( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖘𝖎𝖝 ) — i remember it all too well

The last thing Evangeline and Sirius needed was to be cooped up in Number Twelve Grimmauld place. If they had to spend a single second longer in that house of horrors without a break, packed into the townhouse like sardines in a can, someone was going to lose a limb.

Despite the sultry skies of summer still out out when they left Islington, a pitch-black night fell quickly, as if the clocks had been turned back. The city of London was alive with light — shops, cafes, (plus most importantly) bars and clubs threw illumination at the street like baited hooks. Office workers spilled onto the pavements, mingling with party-goers, the yellow drips of lamp washing colour from their faces as they passed beneath. From a bird's eye view, the metropolis glowed orange like a raging fire.

Evangeline's natural-born elegance and grace had only been slightly thwarted by the exchange of her usual opulent robes for a rather skimpy outfit. She herself had been content with a simple altercation to one of her existing day-dresses, but Dora wasn't having it, and ransacked a couple boutiques on her way home from Auror duty.

That was how the pure-blood witch ended up looking like this. A slinky silver top clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her slim torso and petite but perky breasts. It was made out of a mesh diamante material that was surprisingly comfortable. Paired with it were a pair of dark-wash low-rise jeans, which outlined her wide hips and substantial backside, before they flared beautifully just below her knee. Unlike her usual jewellery, the only accessory her distant family members encouraged her to wear were a plethora of cheap bracelets and simple hoop earrings.

In other words, she looked like the sixth Spice Girl.

Thankfully, most of her makeup had remained untouched from its usual state, which was naturally glamorous and dewy — for the most part. Thick cat eyeliner marked out her dark brown eyes, and sparkly silver eye shadow dusted her lids. She drew the line once Dora pulled out a red lipstick, preferring her own pink gloss.

''I cannot even begin to fathom how Muggles wear these things,'' she wondered, staring back at herself in the reflection of a car window. ''Between this and no magic, it is no wonder most of them look so miserable.''

''I don't blame them,'' Dora replied, pursing her own wine-stained pout. ''Try a twelve-hour shift and see how you look after that, too. I proposed this plan myself, but I didn't think we were going to do it today!''

''What's wrong with today?'' Sirius frowned. ''We may all be sporting ridiculous hangovers tomorrow, but today is the last free day before everyone returns to Hogwarts, so we've got to seize the opportunity!''

Sirius, who had been charmed by Evangeline until he had an uncanny resemblance to Freddie Mercury, skipped down the streets of London like a child in a sweet-shop. He had been trapped in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place the longest out of anyone else, and it was starting to take its toll on him.

Dumbledore would have their heads on sticks if he found out, but what the elderly wizard didn't know couldn't hurt him. The other residents had been sworn to secrecy, and Dora had promised she'd personally see to it if anyone of them snitched.

The first stop of the night was The Albany Pub, just off Great Portland Street. Evangeline, Dora, and Sirius had rocked up relatively early in the evening, paid a few quid to the goblin-resembling guy at the door, had their hands stamped with the Heavenly bird logo, then trundled into the beery gloom of the basement for what was about to be the start one of the best nights in their life.

Destiny's Child, Backstreet Boys, and Wheatus all pounded in the background and shook the bar as Evangeline's Muggle alcohol virginity was taken.

''You're just a little bit too much like me,'' Sirius had told Evangeline, acting as if such a compliment had the utmost honour. Evangeline had handled the alcohol so far admirably, much to his surprise — wizarding drinks were far more weaker.

''And me, of course!'' Dora grinned. ''Consider yourself lucky, Evangeline!''

The second stop of the night was the Smashing Club on Regent Street. Glamorous and camp, in that very nineties tongue-in-cheek way, the club had an ❛anything goes❜ vibe, beginning with the dress code. The flamboyant trio had been ushered to the front of the queue, as had the two men behind them, who were both wearing feather boas and lurex jumpsuits.

Interior-wise, it was nothing short of impressive. There were velvet banquettes, a flashing, multi-coloured perspex dance floor, and artificial foliage curling around the bar. Shots on top of shots were poured, and Evangeline remembered Dora doing it off some man's chest and stomach, until they had gotten kicked out due to Sirius stripping his shirt off.

''You need a nickname,'' Sirius declared as they scoured their streets for the last destination. ''I have Padfoot, Nymphadora has Tonks,  but you're just Evangeline — its too hard to say on a normal day, let alone when you're drunk.''

''Oooh, how about Evie?'' Dora suggested, smiling proudly at her suggestion.

''Evie it is.''

The third and final stop of the night was the Laurel Tree in Camden Town. It was a low-key gay pub, by the initial looks of it; gleaming scooters were parked outside and stylish boys and girls with androgynous hairdos and perfect eyeliner queued at the door.

Inside, it was like stepping back into the sixties. Downstairs, the Karminsky Experience played Hammond-heavy lounge grooves, and upstairs the acest faces danced to The Who, the Kinks, and the Yardbirds, alongside current records with a retro vibe. Cool new bands on the London circuit — such as Livingstone — played regularly, setting the beer pumps rattling.

It had been there where Evangeline was was brought to a group of girls' attention. They clearly weren't in the right state of mind, and neither was she, judging by their flushed cheeks and wide-eyed gazes.

One of them, a pretty redhead, who had ribbon-green eyes that appeared to be shot with gold, approached her just as the witch was reapplying lip gloss to her pout. It had been wiped off the second drinks started to pour, and she wanted to look at least semi-presentable once they got home.

''You're gorgeous, babe!'' She called, teetering in her high heels, despite holding onto the grubby sink's edge. ''Fancy giving me your number?''

''Number?'' Evangeline blinked. ''I do not have a number.''

''Oh, don't be silly, everybody has a number! Is it because I'm a girl, is that it? It is isn't it?''

She turned to her, startled by her loud bawling. ''No! No, I just do not happen to own a vision-telly?''

''Vision-telly?'' The girl repeated, her mouth curving up into a toothy grin. ''You're funny, I like you. Tes yeux me rappellent le soleil à travers un verre de whiskey, plus beau que je n'ai jamais vu.''

Within moments, Dora sped out of the cubicle she had previously been occupying with a so-called friend, chest heaving and lips swollen. Her hair had been pin-straight when they left home, but now pastel pink tendrils fell in wild curls around her face.

She grabbed Evangeline by the shoulders, muttering excuses to the redhead and the redhead's friend, whom she had just abandoned. ''She doesn't speak French, sorry!''

''Actually, I do—''

The journey home was eventful, to say the least. Sirius had flirted with a sycamore tree for a good twenty minutes, before proposing and promptly running away in hysterical tears.

''YOU'RE ALL THE SAME!'' He had shouted.

Evangeline had finally, for the first time in her not very long life, let loose and lived a little. The moment was commemorated by skinny dipping in the fountain at Trafalgar Square, before being chased down by a gaggle of police men. The expressions on their faces were priceless when they thought the trio had been cornered in an alleyway, only to find them — or rather, not find them, thanks to a simple disillusionment charm.

Dora, on the other hand, in the space of an hour had managed to set a bush on fire (accidentally), and recited all the Muggle slang from the Victorian era her father had taught her. Ted Tonks was a huge history nerd, apparently, which lead to the nugget of knowledge that ❛tight as a boiled owl❜ meant somebody was drunk.

Number Twelve Grimmauld place was so deadly silent that you could hear a pin drop. Evangeline begrudgingly returned to the god-forsaken home, slurring curse words under her breath, before nearly jumping out of her skin as a small racket sounded from the kitchen.

''Go ahead and put her to bed,'' she told Sirius, nodding at a half-asleep Dora as she unsheathed her wand. ''I will deal with this.''

The Black man nodded, disappearing up the creaking stairs, but not before jumping up and down on the spot and cheering. ''Family bonding!''

Evangeline laughed quietly to herself, slowly creeping down the hallway and towards the kitchen. The door was ajar, and a sliver of yolk-yellow light seeped through the crack, followed by the signature stench of Firewhiskey.

Remus was sat at the dining table, hunched over, nursing a full glass of the amber liquid. His grey-speckled hair was ruffled, as if he had been running his hands through it nervously, and the sleeves of his dress shirt had been hastily rolled up.

She heaved a sigh — to tell the truth, Evangeline would've rather found Voldemort making himself a cup of tea rather than a drunk werewolf with anger issues.

''Have you been drinking?''

It was a stupid question, really; that much was obvious. But her brain short-circuited, not because of their proximity, but because it was only them two downstairs. Both alone, both drunk, and both lonely — a recipe for disaster.

''Are you the only one allowed to have fun these days?'' He asked coldly, turning in his seat to face her. His eyes pierced into hers, an unexplainable moment that is immediately over-analyzed and miserably mis-read. ''Forgive me.''

She didn't respond; she didn't know how to. The brunette floundered helplessly in the door way, torn between turning her back on him and going to bed, or taking a seat and trying to help in any way she could.

Spoiler alert: she should've turned her back on him.

''Cat got your tongue?''

''Go to bed, Remus.''

''You aren't my mother,'' it was a childish and immature statement; a low-blow, and he was well aware of it. ''In fact, it just so happens to be the other way round — I'm old enough to be your father, after all. Go to sleep, Evangeline.''

Still, she stood there in silence. In its rib cage city, he could hear the beat of her splintered heart hotel, abandoned by him, haunted by memories of a time they once knew well.

''Don't give me silence and say that you care.''

''I care. I always care, that is my problem.''

''You care only if it fits your narrative, Evangeline. I was only the beast to your beauty for you to validate yourself further.''

Evangeline furrowed her perfectly-plucked brows. Remus wasn't making any sense, and as his sentences grew more and more coherent, she wasn't sure she wanted to her the words coming so hatefully from his mouth.

''I helped you,'' she started, swallowing hard. There was no point to this conversation, but once they had began there was no stopping. ''I could have turned my back on you and left you lying there for dead. Instead, I welcomed your condition with open arms and dedicated my days to try and make everything just a little bit easier. Have I not given enough?''

''It would have been more than enough, if only it was genuine. Can you and your saviour complex not grasp such a simple statement?''

''My saviour complex,'' she laughed; a mirthless laugh. ''Because if we want to talk about complexes, then let us talk about yours. For thirty years you have wallowed in self pity, and then been surprised when things did not go in your favour. You will not have everything handed to you on a silver platter because of a bite, Lupin.''

''Oh, you would know all about silver platters, wouldn't you?'' His voice began to rise dangerously. ''Think about it. Why would you help a monster out of the kindness of your own heart, Rosier? It's simple, really — you wouldn't.''

With every syllable, her voice reached a higher octave, and before she knew it, her screams rivalled those of Walburga's portrait. ''Do not dare use my own last name against me! I broke all of my rules for you, but I assume that was not enough for you either.''

By now, the previously sleeping residents of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place began to awake to the shrieks. The pair paid them no attention as they padded down the stairs and flattened themselves against the closed kitchen door. Molly and Arthur had half a mind to usher their children (including Harry and Hermione) back to bed and lecture them about respecting privacy, but their own curiosity got the better of them as Fred and George pulled out the Extendable Ears.

''I never asked you to! Besides, I'm sure you have more important matters on your hands, such as the best way to buy Harry's trust . . . I wonder what for? So that you can go and offer him up to your ❛Dark Lord❜ the first chance you get?''

''You cannot bring my care for Harry into this when you have no other argument.''

''I can, and I will, and I will also bring your complete and utter lack of responsibility. Do you really think it is normal to go out on the town with a convicted mass murderer who is on the run? Or did they not teach you that at pure-blood etiquette classes and piano lessons?''

''I had nothing but the best intentions for Sirius tonight, you and I both know that. Forgive me for caring about his happiness and not particularly enjoying him moping about the house! At least I have noticed how downcast he is lately, which is more than I can say for you.''

''Don't make me laugh.''

Evangeline clicked her tongue impatiently, her voice hoarse from the shrieking. They were now face to face, feeling each other's heavy breaths enveloping their bodies in unwelcome warmth. ''Once again, you run out of arguments. I can help you there, Lupin — we both know what this is really about.''

''Enlighten me, Rosier.''

''We both know that you did not know true love until you met me, and I did not know true heartbreak until you left me.''

And she was right. Oh, she was so right, but she wanted to be so badly wrong.

''If this is your way of trying to tell me that I'm a coward, then you're in luck. I'm well aware of the fact I'm scared to get close to anyone anymore, because everyone who promised they would stay turned their back on me and walked away.''

''And I understood that! I understood it all, you know I did, and I proved so time and time again. It does not excuse the fact that you searched for further excuses to deny me— deny us. Need I remind you saying that if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine?''

''It wasn't just the fact that I'm sixteen years older than you! Just because you understand it all doesn't change the facts. I'm far too poor and dangerous . . .''

''Just allow yourself to be happy! Do you not see how whatever this is is more complicated and damaging thank if you just took the risk to finally be happy after so long? I cannot even tell with you anymore, but I know I seem okay when I am not fine at all.''

''Do you seriously think you're the only one who is hurting? I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind!''

''So am I! I am starting to believe that maybe we got lost in translation, or maybe I asked for too much, or maybe we were a masterpiece until you tore it all up. That night, you comforted me just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest. I was scared, and you were the first person I thought of to come to. I remember it all too well.''

Now, Remus heaved a sigh. A sigh that shattered anything meaningful that was left to say — anything that could've saved the day, and altered the outcome of their argument. He wasn't sure if he knew how it would all end then, if he would do it again.

They say the prettiest pleasure is the tears of a doe-eyed girl as she weeps for the world. This time, alone, but not lonely.

Evangeline fixed him with a deadly glare. It reeked with poison, almost causing him to physically stagger backwards. The brunette wondered if he knew what he said would go straight to her head, then what would he say instead?

Time and time again, she was always the fool with the slowest heart. He didn't want to talk right now, and she didn't know where he was right now.

They may always be drawn to each other, because what else can you do when your love story was never finished? When there are pages still not read, how do you put it down?

''Everything is temporary. This was one of those things.''

That's why she walked away. Not because she didn't love him, but because in that moment she had to love herself more.