Title: Blue October, Volume One – Chapter Thirty-Four.

Author: Woodland Goddess.

Rated: M

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed this story so far; I hope it still meets your approval. For anyone who loves Mr Evans as much as I do, this chapter will definitely hurt. I actually listened to Plumb's Cut when writing this; it was morbidly inspiring for the scenes held in this chapter. Funnily enough, I had the song selected as Severus' theme song during his early teen years which will be explored in Volume Two.

Chapter Thirty-Four: A Brother's Lament

Severus walked at Lily's side, his hand clutched in her vice-like grip, as the sombre procession followed the dark wood coffin through West Norwood Cemetery, one of the Magnificent Seven, near Knights' Hill. The Evans family had had a plot there since it had opened during the Victorian Era. Mr Evans' father had been buried there upon his death – he had taken a tumble down the stairs in the middle of the night; his body had not been discovered until the following morning – a mere few weeks before Mrs Evans had learned she was pregnant with an unborn Lily. The man, Richard, had been buried alongside his wife – Martha, who had passed away when bringing her infant son in to the world.

The steps taken, by the pallbearers and mourners alike, were measured, timed nearly to perfection. It was almost unnerving in the young Wizard's opinion, as he was unused to walking in synchronisation with so many people at once. Dark eyes discreetly glanced around, hidden by long lashes. Mrs Evans had her arm around Petunia, who was deathly pale and trembling, the spark of life gone from her eyes. The others were men and women Severus had never seen before; he had to assume they were Mr Hemmingway's relatives and friends of him and his late wife. One old crone was shooting him a curious, if slightly displeased, look every few moments.

Ignoring her, Severus allowed his gaze to continue unhindered. Mr Hemmingway and Mr Evans were up ahead, shoulders bearing the weight of the back of the coffin, their hands white-knuckled around the handles. One arm was extended by each, towards the other; both to help ease the burden they bore and as a symbol of their continued brotherhood. The sight elicited a dull ache in Severus' heart. He dropped his gaze to the path beneath his feet and watched his shadow fall across the ground, his ever-silent companion.

The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating, but that was only to be expected. Cemeteries were not cheerful; they were laden with the lingering energies of the dead. Muggles might not be able to become ghosts upon their passing but sometimes...their presence could still be felt, particularly when the energies were gathered in large concentrations. The energies pressed in on him, clawed at him like hands grasping in the darkness. Severus shuddered violently and for a time they left him be, seemingly content.

Lily's hand tightened around his as the procession neared the waiting plot. It was plain that she felt the touch of the dead, too, perhaps more acutely than he had. The rectangular hole in the ground looked menacing and hungry; a monster waiting to devour its prey. The gravestone, when they reached it, bore several names. Richard William Evans; June 3rd, 1899 – April 12th, 1959. Martha Catherine Evans, Née Sparrow; May 23rd, 1900 – December 26th, 1932. Pearl Gladys Evans; September 29th, 1895 – February 2nd, 1941. Harriet Lily Evans; December 1st, 1907 – December 3rd, 1907. Earnest David Evans; January 9th, 1901 – July 31st, 1918.

There were three more names, along with their respective dates, but the engravings were far too faded to be read with any ease. The priest had already arrived, his black raiment billowing in the wind. His wispy white hair curled around his ears. Severus felt immediately uncomfortable in his presence and inched away from him, shoulders slightly hunched, though he kept his hand interlocked with Lily's. He focused his attention on the gravestone, unable to stop the thought that flashed across his mind: Earnest Evans? Sounds like the beginning of a horrendous joke.

The pallbearers eased the coffin down slowly upon the grass at the graveside, where three sturdy black leather straps were laid in waiting. Face pale, Mr Evans stepped back with alarming haste, stricken green eyes threatening to burn holes in the dark wood. His wife reached for him immediately, slipping an arm around his waist as his arm squeezed around her shoulders. Gathered around the graveside, the mourners watched as the priest said a few words and conducted the final part of the service, blessing the coffin with sprinklings of holy water.

Choked sobs echoed throughout the gathering, some louder than others. One woman, who looked to be no older than Mrs Hemmingway had been, was sobbing viciously in to the arms of her husband. Severus knew, without a doubt, that the woman had been a dear friend of the deceased. He glanced sideways at Lily, the ache in his chest doubling at the thought of losing his own friend. The undertakers stepped forward and grasped the straps. With a heave the coffin was lifted and lowered in to the pit.

Mr Hemmingway sank to his knees with a suddenness that alarmed Severus so much he almost stepped forward towards him. His spine curved as he wept openly, face buried in his hands, the sounds guttural and heart-wrenching, setting Severus' soul alight with quiet sympathy. The man had no children to speak of, no one for whom he would be forced to remain strong. Perhaps that was the most tragic of all. Mr Evans stepped closer to him, his hand finding his brother-in-law's shoulder, squeezing tightly. A shudder ran down the length of Mr Evans' spine and his jaw twitched. A single tear slipped down his cheek, his green eyes drifting closed against the pain he struggled to contain.

Lily turned and buried herself in Severus' chest, hiding her face in his bony shoulder. His hand found her back, heavy and warm between her shoulder blades. Severus leaned his head down and rested his chin against her hair. Dark eyes watched Mr Evans with a quiet sadness and commiseration. The mourners began dispersing slowly, in groups of twos and threes, but the Evans family and their grief-torn brother-in-law lingered. They said their final goodbyes in silence, clinging to their remaining loved ones.

In the end it was time to leave; the funeral car was idling, waiting for them. Mr Evans had to pull Mr Hemmingway away, his arm holding him up with unimaginable strength. The man did not want to leave, did not want to turn his back on his wife's final resting place, but that was understandable. Time passed by in snatches of memorable moments; Mr Hemmingway standing up, spine rigid, at the funeral table, glass raised, toasting his late wife; an odd mixture of laughter and tears as anecdotes were exchanged between family and friends; the smell of brandy on Mr Hemmingway's breath as his brother-in-law bundled him in to one of the taxis that would bring them back to Hemmingway House.

The Manor House was subdued, the atmosphere nowhere near as pleasant as it had been when Severus had visited during the summer – that was certainly saying something, considering the tension that had surfaced during those few days. Mr Evans helped his brother-in-law stagger up the stairs, where the intoxicated man promptly passed out in a drunken stupor across the king-sized bed in the master bedroom. Severus, left alone by Lily in favour of her mother and sister's company, sat in the kitchen. Somewhere above his head boots dropped heavily to the floor, their dull thud echoing through the ceiling.

Obsidian eyes fixed upon the floor, their depths thoughtful. The room was quiet, the silence pressing on him like a blanket. Though Severus could appreciate the gift of solitude at times, he wanted nothing more than to be with someone in that moment. He wanted to do something, be useful. Just as he was contemplating his inherent uselessness footsteps sounded on the staircase, descending, growing louder and nearer with every passing moment. The door opened, revealing Lily's father.

The man startled in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. Familiar eyes lit up in surprise, momentarily eradicating the grief but that haunted look returned as quickly as it had left. Mr Evans glanced away and then back at him. "I thought you'd have left for home by now." His chest heaved in a long, weary sigh. "Well, it's too late to send you home, now, I suppose." Running a hand through his hair, Mr Evans turned away and made to leave. "Go to bed, Severus." The words were quiet, tired and without the usual firm tone.

Hesitating only briefly, Severus complied and headed upstairs as Mr Evans slipped in to the living room, the door closing gently behind him. Once he was hidden away in the guest room he had used the last time, the young Wizard undressed until only his undergarments remained. He climbed into bed and settled under the covers. Unable to rid his mind of pained eyes and the sound of choked sobs, it took him some time to fall asleep. However, his slumber was short-lived; a low crash woke him.

Severus jerked upwards in bed, gasping. Another crash followed the first. Heart pounding in his chest, he slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he slipped out of the room and crept down through the house, following those steadily increasing crashes. His heart leapt in to his throat and lodged there when he realised the sounds were coming from the living room. Suddenly the crashing ceased; instead the sound of choked sobbing reached his ears. Mouth dry and breathing difficult, Severus reached for the handle and opened the door slowly.

It opened on silent hinges. Almost dropping his wand, he gaped at the sight that met him. It seemed, in a fit of grief-stricken rage, Mr Evans had flung photo-frames and ornaments across the room...only to stumble forward in remorse, falling to his knees, hands frantically scrabbling through glass and porcelain in search of a photograph of his sister. Blood dripped steadily to the floor from a laceration on his palm, staining his trousers and the carpet. Mr Evans fell back on his haunches, his good hand wrapped protectively around a photograph, pressing it to his chest.

The man's shoulders shook; tears slipped down a crumpled face. He did not even seem to be aware that the door was open, that there was a witness to his grief. Severus hesitated in the doorway, knowing he ought to turn away, to disappear upstairs and leave Mr Evans' dignity intact. It seemed impossible, however; how could he leave Lily's father in such pain? It was...wrong...almost cruel. The two conflicting parts of Severus' mind waged war with one another as he stood there, dark eyes wide as he watched Mr Evans shatter.

Before he knew it he was crossing the room, the door closing in his wake without his touch. Severus embraced Mr Evans from behind, resting his head against his shoulder. The man went rigid, a choked gasp escaping through his clogged throat. He tried to bat his hands away but the young Wizard held on, arms tightening around Mr Evans' torso. A shudder ran through him and Severus' hand tightened its grip on the fabric of his shirt. "Let it out, Harry; it's not unacceptable to let it out. I would not think less of you, nor would anyone else."

Just like that, as though that were the one thing his soul had needed, Mr Evans sagged; his spine curved slightly, shoulders hunching. The man hung his head and tears slid down his cheeks, dropping down onto Severus' hands. The boy held him through his tremors, through his choked sobs and tears until he seemed to run out of them. He slipped around him and caught Mr Evans' injured hand with his own, turning it over gently. Dark eyes flicked tentatively towards his face, eyeing the red streaks on his cheeks that were so stark in contrast to the ghostly pale that had settled elsewhere upon his flesh.

Looking down at Mr Evans' hand, Severus raised his wand and aimed the tip at the gash. He murmured an incantation to clean the injury – something he had heard his mother use on occasion – and funnelled his Magic through the intent of his mind, allowing it to guide the spell-work. The man made a surprised, slightly pained noise, his hand twitching in Severus' grasp. He followed the first spell with another, though the second was based on pure intent and a strong sense of affection rather than an incantation.

A golden light filled with warmth bathed the man's hand. Slowly, the skin knitted back together, smoothing out. Soon Mr Evans' palm showed no evidence that it had been hurt. When he looked up Mr Evans was staring at him with red-rimmed eyes, green irises alight with pure wonder, despite the lingering weariness in his expression. Severus flushed scarlet and dropped the man's hand, opting instead to focus his attention on the blood. Eyes watched him as he banished the blood with a focused thought and a surge of controlled Magic.

"Could you have saved her?" The question was sudden, hushed, but the tone was filled with pleading.

Severus almost dropped his wand at the question. Startled, he turned wide eyes on Mr Evans. "What?"

"If you were older, more trained, could you have saved her?" Green eyes burned with a quiet desperation, an unbridled need to know.

"No," the boy croaked in response, his throat suddenly too tight. He averted his gaze, unable to watch Mr Evans' face fall. "Wizards don't...Wizards have never suffered from cancer. So, we've never needed to develop a method to deal with it. I'm...I'm sorry. Even if we did...the result would never be shared with people like your sister. There are laws against it – some think the laws have merit, others don't. It's a complicated matter in our world, one that is argued over constantly."

"What's complicated about wanting to save peoples' lives?"

Dark eyes flicked in Mr Evans' direction. The man's expression was hard, unflinching; his eyes carried a touch of anger. "Well," Severus answered slowly, his mind whirring over thoughts and speculations, "let's look at it hypothetically. If there was no Statute of Secrecy separating our worlds from each other, Muggles – like yourself – might assume that Magic can do anything, can solve any problem they might have without pausing to consider that Magic is only as innovative as the people using it. What happens when our Healers fail in treating someone of political importance and the Muggles think it deliberate?"

Anger surged in Mr Evans' expression, but it was not towards Severus; the boy knew that much. Realisation washed over his face immediately afterwards. "No one wants history to repeat itself," the man muttered, swallowing thickly as he referenced that shameful period of the worlds' joint history.

"Exactly," Severus answered. The pair of them fell silent then, each of them contemplating the significance of their discussion. The boy turned towards the vast and haphazard array of broken ceramic and glass. He waved his wand, funnelling his Magic and intent through it, guiding the mess to do his will. The ornaments and photo-frames began mending, flying back to their original locations, settling down gently. Mr Evans watched intently, that quiet wonder returning slowly.

"Can Lily do that?"

"Yes."

"Even though she doesn't have a Magic wand?"

An amused snort escaped the young Wizard. "The wand is just an instrument, Harry. Equate the wand with a prodigy's piano; the ability is already there, the instrument is simply a means to funnel and focus the gift. It's also a method for the government to keep an eye on us, particularly underage Wizards like myself. Even now they're writing an advisory letter to my mother regarding my use of Magic in the presence of a Muggle; it's very illegal but as I haven't attended school yet they'll assume it was an accident."

A devilish glint erupted in Mr Evans' eyes. "But it wasn't an accident."

"No." Severus smirked smugly. "Lily and I have been practicing since before my birthday this past year. We'll be a step ahead of the others when we finally get to Hogwarts – that's the school we'll be attending; it's up in Scotland." Mr Evans' eyes flickered with something worrisome but it was gone before he could decipher it. "Hogwarts is one of the best Wizarding schools in the world; we're very privileged to be in its catchment area. No doubt a representative from the school will come down and discuss it with you in the coming months, since Lily will be old enough to attend at the end of January."

A nod was the only response. Mr Evans rose from the floor, his knees cracking. The sound elicited a flinch from Severus. The man rested his hand briefly upon his shoulder, the touch soft and warm and comforting. Mr Evans crossed the room and settled himself upon the couch, taking a moment to gaze down at the photograph that still remained clutched in his hand. Hesitating for only a moment, Severus joined him. The silence stretched between them but it was not uncomfortable.

Severus chanced a glance at the photograph, surprised to find it tilted in his direction, inviting him to look; it was of Mr Evans and his sister. The two of them were young, younger than he had ever seen either of them. Mr Evans was just a boy in the photograph – he could not possibly have been older than ten – and clad in a slightly over-sized flannel shirt and shorts with suspenders. His socks reached his knees and his feet were hidden by black leather shoes with buckles. Though a smile touched his mouth, there was a haunted look in his eyes that the photograph conveyed with alarming clarity.

Beside the boy was Amelia Evans, almost old enough to be considered a woman, her hair falling in delicate waves to her shoulders. She was clad in a conservative dress that came to just below her knees, the fabric hugging her hips lightly. She, too, bore the same haunted look as her younger brother. "When was this taken?" the young Wizard asked curiously, a tentative hand reaching out to brush against the cool surface.

"During the Second World War," answered Mr Evans, the words quiet and the tone nostalgic. "My father had re-enlisted almost before the war broke out; it was as if he could sense the approaching storm in the same manner that Churchill could." A soft smile graced the man's mouth as his own fingers brushed across the photograph, caressing his sister's face. "After he enlisted my aunt, Pearl, took us in to her home. She'd claimed it was to ease my father's stress, but Amy and I...we knew better; it was because she was lonely. She'd had no husband or children of her own and hungered for the company."

A dull ache settled in Severus' chest. "Then the bombings started." Mr Evans' voice had become nothing more than a horrified whisper, his hand clenching above the photograph. "I remember...everything; the sirens, the whistling of bombs through the air, the flashes of white and red and yellow against the sky and the earth, the screams of children and adults alike." The man's voice cracked, his throat closing up against the surge of memories. Quietly horrified on Mr Evans' behalf, Severus caught his hand and squeezed.

"I remember running, tripping over my feet as my sister dragged me down to the cellar, her hand like a vice around mine, my aunt ahead of us. I remember the terror on their faces, pounding in my own chest. I remember thinking: this is it; I'm going to die here, I'm going to die and I'll never see my father again. But I didn't. Somehow, despite everything, I didn't die. The government began a city-wide evacuation of the children. My aunt took us to the train station and kissed us and hugged us goodbye with such desperation that I started to cry."

Mr Evans ran his hand across his face; Severus noted the trace of tears on his fingers. "We were sent out to a small village in the middle of nowhere on the English coast. An exceptionally eccentric man named Bagshot took us in." The young Wizard startled, recognising the surname immediately. Lily's father caught his reaction and a smile tugged at his mouth, despite the way his green eyes quivered in their sockets. "Looking back, I'm starting to wonder if he wasn't a Wizard like that man, Fenwick, we met at Halloween; he was strange, too."

"Oh, he was one alright," he answered smugly, a smile tugging at his own mouth. "Bagshot's a very famous household name in our world." The smile they shared deepened. Mr Evans reached out and ruffled Severus' hair, the familiar affectionate action sending a burst of warmth through the young Wizard. With only slight prompting from him, Lily's father continued talking about his childhood, about his sister and his father. Despite the tears and pained expressions it brought, it seemed the man needed this, needed to talk in the wake of his lament...

To Be Continued.

Don't mind me; I'm just sitting here, casually crying.

For anyone interested; Amelia met Roger in that village – he had been taken in by a family living in a house near Bagshot's.

Feel free to let me know what you think! I am all ears.