“We ain’t good people, Evan. But we do good for ourselves.”
That’s the first thing Evan rosier remembers his Mother saying to him. It might be the last thing he remembers, too.
Evans Mother is all blonde hair and dark skin. Her eyes always seem real tired, but Evan was 4. He’s not sure if he could even spell tired yet. He got Evan Rosier, and is working on Pandora next. If his sister is half of him— he wants to know how to spell her name. It’s as good as his own.
“Whats that mean?” Is what he asks everytime. The confusion in his voice was never audible. He always sounded the same to people, that’s what he’s been told. No one could ever tell if he was mad or happy or sad— No one but Pandora. Pandora wasn’t as quiet as Evan. But when she spoke, she was always understood. Maybe that’s why she understood Evan so well. She was so easily understood, she could put more effort into understanding other people.
Evans Mother crouches down to her knees and places both her hands on each of her children’s arms. Brown eyes stare back at her, with identical hair and faces. They look just like her. They look nothing like her. But they’re her blood, and she knows them better.
“We don’t do the best things.. but it’s because we have to.” Evan and Pandoras mother explains slowly, eyes flickering between the two for some semblance of understanding.
Her eyes only stop for a second on Pandora. The clarity is seen in her eyes quickly. Evans are still cold. He understands though, somewhere deep in his soul. Evan doesn’t really know what a soul is yet, but that’s where he feels it.
Maybe that’s not it—maybe he’s mistaking it for somewhere deep in his rib cage. Maybe that’s why he can’t express things like everyone else does. Why words don’t come easy to him like everyone else.
“You look just like your Father Evan.” Evans Mother says this sweetly, but her nails dig a little too hard into Evans skin. He turns to Pandora almost immediately, but she’s already looking at him.
That doesn’t make any sense to Evan, nor Pandora. How come Evan looks just like him, and not Pandora? If they were both twins?
The woman sniffles, and throws her long braids back on her shoulder. Evan studied his Mothers face for a second. As she rises off the ground and stands before them— more like a giant to admire than a mother to love, he takes in her features.
“We’re not bad people, alright?” She confirms her statement with a point of her hand to both of her children. Her nails are long and manicured, a pretty color fit for a Rosier.
There’s not a wrinkle on her face. As Evan gets older, he’ll suddenly realize how young his Mother is. How old his Father is. How the way he looked at her was a way he couldn’t imagine looking at someone his mother’s age when he was decades older.
Evan and Pandora nod. A slow shaking of their heads, like they’re not quite sure they’re getting the gesture right. Little bodies and minds trying their best to be as big as the world around them.
“Play for awhile okay? I’ll see about taking y’all to the next quidditch match. Heard something about this former Slytherin…” their Mother walks down the hallway, seemingly in her own world.
As she walks down the long corridor of the Rosier household nothing can stop her talking. Something Pandora picked up from her, Evan thinks. He has a quiet silence like his Mother though. Maybe he’ll be more like Pandora when he grows up.
But for now, he is content to listen. Emotionless, feeling only somewhere in his rib cage, and hearing his Mother’s voice fade from down the hallway.
—
They’re getting ready for their first day of school separately. The first thing he can remember doing separately from Pandora since he was born.
Evans half of the room is lightly colored. There’s a few rocket ships around, some moving paintings. Ever since he realized the paintings could truly move, he’d asked for anything he could get his hand on that would do so. It might be his favorite thing in the world as of now.
As for the rocket ships— he was a little boy, and the world was so big. He’d like to see it one day. He’d like to touch a star.
“Knew we should’ve gotten you some more robes.” His Father says, voice gruff from endless hours of lectures that no one really listens too.
“But I like my robes. They fit me fine.” Is what Evan says, confused. They’re not too small, and not itchy like the clothes his uncle-in-law tried to give him last year, finally giving up his dream of having a son.
“But will everyone else like them?” His father asks like Evan should know the answer. He fumbles with the tie he’s putting on his son’s small neck, fingers too big and calloused to fit around such a small thing.
“Does it matter?”
“You’re a Rosier. Of course it matters.”
“But the Blacks, it doesn’t matter for them does it?” Evan asks this like he knows the answer. This is because he does. He’s always known it, and he’s sure his Father knows it too.
“It either matters everything to them, or matters nothing at all.” Evans Fathers hands smoothe down his robes, dusting them off while his hands tremble with age. He tries to not think about how his Mother’s have never shook like this before.
“Now Evan.. I’m sure your mother is having this same talk with Pandora.” He sighs sorrowfully, like for once he doesn’t want to hear his own voice. “But I think I’d ought to do it for you. Not leave you clueless”
Evans father takes his much smaller hand and points at it.
“What color are you?” Evan is confused. Is this a trick question? Is his Father trying to be funny? His nerves aren’t quite that bad.
“..I’m brown.” Is all Evan replies, cause that’s all he’s ever known.
“You’re black.” The words are definitive. Evans father stares straight into his eyes, past them, and into someone else. Into the younger more naive version of his own. Evan stares right back. He can read his father, much like he reads others. He looks pained for a reason Evan can’t quite place.
Evan doesn’t get it. Hes learned his colors, and he thinks he’s smart for his age. For once, his father can read the expression on his face.
“You’ve got eyes like mine Evan. I know you’re confused.” Evan can see the young man in his father’s eyes. The warmth that had long since died out. It comes out to see the last of the ignorance Evan will get— to remember how he felt having it.
“Some people aren’t going to like you, some people will call you bad things. Some people might assume things about you because you’re black.” Evans father says all of this slowly and quiet, like he cannot wait for this subject to be over— but understands the importance all the same.
“I’m brown.”
“Black, Evan.” His voice comes out sharp, clipped.
Evan doesn’t say anything for a long while. He’s not quite sure what he’s meant to say. Finally, his brain forms one thought and one thought only.
“Then why do we call mudbloods, mudbloods? We get called bad things too.” Evans heard people say muggleborns instead of mudbloods while out shopping with his Mother. It’s sounds a whole lot nicer.
“Cause you want to know what’s worse than a black pureblood Evan?” Evans father grabs his hand, leading him out of the bedroom. Pandora is already waiting outside, in her best robes with her prettiest shoes on.
He tears his eyes away from his twin, pushing aside the thought of how he must be a really pretty girl too if Pandora was one— and registers the question at hand. Evan cocks his head to the side, face furrowed once in genuine confusion.
“A black mudblood.” Evans father laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world. Across the hall, his Mother steps out of her room. She has on a beautiful dress with casual robes. A pin of the Rosier family crest of stuck into her breast pocket and she looks happier than Evans seen her in awhile.
She smiles at her father, and he doesn’t smile back. Suddenly her face drops, and all the jewelry and pretty makeup she has on seems to weigh her down more than anything. He lets go of Evans hand, wishes him goodluck and walks back to his study.
Pandora whispers to Evan as they’re lead out the house holding hands with their Mother, preparing to apparate.
“Did you know that we’re black, Evan?”
Evan shakes his head no.
And that was that.
—
Evan is 8, and in a pure blood school when he realizes something is wrong with his family.
He’s walking outside for recess, looking every which way for Pandora. It’s been hours since he seen her, and it feels like decades. Evan is certain she’s looking for him too.
Evan knocks into a boy, both of them falling to the ground. There’s dirt on the other boys sleeves and he makes the immediate move to apologize.
The boy beats him there first.
“Watch where you’re goin, Rosier.” He says his last name like a curse and Evans confused.
“Why’d you say it like that?” Evan dusts off his robes.
“Why’d I say it like that” The boy mocks. “You’re a Rosier, you shouldn’t even be at this school.” He stalks closer to Evan, so close he can see the small mole under his right eye.
“It’s a pureblood school. I’m a pureblood. Can you not read?” Evan asks this genuinely. The boys eyes dart around like Evans insulted him and he needs a witness.
“You’re barely one. That’s what my Mother says. So don’t act like you’re on the same level as me” The boy pokes Evan in the chest, fingernail creasing his dress shirt.
“You’re a Rosier. Not a Black, or a Malfoy or even a Potter. Know your place.” He punctuates each word with a particularly aggressive counting of his fingers as he lists off every name.
Evan is suddenly filled with an emotion he’s never had so intensely before. He’s only so old, his body is only so big. That amount of anger can’t be contained for long. The boy keeps talking, spewing out something his mother has said to him— saying words he doesn’t even know the meaning of.
Evan punches the boy in the face.
After that, no one talks to him much. No one besides Pandora in the short time they have together. Evan doesn’t mind much either— he didn’t want to talk to anyone in the first place. Those that try get one look piercing from Evan, and turn the other way.
—
Evan Rosier has been mean for a long time. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does it always seems to upset someone.
They’re sitting on the Hogwarts express, and there’s a boy who he remembers. He’s a Black, it’s obvious. Evan envies them. They’re everything his family wants to be, everything his Father works for them to be. He’s surprised his Father doesn’t go green from envy at every Black family gala they attend.
He grips his cheap robes with his small fingers in anger.
“Excuse me, but this is my seat.” The boy says the words with a slight french accent, and a high class lilt to his voice. Evan knows french, and he knows more than anything that the Black family does.
They know everything because no one stops them. Because no one ever tells them no. Because their name is so sacred they might aswell have a monument built in their purer- than pureblood honor.
Evan can feel an anger outside of his bones. It’s swimming in his bloodstrem. If he wanted to get it out, he could. He could cut himself open and let it pour out in one bloody mess.
But this anger has been here for a long time. It’s in his Father’s blood and in pandoras too.
“So? Find another one. With your Gryffindor brother, maybe.”
Evan doesn’t really know why this is so bad. He’s heard whispers of it, from when his father can manage to move more than two feet from his bed. About the dreaded house, full of those who sympathize with the dogs.
Evan doesn’t know much about this besides that purebloods can’t be one. He knows next to nothing about this phrase except that it’ll hurt.
The boy freezes up, and he takes a seat across from Evan. Quiet. Unmoving.
His eyes turn to follow Pandora as she walks past. She’s conversing with a girl who seems a bit older than them, but is treating Pandora with genuine respect. Evan smiles— a small, fleeting thing. It’s what she deserves.
A boy with shiny, pin straight black hair enters the car. He’s adjusting his tie and doesn’t seem to acknowledge Evan or the unmoving boy next to him. His trunk sits down heavily as he sits close to Evan. Too close.
The boy gets in his face, smiling a bit unnervingly. Evan tries to say something rude to him, but the words die on his tongue. His heart beats a little too fast, and he’s suddenly hyper aware of every movement he’s making.
Probably because he’s so close to me, Evan thinks, then promptly tells the boy to move the fuck back.
All he does is laugh.
“Barty Crouch Jr.” The boy says holding his hand out before retracting it quickly and whipping his head around to the other boy in the car. “Regulus Black, right?”
The boy nods timidly.
“I knew I remembered your face! Regulus Black. Wont forget it now mate.” Barty turns back to Evan, lightning fast. Evan wonders how he hasn’t broken his neck yet.
Barty stares at Evan expectantly. Evan stares back. Suddenly, Bartys eyes light up in recognition.
“Evan Rosier! You’re the one with the twin right? You were at those Black galas, never got to talk to you much though. Always stuck at your twins side aren’t you?” Barty talks a mile a minute, and it’s hard for Evan to keep up. Pandora talks a lot but does so airily, like every word needs to be soaked in before continuing to the next.
“Her name’s Pandora.”
“Pandoras not a half bad name. How’d you end up with Evan?” Barty questions, smiling at his own attempt at a joke.
“Your names Barty.” Evan says finally.
“.. Yeah. It is.” Barty frowns like a kicked puppy. Regulus, from his side of the car stifles a laugh (horribly, that is.) and Evan starts laughing too.
Evans been mean for a long time and this small interaction doesn’t mean he’s going to stop doing so, no—not at all. But maybe Barty and Regulus won’t mind it.
It takes Evan a good 6 months into first year to warm up to Regulus Black, but when he does he finds Regulus doesn’t mind being mean either. That they can all be a form of cruel they find comfort in— saving truly mean words for arguments and Gryffindors.
Evan is still a boy of few words, but he doesn’t mind it much. His new friends don’t seem to mind either.
——
Over the summer of fourth year, their Father dies. It’s a quiet affair. Something that had been a long time coming. They all grieve, as one does when someone they’ve loved dies.
Pandora seems to have more time than ever for divination, pouring herself into tens if not hundreds of books about the future and how to predict it. Their Mother sleeps— a lot. Evan knocks on her door and she rarely answers.
When she does open the door, Evan is waiting outside with food. With medicine. With a few words because if he cannot speak for anyone he can for his grieving Mother.
Evan finds himself in his Father’s study. His Father was always a man of too many words, but Evan never truly listened. He finds himself regretting that fact. The writings in his study— personal accounts he might’ve hoped to publish before dragonpox got to him sit untouched, clean.
The walls are all Slytherin green, with a few framed photos of his childhood. Evan cannot recognize the man in the photos. It takes awhile for him to put the smiling young face together with that of his apathetic, unfeeling father.
A few roses sit by the one window in the room in a big winding vase, wilting. Evan doesn’t have the heart to water them. Every day he spends in that room, he does not water them. Evan lets the roses die along with his Father. His last contribution onto this world besides his family and writings, gone.
Evan sits down in his Father’s wooden chair and looks at his almost full well of ink. He spends hours everyday locked in his father’s study— reading his papers. Learning about mudbloods, how they’re doing a service to them. How Evan isn’t killing people— no, he’ll be putting down people who couldn’t survive anyway.
Evan is doing the world a service. When Pandora asks him what he’s doing, “Locked away in there for so long”. He chalks it up to grieving, which he doesn’t consider a lie. This is his own form of grief. Throwing himself into his Fathers writings and continuing his work.
He hates the man an awful lot anytime he remembers that his Fathers tombstone said born 1917, and his Moms birth certificate said 1941. But in some sick way, he feels sympathy for the man. He feels sympathy because his Father was once a little black boy in the 30s, trying to keep a respected place in the sacred 28.
Evan looks at his hands, remembering he is black and not just brown. Remembering the dogs that will die sooner rather than later— and continues reading.
—
After the strange limbo of grief passes, their seems to be more drinks than food in their home. After this, their mother feels more like a friend than a parent.
Neither of them fault her for this. She’s never had a life outside of their Father—only 20 when they were born— she’s allowed to have her fun. This is exactly why she doesn’t fault them, doesn’t send one howler when they don’t come home for the winter break. Doesn’t become an inconsolable mess when they spend their summers out doing anything but being home.
She’s happy, so they are. They need a Mother, she needs a life. You can only get what you want so often— and their Mother has spent so long not getting it. It’d be cruel to take it from her now.
It’s a dreary summer, and they’ve been wandering around for hours now. They’ve eaten, walked through the library and stopped by a few stores to look at gifts for their friends over the break. They’re both so incredibly bored. Pandoras taken to curling the ends of her braids around her finger, looking around and trying to find something to be interested in.
“I think we should go home Evan.” She says while staring at a particularly nice robe set through the window.
“Why? There’s nothing there for us anyway.” Evan says this with an air of casualty, looking at a display case for a nice bracelet and adding it to a mental list of possible gifts for Dorcas.
Evans tired of walking and practically paving new roads down the street too. But at least it’s not home. At least he doesn’t have to drag his Mom out of bed and tell her to clean up her mess.
“I’m worried about Mom.” Evan looks at Pandoras reflection through the glass of the display case.
“Then gon’ on home and worry about her by yourself.” Evan knows it’s mean. He knows that Pandora doesn’t understand the way his care for their mother is slowly turning into resentment. He knows this isn’t Pandoras fault.
“We’ll just check on her and be gone—won’t take long.”
“Checking on her takes a long time, Dora.”
Pandora goes to reply, but Evan is faster. He’s always been real quiet but for Pandora he can speak his mind. In a way, he owes it to her. “I’m not spending another day dragging her out bed. Not spending another hour telling her to clean up the bottles of firewhiskey or getting whatever guy is in her bed to leave—“
Pandora grabs Evans hands and holds them tightly. Her brown eyes bore into his, pleading in a way.
“You don’t—“ She cuts herself off. “just trust me.”
Pleading hasn’t worked on Evan in a long time. Evan rips his hand away, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Evans hopes she leaves him alone and they wander for a while longer before going home at 10pm, making dinner and passing out.
“Just cause you’re set on being a seer doesn’t mean I have to listen to everything you say.”
Pandoras always been good at noticing signs —she can tell this conversation isn’t going anywhere. But since it’s Evan, she has to keep trying. At least a little while longer. “Okay, then I’ll go home without you.” Pandora turns on her heel, and starts the other way.
Evan goes silent. He stops walking and turns his head to the other side, suddenly finding the trees in the distance incredibly interesting. Pandora turns back around and walks towards Evan, boots hitting the ground harshly and kicking up dirt in her frustration.
“She’s our Mom, Evan”
Evan turns back to Pandora, taking one of his hands from his pocket and grabbing onto a few of his dreads— a nervous habit.
“She’s not. We’re practically orphans.”
“Orphans?” Pandora has a confused look on her face. It’s not genuine, it’s more out exasperation. He can tell from the way she grips her sidebag and how tightly she coils a braid around her finger. “Mom’s not dead.”
“She doesn’t do anything besides what’s for herself. Our Mother’s dead. Doesn’t mean she isn’t completely alive, but our Mom? She’s long gone.” Evan stops walking, and so does Pandora. He looks at her directly in the eyes. He’s talking slowly, really trying to put emphasis on his point.
Pandora looks a little dumbstruck, but it’s not the first time shes realized (or been told) this. Evan sees the way her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her eyes soften in sadness. Evan thinks if he showed as much emotion on his face he’d hate being told anything at all.
Pandora kicks a stray rock from under her shoe “Well then I just want to take care of her corpse.” She sounds more defeated than Evans ever known.
Evan feels something deep in him. It’s the use of I, that word making it feel like Pandora is the only one who cares. Pandora doesn’t mean anything by it, because maybe that’s how it seems. That Evan doesn’t care about his mother at all. But Evan cares so much about his Mom, cares about her so much he doesn’t bother her with expenses for books or anything other than getting her out of bed.
Evan leaves his Mother’s corpse to rot, because she wants that part of her life to be left to do so. Evan lets her rot alone, remembering only ever so often that there are two kids she must take care of.
Evan neglects his Mother out of love. His love for her life.
Pandora is done trying, Evan can see it in the way her shoulders sag. He breathes a sigh of relief as Pandora changes the subject.
“.. I think Regulus’ family is hosting a gala tomorrow tonight.”
“We invited?” Evan asks.
Pandora nods.
“Any specific requests this time?” There are rarely any specifics on how to dress, but it’s always customary to wear some black in your outfit. The reasoning is self explanatory.
“I don’t think so.” Pandora says after a short pause. “I think you should borrow one of dad’s suits. You could fit some of his older ones by now. I know I’m getting something from Auntie Druella.”
Evan nods, a mirror of the one Pandora did a few moments ago. They reach the end of the road they’ve walked an impossible amount of times as Pandora says this, and Evan turns around to make the lap again.
Pandora does the same.