The First Signs of a Storm - Prisoner of Azkaban - Book 1

Chapter 40: The First Signs of a Storm

Evan

Shivers shook Evan's naked body as he lay unconscious on the hard stone floor of Rosier Retreat, chest heaving and panting heavily as his grandmother lifted the Cruciatus Curse from him for the umpteenth time that day. His skin was burning - even more so than usual - as he silently pleaded with the higher powers, to spare him of this torture. If only for a moment.
"Did you manifest, boy?" Demanded Rosie, lowering her wand, moving to take a seat in the high backed arm chair by the un-warm green fire.
     Evan didn't answer at first, too exhausted from the last few days of unrelenting fury. Every inch of him was on fire.
"Speak!" Rosie hissed as Evan attempted to haul himself into a sitting position.
"Yes." He wheezed, hunching over, clutching his stomach. "On - my birthday."
"Stand up." She demanded, pointing her wand at him again and making him get to his feet, his full weight on his weak legs as he was bared for her to see. Stark-bollock naked, bruised and weak.
She walked around him, inspecting him closely in a way a grandmother should never do to her grandson.
"Very good. That means your father didn't lie about your mother." She said shortly. "And you haven't rut yet?" She searched his face for an answer.
Evan avoided her eye and continued looking at the floor before shaking his head. He didn't know what she would do to him next.
"Go and clean yourself up. Get dressed. We have dinner with the Lestrange's tonight."
Evan almost passed out from her dramatic change in attitude. Or it may have been dehydration. Nevertheless, he didn't need to be told twice to leave her presence, stumbling and staggering from the empty Ball room, to the uppermost corner of the attic, where he'd hidden himself away from all those whose blood him to them.

Two days he had been back at the place he feared the most. Two days and he was already feeling the chains slipping on his mind. As he always did when out of Hogwarts. Two days and he was almost unrecognisable to the wizard he was when he was at school.
The tall, well-manner Slytherin Chaser - as he'd been dubbed by those witches who'd tried to seduce him. But he was nothing. Not in this place at least. The very walls felt dirty and tainted. He wanted to escape. But where would he go? Who did he know?

His thoughts stopped briefly on his Professor Snape, whose checkered past was frowned upon in the Rosier residence, for his forsaking of the 'noble ways' as they called it. Couldn't Severus Snape of all people, be the one to help Evan? Or even, simply point him in the right direction of breaking free of the bars of his unhappy life.
After all, it was Snape who renounced his old ways and sided with Dumbledore. For reasons unknown, but renouncement nonetheless. Maybe Evan could do the same?
Another shiver cut off that thought.
He couldn't do that. He could never do that. The risk of it would be enough to sign his own death certificate.
Evan collapsed onto his bed, the house and wealth worthy of his blood status. But Evan would never feel worthy among these people. But who could understand the way he felt?

Evan froze, sitting bolt upright, forgetting his tiredness.
Sirius Black.
Sirius Black would understand.
Evan knew it was crazy to even think of the escaped mass murderer, who - according to the Daily Prophet - was a key pawn in the Dark Lord's war.
That had made Evan laugh in utter disbelief at the audacity of the Prophet, for reporting so many lies. Of course, Evan did not pretend to have any solid evidence or knowledge of the inner workings of Lord Voldemort's most trusted circle.
But his father had, meaning his uncle had. And, more often than not in the weeks leading up to the start of the year, Ivan Rosier I had remarked in fury over the morning paper, that Sirius Black had refused the Death Eaters at least seven times that he knew of. Leaving Evan to come to the assumption that Sirius Black was vastly misunderstood. Though not necessarily entirely innocent.
Even so, Evan's Great-Aunt on his fathers side (Druella) had married Cygnus Black III, who was the youngest brother of Walburga (Sirius' mother). They were distantly related, the twisted and entangling of Pureblood families meeting once, twice, sometimes three times within a family, with some even choosing the unnatural approach to reproduction.
All PureBloods were related in some way, which made Evan wonder about who in fact his mother was. Clearly he was Pureblood, or he wouldn't be an Alpha. But why would his father have lied about the witch who gave birth to him? What was there to lie about?
It was hard sometimes to be attracted to other PureBloods, knowing that somewhere down the line they had a mutual relation. But it wasn't as though every generation married their brothers, sisters and first cousins and uncles and aunts.
Unlike further back in the Black family.