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It was a Saturday morning – and a Hogsmeade weekend, which likely meant Evan’s presence would be requested were there a raid – when an unfamiliar owl dropped a letter at Evan’s plate. Evan eyed it for a second and then cast a few charms to detect any sort of dark magic, and, finding none, opened it.
The letter was in an unfamiliar script, which somehow only made things worse.
Rosier,
I don’t know who else to write about this – I got a letter early this morning from Regulus that worried me. He wrote that he’d given the family house elf strict instructions not to deliver it until after his death. This could all be an elaborate prank, and I wouldn’t put it past him. But I do feel like something’s wrong. It might be worth checking the family tree tapestry at Grimmauld Place. It’s trained to his magical signature, so if anything’s happened, it’ll be there. Obviously I can’t check it myself, or else I would.
Again, this could be nothing, but I know you and Regulus are friends, and I’d rather not write to Narcissa.
If there’s any way to confirm or deny whether or not he’s alive, I’d appreciate it.
Sirius Black
And just like that, it felt like Evan’s world was collapsing in on itself. Sirius Black hated all Slytherins on principle, and Death Eaters doubly so. If he was writing, something was seriously wrong.
It didn’t even take much for Evan to believe that Sirius could be genuinely concerned for Regulus’s safety. After all, he was certain that if Felix were to become an Auror, he’d still worry for him. It stood to reason, then, that Sirius was the same.
There was nothing to do until he got to Hogsmeade. Technically, they weren’t permitted to leave, but Evan had his apparation license, and he’d left Hogsmeade dozens of times before and never got into trouble. And this, unlike a run-of-the-mill raid, was of the utmost importance.
(Not that raids weren’t important, but they were hardly strategic strong points in the war, and his involvement wouldn’t make or break a raid).
He apparated to a shadowy alley a few blocks from Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He made the rest of the way on foot, and the house stood visible to him (due, doubtlessly, to the sheer number of times he’d come as a guest). He rang the doorbell and tried not to start as the door swung open.
There wasn’t a House Elf or human in sight, so Evan shut the door behind him and called out, “Mrs. Black? It’s Evan Rosier.”
Perhaps calling for Regulus’s mother rather than Regulus himself was a dead giveaway that something was wrong, but he received no answer. He decided, after a moment, to go up to the drawing room.
The door was open, and he knocked on the frame. He wasn't supposed to be here. This could all very well be a trap, he knew, but Regulus’s safety – and even life – was at risk.
“Come in,” a voice called, and Evan recognized it immediately as his (and Regulus’s) cousin Bellatrix.
He stepped into the room, trying desperately to project an image of confidence. “I was – meant to meet Regulus today, but he never showed up.”
He tried not to glance too visibly at the family tapestry, but it was impossible to miss Mrs. Black sobbing on the sofa.
“There's a good reason for that,” Bellatrix said. Her eyes sparkled with malice and Evan was suddenly, viscerally reminded of how she'd tormented him as a child. He knew what she'd saybefore she even spoke, but that didn't mean that he was ready to hear it. “Regulus is dead.”
It took all of Evan’s concentration to not break down then and there. “What?”
“Come look for yourself. The tapestry is bound to our magical signatures. Regulus has a death date.”
Evan didn’t know how he managed to keep his composure. If pressed, he’d probably have to say that it was years of training to be a proper Pureblood son. He approached the tapestry and found Regulus’s name immediately.
Regulus Arcturus Black. 28 August 1961 – 23 November 1979.
He was dead.
Regulus was dead.
“He betrayed the Dark Lord,” Bellatrix hissed.
“No,” Evan said, voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t.”
“He told his mother that he was on some secret mission. He wasn’t; I would have known. You’ve surely seen yourself how much twitchier he’s been since – Easter, really.”
“You’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Evan said. “It was Barty getting to him. You know how vile he is.”
“Barty is a loyal Death Eater. You know as well as I do that Regulus never had the passion that Barty or I have. He joined out of duty. Just as you did.”
“I wouldn’t turn on the Dark Lord,” Evan said, trying to keep his voice firm. “And neither would Regulus. We might have joined out of duty, but that doesn’t mean that we would ever work against the Dark Lord. Neither of us are stupid, Bella.”
“So how, then, did he die?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Evan asked. “It’s likely an Auror got to him. Or someone from the Order.”
“Unless his blood traitor of a former brother killed him, I don’t think that’s very likely.”
But Sirius hadn’t killed him, and Evan knew that, because Sirius had been the one to write to Evan concerned about Regulus’s safety.
“He’s a traitor,” Bellatrix continued loudly. “Whoever killed him is a hero. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Dark Lord ordered Crouch to do it – Crouch has always enjoyed inflicting pain, and he and Regulus are close, are they not?”
Close. She knew. Barty made it obvious, as desperately as Regulus tried to hide it. (If Regulus had chosen him, instead, Evan would have never disrespected him like that.)
Evan couldn’t take it anymore.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Black,” he said, clinging desperately to the Pureblood decorum that had been ingrained in him since birth to avoid an episode. “Regulus is – was…”
“A traitor,” Bellatrix finished.
“My friend,” Evan said.
“Your friend the traitor.”
“He was eighteen,” Evan said. “Eighteen.”
“He knew what he was doing,” Bellatrix said dismissively. “No one leaves the Dark Lord and gets out alive. It’s a lesson you’d do well to learn.”
“You know I would sooner die,” Evan said. He tried to steady himself without Bellatrix seeing. He couldn’t show her any signs of weakness. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Black, I – I think I need to tell Regulus’s other friends.”
It was a lie, a blatant one, but no one protested as Evan left the house and apparated home.
He knew he’d have to write Sirius back, and there was bound to be a raid tonight. Felix would ask questions if he saw him.
So he went straight to his room, cast a dozen privacy charms, and finally let himself fall apart.
A part of him still hoped desperately that he’d see Regulus at the night’s inevitable raid.
But he knew he wouldn’t.
It was undeniable, and Evan didn’t know what to do.
Evan loved him.
And he’d never got the chance to tell him.
It was a regret he knew he’d hold onto until the day he died.