Title: Blue October, Volume One – Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Author: Woodland Goddess

Rated: M

Author's Note: Please note that the views expressed in this chapter are the views of Severus, alone, and bear no reflection to the thoughts of the author. So, if you feel offended, I apologise.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: House of Cards

Silence fell in the dining room as soon as the question was hissed from Mr Evans' lips. Colour faded from Mrs Hemmingway's face as she stared at her brother, at the letter he clutched in his fist. Her hand tightened around her glass of Brandy, the action threatening to shatter it in her grasp. This was exactly what Severus had been afraid of; if the stubborn woman had just spoken to Mr Evans, instead of hiding the truth away, they would not be in this situation now. He eyed Mrs Hemmingway nervously as she set her glass down on the table with a trembling hand. "It's a letter," she answered quietly, the strained and slightly cheeky response an ill-advised attempt to diffuse the mounting tension in the room.

It was the wrong thing to say, completely. There was a crinkling sound as Mr Evans' hand tightened further around the letter. His fist shook as he squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his head slightly to the side. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Severus wanted nothing more than to run over and hug him, attempt to console him, but he knew it would not be appreciated. Green eyes snapped open once more, shimmering in the dining room light. "Tell me something I don't know...like why you never told me."

Mrs Hemmingway let out a soft breath and her shoulders sagged in defeat. The woman looked tiny in the face of Mr Evans' wild emotions. She flicked her gaze away for a brief moment and then gazed up at her younger brother once more. Her eyes glittered prettily, but her inner melancholy shone through, like a beacon, for all to see. When she spoke her words were soft, barely more than a whisper, yet still seemed to cut through the space between them. "What do you want me to say, Harry?"

"Oh, I don't know; how about the truth for once?!"

"The truth," she mused, dropping her gaze to frown at her glass of Brandy. A fingertip brushed the rim, where moisture lingered still. The moisture clung to her finger as it circled the rim; Severus found it rather hypnotic. "Truth is like a diamond, burdened with many faces; I'm not sure I'm capable of offering the one you want." Slowly her green eyes lifted, landing heavily on Mr Evans' face. "The face I can give you? I was afraid...afraid that voicing it would lend weight to the illness, would lend weight to the doctor's words, would make it true. Maybe that makes me a coward, but I think I have that right, all things considered."

Mr Evans opened his mouth to say something and promptly closed it, lips tightening. He crossed the room and hauled his sister out of her chair, eliciting a startled and undignified squawk. He embraced her gently but warmly, his arms secure around her, holding her close. Mrs Hemmingway trembled, once...twice...and wrapped her arms around him in return, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly. She pressed her face to his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut against her emotions.

Severus averted his gaze, but Lily and Petunia were both shamelessly staring. Ducking his head, Severus quietly excused himself, spared a brief glance at Mr Evans, who was now asking if her husband knew, and slipped out of the room. He had intruded upon the scene too much already; he had sense enough to get out of there without having to be told. He disappeared upstairs, giving the family time to themselves. He thought he heard Mr Hemmingway moving around in the study and wondered whether he was allowed to join him, but eventually decided that his presence would be an unnecessary distraction.

Slipping into the guest bedroom that had been lent to him, Severus perused the bookshelves. Choosing the first one that took his fancy, he climbed on to the wing-backed chair near the fireplace, making himself as small as possible as he opened the book. He lost himself in the book – Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules Verne. He must have dozed off, however, for he found himself being shaken awake by Lily, whose pale face gleamed ethereally in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Groaning at the aches in his joints from being curled up too long, Severus looked up at his friend. Her bottom lip trembled. "Aunt Amy's dying," she said softly. Her voice quivered and suddenly tears were slipping down her cheeks. He sucked in a breath and almost fell to the floor in his haste to get up off the chair. Lily reached for him immediately, stumbling into his embrace. Severus was unsure where to put his hands, but that hardly seemed to matter when Lily shuddered through her grief. He settled for running one hand in circles over her back and lost the other in her crimson hair.

For a long time neither of them said anything, the silence broken only by Lily's strangled sobs. Save for a strip of moonlight, the room was shrouded in darkness. "She's dying," she said again and it was all the more terrible for the expression on her face. Lily could hardly breathe as she clung to him and Severus was overwhelmed by the waves of sheer misery and pain rolling off her, washing over him. Again she said it and again, repeating it over and over, the words growing more hoarse with every repetition.

When Lily was unable to stand anymore, he ushered her over to the bed and coaxed her into it, despite her claiming she was fine. Climbing in after her, he continued to hold her until her sobs faded to breathless gasps, which gradually gave way sniffles. He carded a gentle hand through her hair, fingertips grazing her scalp. In time she drifted off to sleep and he followed her into oblivion, his arms still wrapped comfortingly around her. They slept like that for the entire night, Lily cuddling closer to him in her sleep.

Morning came some hours later, coaxing them awake gradually as the sunshine spread out across the room, falling on the bed like a warm blanket. Severus woke to find several tendrils of Lily's hair strewn across his face, tickling his nose. He scrunched his face up and shifted his head away, wriggling his nose in an effort to rid himself of the urge to sneeze. The girl made a soft noise, raspy and pained, and he knew she was awake. He looked down at her, watching the way her hand tightened around the fabric of his shirt.

"Maybe I dreamed it all," she whispered, clinging to him. "Maybe it was just a nightmare."

"Maybe," he agreed dubiously, without the heart to say otherwise.

"Surely, the Lord wouldn't be that cruel..." Severus barely managed to refrain from snorting in disdain. He opted for silence and a comforting squeeze instead, mindful of the way she trembled against him. "He wouldn't take her away, not like this. All the pain...all the suffering...the slow degradation of the human body...how could any father put their children through such misery?" A strangled noise squeezed past Severus' throat before he managed to squash it. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Perhaps we're meant to suffer," said Severus, words soft and gentle and thoughtful. "Perhaps we're meant to feel the harsh hand of this world, before we can appreciate the gentle caress of the next."

"That's stupid; why is there a hell, then, if that's the case?"

This time the boy did snort; loudly, in fact, the sound echoing through the quiet room, startling the girl beside him. "To scare children and non-conformists into behaving according to a religion's edicts," he replied, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. "To make people feel better about themselves when they do something nice for someone else. To incite fear in those who would walk away, who would fight back against everything wrong that's pushed down their throats since birth. No offence."

Lily made a noise he was unable to decipher and lifted her head, looking down at him with a sharp look, the corners of her eyes tight with thought and concentration. "I don't know whether to laugh or to smack you; I suppose it's my own fault for asking in the first place. Why are you so against religion...the idea of God, anyway?"

"I have my reasons," he muttered, avoiding the question as much as possible. A line of tension settled into his muscles at the subject matter. He told himself he was not nervous, even as he ran his hand through his hair, grimacing in slight discomfort as his fingers grazed the almost faded bruises from his head injury the previous week. The cut had healed and was nothing more than a small ridge of hardened skin now. His pride still smarted, however; he hated that he had fainted from the shock – and in front of Petunia, no less.

Severus was just lucky it had not been as serious as it could have been; he could not imagine Mr Evans dealt well with guilt. The man was such an emotional person that guilt might just crush him with little effort. At least Mrs Evans had been of rational mind enough to clean the wound; after all, rocks were hardly the cleanest items that could have been flung at him, covered in germs from the ground as they were. In all honesty, he should have gone to the Doctor – though he would probably have had quite a fit at the idea, had he awoken anywhere near such persons – if not the hospital to check for concussion, but he was not going to broach the subject any time soon; Lily was much more important than he was. That she had been taken care of was enough to appease him.

Mr Evans had kept an eye on him the entire night regardless, even though he had clearly been exhausted himself. Severus still remembered waking in the middle of the night, to see Mr Evans half-slumped in a chair – brought up to Lily's room from the kitchen – peering at him through the darkness, eyes glistening in the faint light that had drifted in through the gap in the curtains. Though mildly disturbing, it had been appreciated nevertheless. Lily had watched him all of the next day, too, eyes slightly wide, as if she expected him to just suddenly fall over at any moment – that had grated on his nerves, though. He did not need to be coddled; he would punch anyone who said otherwise because he was clearly fine, apart from some bruises and a wounded pride.

Severus shook his head fractionally and opened his mouth to suggest they change the subject, but before he could get a word out Lily's stomach grumbled loudly. Cheeks flushed in mortification, the girl almost fell out of the bed in her haste to turn her back on him. "Fool; sit down before you hurt yourself," groused Severus, rising up to follow after her, one hand reaching out to steady her.

"I'm fine," snapped Lily sharply, batting his hand away. "I'm not a bloody cripple!"

"You have a broken ankle!"

"Only one! My other ankle is fine; his name is John, you know – after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's John Watson. The broken one is Sherlock Holmes, because he fell to his death at Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland; I thought it was fitting, since my ankle fell wrong and broke, but will end up being fine and John'll be happy again."

The look Severus gave her might have been considered fond on any other boy. "You're a lunatic."

Lily huffed and folded her arms across her chest obstinately. "It takes one to know one." After a moment she looked around, eyebrows knitting together in a small frown. "Where are my blasted crutches...?" she demanded, swaying slightly as she tried to peer past him.

"On the floor, probably; wait here, I'll fetch them for you." He gave her a stern glare before whirling around. Stomping away from her, he cast his gaze about the room. As he suspected, the crutches were strewn across the floor by the fireplace. Grumbling under his breath, he retrieved them and brought them back to the temporary half-cripple. The look she threw at him indicated she knew exactly what he was thinking; Severus offered her a cheeky grin in return, earning himself a reluctant smile and a headshake. "Now, go on; go change your clothes and eat before you fall over."

The girl hesitated, white teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "Aren't you coming?" Her voice was soft, not quite trembling but most certainly on the verge of doing so, as if she were afraid to break the momentary peace that had fallen upon her.

"I'll meet you in the dining room," he promised, nodding his head. "You'll be fine."

"But I –"

"You'll be fine," said Severus again, more firmly this time. He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly; Lily seemed to take strength from it, pulling herself up to her full height, jaw tightening fractionally. She nodded her head, once, and used her crutches to leave the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, he began changing his clothes. He dressed himself in one of the new outfits that Mr Evans had purchased for him in preparation for the trip; looking in the mirror as he combed his hair he thought he would never look as smart as any other boy when dressed in these handsome clothes. They were wasted on him.

Mouth tightening at that realisation, Severus turned away from the mirror in disgust. He was tempted to rip it all back off and hide it away in his bag...but the idea of upsetting Mr Evans like that was not one worth considering. Sighing, he brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder and slipped out of the room, heading downstairs in silence. When he arrived outside the door he found Lily waiting for him, the fingers of one hand struggling to push down into the cast, to relieve the itch she was undoubtedly suffering. The hem of her skirt was hiked up in an unladylike manner.

Severus averted his gaze and gave her a sense of privacy as she righted herself, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having been caught red handed. She rubbed her hands down her skirt as if she were smoothing out wrinkles – which were as imaginary as the lint had been. "It's about time," Lily complained, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Nothing was stopping you from going in," answered Severus, pointedly. Her gaze flicked sideways; it was clear she would prefer to have him there. "Well, come on, then." He moved past her and opened the door, ignoring the way she stammered almost nervously behind him. Entering the dining room, they found everyone had already gathered, dining in strained silence. Mr Hemmingway kept shooting suspicious glances at his wife and questioning ones at his brother-in-law; neither of them offered up an explanation, though Mr Evans looked as though the information was on the tip of his tongue, trying its hardest to burst out of him, regardless of the fact that Mrs Hemmingway was digging her heel in to his foot under the table.

Petunia was as white as a sheet, save for two dark smudges of colour beneath her eyes. Her hand trembled as she raised a spoonful of porridge to her mouth, almost slopping it onto herself in the process. It was clear she had hardly slept that night. Mr Hemmingway took one look at Lily, who could hardly look at him without flinching, and his suspicion increased, eyes narrowing slightly behind his spectacles. Severus ran a nervous finger across his bottom lip, wondering what he should do; he knew it was not his place to inform the man that there was something wrong with his wife, but neither could he stomach the idea of him remaining in the dark about it. It was a no-win situation, if ever he saw one.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that the situation – the family dynamic, even – was quite like a house of cards. Movements had to be carefully orchestrated, precise; otherwise, it would come crashing down around their heads and crush them all with the force of it. He glanced at Lily, who was shaking where she stood, biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Severus touched her arm gently and she glanced at him, eyes burning with silent gratitude. A tremulous smile danced across her mouth. He stayed with her every step of the way as she took her seat, sitting down beside her.

A tureen sat in the centre of the table, carrying just enough porridge for the pair of them to have a full bowl each; Severus did the honours, earning himself a brighter smile from his friend. Humming almost inaudibly, he focused on the meal in front of him, telling himself the Evans' family matters were none of his business and he should stay out of it. But when he considered the way Lily had wept in his arms the night before...when he considered how nice a man Mr Hemmingway was...it was just inconceivable that he had still not been informed of whatever grave illness was claiming more of his wife's life with every moment that passed.

The situation left a sour taste in his mouth; he fought to keep the grimace from his face, not wanting to accidently offend whoever had cooked breakfast. During the meal, he stole glances at Mrs Hemmingway, who was contemplating her glass of orange juice so fiercely it seemed she was trying to cause it to spontaneously combust. He briefly wondered if he should feel bad that he was glad she was struggling through this moral dilemma...

To Be Continued

Well, well, well; what are you going to do about this, Mrs Hemmingway? Will you tell him?

Feel free to let me know what you think, guys!