Coriolanus, op. 62, by Ludwig van Beethoven.

It is a composition (...) rendering the story of a broken conscience and the second motive renders the image of the conquered people. 

I’d be quite open to it. I will see you then.

Not many, but I can give you a few.

She knew she needed this. Some time. A getaway. Her mother. The month, as it progressed, seemed only to get worse and worse. Eva Merriweather found herself constantly in a mood. She couldn’t break out of the sour thoughts and the stress was taking a toll on her body. All the self-medicating with booze and cigarettes, lately a spliff to help her sleep, a trick learned from Pedro, bartender at one of the hole-in-the-wall pubs she frequented-- her body yearned for a detox of sorts. She was thin, her face and hands especially reflecting her weight loss. It was subtle, of course. No one who saw her every day truly noticed. She could see it, and she knew her mum would. Looking in the mirror, seeing new shadows from where her cheeks seemed a slight bit more prominent, where her jaw jut just a little more than normally. Only, she couldn’t seem to break herself of any of these habits. Besides, weight loss wasn’t a bad thing. It was a side effect she didn’t mind. The real goal, and what was accomplished through her bender of alcohol and substances, was to forget about it all.

It was funny how she could wipe away the loneliness, rid herself of the memories of her sister, forget about all the mistakes she’d made. Alcohol was amazing like that. Sleep was dreamless when she passed out after several drinks too many. It was preferable.

Her mother insisted on reaching out to her: calling daily; leaving message after message; asking, asking, asking. And eventually, she got through. Something had to give and it did. Nearly letting Mabel out of the house after drunkenly forgetting to close the door one evening when she got home, Eva realized she was only harming those around her. She’d been uncommunicative to her friends, to everyone who thought about her. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, not even herself. She left a scrawled note left on the kitchen table for Donovan to explain her whereabouts and inform him she’d be back after a week, paid a phone call to her mum, and made a quick visit to the Ministry of Magic to request the time off for personal reasons. Getting approval, of course, was difficult. It required a long conversation, a bit of shouting, and some tears that she was, admittedly, ashamed of. But she needed it. Her mind needed it, her body.

She hated using apparation or floo to get to her mum’s home. Magic seemed superfluous and unnecessary. There was something calming about waiting in queue for a ticket, boarding the underground, and watching all the people. Doing things the Muggle way was ingrained in her brain from having come from a non-magic family.