Chapter Text
The familiar corridors of Hogwarts seemed like a far distant memory, but certain recollections of her time there were vivid and yet lingered, especially the guidance she received from her former teachers. For of late, Eve found herself growing restless in her current career as the proprietor of her Hogsmeade store, feeling a burning desire for something more.
As Eve stepped into the cozy warmth of the Three Broomsticks, relieved to be out of the unusually chill air for so early in the season, she spotted Mirabel at a corner table, her vibrant red hair plaited and crowned with her signature green hat adorned with flowers. She waved Eve over, her smile beaming.
"Eve, my dear!" Mirabel greeted, her voice was warm and joyful. "I'm delighted to see you. Sit, sit."
Eve eagerly took a seat across from her, appreciating the familiar comfort of her friend. Mirabel, or Professor Garlick as she was to Eve then, had been one of her favourite teachers. And although she had not been her Head of House, she had always felt a deep and close connection to her.
"It is so good to see you, I am sorry it has been so long," Eve began, a tinge of restlessness evident in her voice. "And I hate to come to you with complaints. Will you tell me how you two are getting on?”
Mirabel gave a shy smile and her cheeks coloured slightly. “Things are going well. Better than expected even!” She added excitedly. “The cottage is settled and he plans to join me in little more than a week.”
Eve sat forward and took her friend’s hands in her own. “I am so pleased to hear it! What are the students saying?” Eve asked with a grin. “I daresay they have caught wind of this?”
“It seems not. It seems any growing gossip has not even budded,” She said unconcernedly, evidently she didn’t care if the students knew or not. “I can easily laugh off their teasing and playful taunts but, though I daresay his approach will be detentions en masse rather than laughing, he is a grown man and may deal with it in his own way when it comes.”
Eve smiled ruefully, recalling the detentions she had served in her own time. Bright though she was, Eve was not a model student by any means. She had far too much fight and defiance to remain supine in the face of any injustice. As such, she had served a few for retaliations against her friends’ aggressors. More often than not, on behalf of Ominis Gaunt. She sighed as she reflected on those remembered affections.
“What bother’s you, my dear?” Asked Mirabel with a kind smile.
Eve started from her reverie and shifted uncomfortably in her chair as her gaze drifted over the carved foliage that decorated the table. Quickly substituting her current sigh for a previous concern she had been burdened with, she looked up. "Given your love of botanical metaphors, I must confess," Eve began, in a low and solemn tone. "I'm feeling a bit like a plant that's outgrown its pot. I'm looking for a change of career."
Mirabel's eyes sparkled with a hint of mirth as she leaned forward, her voice a melodic cadence. "Oh, Eve, you have been an Oak on too small a plot for many years now, surely this is not new to you? Restlessness and change can be a time of growth."
Eve chuckled, appreciating Mirabel's close observations. "Well, yes. But it seems I might finally wish to do something about it." As Eve concluded, Mirabel’s brows arched high as she nodded and contemplated her younger friend.
"I've known you for years, Eve, and I've always sensed your thirst for adventure and justice. Have you considered—," Just as their conversation deepened, a creak at the door signalled the arrival of a new patron and a familiar figure shuffled over to their table. His tall frame slightly stooped, but his eyes were keen and observant as he swept over the room on his way. He pulled up a chair, joining their conversation uninvited. His stern countenance was a stark contrast to the vibrant atmosphere of the pub.
"Alatar,” the man acknowledged.
“Sharp, sir,” said Eve, as she rose to extend her hand to him. Aesop Sharp, with his long brown hair and short beard, now flecked with grey, possessed a commanding presence. His three-piece suit, consisting of a brown overcoat, a light brown vest, and brown trousers, exuded an air of formality. The crisp white shirt and brown tie completed his attire, lending a touch of refinement to his otherwise rough appearance.
“Sharp will do just fine,” He said gruffly with a slight chuckle, which Eve supposed she had mistaken and was perhaps just a clearing of his throat. “You’re a grown woman, leave your schoolgirl days behind.”
Eve pursed her lips, slightly embarrassed, and resumed her seat. Meanwhile, Mirabel simply gazed smilingly at the man.
“Aesop, Eve has just been explaining she is considering a change in occupation," she said sweetly.
“What? The Shop isn't good enough for the saviour of Hogwarts?” Sharp grumbled as he rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement underlying his gravelly tone.
Eve looked around to see if anyone was listening in, it had been a little over five years since her battle against Ranrok and she had since enjoyed a relatively low profile. If graduating with perfect N.E.W.Ts, registering two novel magical patents, and publishing on magical theory is to be considered ‘low profile’. She was rather happy to be a quiet achiever and wished to keep her fame to an absolute minimum. “Please, Sharp, not so loud,” she hurriedly pleaded.
Sharp grumbled again but complied, settling himself into his chair with significant difficulty. After so many years, his injuries still ailed him. "So what’s the path then? Auror Department. It's not a bad idea, I suppose."
Eve regarded Sharp, surprised by his unexpected support but motivated to correct him. "It’s a comfort to know you wouldn’t outright object but, and I mean no offence, every second wizard and his toad wants to become an Auror. And besides, oftentimes they are far too ostentatious and conspicuous—which is odd given the nature of their job. I can’t imagine having your picture and activities posted in the Prophet every other day is good for wizard-catching."
Sharp's gaze met hers, his eyes penetrating. "Too right,” was all he said as he dropped his gaze and once again scanned the exits of the room. His eyes were dark, sharp and ever-watchful. His attire was impeccably put together, but his careworn face, scarred and creased, hinted at his past tribulations. Similarly, walking with a pronounced limp in his left leg, he carried himself with determination and purpose despite it.
“Did you have anything in mind?” Mirabel gently inquired, leaning in towards Eve.
“I am at a loss. I want something exciting but not too demanding of my time. I fancy a challenge, but something that would give me peace enough to pursue my other passions…” She huffed and crossed her arms, falling back into her chair. “I want-”
‘Bah! Obstinate and exacting as ever, I see,” He observed coarsely as Eve shot him a hard look. At which point he genuinely gave out a short sharp bark of a laugh. Never having heard the man laugh before, Eve sat up in surprise and looked to Mirabel, who gazed at him so fondly Eve felt she ought not to be there and considered taking her leave.
Noticing Mirabel's look, he coloured slightly and somewhat indiscreetly edged his hand to hers so that their fingers lightly touched. Blushing furiously at this uncharacteristic show of affection from a former Professor, Eve averted her gaze and instead waved to Sirona who returned her greeting with a wink.
Clearing his throat, Sharp went on. “Well here, how’s this? Curse Breaker. It’s contract work, well paid given the danger involved. Should be at least a bit of a challenge and you can choose to take an assignment or not, depending on your whims at the time,” he ended dryly.
Perking up at this sensible suggestion, Eve turned back to her companions. “Now there’s a fair idea. I do have contacts in the field too, perhaps I could reach out to my close acquaintance, Mr Rabe. I also have experience! Though admittedly limited- The Dale family tomb, the Cursed Tomb to retrieve the Helm of Urkot, the Script-” She stopped herself before finishing, knowledge of the Scriptorium remained the secret of just three still among the living, “A lot of cursed tombs really… You believe I could do it then?”
“Don’t force me into a compliment, Alatar. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you had the potential. You were a diligent enough student. If you're serious about it, I might be able to put in a word for you. I have contacts at Gringott's myself."
Eve felt a surge of gratitude towards Sharp, grateful for his acknowledgment of her abilities and his offer of help. "Thank you, Sharp. Your support means a lot to me."
Sharp huffed, attempting to downplay his role. "Don't get all sentimental on me. You'll need some training, lest you die and I am lumped with the blame,” he said as he glanced sidewards to Mirabel who gave him a disapproving look but soon relented offering a warm smile in its place.
Sharp possessed a keenly acute nature. He had a sharp wit and a tough-love approach to mentoring. He never had been easily impressed by his students, even when it seemed perfectly proper to provide commendation of a job well done. He would often just huff and stalk off, which everyone understood as having been gifted with as much praise as he was capable of giving. He was a difficult taskmaster, demanding excellence and limiting self-conceit.
While he was unwavering in his expectations, Sharp was not entirely unreasonable in his methods. Though he did not suffer fools gladly in his class, he took a genuine (though well-disguised) pride in students who excelled despite the various challenges posed by his demanding curriculum and manner. In this respect, his approval was a rare but significant accomplishment.
Sharp's reputation for being stern and exacting was therefore not without reason, but beneath his gruff exterior, there was a deep-rooted passion for his subject and a commitment to nurturing worthy talent. He believed in pushing his students beyond their perceived limits, recognising their potential and encouraging them to surpass their own expectations. But these lessons were never delivered half so gently as Professor Garlick's.
“I’ll reach out to Rabe, though I’m not sure how good an idea that is. It was me that saved him when I was in my Fifth year,” She offered doubtfully.
“Nonsense, a perfect record is the poorest sign of skill.” He growled. While Mirabel's speech often bloomed with plant-related similes and metaphors, Sharp's communication style remained distinct. He spoke with a straightforwardness that brooked no ambiguity, yet his words carried weight and authority. His language was cutting and concise, like a blade to a root, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
“Isko has gone on to be Deputy Head of the division. Given past...debts, he may oblige you with some pointers. He’s a good man, seek him out,” he asserted.
“Very well, I shall write a letter tomorrow morning,” said Eve, brimming with excitement. She had not expected to have found a solution to her current misery, she would have been pleased enough with counsel and commiseration from Mirabel.
The next morning, Eve sat at her writing desk in the back room of her shop. A modest space that had served her well since her Sixth year at school, but she rather felt she had since outgrown it. Dipping her quill into an inkwell she began to scratch at the parchment:
Dear Mr Rabe,
I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health and spirits. It has been some time since we last corresponded. Do tell me, how is your dear wife Daisy? I hope she is doing wonderfully and that life has been treating her kindly. I recently had tea with Johanna Bickle and young Archie (now started in his Second year, would you believe it?). Both send their regards.
Firstly, let me express my gratitude for the lovely Christmas card you sent. Although it arrived a tad early, it brought a delightful touch of holiday cheer to my doorstep. It inspired me to begin preparing my own cards and decorations in advance this year. Your thoughtful gesture was a welcome reminder of the joy that accompanies the festive season.
Secondly, if I may, I wish to inquire about your work. I have been reflecting on my current career path, and a burning desire for something more meaningful has taken hold of me. It has been suggested that I look to Curse Breaking. The challenges, danger, and opportunity of such a role appeal to me deeply and align with a skill set that, I modestly claim, I already possess. With this in mind, I am reaching out to you, Isko, as you are both a friend and an experienced Curse Breaker—do you think I could be of use to your team?
If you are agreeable, I am eager to seek employment and receive instruction under your tutelage. Your expertise and wisdom in this field are widely known and respected, and I believe that learning from someone of your calibre would greatly enhance my skills and prospects.
I understand that the path of a Curse Breaker is not an easy one, but I am prepared to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to the craft. I am confident that my determination and resourcefulness will serve me well in this pursuit.
If you think me not suitable, I will not be offended so do not fear to speak plainly with me. For I know that you have my best interest, and those of your team, at heart.
Thank you once again for your kind Christmas card and for considering my request. I eagerly await your letter.
Wishing you and your family a joyous holiday season and a prosperous new year.
Warm regards,
Eve Alatar
Rolling it carefully and fixing it with a simple red ribbon, Eve deposited it within the folds of her fur coat and stepped out into the street. Met with a crunch of newly fallen snow underfoot, she pulled her coat tight around her and made her way to the Square.
Admitting herself to the post office, she gazed up at the two hundred or more owls and selected a handsome Snowy. She attached her letter to its leg and offered it a portion of kibble for its trouble. It hooted to her softly before flying out of the open window above.
Wishing to enjoy the warmth just a little longer, she delayed her exit. With a shake of her shoulders, finally determined to brave the cold, she pushed open the door and made to rush down the steps. Instead of making a clear run for the shelter of her shop, she instead found herself sprawling out onto the snow as she collected an unfortunate gentleman who had been, before this moment, intent on entering the post office. Slipping on the icy steps, both had lost their footing in shared surprise and tumbled out into the wind-whipped street.
Scrambling to her feet and making to assist the poor gentleman she had just bowled over, she extended her arm to him but immediately withdrew it upon seeing who it was.
“Mr Gaunt!” She said, a little more shrilly and panicked than she would have liked. “My apologies.”
“Pray, don’t mention it,” He replied stiffly as he stood and brushed snow from his Morning Coat and matching navy vest. “You seemed in quite a rush, was there a cause for your alarm?”
Staring ashamedly at the ground, she replied. “No, only fear of the icy wind catching me in its claws,” she mumbled as she shifted her feet, more out of anxiety than the cold.
They stood a moment in awkward silence. Eve, so shocked into speechlessness by this uncomfortable meeting, supposed he was internally upbraiding her for being so careless. This was agony to her! To think they had shared so many a happy year together… she scowled bitterly to herself. Understanding this malice to be directed at him, he cleared his throat and muttered regrets on having held her up. Both murmured their last apologies and Eve darted off across the street. Taking refuge under the eaves of Steeply and Sons, she turned to catch him glancing back over his shoulder as he stood on the threshold of the doorway.
“Oh, do come in and SHUT THAT DOOR! ” she heard the postal attendant squeal above the alarmed screeches of several owls. As his coattails disappeared inside the shop, Eve privately wondered at his delay. It had been many months since she last spoke with him, despite him being a longstanding tenant of hers and living in the same village.
It could have been the fright of being knocked over, she thought, but the man that had stood before her seemed changed. No, it was not shock upon his features, it was stress. His once lively eyes now appeared sunken, surrounded by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and weariness. The features of his face, once defined and vibrant, now seemed drawn and pinched, lacking the vitality they once possessed. His complexion had lost its healthy glow, replaced by a pallor that hinted at underlying affliction. The lines on his face seemed deeper as if each passing day had taken a toll, etching traces of exhaustion and worry.
“Well, it’s no longer any business of mine!” She snarled and stomped back towards her shop.
Some hours later, Eve busied herself with domestic chores and gave occasional advice to Penny as she set about merchandising a new shipment of goods for the store that had been secured earlier that week. Eve's movements were impatient and her tone was a little sharp but, having known 'Miss Alatar' for many years, Penny did not take it personally and resolved to offer her assistance when Eve had settled a little.
Then came a sharp rap at the window, an owl demanded admittance. Eve crossed the room and let it in, immediately relieving it of its burden. Though it was far too light to be considered a burden, really. It was just a small note, hastily scrawled.
Dear Eve,
Come and see us this night, if convenient!
Bring some wine if you could, and we shall make a merry night of it.
Isko
This quite pushed the earlier incident from her mind. “Well, it isn’t an immediate ‘no’ so that is quite something!” She exclaimed with glee, looking at Penny.
“Penny is delighted to see such a smile on your face, Miss. It seems many months since she has seen it, Penny thinks,” She said softly as she joined Eve by the window. “What is it that brings you such happiness?”
Seating herself on the worn rug upon the floor, Eve was now comfortably at eye level with the sweet little house elf. “I am so very sorry for these past months, you’ve been so patient and kind.”
“Oh dear, Miss. Penny has no need of an apology,” She replied shyly and averted her gaze. After many years together, and living as a free elf, no less, Penny was often shocked by common kindness. She had, after all, been conditioned to anticipate mistreatment at worst and commands at best. The transition to a life of freedom and equality was not so easy as Eve assumed.
“But you deserve one, Penny,” She insisted. “You have been a great comfort and dear friend to me through this difficult time, and many years besides!”
“Miss is too generous with her love,” Penny began and immediately regretted it.
“Don’t I know it!” Eve sniffed, but her shoulders quickly relaxed and she turned to Penny smiling again.
“I will be visiting the Rabe’s tonight. You’ll take care of supper for yourself?” Eve asked and was answered with a happy nod. “Good. I’ll be home late, but you know where to find me if you need me.”
Thankfully it was not yet the start of the month, which would have inflicted Fastidio’s contractual anarchy upon them. Penny and Eve usually sought rooms at the Three Broomsticks to escape it, seeing as they could no longer take refuge at Mind’s Rest, but tonight it was not necessary.
Eve selected formal evening attire from her sizeable collection of clothes (stored efficiently in a closet charmed with an expansion spell), buckled her Cromwells, scooped up a bottle of wine and was out the door before more than an hour had passed.
Closing the door behind her and turning she found a man standing before her door. She leapt back in surprise and instinctively drew her wand. He raised his hands in apology, “I did not mean to startle you, forgive me.”
“Forgive you? Unlikely. But we must not meet in doorways so often,” she said testily, for Eve found herself upon a threshold facing Ominis Gaunt for the second time that day.
“It was not my intention, I had hoped to have the courage to knock,” he replied, looking grave.
“And, why is that exactly?” She hissed.
It took some time for him to respond and Eve was almost out of patience with him. She had somewhere to be and, nowadays, had little enough patience for him to begin with!
Just as she made to push past him and be on her way, he held out his hand to stop her but was careful enough to prevent himself from gripping her arm. He wanted no cause for her to run from him. “Please, I must tell you something.”