May 1982

Eamon was exceptionally invigorated the day after. Though, it was particularly different from that of his school years. He found it quite surprising to enjoy the time that he spent with Iris. Especially the fact that she agreed for a second date. It was still quite complicated to grasp the idea of it. It had been a few weeks apart from Beatrice, and he was already up for another adventure. Despite everything, Iris had been on his mind for way too long.

There was something peculiar about the whole matter, a certain lightness that was never akin to him. But Eamon would find himself humming while preparing a breakfast, smiling like an idiot just walking along a street and being particularly more pleasant to be around. He denied denominating it joy or happiness at all costs. He wasn’t made for that, but it was something adjacent to the feeling. A warmth that settled in his chest like a fireplace left smouldering overnight. He remembered how her voice softened at every moment, the way her fingers lingered over her teacup so close to his, how she didn’t recoil any more.

For once, he wasn’t running hopelessly behind. It was her very choice to meet him again.

There was only one thing left. The image of piled flowers at her doorway kept getting onto the surface. Firstly, the strange encounter the other day was something he didn’t give much thought to. Though now it came to him: the way Iris got all hostile and unwelcoming when the man appeared. It was the matter of a particularly spoiled Slytherin mind to make it work out.

There was too much at the beginning for him to start to worry. Nevertheless, Eamon was already quite set on the thought that the second date was to be a success. For it to happen so, he needed to make sure there were no distracting factors around. With work over his shoulder, he thought it's better to make himself quite efficient. Though, the luck followed him around quite easily.

A few days after, he was a voluntary witness of a second encounter between Iris and someone she named as Benjamin. It took just a moment for him to realize that Iris wasn’t particularly happy. Some brusque phrases got to him, so it was easy for Eamon to interfere.

“Hey, is there a problem here?” he approached the couple quite invigorated himself, placing a hand on Iris’ shoulder. The man had hovered near her, drawn in like a parasite, reeking of confidence and possession.

It all ended way too fast, as Iris reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. They set the second date for around that week, particularly because of them both being way too busy at work. No one gave easy times for the newcomers at St. Mungo’s. Eamon made sure that Iris knew: she could count on him, whatever it was. Unfortunately, he also knew that she wouldn’t bother him.

Then it was all about his drive. As the unfortunate lover would hang around quite often, it was an easy task to track him. Eamon had no plan whatsoever when he followed the man along the crowded street on a Monday evening, a week in. He was not much work to notice, standing out in the crowd with inches up from the average range.

“A quick chat?” it was all about being particularly unpredictable. Unnecessary arrogance made people visible.

Eamon grasped his finger over the man’s shoulder, and they disappeared right away at the street. For someone, he could seem like a nice guy. A friendly type who would be the centre of attention at certain cases. He would grow as part of a group and be particularly charming. Though, few knew of his darker side. Over an empty plateau, the wind was howling like a memory of someone he had a chance to become long ago.

Despite the doubts, he was made a killer. He would talk in the language of violence. He was set to perform this magical trick on the man who hung in his grasp for a moment. Eamon observed him eagerly, just like he was able to seep in the truth about Iris from him. Benjamin, that’s what she called him, seemed, completely expected, absolutely predictable. Just with a single, registering look, Eamon knew he was an easy target.

“Who are you? What do you want?” his hand already dived into his pocket to get out the wand, so Eamon was particularly unwelcoming.

A loud thump made thick blood splash over his face, as Benjamin dropped to his knees. His wand clattered down, right next to him, and Eamon was quick on it. The wood was unpleasantly cold, though it was impossible to expect anything else.

“Just wanted to talk, Ben,” Eamon leaned in to whisper the words. He was lying, but it was part of the play. Inside, he could make himself feel nothing for the man. His glare was cold, his movements merely registering.

“What the fuck you want?” Benjamin gasped for air, wiping the blood from the nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

Obviously, he would react in the same way, Eamon thought. The wind was battering his hair, as the place wasn’t particularly pleasant. In the middle of nowhere, to be precise. It’s where they had to deal with someone a few weeks ago ― the unfortunate lad was left in a few pieces. Eamon could easily combine his cute, shiny ears at a theme park with a relentless killer in his spare time. He spoke the language of violence like a native, after all.

“Wanted to chat about Iris,” Eamon sounded relaxed, having embraced all the control of the situation.

“That bitch. Did she…” poor lad never finished as the second blow left his lungs without air.

It was about time for Eamon to think of Iris as someone way too special for him to withstand hearing such remarks towards her. Generally, it was considered particularly ill-mannered to drop such a comment about a woman.

“I would be very careful with words,” he was falsely sweet as he picked up from the Death Eaters. They enjoyed the process, as he did very much right now. It was way too personal. “What is going on between you two?”

“None of your business, bastard,” he was pitiful, wiping the blood that wouldn’t stop. Bet Iris would know how to help it, though too bad she wasn’t there.

Eamon had been way too nice. A lot of scary lads could get on with a few punches. Not many of those were used to unforgivable, which were considered grounds to be sent to Azkaban. Eamon was absolutely positive that he did deserve a spot around, but not quite yet. The scream came easily, but there was no one around to hear it, except for the howling of the wind in the empty space under the leaden sky.

He was particularly good with Crucio. He actually hated it since he was a child. But having been victim to it so many times made him into an unwilling master. It was ruthless at his arm and often way too effective. When the empty grey sight went up to him, it was obvious that the information would flow more easily from now on.

“Well, what about Iris?” calmly asked Eamon.

It took him some time to realize that he was in the power of a complete madman. It was true ― Eamon could easily kill and never look back. He did it before, and it felt way too simple to be true. He knew that his moral compass, after being brought up by his father, was completely wrong. Though, there was this tiny glimpse of hope for them to get away with it. Only deep inside, Eamon knew that it was all so wrong and twisted. He just couldn’t stop any more.

“We are dating,” spat out Benjamin finally, although he seemed to be very bad to realize the lies were not an option.

This time the shriek came almost unnoticeable for Eamon. He was way too used to it to care. They were annoying and getting on him. So as soon as the impact of the curse lifted off, he pulled Benjamin up by the hair.

“Don’t lie, Ben. It’s an honest conversation we’re having here.”

It was way too easy. Like taking a toy from a child. Exceptionally masterfully, Eamon played with his new friend’s wand while listening to his gut-wrenching story of how he met Iris, how they fell in love, how they were breaking up. By the end of it, Eamon was convinced that the couple had already been apart for some time, and it wasn’t a process. At the very least, he left it pretty clear to Benjamin.

There was no point in chasing Iris down, waiting for her from work and interrupting her conversations. Ben whimpered and cried, unable to respond. So Eamon leaned close. Inside he felt almost nothing, only a deep satisfaction because of the knowledge what it all was for.

“You’re going to disappear,” he whispered. “You’re going to move on. You’re going to forget her name. You’re going to stay far away, and if I ever see your shadow again, I won’t bother with words.”

Ben nodded. He would’ve promised the moon without having that much to give. He left the man there — shivering, bleeding, broken in more ways than one. Not dead. Just erased. There was no a single tremor of his hands, no guilt or pity. He had done worse, under banners and orders. He had done worse for power, for survival, for nothing at all. This wasn’t violence. This was maintenance. The quiet removal of rot from something fragile and bright.

Deep down, it ate on him, like a parasite. It was the knowledge that Iris would never approve of this. She was soft and sweet, a single most right thing in his fractured life. He was fully aware of his faults of the past, though despite it all, he nurtured inside the hope that she would never discover those of his present.