#and the house is pandora's greatest ally in hating evan. but it still betrays her because it reveals all her emotions

[katakosmos]

The Rosier twins in the First Wizarding War

part one

part two: the house

When Evan and Pandora were born, on April 19, 1960, it was full spring. And yet, that night of so many years ago, it snowed.

It wasn’t really a surprise: at Rosier Manor, the weather changed with emotions.

The manor had been built centuries ago with ancient magic. The power emanating from those spells, partly forbidden and partly forgotten, had been so strong that it had created not just a house, but a whole organism. Rosier Manor was a new world on earth. Rosier Manor lived.

It was inextricably linked to its owner. The interior could be modified to accommodate the life and tastes of the family, while outside the weather reflected the emotions felt by those who lived there. Evan’s grandparents, who were on the verge of death when the twins were born, loved the snow: the emotion of seeing their grandchildren born had been so big that it had brought winter to France, at least for one night.

Evan and Pandora had never set foot outside the confines of their home until they were eleven. As a child, he had been terrified of the outside world for that reason. But now that he had known it, he was almost afraid to return to the safety of his home.

When he had left, there had been a cool, rebirthing breeze.

Now it was pouring. The rain was falling so hard that Evan could barely see the path in front of him. It was cold, perhaps even colder than in England.

Closing the gate behind him, he quickly pulled his wand from his pocket. He pointed it at the sky, and a transparent layer immediately spread from the tip, shielding Evan like an umbrella.

A feeling of dread came over him. The trees that shaded the driveway to the front door had grown enormous, stretching into the sky with no end. But behind them, a dark and frightening forest had formed, creaking under the rain. Looking around, Evan no longer saw the lawns and hills surrounding the lake; only shadow and darkness.

The gravel driveway was covered in roots and potholes. Trying to avoid puddles while simultaneously looking straight ahead, hoping to soon see the porch of the house, Evan set off.

What had happened to the house? Where was the sun, the beautiful garden, the chirping of birds in the air?

But above all, if Rosier Manor now belonged to Pandora: what had happened to his sister?

The closer he got to the entrance, the more the trees leaned towards him to swallow him in the darkness. The path became uphill, tiring, long: endless. Even his magic stopped working, abandoning him alone in the rain, with a wand that was now just a piece of wood. And Evan understood that the house didn't want him there. His mind was crowded with worrying and frightening thoughts, but he didn't give up, and instead he increased his pace.

When he arrived at the house, he felt disheartened to see it in the same state of decay as the garden. It wasn’t falling apart, no: Rosier Manor only disintegrated if it was far from its owner. And in fact, every step was in its place, every balcony, every brick. But it was dirty, gloomy, dark. The large porch at the entrance looked like a cave, and it was full of cobwebs.

But Evan, soaked, had no other option than to enter. His teeth were chattering, and he was shaking from both the cold and fear.

Oh home, sweet home. What had she done to it?

Nothing remained of the places he and Pandora had walked as children; time had erased every trace, every memory. He too had tried to forget, but he kept everything, waiting to be ready to relive the past: the house had instead eliminated every trace of him, and Evan could only feel betrayed.

Sad, he opened the door.

The entrance was a dark cave.

It seemed to suck the light like a black hole, and even with the door open Evan couldn't see anything. In front of him, on the creaking floorboards, the unknown stretched out.

His magic didn't work and his eyes were useless. He held out a hand straight in front of him, ignoring the heart pounding in his chest, and he caressed a wall to his right. Once, passing through there he would have reached the living room without encountering obstacles. But just like the garden, left in Pandora's hands, the house had also changed. It had become a labyrinth of rooms and corridors in which Evan would have never been able to orient himself on his own.

He was not welcome, both inside and out. But he didn't let that stop him, and he closed the door behind him.

"Pandora!" he called, receiving no answer. His voice echoed endlessly, until it was lost in the void.

"Pandora!" he tried a second time, but in vain.

Who knew where she might be; who knew if he would ever find her. Who knew if there was any trace left of all the places Evan knew. Of their bedroom, of the library, of the great dining room. Pandora had a passion for puzzles and labyrinths: if Rosier Manor reflected even a little of the complexity and disorder of her brain, Evan would never have had a chance of getting out of there alive. He would starve to death in his own house.

His house…

It was then that he decided to appeal to his right as heir to the Rosier family.

He knew that the house wouldn't listen to him: that it would reject him, not immediately recognizing him as its owner. But Evan pressed his hand against the wall he had touched and, closing his eyes, he tried with all the strength he had to find a connection with the house where he had grown up. He doubled over in pain, while smells, tastes, voices and memories flooded his mind.

In the end, the house didn't move or vary by a single millimeter. And yet, after giving Evan the shock, the lights in the corridors began to turn on one after the other, showing him the way to take to reach the deepest part of the building. Its heart.

Evan set off quickly.

He didn't look around as he proceeded following only the light; he didn't want to. He was not sure he was ready to accept the changes, not yet. He didn't want to realize how much he had left behind, how much everything had changed. Instead, he focused on the noises, which grew louder as he closed the distance between him and his sister.

They were familiar sounds: gas boiling, poured liquids, whispered spells. They echoed through the walls, in that house so used to being alone, deserted, abandoned to itself.

Until Evan reached a door that was half open. His head hurt—the sounds were deafening there—and from inside came a faint blue light. He shivered, recognizing the voice, the smell, the shadow of his sister that stretched ghostly across the floor.

He ran towards her, opening the door.

And there she was: bent over a cauldron, her ruined hair in a messy hairstyle. She was hidden by smoke, while holding two different bottles; she was carefully pouring the liquids onto the purple surface of her potion. Around her, on the table, there were open notebooks full of notes and calculations.

She had changed, she had grown, just like him. She had lost the well-groomed appearance she had had as a girl, but everything else—the concentrated expression, the curly handwriting, the low, whispered voice—everything was the same.

That was his sister. Even in his daze and darkness, after years of separation, Evan would have recognized her.

He smiled.

“Pandora” he whispered, almost imperceptibly.

Slowly, she froze. Her eyes widened, she turned around.

“Evan?”

When she saw him in the doorway, she shivered. She stepped back, bumping into one of the tables.

“Pandora–”

A stack of books fell, knocking over the bottles delicately placed behind her. The mixed liquids began to react with each other, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, terrified.

Behind her, a spark lit up on the table.

Soon, the room exploded in a cloud of smoke and color.