she answered.
"Right," Evan said. "I've also been meaning to give you these." He held out his other hand, the one she could and had seen. The bundle of white roses. This time, she did not make an effort to look at him. She only narrowly tilted her head.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to give you flowers," Evan responded. He jingled the roses as if calling her with a bell, the same as he had done with the apple. But the witch hesitated. She did not reach for them with the same ease she had with the apple.
"But why?"
"Do I need a reason?"
"Don't you?" Eve queried. Her eyes scanned the room, but she knew no one was there. Not only because she had concluded it for herself but because Evan would have never made such a display in full view of any audience. "I don't know this game, Evan."
"It's not a game, Eve," he sniped at her.
"It's always a game with you," she returned. Thankfully, yet extraordinarily, the wizard's growing impatience lifted into a leery chortle. It forced her to scrutinize him again, moving from head to toe, ignoring the flowers between them. He bowed his head and lifted his brows when they met one another's stare.
"You're upset with me, aren't you?"
"I don't know."
"Well, nothing new there," he quipped, issuing a copy of the short laugh from before. "Come on, take the bloody roses. I've had them all weekend."
"Why?" Eve probed again, still holding his stare. She could make out the way his mouth clasped shut, and his jaw tightened. Even the grasp on the flowers forced one of its petals to come loose and fall to the ground. Evan stepped forward, but Eve did not step back. There was something wrong with their entire encounter. The apple, the roses, the way he held onto his patience as if he had been forced to.
"I'm sorry."
Eve's blood froze in her veins, and it seemed an eternity had passed before she found her voice.
"You're sorry?"
"I am," Evan claimed, nodding once.
"For?"
"For upsetting you, whatever it was," he explained. Eve had to look away, blinking without stopping as if none of what had occurred was real. As if she was waiting to wake up from a dream. There they were again— the two of them. Just them. How many times? Except, it was the first time Evan had used those words, at least with her. Eve bit down on the inside of her gums, and the frigidness melted away, revealing an excruciatingly ugly wound.
"You broke the rules," she whispered, her eyes shifting to his. "Is that what you're apologizing for?"
"You played well."
"But you broke the rules."
"And you still played well," Evan asserted.
"You broke the rules," Eve hammered at him, her eyes wide and her voice slightly cracked. At first, Evan had stiffened, his gaze growing distant and cloudy as soon as her words hit him. Without rhyme or reason, though, he let it all go with a single breath.
"I know," he admitted. "I know I did. I shouldn't have." Eve did not speak. She did not respond. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me, Eve." Evan took one step closer and lowered his voice. "We were best friends, remember? I think we could be that again. I miss you, Eve."
"Have a good holiday," Eve said, stepping to the side to walk past him. Evan quickly blocked her path. "Let me go, Evan."
"I will."
"Now."
"Why're you in such a rush?" Evan questioned, leaning back to observe her face. "The train isn't leaving for another half hour— you'll be fine."
"I don't want to speak to you," she replied readily. He blinked, and then a smirk crossed his mouth.
"And if I said we should play a game?"
"What game?" Eve immediately asked without thinking twice, forcing a different kind of jeer from Evan. One so lethal that it almost made her want to cover her mouth. As if she could turn back time and take back the words. The sheer speed at which the gears had shifted. The way that it had sparked her, the way it had made her stop and wait for further instruction. Evan knew that, too. That's why he was mocking her. It had been a test. A test for him to ensure that Eve was still his Eve.
He should have thought twice about administering such a test, for it only revealed to Eve how deep Evan's poison ran through her. It was like a drug. A flash of excitement, a moment of suspense. The way she had wanted to know which game they were going to play, how ready she had been to partake. The boy had dangled it in front of her only because he knew he could.
"Take the bloody flowers, Eve," he demanded, shoving them into her chest. Evan stepped to her side and used his now empty hand to direct her attention back to the exit. She was free to go— because he had said so.
Eve did as she was told, limply cradling the flowers and the roses in her arms. Without another word, she walked forward. One step at a time. She never once looked back. She just kept on marching on.
"Where the fuck is Eve?" Alex questioned, collapsing into the back of the seat as the train began to roll out of Hogsmeade.
"Who cares?" Moira returned, her face scrunching as she took the seat across from him and lifted her legs onto the rest of the empty bench.
"I do," he replied, pointing at himself.
"She'll show up," the witch assured, waving her hand lazily. "She always does— she's like a ghost. Disappears and then shows up out of nowhere." Moira's face continued to distort as she thought about the Irish witch that had become the newest part of their trio. Whether she liked it or not, she had been forced into her company. "The fuck do you like about her so much, anyway?"
"Who? Eve?"
"Who else?" Moira turned to look at him, one brow pointed upward. "She doesn't talk. She doesn't do anything."
"Eve talks plenty," Alex disagreed. "Besides, fuck the talking— she's a great listener. You can tell her anything, and she doesn't say anything— to anyone." He sat back with widened eyes, ready to spill it all. "Now, tell me another person who can keep their mouth shut as well as Kavanagh."
"I don't know, haven't tried it myself," Moira replied. "The fuck have you told her, Sykes?"
"We skived off Slughorn's blasted party and went to the boathouses. I told her all about Jason," Alex recounted, leaning forward and animatedly moving his hands every which way. "And she didn't so much as flinch— not even when I went off on all the gory details." He tilted his head and shot Moira a pointed look. "She doesn't question anything, fuck—"
"Sounds like a bloody doll," Moira interjected. Alex's face faltered, and he held out the flask that had become seemingly glued to his hand towards the witch. She didn't take it, for she knew it wasn't on offer. It was just a part of his theatrics.
"Would a doll do what Eve did to Melisende?" The wizard reminded her. "That's why I don't just like Eve. I bloody love the witch— she's fucking mental. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't do anything, but when she does…" Alex smirked. "When she does, she makes a bloody show of it."
"Go big or go home, huh?"
"Exactly, Moira," Alex said, unscrewing the flask. "Exactly, that's why I love her— she's a fucking winner. The silent killer."
"I don't think I've ever heard someone speak so highly of Eve Kavanagh," Moira muttered, scoffing.
"Jealous, Palancher?"
"Of what? Kavanagh isn't my competition," she replied, shaking her head. "She's still one of them. She's going to be married off to one of them, have their children, and continue the cycle just as it's been for way too long." Moira stared directly into his eyes. "She may dance, drink, and whatever else— but she's not going to change shit. She'll fall in line with the rest of them, just as they want her to."
"She stood against Gamp," Alex rehashed.
"To save her own sorry ass."
"I don't think so," he countered. "I don't think— that's not what I see." Alex removed his attention from Moira, even though she held onto it, to bring the flask to his lips. Once he had taken a sip, he wiped away at his mouth with the back of his hand. "She's different, I don't know why, but I don't think she's going to become one of them."
"Only time can tell," she muttered.
"Besides," he continued, "what's all this?" Alex gestured over her body by waving the flask around ritualistically. "You act like you and Prince Black don't spend almost every day together."
"We're both leading a team," Moira fabricated.
"A Quidditch team at Hogwarts," Alex pointed out. "That's hardly a full-time job, is it?" He took another sip from his flask. "Who the fuck cares about that? Who cares about who wins the fucking Cup, anyway?"
"Watch your fucking mouth," Moira spat at him. He briefly glanced at her but only shrugged it off.
"I'm not judging you," he assured her. "Whether you're friends, fucking—"
"—We are not—"
"Fuck do I care?" Alex finished.
"You two," announced a third voice from the door.
"Fuck off," Moira said immediately, but Mundungus Fletcher helped himself to the seat next to Alex without thinking twice about the witch's demands. "Really?" Her mouth dropped open. "It's fucking holiday."
"Not for us, it isn't," Mundungus informed her.
"Yeah, it is," she reasserted, sitting up. "The moment my ass gets on that platform, I've got a portkey waiting to send me back to the islands. And I'm going straight to the fucking beach, Santa." Moira sat back again. "Guh bye, Santa."
"Did someone authorize this little beach retreat of yours?" Mundungus asked her.
"Authorize?"
"Yes, you need to inform someone in the Order— and they need to approve it, so we know who is and who isn't in Britain," he explained.
"I don't need permission from nobody," Moira sniped. "My passport says Jamaica— that's all the authorization I need."
"You're a part of the Order, Palancher," Mundungus reminded her. "You can't just up and leave whenever you—"
"Oh, I can, and I will," Moira cut him off. "Now, what is that you wanted?"
"I came to tell you that we were going to have a couple of meetings during the holiday," Mundungus explained. "And that you two, well, we were hoping that you'd be able to have access to some of the pureblood parties." His shoulders dropped. "I suppose now I have to tell Dumbledore that Sykes has to work alone, and that's risky—" The Ravenclaw was cut off by a sharp, short snort and then a subsequent roll of hysterics.
"I'm not going to be here, either, Fletcher," Alex told him as soon as Mundungus glanced at him over his shoulder. "You think I'd—" He pointed at Moira. "She's going to the islands. I'm not staying here. The portkey's for two."
"You can't do that," Mundungus hissed at him. "You can't leave— not both of you! We need you!"
"Should've told us that before we'd made our vacation plans," Alex quipped, sharing a look with Moira. Mundungus stood up, standing in direct view of both of them.
"You were all we had!" The Ravenclaw tried to catch his breath. "We recruited you! We thought— we don't have anyone else on the inside right now. We don't! We have no access to these parties! It was supposed to be you!" He clutched what little of his coiled hair he could into his hands. "One of you has to stay— you must!"
"Absolutely not," Alex said.
"Nope, not a chance in hell," Moira reaffirmed.
"Do you two even give a fuck about this!?" Mundungus interrogated. "Do you care about the Order!? Do you care about helping us?"
"We're helping you plenty," Moira stated. "We're putting our lives on the line."
"You've given us nothing," the Ravenclaw countered.
"I have someone," the witch began. "I have someone I'm running."
"You're running!?"
"Running?" Alex repeated, his chin flinching back as he looked at Moira.
"Yeah, it's when you have someone on the inside, a spy, a source," she explained quickly. "I'm running them."
"Who is it?" Mundungus asked, placing his hands on his hips and standing straight. "Why haven't you said anything? Do they know what you're doing, who you're working with?" Moira shook her head.
"No, I said I'm running them," she re-issued. "They're mine to run, and I'll pass on any information they pass on to me."
"Who is it?" Mundungus attempted for a second time.
"I'm not telling you, Santa."
"You have to! The Order has to—"
'Nope," Moira slapped at him with a tight grin plastered on her face. "Nope, I'm to protect them— that's the condition. No one gets to know— only me."
Mundungus paused, both him and Alex staring at one another. With one look, he knew that the Slytherin wizard had no idea what Moira was saying or what she was referring to. She had kept it hidden even from him. A thousand questions ran through the Ravenclaw's mind, but most importantly— could Moira be trusted?
"We can't be sure any of the information this person gives you is credible," Mundungus rehashed, aiming straight at her again.
"No, which is why we'll put them to the test when the time comes," she told him.
"Palancher—"
"Listen, Fletcher," Moira stood up, stretching to her full height. It forced the Ravenclaw a step back. "You're going to let me do things my way because I know I won't fuck up. And you can do things your way…" She tapped her finger against her chin. "Though… it hasn't worked out for you, has it?" Her head tilted as she feigned a pout. "No, not really— you're losing, so let's try something different?"
Mundungus clapped his hands together and brought them to his lips while his back lifted with a deep inhale.
"So, I'm meant to tell Dumbledore that you've a spy, and this person is unknown to all but you? Their only loyalty is to you?"
"No, you can wish Dumbledore a Merry Christmas from Sykes and me," Moira wisecracked, leaning forward with a toothless smile. "And you can fuck off now and let us enjoy our holiday." Alex searched the two, the tension between them at a solid 2:1, and if he had to bet who would win— it would definitely be Moira. She never lost. It was actually rather dull, now that he thought of it. So, his attention immediately found itself in the bottom corner of the compartment. His brows scrunched together, and he leaned forward to pick up the abandoned shoe.
"WHAT THE—"
The words reverberated through the entire compartment, blasting right through the partition and into the corridor precisely at the same time that thin threads of white spun out of the shoe and glued onto every available surface. Alex was stuck, bent over in place with the shoe in his hand. Moira was left slightly leaned over, hovering over Mundungus, words muffled by the hoard of webs that had entered her mouth and interrupted her cursing. And Mundungus stood frozen with his hands at his lips. Alex's eyes were the only parts of his body that could move. He tried to lift them as far up as they could go, but he only made it to their shoulders.
No matter what any of the three tried to do, all of them were stuck in an enmeshing web. Moira made attempts to reach for her wand, but she couldn't. She couldn't move a single muscle. At the same time, Alex tried to propel his hands to devise some sort of wand-less conjure that would free them of the webs— even though he wasn't sure what he was supposed to invoke in this situation.
Was he dreaming?
Were they even on the Hogwarts Express?
What the fuck was happening?
"What's going on in here?" James Potter questioned, using his wand to force the door open. Next to him, Sirius Black leaned against the partition to examine the stuck trio.
"I reckon they're stuck in something, James," Sirius answered for them, realizing that none of them could speak. James tapped lightly against the web, his finger immediately clinging to it. It caused Sirius to smirk. "Reckon you've to do something, you're Head Boy."
"I know," James sighed. "This is bad— what if we hadn't passed them?" He turned to look at them with severity carved into his forehead. "What if no one had found them for the entire ride?"
"Would've been fucked," Sirius replied. He glimpsed into the room, his brows slightly furrowing as he made out what could only be the back of none other than Mundungus Fletcher's head. What was Mundungus Fletcher doing with Alexander Sykes and Moira Palancher? "Do you know how to fix this, mate, or should we call for help?"
"No, no," James swatted his free hand, "I can handle this. This is easy."
Even though one of his hands was still stuck in the web, he used his other to lift his wand out of his pocket. And unlike what one would have expected, he conjured the spell to dismember the web on almost silent lips. It was barely audible— none of the three stuck in it could hear, but it spread through the tip of his wand and into every fiber covering the compartment.
Alex was the first to be freed from its entrapment.
"Thank fuck," he breathed, collapsing to the back of the bench with his palm clasped over his racing heart. "Holy shit, I thought we were fucked! I thought—" He was interrupted when a hand came down hard on his head. "OW! FUCK!" Alex looked up at Moira with glimmering wet eyes. "Really? Moira? Violence?" He rubbed the back of his head. "We've resorted to violence!?"
"What the fuck is that?" Mundungus charged, immediately yanking the shoe out of Alex's hands and turning it over and over in his own. "What the fuck is this?" Now, he turned to face the Head Boy.
"I don't know. Someone must've left it there," James said. "Give it here. I can send it back to school and have it checked for any jinxes."
Initially, Mundungus had thought that the Gryffindor would respond with a cheeky laugh and a grin to match, but his response was of complete concern. James' palm was held out to him, his brows raised, indicating it was safe to proceed. Though the Ravenclaw had his scruples, he dropped the shoe into his hand.
"You fucking idiot," Moira spat at Alex. Sirius shot a look at James, both of them taken aback by the sudden onslaught. "You fucking idiot— what the fuck did you do!?"
"What did I do!?" Alex shot right back, pointing at himself as Moira jabbed a finger into his chest. "I— that shoe! There was a fucking shoe. What was I supposed to do!?"
"Was it your fucking shoe, Sykes!?"
"NO!"
"NO! EXACTLY!" Moira shouted. "It wasn't! You just go around and touch whatever isn't yours, do you!?" She gestured to the shoe now in James' hands. "That could've been anything! Weren't you at all suspicious!? It was a random ass fucking shoe just lying around!" Moira recomposed herself, straightening her posture, but her breaths remained rapid. Flames akin to a dragon's breath. James found himself gawking while Sirius could only look to the ground.
"I was only curious," Alex apologized in a hushed tone.
"CURIOUS!?" Moira shook with the word. "Curious!? What kind of fucking Slytherin are you? CURIOUS!?" She sneered, throwing a thumb toward Mundungus. "Should've been a fucking Ravenclaw like fucking Santa over here… Since you're so fucking curious!"
"I was supposed to be," was all Alex could even think of saying.
"Were you?" Mundungus asked.
"Really?" James followed.
"Yeah," the Slytherin wizard replied.
"No shit," Moira commented with a scowl.
"What happened?" Mundungus probed, doing a once-over of him.
"I asked to be in Slytherin," Alex uncovered, grimacing at the memory. "Big mistake."
"You picked Slytherin?" Mundungus continued.
"Who picks Slytherin?" Sirius whispered to James, who only shrugged.
"Yeah, everyone does," Alex explained. "Obviously, no one is just sorted into Slytherin. You have to pick it."
"Bollocks," Sirius blurted out.
"No, it's bloody true! Ask anybody," the wizard argued.
"I was sorted into Slytherin," Moira informed him, slapping her hand over her chest. "I didn't pick shit!"
"Yeah, but where the fuck else were you going to go?" Alex retorted, rolling his eyes. "You're the purest Slytherin to walk Hogwarts since Salazar himself. No one else comes close. Come on."
James, Sirius, and Mundungus all shared a look. Alexander Sykes, someone they considered a living, breathing definition of a Slytherin, had just made a handful of wild assumptions that no one had ever before.
"Which is why I wouldn't have picked up that fucking shoe," she stated, wagging her finger at James. "UP, he decided to be Head Boy today, or else we would've been fucked— FUCKED, SYKES!"
"Up?" Sirius whispered to James.
"Well, I'm glad I could help," James intervened, figuring that was the best he would obtain from Moira.
All four placed their sights on him. Without pause, Moira shoved past Mundungus and stood before James. It was the closest the two had ever been. And even though he knew it was because of her heels, Moira stood an inch or two taller than him. If not that, her sheer presence made her seem taller than she was. That, coupled with what he had seen being hurled at Alexander Sykes, rooted him into place.
"A word of this comes out of either one of your mouths, and I swear to every god there is, Potter, I will make your life a living hell."
Sirius was the only one to move, standing up from his sulked posture against the wall. His eyes darted between Moira and James, and for the first time in his life, he found his friend speechless in the face of an attack. James was not one to stand still while being threatened. What the fuck had come over him?
"I only came to help, Palancher," James assured her.
"Good, now go," she told him, and while maintaining eye contact with their Head Boy, she added, "you, too, Santa— get the fuck out of here."
Mundungus shut his eyes but knew he was at a loss in front of the two Gryffindors. He couldn't possibly stay or say anything without stirring some sort of suspicion. He made his way past Moira, Sirius' eyes following him as he walked down the corridor and disappeared into another compartment only a few doors over.
She gave one last look to the two remaining wizards before stepping back and letting the door slide close behind her. James watched as she sat in the corner, then lifted her legs onto the rest of the bench. She said something to Alex, but he couldn't make it out. No matter how hard he tried.
"What the fuck was that?" Sirius hissed, bringing James back to reality. He pulled James down the corridor back to their compartment, but they didn't enter immediately. Instead, James pressed his back into the window behind him, blinking as if he was still in shock. "James, mate, what the fuck!?"
"I don't know why, but I didn't expect Palancher to be like that," James revealed slowly.
"Like what? A complete bitch?" Sirius quizzed. "They're all like that! Do you remember Gamp? What about Selwyn?"
"No," James said, shaking his head. "No, that wasn't like Gamp at all. That was something else."
"She threatened you, us," Sirius reminded him. "You helped her out of a web—"
"First," James' voice lowered, and he stepped closer to Sirius, "we put that web there, even if they don't know it, so let's be grateful none of them put that one together. Second, she all but thanked us— did you hear her? She told Sykes that they were lucky I was around." James' eyes shot back down the corridor. "Then, she—"
"And then she threatened us," Sirius finished for him.
"Yeah."
"And you froze. Why?" Sirius scanned James' face. "What're you? Scared of Palancher?"
"No," he scoffed immediately. A grin broke out on his face. "No, what made you think that? Please, I wasn't scared— are you bloody laughing? I was… I couldn't fucking say anything, could I? I had to play the part, mate. I froze because my first response was to give her a taste of her own medicine, but then I thought twice about it— that's why I froze."
"But I could see you. You were scared, James. Even if it was just for a second. I've never seen you scared."
"I wasn't scared— I was surprised," he clarified. "I really didn't expect her to be that way. I've never actually been in a one-to-one with Palancher."
"Right, well," Sirius relented, leaning his head against the partition. "At least they don't think it was us."
"Yeah, and now we know how nasty Palancher is," James added. He pointed his finger to his scalp. "Do you know what I realized just then?" Sirius shook his head. "That's my competition— that," his hand moved from his scalp to the compartment holding the Slytherins, "is what I'm really up against. It's not the Slytherin team. It's her. She's the reason they're winning."
"Are you really talking about fucking Quidditch?"
"I've been trying to figure out how we lost that game, Padfoot, for months. For months, it's been eating away at me. I couldn't figure it out! Their team has barely changed, and I didn't think that Regulus... If anything, I thought Regulus would weaken the team." Sirius' eyes narrowed, but he permitted the talk, pretending as if, by coincidence, there were two people with the same name at Hogwarts. "And they won and are winning! Their entire strategy changed, and I couldn't figure out why. Now, I know why."
"I can't believe you made this about Quidditch," Sirius muttered, pressing his hand into his cheek.
"I know how she plays but didn't know what she was." James clapped his hands together. "Can't you see? How she was with Sykes— that's how she is with them!" A manic looked engulfed his eyes. "And they're listening to her, they respect her. I know exactly what to do when we're up against them next!" Sirius knew how much his friend revered the game, how deep his love ran for it, but he could not wrap his head around the fact that James had just taken something short of a threat of war and turned it into a strategy for a game.
"You're mental," Sirius told him, and all James did was laugh. He slapped a hand on Sirius' back and led them back into their compartment.
Sirius knew James was too busy with his new discovery to be occupied with the context in which all of that had happened. To Sirius, all he could see was what had really been there. And it still bothered him that Mundungus Fletcher had been there. It bothered him that Moira Palancher called him Santa— meaning something else was happening between them. Of course, Mundungus Fletcher was known to sell liquor and other goodies to just about everyone at school, but he also knew Alexander Sykes was bulk ordering through his own channels. There was no way they were sourcing off of Mundungus unless they were his source.
Sirius paused, lifting his gaze up to the train's jolting ceiling.
Were Alexander Sykes and Moira Palancher running the black market at Hogwarts?
But that made no sense— these were the first and second wealthiest people in the entire school. He knew that. What did they need the extra cash for? They already had enough in their own personal vaults as it was… Unless, of course, they were exploiting Mundugus Fletcher's poverty. But no, Sirius knew that would mean that Mundungus had approached them first, had asked them first, had begged them first. He didn't know the Ravenclaw that well, so he couldn't be sure whether he would or wouldn't, but something told him that hadn't happened. Mundungus Fletcher didn't seem like the sort to beg.
And why call him Santa?
I was sorted into Slytherin. Moira's words continued to ring in his head. Everything that had transpired was in the details— how she had lambasted Alex for not being a real Slytherin. The way he had called her the purest since Salazar. Those were not words that sat well with Sirius. Those were not compliments or insults, yet they had been thrown one to the other as if they were. There was something too familiar about it, too, and he couldn't quite understand what it was.
James was right— the witch was a real competition, but it had little to do with Quidditch. Sirius could feel the power hunger seeping off of her. Not only that, she could wield that power, as well. He wasn't sure what it was rooted in— he didn't know enough, he didn't know what she wanted or how she planned on getting it, but he knew she would wipe all of them off the face of the Earth if it meant they stood in her way. He also didn't know if he was in any position to dwell on it, but he concluded that he did not trust Moira Palancher. No one should, not even Alexander Sykes. And for whatever reason, he wanted to track down the Slytherin wizard to warn him.
Sirius let go of a caged breath, placing his chin into his palm and staring out the window as he tried to understand what he had just seen.
Somehow, she made it to one of the carriages.
Somehow, she made it onto the train.
She did not know who was in it. She did not bother to ask or to look. All she did was take the first seat she saw and sit in it. Ultimately, it had just been a couple of confused younger years. One of them had tried to ask if she was lost, and she only ignored them. It wasn't until they had grown frantic with nervous energy, chewing away at candy and sandwiches, that she stood up and made her way to another compartment. Faraway enough from anyone to actually find her— for anyone to guess where she was. They could all wonder where she had gone, and Eve would do what she did best: hide.
"Eve."
What the fuck? Eve asked herself as the compartment's door slid open.
"Alex, not now," she begged, her attention only on the long horizon trailing past her.
Remus' face scrunched up momentarily, but an awkward smile crept onto his lips when he realized Eve had mistaken him for Alexander Sykes. He could hardly begin to guess why, but it was amusing. Whether she had looked or not, Remus was more than aware that he sounded nothing like his Slytherin counterpart. Alexander Sykes may be Slytherin's delinquent, but the extravagance never took a day off. He still spoke with as much pomposity as the rest of his lot.
"Well," Remus attempted again. "I'm not Alex. So maybe, I don't know, an exception can be made?" Eve blinked once, then shifted her focus to the person standing in the doorway. She wasn't going to pretend as if she didn't know who he was. Besides, as if he couldn't have made it more obvious— the only thing left of his uniform was the prefect badge pinned to his muggle jumper.
"Remus," Eve returned with a correction. "What're you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Remus asked, stifling a scoff. "What are you doing here? You're in the Hufflepuff corridor."
"I didn't realize the train had assigned corridors," she muttered, her eyes darting about the compartment. The witch genuinely seemed to believe that the train was divided by House, and it was nothing short of entertaining. Remus wanted to let it play out for a bit longer.
"You can," he informed her, the smile on his face disappearing. At the end of the day, he hadn't come to taunt her. "I was just having a laugh."
"Funny." Eve sighed, her shoulders dropping as her eyes drew back to the outward distance. Remus remained by the entrance, surveying the empty compartment, examining the roses and the apple sitting by Eve's side. Eventually, he dared to watch her profile. Everything about it was slack— even her posture wasn't perfect.
"I'm just doing rounds," he finally explained. Though she wasn't looking, Remus pointed to the items beside Eve. "Are those yours, or were they already here?"
"They're mine," Eve replied. Initially, Remus' tensity dissipated, but then his eyes thinned on the items. The apple was fair game, anyone could have nicked one from the breakfast table, but the white roses were unsightly. It wasn't often that people left Hogwarts with roses. And where could one even find white roses at Hogwarts?
"Right," he concluded. "Um, well, if you see something that's not yours laying about and whatnot, don't, you know, touch it."
"Pardon?" Eve asked, turning to look up at him. Remus shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning against the door pane to keep it from sliding back into place.
"Someone's laid traps around the train," he explained, shrugging. "People are ending up stuck in spiderwebs— I'm just going around making sure they don't stay that way for, you know, eight hours or whatever it is."
"I don't touch things that aren't mine," Eve stated. "Does anyone?"
"Apparently," Remus answered with a smirk. "Anyway, I'm glad I ran into you." Eve blinked, shaking her head once to indicate he continue. "I've been— I haven't seen… I wanted to give you something. I thought you should have it." Admittedly, he had never intended for it to be as awkward as it was in reality. Remus swallowed, almost wanting to pretend he had made a mistake, but he knew if he did, he'd never be able to stand in front of Eve again. So, he forced himself to enter the compartment and sit across from her. It was not lost on him that she monitored his every move. "Here." As if he had been prepared to give it to her, suddenly two fingers and a folded piece of torn-up parchment came into her line of sight.
What the fuck was with everyone giving her things that day?
"What is it?"
"It's," Remus paused. The question had been shot at him like a bullet. "It's just my address."
"Your address?"
"Uh… Yes?"
"What would I need your address for?"
"To write," he replied. The suspicion and complete iciness staining every one of her features were cold enough to keep him from blushing. Whatever worries of awkwardness were immediately replaced by concern. The witch's fright and interrogation of the innocent paper between his fingers were strong enough to give him the creeps.
"Write about what?" Eve grilled, her words quick and sharp. "Transfiguration?"
"Sure," he offered, trying to keep his tone balanced despite the apparent attack. "Or anything you want, really? I didn't think," Remus scratched his neck, " I just thought… I mean, most of my friends have my address. It's rather normal, Eve, you're acting as if…" He stopped, his chin leaning inward. "You don't have to write, but at least have the address in case you want to."
"Friends?" Eve repeated, holding his gaze. "We're friends, again, are we?"
"What?" Remus watched as she tilted her head and sent him a look that read all too much as if she dared him to challenge it. Wrong move because he was well ready to fight her head-on. As a matter of fact, Remus was unsure whether Eve was prepared for that battle herself. What the fuck was she doing? "I never said we weren't friends." He did a once-over of her and then met her chilly stare again. "Eve, what's going on?"
"You were everything but friendly two nights ago," she accosted him. Remus opened his mouth to speak, prepared to throw something her way, but he shut it. Slowly, he surrendered to the cushioned seat without letting go of her watch.
"You're upset," he finally concluded.
"What?"
"You're upset," Remus repeated, a smile beginning to threaten the corners of his lips. "You're upset at me. Actually upset."
"No," Eve retorted, her nose pinching upward. "No, I'm not upset. Why would I be upset?"
It didn't matter much what she said, and Remus could have spent ample time listing out exactly how he knew she was upset. He also knew he could make a strong point that she was being too obvious with it. But the mood had shifted, and he no longer needed to make his case. Instead, Remus would take what he had just learned and run with it. As he did every time there was something new to discover.
"Well, you're not wrong," he continued. "I wasn't friendly on Saturday, especially not with you." Remus watched as she visibly wavered, but it was brief, fleeting. "That doesn't mean we stopped being friends." His smile broke very clearly, despite all he did to keep it at bay. "I didn't think you were so sensitive."
"Sensitive?" Eve blurted out, forcing Remus' brows to shoot up. "I didn't care then, and I don't care now. Hardly sensitive."
"You're lying." She opened her mouth to challenge him, but he was quicker. "Plus, you said it yourself— I'm your friend."
"Only because I thought it'd make you happy!"
Maybe, had it been anyone else, they would have felt that as a clear stab in the heart, but Remus was thoroughly entertained with her admission. The smile on his face broke out into a wide, toothy grin. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep the blatant smugness at some sort of minimum.
"So, you admit you wanted to make me happy?"
Eve's lips parted slightly, but then she shifted her attention back out through the window. It left Remus utterly elated. Why? He wasn't entirely sure— he still had yet to piece that together. But the conversation was not as harsh as it had once been.
"You would say we're friends just to make me happy... That's the very basis of friendship, I'd say."
"I don't know what I'm saying," she admitted, sighing. "My head's not right." Remus' face fell, and he tilted his head, leaning it against the window to bring her back into focus.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Right," he let out a sigh. "Well, if you want to tell someone— maybe not now, but later, here." Remus lifted his hand and held out the parchment to her for a second time. Eve glimpsed at it but ceded and took it. In seconds, it was hidden within the folds of her arms.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you really giving me this?" Eve asked, slightly lifting the parchment out of its hiding spot. "I'm not going to write, you know that."
This time, the witch's admission was a stab to his stomach.
"No, I didn't, and I don't know that," he told her, forcing it through a pit that had formed in the back of his throat. "You might change your mind."
"I won't."
"Then don't write," Remus relented, lifting his hands up and quickly dropping them in surrender. "Do what you want, Eve. No one's forcing you to do anything."
"Why would you give it to me, then?"
"Because we're bloody friends," he shot back, admittedly in a voice a few octaves higher than it had been. "You're really that shocked that a friend would give a friend their bloody address—"
"We're not friends."
"Bloody hell," he cursed, running a hand through his hair and forcing himself to look somewhere that wasn't her. "Really? This," Remus shook his head in disbelief, "this again? Really, Eve? What the fuck did I do? Why're you being like this?"
Eve crossed her arms over her chest. Why was she like this? She had to hand it to him; it was a good question. Maybe, because she had felt slighted by his comportment a few nights prior. Or maybe, because it was all too much for her. She was bursting at the seams. Eve had learned to live in the shadows, to become a shadow. Since when was she sensitive? Since when did she get upset? Since when were all these faces that had once been blurred become unmistakable as day? And not only that, since when did they become meaningful?
"I'm sorry for how I acted on Friday," Remus rushed, using what little he knew while also knowing he only knew a fraction of it. "I know I was odd— I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been like that. It's just— I don't know, Eve, a lot has happened these last couple of months at Hogwarts. It's been only three months, and I feel my whole— I feel like everything's different. And I don't know how to cope with it." Remus was losing his breath, but he rampaged on. "I need— I think... I just needed to be away from the castle and all of that. It was too much. There's so much I have to— I don't know. I'm sorry." He paused to take a sharp inhale. "It was never directed at you, though. It was… It's not. None of it's your fault. How I acted on Friday, that's not your fault."
"Please," she scoffed, nearly rolling her eyes. "The only thing in your life that's changed in the last three months is me."
Remus leaned back, looking around the tiny compartment to see if he could find something to give her that wasn't that. Was she wrong? Could he really say if she was wrong or right? It was as if she had read his mind. He couldn't lie his way out of this one.
"It's not that," he countered, but Eve seemed fixated on her own account of the last three months. It was evident in how she had returned to looking out the window, and he was afraid whatever he said would fall on deaf ears. "Okay… In a way, it is, but not the way you think. Tutoring you, yeah, it's been— it's been interesting, hasn't it?" Remus stopped for a second to watch her, but she was unrelenting. "But not in that sense. It's because— it's, I mean… I've been at Hogwarts for seven years. Seven years, and I thought I knew everything there was to know about it. But, it's, I mean, ever since I began tutoring you, it's as if a whole other part of Hogwarts co-existed with the rest of us but which we're not allowed to see." Remus lifted his shoulders and then let them fall. "Or, I don't know, maybe we don't let ourselves see it. Except, I was forced to by tutoring you. I was forced to see that part… And I'm not saying it's good or bad, but it's there. And it's a whole different world, and it's so much different than what I had thought it was." He could see the cold in her evaporate little by little, and he knew she had heard him. She was listening, at least, even if she wasn't saying much. It was all he could ask from her. All he wanted was for her to hear him out. "And it's not— I'm not. I don't think it's bad. Matter of fact, I think…" Remus leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees. "I have so many questions, Eve, you don't even know. I have so much I want to talk to you about and ask you, but I hold myself back." He let out a final sigh. "I hold back because I don't want to upset you in any way. So, I keep it to myself. But these questions, they've, I don't know, they've—"
"Overwhelmed you," she finished for him, finally glancing down at him while he peered up at her.
"That's one way to put it," he added, nodding. "And confused me."
Eve finally sat back with a loose posture, looking at him with something between empathy and mischief dotting her eyes. To him, it was much better than that empty, dead stare. How he hated that blank sheet of nothing. At least this— it was something. It unconsciously caused a small smile to form on his lips.
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"I don't know if right now is the right time," he answered, lifting himself to relax back into the seat.
"Why not? Is there going to be a better time?" Eve goaded, playing with the insides of her cheeks as if trying to hold back a smirk.
"Maybe."
"Is that why you want me to write? So that you can ask whatever it is you want to ask?"
"I don't think I'd want... I don't think I'd leave it to parchment and ink," Remus confessed. "I only gave you the address in case you wanted to write. I wasn't going to— it wasn't meant to be anything serious."
"Okay," Eve said, nodding. She tilted her head as far to the side as it could go. "Don't be offended if I don't write."
"I won't," he assured her.
Deep down inside, he wished she had said the opposite or something along the lines of. But even imagining Eve writing a letter to someone was a foreign film to him. He couldn't picture her as the sort to sit down and spend an afternoon writing and replying to letters. Remus had her more as the type to briefly glance and toss. He supposed he had known that, but after their last encounter, he had come to terms with what he had meant to say to her after she had departed. It had bothered him that they wouldn't see one another for a month, and he wanted to at least leave a door open, just in case. The what-if would've killed him.
"I should get back to my mates," he announced, standing up to head for the door. But Eve's voice forced him to stop in place just as he was about to curve his fingers into the clutch.
"Am I supposed to give you my address, too?"
Remus' ears perked up as soon as the question registered. He didn't turn right away, instead making out what he could of her reflection in the corridor window despite the daylight. She was watching him; he could tell as much.
Would he dare say anything if she wasn't first?
"Yes, or, you know, you could write— then I'd have your address," he suggested, turning back around but remaining on his feet.
"Well, my address isn't that hard," Eve said, shrugging. "Half the world knows it."
"Do they?"
Of course, they do, he thought to himself.
"Loftus Hall, Hook Head, Wexford County, Ireland," she recited as if he should've known that. Truthfully, and for the most part, he did know it, but one piece was missing. One part he hadn't had. He grabbed onto that missing part and repeated it over and over again in his head, just in case.
"If I write, will you write back?" Remus questioned.
"Depends what you write about."
"What if it's exceptionally interesting and invigorating?"
"Exceptionally, then maybe." Remus began to chuckle, and it caused Eve to grin.
"I don't know what could be exceptionally interesting in Penmon, but I'm sure I'll find something."
"Oh, I'm sure you will," Eve agreed.
And if anyone else had witnessed that handful of lines— they would have seen firsthand what could only be a form of flirting. Teased and be teased, both had partaken, giggling like two children holding hands.
"Right." Remus nodded.
Once again, he was left in that particularly peculiar position where he did not want to leave her. He did not want to return to his friends; he did not want to do anything but be next to her. The chuckle turned into a grin which then turned into a grimace. Eve had made it easy for him in the first moments he had entered by throwing daggers from the dark, but their conversation had turned, and there was that feeling again— that feeling that he knew now what it was because he had pinpointed it. He would miss her. If he walked away, he would miss her.
"Right," he repeated, although his voice was no longer light. It was heavy with the weight of his own introspections. "I've got to finish these rounds... Make sure no one's stuck in a web for too long." This time, Remus finally wedged the door open.
"Was it you?" Eve asked before he could walk out into the corridor. The corner of his lip flickered upward.
"And if it was?" Remus returned with his back facing her, but his eyes shifted to the corner as if it would ensure he didn't miss a single word.
"How'd you do it?"
"I've rounds," he said, walking out into the corridor but turning about to face her. He pressed his lips into a fake apologetic smile. "A bit of a long story."
Eve almost looked as if she was about to pout, but instead, she only smiled politely and nodded. Remus swore it seemed as if she wanted him to stay— and if only she would ask, for he would. He would stay. And fuck, he knew that's what she wanted, but she would never admit it. Sometimes, he wanted to shake her, rattle her, and tell her to just speak.
She wouldn't.
"If you write, I can tell you all about it."
"Well played," Eve noted, nodding. Her eyes drifted to the empty spot before her but lifted back to him. "But you will tell me?" Remus paused, ruminating over it, tilting his head back and forth.
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" Eve's brows slightly raised. Remus smirked
"If you write first, I will."
"Okay, fine."
He remained for a second, just in case she had anything else to ask, to say. He let the door close behind him when he was certain she didn't. At first, he was content. Indeed, he was glad with the way they had left things. After Slughorn's party, Remus had been kicking himself over his behavior toward her. He had not wanted a month to pass between them with that as their last encounter. So, yes, he did have rounds, but he had made it a point to seek her out. He was glad he had found her; he was pleased with their conversation. He was delighted that there was a very good chance Eve would write to him, that he would hear from her without a whole month passing.
Remus returned to his compartment with light steps, but as he approached the door and saw Lily standing inside their compartment, he wanted to turn and run. It was then that his skin began to crawl, wondering why whatever was happening between him and Eve had to be anything else than what it was at that moment. It had been simple— or, at least, it could've been. But Lily's presence was an unfair reminder that maybe life was much more complicated than that.
"Lily," Remus greeted as he opened the door.
"Remus," she returned with a huff, glaring at him.
"Where've you been, Moony?" Peter asked.
"This one's been chewing us out for the last half hour," Sirius broke out, jutting his chin towards Lily. Remus' eyes fell to the top of her head.
"I was just making sure no one was caught in another one of those webs," Remus replied innocently. Lily visibly paused.
"You mean, you lot aren't the ones at fault for this?" Lily investigated, her finger dashing in every direction it could.
"For the webs?" Remus quizzed, brows lifted. He slowly shook his head. "No, bloody hell, they've ruined the ride for us. James and I are up every ten minutes to save another 'Puff from one of them."
James kicked Sirius' shin as Peter bit down on the insides of his cheek to keep himself from breaking out into a laugh.
"Ruining the train ride?" Lily repeated slowly. Her shoulders fell as she continued to stare up at him. "Bloody hell, who's done this, then? They've caused absolute havoc!"
"Don't know," Remus answered, sitting next to Peter. "It's a shite prank if you ask me."
"Is it?" Lily questioned, shaking her head once to convey that he'd need to enlighten her further.
"Yeah," he replied, forcing a scoff. "Would've been better at the castle, not on the bloody train. No one can even see it— what's the point?" James' mouth almost dropped open, but Sirius leaned into him and forced his head down to let Remus work his magic. "They're all running to James, too, for help. Poor bloke, he hasn't a moment to himself. Which is why Peter and I've been helping out, Sirius, too." Lily's eyes continued to narrow while a glisten in Remus' eyes told her to walk away and let it unfurl as it was meant to.
"Who's come to you lot for help?" Lily further investigate, not letting up.
"Everyone," Peter spoke up. "Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Merlin— Sirius and James even saved Palancher and Sykes."
"Did they, now?" The witch asked, turning to look at James, who only nodded sheepishly while keeping his eyes on Peter's shoes.
"Yeah, you know, Sirius helped and all—"
"And what did Palancher say?"
"Not much," James revealed with a frown, finally looking up. "She kept cursing Sykes out."
"Yeah, poor bastard. She kept calling him a bloody idiot for touching a shoe. He didn't see the end of it," Sirius added, facing Lily. "Palancher even said they were lucky the Head Boy had finally decided to do his job right and was around to lend a hand."
"I don't believe you," Lily told Sirius, who lifted his two palms up in the air.
"You can ask her yourself."
"Bloody hell, you lot," she cursed under her breath. "I can't believe this is what you came up with! It's bloody ridiculous!"
"Woah, came up with what?" Remus jutted in.
"Stop doing that," Lily commanded. "Stop pretending like I don't know what this is."
"What is what?" Peter riddled.
"Oh my God!" She let out a bottomless breath as she eyed each of them, then her eyes descended on James. "This isn't helping, this isn't making things better, how is—"
A knock interrupted her, and it was none other than Manfred Murton, still in his Slytherin uniform with a face as red as a beet. He slid open the door without waiting for an invitation.
"The witches," he managed through some breaths, "Skidd— she's gotten herself into some gum or web! I don't know. I went to Palancher, but, uh," he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead as if he had been sweating, "she told me to fuck off and fetch Potter, instead." Lily's face went slack as James immediately stood up with Sirius in toe.
"Lead the way, Murton," James instructed the younger wizard.
"Right, yeah," he huffed, nodding and stepping back into the corridor. Both James and Sirius walked off with Manfred Murton, but James ensured to toss a wink over his shoulder at the witch just before the door fully closed.
Once they had gone, Lily turned to face Peter and Remus.
"Did you bribe Sykes?"
"Bribe Sykes?" Peter repeated, almost gaping. "How can someone bribe Sykes? He's the richest bloke in the entire school!" Despite himself, he began to snicker. "Bribe him with what, exactly?"
"Seriously, Lily, you can't bribe someone like Sykes— Sykes does the bribing," Remus added. "But that," he pointed to the door with raised brows, "that I didn't expect."
"Is that a confession, Lupin?"
"That," he continued to shake his finger at the door, "was bloody brilliant."
"Come on, Evans," Peter pleaded with play. Lily's eyes darted between the two of them.
"He doesn't get a date because of that," she told them, pointing to where Remus had just been gesturing. "But if I hear at least five thank yous once we're off the platform, he'll, maybe, have a chance."
"We'll pass on the message," Peter said, grinning.
"Please do because this is bloody mad," Lily said, exiting the compartment. Remus and Peter broke out into chuckles, neither doing anything to cover it up now that they were no longer in harm's way.
"How long do you think they'll be gone for?" Peter asked as they calmed down, standing up to stretch his legs. Remus shrugged.
"Don't know, but seeing as the Slytherins came calling— I reckon they'll stretch this one out for as long as they can," he replied.
Peter nodded, then laid down on the empty bench across from Remus. His legs propped up, and his hands folded underneath as a pillow for his head. The smile on Remus' face eventually faded as he curiously eyed the still-uplifted cheeks of his friend's face.
"You look pleased about something," Remus commented. He, too, took the liberty of laying down on the bench that Peter had just vacated. Unlike Peter, he let his back slouch against the partition, facing the window so the two could look at one another.
"I managed to get Kelsy Eastoft out of a web before when you weren't here," Peter informed him.
"Okay," Remus said slowly, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as if that was supposed to have enlightened him somehow.
"And she thanked me, kissed me on the cheek, even," Peter finished.
"So?"
"So, that means she fancies me, Moony."
"Do you fancy her?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't realize you fancied Kelsy," Remus scoffed.
"Well, I didn't either until she kissed me on the cheek," Peter divulged. "But I always thought she was cute, bubbly. What's there not to like?" Remus' fingers lifted up to pull at his earlobe.
"So, what, a bird kisses you on the cheek, and you find her cute, and you've decided that you fancy her?" Remus rehashed, his entire face scrunching up. "That's all it took?"
"Yeah, Moony, it's not that complicated," Peter said, nearly laughing. "There's not much to it."
"There has to be more to it than that," Remus mumbled.
"Like what?" Despite his attempt to keep it to himself, Peter had heard him.
"I don't know," Remus responded, shrugging. "It sounds so, I don't know, bastardized."
"What did you expect it to be?" Peter asked, propping himself up on his elbows. "Honestly, Moony, you find a bird cute. She's nice to you— you fancy her. Not like you're going to bloody marry her." Remus stared at him, or rather, gawked.
"Then... what's the difference between that and being friends?" Remus quizzed him. Peter snorted.
"Well, I don't know about you, mate," Peter's shoulders shook as he started to chuckle, "but I'm not too keen on putting my tongue down Prongs'—"
"Don't finish that sentence," Remus cut him off, holding up his hand. "Please."
"You know what I mean," Peter finished, but as he stared at Remus, it dawned on him that maybe Remus didn't understand at all. "You've never fancied someone before, huh?" Remus shook his head and looked down at a loose thread hanging from his jumper. Peter could gather the muscles in his neck quiver with a swallow.
"Never got the chance," Remus responded.
"But surely, you think about things like that."
"Things like what?"
"Like kissing, shagging," Peter listed out.
"No, I don't."
"YEAH RIGHT," Peter spat out, laughing. Remus shook his head and continued to pull the thread as far as it would go. "As if— not in a million years would I believe some shite like that. You've thought plenty, I'm sure, about where your tongue's going and how. Don't bloody play Saint Moony on me. I won't have it. You are not holier than us, Lupin. You want to shag just like the rest of us." The entire time Peter spewed his absolute garbage of a speech, Remus could feel the heat creep up all over his body, face, neck, and ears. He started wrapping the thread around his finger as tightly as possible. "That's not even bloody possible—"
"Every time I do," Remus confessed for the first time in his entire life. "It makes me feel terrible, gross."
"What? Why?" When no response came, Peter's brows furrowed together. "Mate, we all... Everyone… You're not the only one, you know? We all… You shouldn't feel bad for it."
"No, I'm aware. It's just I feel— I don't want to dirty someone that way."
"Dirty someone?" Peter repeated, blinking rapidly. "Mate, you're not— it's not dirty if you both agree to it."
"Yeah, if you're—"
"If I'm?"
"Human," Remus finished. Peter held his friend's gaze for a few seconds before a grin erupted along his mouth.
"Mate, you look very human to me right now," Peter said, and admittedly, it did put somewhat of a smile on Remus' face. It didn't change his thoughts or feelings, but it was nice to hear.
"So," Remus began, trying to change the tune of the conversation. "You fancy Kelsy, then?"
"I reckon I do."
"Because she's cute and kissed you on the cheek?" Remus mocked.
"It's not just that," Peter admitted, the air of confidentiality still strong between them. He laid a hand over his stomach and shifted his focus to the ceiling. "You're right... It's a bit more complicated, but it's not that complicated. You know? At least, not for me."
"What do you mean not for you?"
"I don't know, with me... Being friends with Sirius and James isn't easy, so whenever some witch looks my way more than twice, it's good enough." Remus blinked, his eyes narrowing on the side of Peter's face. These were words he had never thought had even crossed Peter's mind— did he feel inferior to James and Sirius? Then, as if the notion alone would be insane, he dared wonder did Peter feel inferior to him?
"When someone looks at you?" Remus repeated, shaking his head. "It can't just be someone looking at you. Mate, that'd be bloody mad. Half the school would qualify."
"I like the attention," Peter clarified easily. "But, you know, not like that… Not outwardly, but you know that person is there and that they'll give you attention when you're together. Or when they see you, they see you first. They stop to say hi. You're different to them than the others…" Peter stopped, fiddling with his fingers. "It's just nice, someone to listen to you, care, and yeah, I mean," he sighed, "usually, you want to shag 'em too, but that goes along with the attention bit, I suppose."
"Sounds a tad greedy," Remus muttered.
"Yeah, it is," Peter agreed. "It is— you want them to yourself, and you get upset if you see them treating other people the same way or people treating them in a special way. It's normal to feel greedy, I suppose."
Remus ran a hand over his face. Maybe, Lily was right— perhaps he shouldn't have taken notes from James all those years because James was in a different arena. But the way Peter phrased it, the criteria he framed out for Remus could more or less be formed into a checklist. A checklist that Remus really was in desperate need of. It was the closest thing to a logical explanation he had encountered. Remus took the time to single out all of Peter's words, dissecting them to the very bone and then turning it against himself.
"That makes sense," Remus mumbled.
"Does it?"
"Yeah."
"Great, 'cause I didn't have a clue what I was saying."
Once the train had rolled into Kings Cross, Eve stood up and exited the compartment. The corridors were blocked, chock-full of people. The platform was no better. And yet, somehow, Dipsy had weaved her way through the crowd. She was wearing a long jacket, boots, and one of her own knitted scarves as she made her way to the silent witch. All eyes were on the clothed house elf, but Dipsy's eyes were only on Eve's— and Eve's were only on Dipsy's. The two stared unblinkingly at one another, and whoever was on that platform disappeared. Everything just vanished into thin air.
"Miss Aoife," Dipsy began, observing the witch's hands. "We've received your things already, or did you come with another trunk?" They held one another's gaze. "Are you all right, Miss Aoife?"
Dipsy, Eve repeated to herself.
"This apple," Eve said in Irish, holding it out to Dipsy. The two closed whatever distance remained between them. "This apple is poisoned."
Author's note: Hi everyone! I know it's been a while, thank you for your patience. I hope this rather lengthy chapter makes up for the delays in chapters. As I mentioned, I am currently writing my master's thesis right now, so I'm not able to spend as much time on the story. Next chapter is going to be quite intense, I'm really excited for it. It probably will take a bit of time to have it completed for you, but I promise I'm working on it.
Thanks a bunch for staying with me on this journey, big 3 from M.