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The Rosiers were raised by an emotionally unavailable widowed father who wasn't abusive, but he wasn't there either. Pandora Rosier was older than Evan Rosier by a year and their mother died in childbirth as she gave life to Evan. Mr. Rosier grew a disliking towards Evan as soon as his wife departed, and so Evan learned about love in a toxic manner; he learned that love is something that is taken because of your worth in others eyes. Pandora just sits and watches, the wallflower she is, stays silent. Her last thoughts were whether if she did something different in their childhood, maybe he would still be here.
Pandora learns to live in silence, the responsibility of raising Evan and herself falling onto her back like a pack of weights at a very young age after their father turned to drinking and gambling to keep his mind astray from the reality he did not want to face. Pandora learned to talk to her flowers and read to Evan at night when he ran to her room after a nightmare, screaming her name in the dark. She learned to handle adult citations and was handled as an adult when she was still learning to write cursive.
Evan tried to rebel in his childhood, small acts but all to call for his father, to maybe make him turn his head, but he never did. They lived in the French countryside until Pandora was seven years old and Evan was standing but a foot below her at six. Pandora missed the way the wind carried the salty tint of the ocean into her gold braided hair. Somehow their wealth was still unwavering due to their father sinking his head into the pool of politics and investments and his never-sleeping brain always circling galleons and sickles instead of his children even as they begged him to look their way. Pandora learned at eight years old that her father would only see her mother in her, and never see her with an individual soul and a beating, burning heart.
And so, Pandora had always felt a need to protect and keep safe her loved ones. She held them tight and held a sword even as her calluses ached and her palm clutched. She stayed to a point that hurt herself in the name of others, and she saw this as her duty, and she couldn’t stop it. Pandora turned to alchemy to run from her duties and the voices of her brother and father and friends who all are running to the wrong side, to the horrible side of the war. She brews her potions to silence her brain because she was raised in silence, she's used to silence. Why is it so loud now?
She finds a friend, an actual friend who doesn't have a nasty tattoo burned on their skin, someone who didn't trick her into loving them oh so dearly until one moment changed it all. Xenophilius was kind, he stayed silent when she needed him to, he'd tell her tales and she'd tell him hers. They'd stay in their study for hours, days, playing with flowers and potions to make things distorted and broken and then put them back together again to see if they themselves can be put back together again too. She tried to escape the war, go to the ends of the earth and make a home for her and Xenophilius in a quiet cave where no one could ground their roots inside but them. But then the letters came. Evan first. Then Barty. Then Regulus.
The last time she saw Evan was two years ago, he and other death eaters were raiding Diagon Alley for what seemed to be the hundredth-time. The moment she saw him running, time stopped, she saw the fragile boy who looked for her in the dark. But then she saw the shadow that took his place, the vile snake flowing in his arm. Why must they contact her? Had she not told them where she stood? Apparently Evan and Barty wanted her to 'come back', to help them for her security. She cried in her multi-colored painted room with light pouring through her wide window, plants scattered. She saw the sun burning on her skin, and she felt the pull of who she had once seen as her most trusted friends growing and pulling gruesomely at her peeling skin. Regulus, unsurprisingly, told her to stay, to wait it all out and hopefully see through the war, and that he likely won't. Pandora felt controlled by the voices now, 'Pandora do this' they said 'do that'. She couldn't take it anymore. She heard the young voice of her brother, the new voice of her daughter who she loved so much, but she was telling her she wasn't enough, that she was hiding her and was a bad mother, a bad woman.
What else can she do? Wasn't the silence enough? Luna looked like Evan, and the shadows of her father lurked in her light hair. Pandora’s plants' roots now grew on her, and she felt as though she was sinking. Xenophilius tried to get her out of it but his voice was muffled by the walls where she locked herself in. Staying in her study, in her lab, where she mixed each ingredient like it was her dripping blood. Birds would fly through her window and they looked too much like Regulus, like Barty, and her mind was fogged by all their faces, she'd mourned them, she had, she set their memories aside and believed them gone, not believing the prophet, no, they couldn't be apart of it all, they weren’t
And then, it all floated away, she let herself transform into a ghost of sorts, not letting herself feel anything. She learned Regulus had died, Barty was in prison, and Evan...Evan was killed. She didn't feel it when Luna took her first steps and when she singed her goodnight, she tried to, oh how she tried to. But not even a tear spilled after she made herself a ghost. Time passed like wind, she couldn't see how the wrinkles on her husband's face grew and she couldn't see how her home grew dingy and no longer full of light. Luna pulled on her sleeve and Pandora hugged her and kissed her and made Luna feel like she was the whole world. But then she cried in her bed and clinged to Xenophilius as he grounded her. Nothing worked anymore. Why couldn't she feel her skin slowly melt from her flesh?
Xenophilius Lovegood found Pandora Lovegood’s limp body on the cold tile, burnt up and bleeding covered in some sort of remains of a potion the day after she had told him she finally had gotten better.