The Prince

The next day, Severus stopped by the Prince household in the town of Tinworth. He was hesitant to knock on the door and shuddered as his thoughts went back to the scene from the day previous.

A short woman answered the door. “Severus?”

“Evelyn,” he said curtly. “I hope I’m not intruding, but there is something very important that I must tell you.”

The woman, Evelyn, could clearly tell that something was wrong, very wrong, and she invited Severus inside.

“What is it?” she asked, as the two sat down at the kitchen table. “Severus, I can tell that something is not right.”

In his planning, he had not gotten this far. He was not sure that he would be able to force the words from his lips. He did not know if he could say it.

“Are you all right, Severus?” Evelyn asked, resting her hand on his. “You’re cold to the touch… and you’re shaking.”

He opened his mouth and attempted to force the sentence out. “Some—terr—terrible.” Trying to blink away the tears that stung his eyes and to ignore the lump in his throat that made it almost impossible to speak, he paused. “Your—Rupert and… and Oliver—they…” And he choked out the word, “Dead.”

Though it was not very well-phrased, it got his point across. The words were out. The thing had been said.

Evelyn took a deep breath and just looked at him, surveying his features, looking for some sign that he was lying, or joking. “What? Severus, I don't—”

Severus just nodded. And that was all it took for Evelyn to break. She slumped her head down into her hands and let the tears fall. Looking at her made it even harder for Severus to not cry. He had cried plenty the day before. It was not a feeling that he enjoyed.

After a few moments of sobbing, Evelyn looked up at him, red-faced and puffy-eyed. She still had not fully wrapped her mind around it. “How?”

“An attack,” Severus explained, now more calm than when he had first attempted to speak, “by the followers of the Dark Lord.”

Her eyes met his. “So they were just—”

“—In the wrong place at the wrong time, yes,” he finished.

Just then, Rupert and Evelyn’s daughter, Oliver’s little sister, Emily, came bounding into the kitchen. She was no older than three years, and her hair was tied up in a blue ribbon. Her sapphire eyes looked over Severus with wonder.

“Hello,” she said with a smile, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the conversation the adults had just had.

“Emily,” Evelyn began, wiping her eyes. “This is Severus, your uncle.”

The little girl thought for a moment before adjusting her statement. “Hello, Uncle!”

Severus tried to force a smile, but the scowl remained etched into his features.

“Where’s Daddy?” Emily asked, and that was almost more than Severus could handle. He looked again at the little girl, this creature who knew nothing of the events that had transpired the previous day, who now had neither a father nor a brother, and felt his body go numb.

“I must be—” he began, and he was gone.