Chapter Text
Evan was many things, pretentious, brave, foolish. Foolish most of all because now he was gone. He was gone and he would never be coming back. Gone. Vanished. Vaporised. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Gone, like he has never existed at all, bloody bones and shredded shirts turned to ash. Gone. Blown away in the wind like a whisper unspoken, like a hope that once was but no longer is. He disappeared like he never once was, but that was false, he did exist. He did. He did. He lived. He lived so well that when snow fell it melted on his skin because it was remnant of sunshine. He lived He lived He lived He lived. But now his just gone and the only ones who remember him are the ones that loved him, truly loved him, loved and understood him.
Understood that Evan Rosier was just 16-years-old. 16-years-old and he faced an impossible choice, a choice so impossible it was hardly a choice at all if he could not escape its fate. And fate has always been Slytherins cruelest mistress.
Evan was just 16-years-old, 16 was a boy, a child. A boy having to play a man to suit someone else's needs. He was 16- years-old, 16 and so beautiful it sometimes hurt Barty's eyes just to look at him, hair the colour of spun sunlight in loose flowing locs, smile turned up just at the corner something arrogant, never teeth, never teeth until he was laughing so joyously his eyes twinkled in the light and the wind held its breath, just as mesmerised. He was 16 and beautiful. He was 16 and just a boy, playing as a man for somebody else's war. A war he did not want any part in, but fate, she was cruel.
Evan liked many things. He liked the chocolate frogs Barty always carried for him but pretended otherwise. He liked the muggle music Dorcas smuggled into their dorm-room and played on a stereo Pandora had fixed, the music offensively classical but they were 16, 16 and just foolish children. The music made him sway until Pandora made him twirl her around the room, hair flowing like a river on each turn, she giggled and flailed but never fell, because she knew he would never let her fall, he would always be there to catch her every time she stumbled. Now Evan was gone, her twin, her older brother by 12 minutes, he was gone like he never existed at all but he did. He was here. He lived. He was alive. He was loved.
Evan liked his friends, no, he loved, no, something more, something so all consuming it disobeyed the laws of physics and the natural order of things. He loved them fiercely, protectively, like they were kin even if not by blood and innate like he and Pandora. He loved them and in return he was loved tenfold.
Evan loved Barty fucking Crouch and miserable Regulus Black and that stubborn Dorcas Meadows and he loved Pandora, strange and beautiful Pandora Rosier, his by blood, his by choice, his forever. He loved his family, the family he made for himself when he was too young to understand what his bravery would cost him. He loved them even if he would never say the words aloud, never admit them.
Evan Rosier did not want many things. He did not want to be separated by locked doors from Pandora, when the sky began to cry and wail while she clutched at her ears in hopes to save those who cried in the sky. Evan did not want to wake up before the sun. Evan especially did not want to wake up before the sun every morning because Regulus Black was a tyrant when it came to quidditch. Evan did not want to the heir. Even did not want to be a Death Eater. But most of all, Evan Rosier did not want to die. He did not want to die, he was just 16, 16 and foolish and still a boy playing adult games because adults refused to keep their war away from their children, and they were, children. Just 16-years-old and foolish.
The day Evan died the world stood still, not metaphorically but physically like someone had chopped the limbs of the sun off, the wind halted so suddenly birds forgot they could fly, the air turned frigid and sharp unbearable to breath in but the sky, oh the sky began to cry something terrible, it thundered and wailed like a toddler throwing a tantrum, rolling, screeching thundering about in hopes to get their way. The world stood so still Pandora felt the ache in her bones, and her heart? It was never the same. It was never whole again, always an Evan shaped gaping hole. She would always be half. Half of a whole. Half of a pair. Half a twin. Half a person, Half. An ache so deep it was unnameable, you simply had to feel it. Bare the weight of it and hope it was not too heavy to carry. She knew before the words echoed in Rosier Manor, she knew because it felt like half of her had been ripped apart, her whole left side just a phantom limb. She knew before the manor woke for breakfast that morning because the light she carried within went out. Evan was the sun and they were all just orbiting around him, their big foolish sunshine boy.
She knew, before she could fall to her knees and wail like the sky before her she locked her knees in place, back rigged, chin trembling and tears a steady stream down her face, but she never fell never stumbled because who would catch her now? Who would make sure she was twirled to the sound of muggle classical music? Who would make sure she flailed but never fell? Who? Because Evan was gone now. 16 and foolish. 16 and dead. 16 and brave until the end.
Gone. He was gone. He was gone. He was gone. He was gone and the world? The world trembled because it had done something as foolish as kill this sunshine boy, this boy of ebony and ivory and sun spin hair, eyes twinkling with mischief, they took the light when they killed him, when he gasped his last breath tears streaming down his face because who would be brave now? Who would be foolish and brave for his family, his kin. Who ?