Fractured paths

Death

Regulus, Severus, Lucy, and Evelyn arrived at Lucy's farm.

This place is depressing. There's nothing to do. Regulus stepped out into the cold winter air. Eerie silence covered the property, and the frozen ground crunched under his shoes.

Stables and folds stood empty. What happened to all the animals? Weren't there all kinds here at some point? What a place to be stuck with three miserable people. Regulus went back inside to find his companions. Lucy curled on the couch, backpack clutched close. One orange-haired quarter troll. Severus brooded nearby too. One snooty senior student. Then there was Evelyn. To think I was willing to say Lucy was the oddest person I'd ever met. But this kid... He almost shuddered. How do you talk to a werewolf?

Evelyn's appearance alone was enough to make Regulus want to hide under the house until spring. Though she was only eight, she acted like an old man. Her expression was harsh and deadly serious. No childish optimism tinted those yellow eyes. Technically, she was well-behaved—always did what Severus told her to, answered questions, was quiet, and never messed anything up. She kept to herself most of the time.

Why can't she go off on a childish rampage? Explore. Crawl in the attic or draw on the walls with crayons—maybe chase some of those annoying garden gnomes swarming outside.

The night of the full moon, Evelyn ran free outside while Regulus, Lucy, and Severus had barricaded themselves inside the house.

The morning after, Severus had gone out to find her. He'd brought her back, a poor, exhausted mess. Severus had nursed her back to health, never allowing Regulus or Lucy near her.

That suited Regulus fine. He still didn't know how to address Evelyn—couldn't even come up with any possibilities.

Lucy proved to be no help. If she weren't in such a state, I'd have her talk to Evelyn, but now... Lucy had spoken barely a dozen words over the past several days. She still lay on the living room couch. No amount of persuasion had coaxed her into entering her old room, or the larger bedroom Regulus assumed used to belong to her parents. She wouldn't even step foot in the guest room.

Lucy barely moved, arms wrapped around her backpack—which still held the Hufflepuff cup.

Should have told Severus we had it before we left London. Each time he thought to tell Severus, a vicious part of him balked, not wanting to tell the grumpy older boy who seemed to think himself so much better than him or Lucy.

It was like Lucy had... broken.

She fought so hard... tried to go on in spite of everything... but something happened at the Ministry. Whatever it was, it was the last straw, and being in this dusty, miserable hole isn't helping.

Can't talk to Severus. Don't even know when he'll be here and when he won't. Best I'd get out of him is a scoff or a snort, anyway.

Days passed. Regulus lost track of time.

Snow fell outside and covered the fields and barn in a white blanket. Regulus stood by the front window as glistening flakes floated to the ground in silence.

A girl Evelyn's age should be outside building snowmen, laughing. He sighed and sat in the nearest chair. But everything in this house is a result of the war—of what Voldemort's done. "Expecto Patronum," he whispered.

A little silver bird flew from the tip of his wand. At least my little Penelope is always ready to give me some cheerful company.

On the couch, Lucy sat, silent, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Evelyn was just as quiet as she sat on the floor, unoccupied.