"Would you rather have a pet dragon or a pet basilisk?" Mattheo asked with a mouth full of pastry.

The table of third-years echoed "dragon" while Evelyn thought to herself that the Basilisk—which Tom had finally taken her to see last after the Death Eater was dead and disposed of—was a rather well-behaved beast. She, at least, would listen to orders and be less likely to burn her to death.

However, if Evelyn had to sit at this table for much longer, listening to thirteen-year-olds debate hypothetical questions like their lives depended on it before betting each other to do the most asinine of tasks, she might have taken the dragon.

This aptly described breakfast with Mattheo.

"Oh! I've got one. Would you rather be burned to death by a dragon or forced to spend an hour at Weaselbee's hovel?"

A chorus of "Ew's" sounded around the table before the boys all agreed that the dragon was a better alternative than a minute with the blood traitors. Evelyn didn't really know the Weasley's that well. Charlie was four years older than her and while she thought he was more handsome than his siblings, she didn't particularly care for his existence either way. Percy was in her year and he was the most insufferable git she had ever encountered. So clearly, she barely knew the family nor did she care to.

"I've got one," a voice in her head purred. "Would you, my darling, rather be fucked in the Chamber or our bedroom upon your return?" She didn't miss the way he called it "our" bedroom; he'd been calling it that ever since he caught the follower last week. Evelyn also didn't miss the way her thighs clenched together just from the sound of his voice.

"How am I going to go a week without you?" A week. A long, awful, horrible week without him. A week of being forced to be with her grandparents again—because staying at Hogwarts made them look bad and appearances were more important than anything. A week of avoiding her grandmother's eyes in hopes that she could avoid the beater's stick for just one night out of seven. A week of being surrounded by holiday celebrations that she couldn't partake in, reminded of the fact that she never had a real family.

Tom and Mattheo were spending the holidays at his apartment in London. Mattheo tried to invite her but Evelyn shot him down quickly. Her grandparents would never escape an opportunity to get their granddaughter in their claws and remind her of just how worthless she was. To even ask to go to London would mean risking a night of pain and she wasn't ready to take that risk, not yet.

"You forget, Little Dove, that I can still meet you in your dreams. I just hope that you're prepared for very long nights."

"I might have to change my sheets when I wake up." Because they would be soaked if she spent a night with Tom, even if that night was really only in her head.

The thought saddened her. She wasn't ready to leave Tom and yet there she was, eating breakfast with her packed trunk beside her, waiting to go back to the train. Her grandparents would receive her at King's Cross station with a stern look and sharp grip on her forearm before apparating her back to the estate where she would spend seven days avoiding their eyes. The good news? It had been snowing nonstop for three days so she wouldn't be able to escape and go to her father's grave.

"Darling," Tom cooed, seeming to know where her thoughts had drifted off. "You will be fine. I have vowed to protect you, have I not? So relax and enjoy the snowy holiday. I will see you in a week when we can go to the little dance and fuck for hours afterward."

"Is that a promise?"

"It's a threat."

She smiled to herself and looked down at her half-eaten breakfast.

"Evie, are you sure you don't want to come to London? You can stay in my room—"

"Like hell you'll stay in another man's room," Tom growled as if that other "man" wasn't her thirteen-year-old cousin.

"—and we can order takeout from the muggle Chinese restaurant across the street. Or pizza! Or maybe we can cook—"

Evelyn snorted. "I'm an awful cook, Mattheo, but thanks for the offer. Unfortunately, I'm expected back at the house for the holiday." House. Because Black Manor had never been a home.

Mattheo pouted. "But Tom will be awful for a whole week without you. He'll just sit in the corner and be miserable and grumpy—OW! SEE! This is exactly what I'm talking about!" he shouted as he rubbed his neck. "He'll be doing this to me all week without you to distract him."

She had to stifle a laugh. It was hard not to laugh in Mattheo's presence, especially when he was constantly doing things to either get himself jinxed by his older brother or taunted by his friends.

"Have a good Christmas, Matt," she said with a grin before tightening her coat, pinching his cheek as she stood.

He gave her a soft but slightly sad smile. "Bye, Evie. Have a good holiday."

But she knew she wouldn't.

. . .

Evelyn should have known from the moment she arrived at King's Cross Station only to find Kreacher instead of her grandmother that something was wrong. But she was naive and hopeful and so she assumed (incorrectly) that nothing was wrong.

Only to find out when she got home that everything was wrong.

Her grandmother didn't even say hello before she smacked her on the cheek. The ring on her hand bit into her jaw and her ears rang from how hard the slap hit. But Evelyn didn't move, didn't clutch her aching head. Moving meant drawing too much attention to herself and she couldn't risk it. The only reaction she allowed herself was to put up mental shields between her and Tom. He didn't need to sense her pain and she had no doubt that this week would entail a lot of it.

"That," her grandmother hissed, "is for the reports I've received that you've been spending time with some boy instead of focusing on your studies.You shame us. You shame me, you shame your grandfather, you shame your father's grave!" Slap. "Some nerve you have, assuming that you can ever live up to his name." Another slap.

"Now..." Her grandmother sighed and smoothed her thick black dress. There were ruffles at the edges, making her look even older than she was. The woman's black hair was pulled into a tight bun that emphasized the grey streaks in the strands. Her face was hard and devoid of makeup. She looked just as terrifying as Evelyn remembered. "Go to your chambers. If I receive any word that you've left them before Christmas morning, you'll be getting much worse than a little tap."

"Yes, ma'am," Evelyn mumbled. She cast her eyes down to the floor so the woman didn't see the tears in her eyes. Weakness would only make it worse.

She kept her eyes down while Wahlburga's footsteps proceeded to become farther and farther away, no doubt disappearing to whatever corner of hell she came from. Still, she did not move. Fear was more binding than any shackles.

"Come on, Mistress Evelyn," Kreacher said, appearing before her. He gestured to the staircase at the edge of the foyer—a grand staircase made of black mahogany wood with windows that spanned three stories behind. It was a large room, the iron chandelier dangling like knives waiting to drop. Evelyn always thought that the house was very beautiful but it was cold, poorly decorated, and full of bad memories.

Kreacher cleared his throat. "Kreacher will show Mistress Evelyn to her chambers."

"Yes," she mumbled, looking around at the room for one last time before she spent the next three days locked inside. "Thank you, Kreacher."

He led her up the dark stairs down to the west wing of the estate. It was far away from her grandparents's quarters, so far that she wondered if it was meant for servants before they had a House Elf to do most of the work. But even the distance couldn't save her.

"Do not worry, Mistress Evelyn," Kreacher grumbled. Though his voice was always unpleasant and his face always drawn in a sour look, he was kind to her, just like he was kind to her father. "Kreacher will try to bring the Mistress some food from the table. And Mistress can watch the snow far away from the devil woman."

She smiled softly and he tried to smile back. They were both lies. They both knew that nothing would keep her safe from Wahlburga, not as long as she existed and her father—their pride and joy—did not.

Evelyn walked into the room and noted as Kreacher clicked the lock behind her. She didn't blame him; he was following orders just as much as she was. The bedroom was plain and devoid of any life. No color, no artwork, nothing except for a sad bed with one pillow and a cream-colored duvet. A minuscule bookshelf sat at one edge of the room while a piano sat in the corner. It fell out of tune years ago and Wahlburga hated to hear it so it remained untouched.

The only sign that anyone lived here at all was the picture on the nightstand. A picture of Regulus. Her father, smiling at her as she slept, occasionally waving to the frame. When she was younger, she used to wave back. Now, she tried not to look at it.

He looked so much like her. It was painful sometimes to be reminded of the fact that he had died a month before she was born, never knowing her mother was even pregnant with her in the first place.

Regulus's black hair was much curlier than her own, whipping around his face in the wind of the picture. He had on a sly grin that suggested he knew more than he let on but his grey eyes were sad and devoid of life. She recognized the sadness on his face. She saw it on her own whenever she looked in the mirror.

The picture was taken not long before he died.

Evelyn sighed and lay on the bed. It was a hard mattress, indeed meant for servants. Sometimes she wondered if the floor would be better. She would never know—the blankets on the cot at least provided some protection from her grandmother. If she wasn't seen, she had a chance of being left alone.

Snow was falling outside the window, just as it had been for days. It ruined any chance she had of going to her father's grave. Wahlburga didn't know she could apparate but Evelyn wasn't strong enough to go long distances. She could only do short bursts and those would undoubtedly leave tracks in the snow. No, it was too risky.

This room was to be her prison for the next three days.

. . .

Two and a half days later, it was still snowing. Pristine white flakes danced along the edge of her window, though now she could hardly see them. It was dark and the moon was gone, hidden behind the thick clouds of snowstorms that continued to barrel through the countryside. Even the lake was now frozen over.

Evelyn placed her forehead against the glass and allowed the cool glass to comfort her. The hard, chilly panes reminded her of the man she was desperately missing.

She let him back in her mind once the stinging in her cheek was gone, though she still didn't allow him to read her thoughts. If he did, he'd detect the hunger in her stomach from days without eating (Kreacher wasn't successful in sneaking her food) or the lingering fear that her grandmother would show up before the three days were up.

Tom spent the nights meeting her in her dreams, making love to her in his chambers at Hogwarts before spending the rest of the time reading poetry or gothic short stories to her. She loved to lay on his chest and watch his lips move as he recited Poe to her. It didn't matter that it wasn't real. It was a distraction from the prison she was in and that was enough for her, real or not.

Now, it was Christmas Eve night and Evelyn was beginning to think that she would be lucky. Perhaps her grandmother wouldn't seek her out. Perhaps she could go a few days without pain. Perhaps—

Perhaps nothing. As Evelyn sat against the window, she heard the sound of the lock begin to click! The door creaked slowly as it opened. Wahlburga reeked of firewhisky, something she rarely partook in as it would bring out her anger even more than usual.

Evelyn felt her blood run cold as footsteps began to slowly walk into the room. Then, there was the sound of a beater's club against a bony hand. Finally, a low chuckle.

The next sounds were as follows:

The cracking sound of a club against the side of her skull.

This was followed by a ringing sensation in her ears as her vision blurred, snowflakes dancing along the edges of her sight.

Then, there was the sound of a man's laughter before he, too, grabbed the club, bringing it down on her ribs over and over and over until she could no longer feel below her legs.

A resounding slap echoed through the empty bedroom followed by a cackle.

Then, the resounding clang! of piano keys as a limp body was thrown against it.

There were curses of her existence, of her father's death, of her eyes that looked too much like his.

And there was the little pitter-patter sound of snowflakes hitting the windowpane.

Finally, there was the sound of a scream that sounded so distant, that she could hardly believe it was hers. The scream followed her into the dark oblivion.

But one silent sound through it all was the sound of a deep, harsh growl in her mind, of a voice that vowed vengeance even as she slipped unconscious, the beating never stopping even while her world went back.

"Little Dove."

. . .

When Evelyn next awoke, she was standing near the lake in front of the manor. Only now, the lake wasn't frozen. It was warm and thawed and bright against the once-dull landscape. Little flowers popped up along the edges, a sign of the upcoming spring.

Her head no longer hurt. Her ribs no longer ached. Her eyes no longer stung with unshed tears.

This was a magnificent lake, a wondrous lake.

But it was a dream.

How did she know it was a dream? Because her father was standing on the shore with a grin on his face that matched the one in his picture. "My daughter," he called in a voice that was completely surprising and yet entirely perfect. It wasn't as deep as she imagined nor as mature, though that could have been because he was hardly any older than she was now.

And when Regulus held open his arms, she ran. Laughter escaped her lips as she barrelled toward the water. "Father!" she screamed. Because he was here. He was finally here, even if it was a dream. Tom had taught her that dreams could be entirely real. Perhaps their souls were finally connecting, perhaps they could finally be together, perhaps

Little Dove.

Evelyn looked toward the sky for the source of the voice but she didn't see it. Too distracted by her father's presence—her father! Her real, living, breathing father!—she ignored it.

When she finally reached him, Regulus's arms wrapped around her tightly. "I missed you so much, my little—"

Little Dove.

Regulus looked shocked at the voice before his eyes hardened. "Listen to me, baby girl, I don't have long with you."

Her heart broke. "But I want to be with you! I don't want to be here anymore." She pointed back at the manor, the manor she had only just escaped after days of isolation.

Her father smiled softly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ears. "You can come with me, my child. All you have to do is walk out onto the lake."

The lake? She turned to look at it, noticing now how different it seemed in her dream. Before, it was murky and dark, like the water might wrap around her and drown her at any moment. But now it looked calm, refreshing, and bright. Like it was calling her name.

Little Dove!

Evelyn turned back to her father. "Alright. Alright, I'll go with you."

He smiled and walked out onto the water before holding out his hand. "Come on," he whispered, his eyes now bright. "Come join me."

And she realized then that she wanted to feel bright again too, she wanted to feel whole. She wanted to be with her father for eternity.

So Evelyn walked out to the water. But before she could step in, before she could grab Regulus's hand, darkness yanked her back. Shadows wrapped around her body and pulled. They pulled like they had never pulled before, dragging her back to the manor while she desperately clawed to escape. But the darkness was firm. Soon, Regulus and the lake faded to nothing but mist.

My Little Dove. Come back to me, the darkness seemed to say.

"No!" she cried, reaching out toward where her father once was. Tears filled her eyes from all that she had lost. "No, please! I want to go with him! I want my daddy!"

I'm sorry, Little Dove.

That was the last thing she heard before the dream Evelyn, too, was pulled into a world of darkness.

Happy Tuesday! Tomorrow I'm not in the office so you will definitely see an update (and I've already started writing it because it is just *that* good). Hope you liked this one and, as always, thank you for the love xx