EVAN ROSIER

Evan Rosier had never wanted to go to Hogwarts. If he had the choice, he would have stayed at Beauxbatons with his friends or at least with people he knew and whose language he understood without any problems. Although his parents had raised him to be fluent in both French and English, the former always came more naturally to him—especially after spending the first 13 years of his life in France. If it had been up to him, he would still be there. Unfortunately, he never had a choice when it came to decisions that involved the whole family.

That's why he now found himself on a train to Hogwarts, mentally reviewing everything he knew. The train went to a place called Hogsmeade or something like that, and from there, the students were taken by carriages to the castle. The first years had to wait outside the Great Hall. He was still confused by the whole system: the first years were the youngest, and the seventh years were the oldest. At Beauxbatons, it was the other way around. Last year, he had been in the Sixième; now he was in the third year. He would have to wait with the first years outside the Great Hall to be sorted into one of the four houses, just like them. The only thing that slightly improved the situation was that he wouldn't stand out too much, and in his experience, any attention would likely bypass him altogether. There were two reasons for this, sitting right across from him. No one cared about him when he was with his brothers. That had never bothered him; he didn't particularly like being the center of attention. With that, he was the only exception in the Rosier family.

His gaze landed on Jesse, his oldest brother. Jesse had probably been the most famous person at Beauxbatons, apart from the headmaster, who had (officially for all of them) organized a half-parade as a farewell. Teachers, students, everyone had fallen under Jesse's spell, and Evan had no doubt it would be the same at Hogwarts. One glance at Jesse made it clear why. They looked quite similar in principle: golden-blond hair, crystal-blue eyes, sharp facial features, and athletic builds. But Jesse didn't just look better overall; he also had the confidence to show it off, along with the charm and charisma to wrap everyone around his finger. Evan had none of that. Neither did Julien, their middle brother.

Evan's gaze wandered from his eldest brother to his second eldest. Julien's hair was just as blond, albeit a bit longer, and he also had the trademark Rosier blue eyes. But his facial features were much softer than those of his brothers. "Visage d'Ange," Angel's Face, their grandmother used to call him. A smile from him, and all was forgiven. Their grandparents, parents, teachers, friends—no matter what Julien had done (and he'd done plenty), no one could stay mad at him for long. At least, not as long as he didn't talk. While Jesse could talk his way out of any situation, Julien could only talk himself further into trouble. Evan, for his part, mostly chose not to talk at all.

He turned his gaze away and looked out the window. At least the landscape was beautiful. They often spent a few weeks in the summer in Scotland at Rosier Manor, a not-so-humble estate not far from the equally grandiose Black Manor, where his aunt Druella lived with her three daughters: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. All three of them had been sorted into Slytherin, one of the four houses at Hogwarts. The whole concept didn't make sense to him. Why divide students into four different houses based on their personal traits? And above all, why entrust such a significant task to a hat? Evan had never understood the British.

In principle, he didn't care where he ended up—Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor—they all sounded equally dreadful. However, his father had very clear ideas about what was worthy of a Rosier and what wasn't. Gryffindors were blood traitors, Hufflepuffs were useless, Ravenclaws were arrogant snobs, and Slytherin was the only house worth anything. Evan had tuned out the lecture they received the night before their departure at some point. After 14 years of practice, he was very good at mentally blocking out his father's voice while still appearing to listen.

But as much as he'd claim he didn't care which house he was sorted into, it would be a lie. If he ended up in Slytherin, it might not be enough to make his father proud, but at least he wouldn't be disappointed in him. No matter how much he hated it, some parts of him felt compelled to make his father proud. That was one of the goals he had set for the new school year: to figure out which part of him harbored this ridiculous desire and get rid of it as quickly as possible.

The first thing Evan noticed wasn't the enormous castle, which, compared to Beauxbatons, wasn't even that big. Nor was it the students, although they looked entirely different from what Evan was used to. Starting with the school uniform: the one he'd worn for the past few years had been in various shades of light blue with beautiful gold embellishments. The Hogwarts uniform was black, the only color coming from the house ties. But more important than that was the way the students carried themselves. It wasn't that the Hogwarts students looked unkempt; they just didn't seem as polished and perfect as the students at Beauxbatons.

Still, there was one thing that stood out more than anything else:

The smell.

Beauxbatons was magical in every way. Its unique aura stemmed largely from the way every room and floor had its own distinct and meaningful scent. While the classrooms on the first floor all smelled of various sweets (the reason Evan never spent time in the library on that floor was the disgusting scent of mint chocolate), the second floor housed several rooms scented with different types of flowers. Hogwarts, on the other hand, had nothing special. Evan had already noted ten things he missed about Beauxbatons, and he had only just arrived.

The carriage ride to Hogwarts had been relatively uneventful. The carriages moved on their own, but one thing Hogwarts didn't have was winged horses. When they arrived at the castle, a teacher was already waiting to escort them to the Great Hall before going inside. Evan and his brothers, however, had to wait until the first years arrived with Professor McGonagall. Julien giggled next to him about something Jesse had said. Evan didn't ask; they probably wouldn't tell him anyway.

It felt like an eternity before the professor arrived with the kids. Evan knew their legs were shorter, but not that short. Had she given them an entire tour or what? By the time he entered the Great Hall behind the first years, any thought he'd had before was wiped from his mind. The hall was breathtaking, from the floating candles to the ceiling that looked like it didn't exist at all. But more intimidating were the countless stares from the other students. He could hear the murmurs and whispers. They didn't even bother to lower their voices. Was it always like this at Hogwarts? Was it because of him? And if this hall was also used as a dining hall, did that mean boys and girls ate together?

When the kids stopped in front of him, it took quick reflexes not to walk right into them. He heard giggling behind him. Julien. Why couldn't they have stayed in France? At Beauxbatons? Evan knew why. No one had talked about the reasons for their move, but they all knew why.

The headmaster gave a speech that Evan paid just as little attention to as everything else. He caught something about a Forbidden Forest and a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but not much else. Eventually, Professor McGonagall began calling out the first year's names. A few Hufflepuffs, a few Gryffindors—each time a house gained a new member, the students applauded loudly, as if it were some kind of achievement. It's ridiculous really. Next came a Slytherin. At least his father would be proud, Evan thought as he watched the boy jump up and run to the table. It wasn't that he thought it impossible for himself to be sorted into Slytherin; the other houses just seemed equally likely—or rather, equally unlikely. He definitely wasn't brave, so Gryffindor was out. Loyal and selfless weren't words Evan would use to describe himself, so Hufflepuff was out too. He probably wasn't smart enough for Ravenclaw, and he wasn't particularly ambitious or goal-oriented anymore. He used to be, maybe, but now he just didn't care. What if none of the houses suited him? Would they just send him back? Could that happen? Has it happened before? What if Evan was the first? Anything, anything, anything but that. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed that all the first-years had been sorted and Professor McGonagall had introduced and called him up. He had heard it, but he reacted too late, giving Julien the chance to step on his foot to "remind" him. Julien would never let him live that down. But now Evan had other concerns, like not being sent back home because the strange hat decided it didn't like him. Or not forgetting to breathe, especially since, right now, everyone was definitely staring at him.

As soon as he sat on the stool and the hat was on his head, he closed his eyes. If he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him, right?
Ahh, un Rosier, cela fait longtemps que je n'ai pas eu l'un de vous.
Evan had to keep himself from flinching immediately. The hat was in his head. It was talking to him. What was it with the British and their hats? And why was the hat even speaking French if it was British?
Je suis dans tes pensées, je parle comme tu penses.
That made sense—after all, Evan thoughts were in French. He could say most things in English, or at least enough for simple conversations, but not enough to actually think in English. It was just too... unfamiliar.
Mais partout où je te mets... tu as de l'intelligence et de l'intellect. Cependant, tu es également prêt à tout pour atteindre tes objectifs, même si cela implique de blesser d'autres personnes. Je sais où je t'emmène.
SLYTHERIN.

Evan exhaled in relief, only now realizing how tense he'd been the entire time. Quickly, he made his way to the Slytherin table. In hindsight, he was quite grateful for the applause—without it, he might have walked to the wrong table. On his way there, he looked for open seats. Luckily, some boys who seemed to be around his age waved him over. He dropped into the seat next to them and took another look at them. The boy who had waved him over and now sat beside him had dark brown hair falling into his eyes. Next to him was another boy with blond hair, and across from them sat a boy with black dreadlocks. The boy with brown hair extended his hand.
"Edmund Avery."
Evan shook his hand.
"Evan Rosier."
Avery pointed to the boy beside him.
"This is Wilhelm Wilkes, and across from you is Bruce Mulciber."
Evan nodded at them. Avery, Wilkes, Mulciber—those names he knew. They were the names of the men his father worked with. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to befriend their sons.

Mulciber opened his mouth—probably to ask him something—but was interrupted by applause. Evan looked up and saw Julien walking toward him. Of course, he was in Slytherin. Without asking, Julien dropped into the seat next to Mulciber.
"Julien Rosier, the cooler brother," he introduced himself with a wink at Evan. Why had Evan even thought for a second that Julien would leave him alone here? The other three boys introduced themselves, and Julien immediately started a conversation with them. Evan said nothing. Occasionally, one of the three asked him something, but more often than not, Julien answered instead of him or simply kept talking, ignoring the question altogether. The others didn't seem to mind. Why would they, when the cool brother was giving them attention? Why would they need Evan?

Instead of listening to them, Evan let his gaze wander until he found Jesse. He had also been sorted into Slytherin—not that there had ever been any doubt. It seemed like Jesse was talking to a boy next to him and two girls, whom Evan recognized as their cousins Andromeda and Bellatrix. Bellatrix was 16, like Jesse (and therefore a sixth-year), and Andromeda was a year younger. Then came Julien and Narcissa—who must also be somewhere at this table—and finally Evan as the youngest. He hated being the youngest; it made it even harder to be taken seriously. In France, at least, he had a few younger cousins. How he wished he could be back there now.

"Evan, tu m'écoutes au moins?" Julien asked after snapping his fingers wildly in front of Evan's face.
"Mange des escargots, Jules," Evan replied, pushing his hand away irritably. Avery and Mulciber exchanged confused glances. Ah, of course—they hadn't understood what Julien and Evan had just said. Julien rolled his eyes, as if he hadn't been the one to start the nonsense.
"Avery was just telling us who in Slytherin it's worth getting along with and who to avoid. What do you think—pretty interesting, non?" Julien grinned at him, but there was nothing friendly in his expression. Sometimes Evan wondered if his brother was a Strigoi who fed on his misery. On the other hand, it would probably be much easier to get rid of a Strigoi than Julien. Wishful thinking wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Oui, that sounds very interesting," Evan said instead, matching Julien's gaze.
"Well, as I was saying," Avery continued unfazed, "you and I share a room with two others: Black and Crouch."

Evan obviously knew the first name, though it likely wasn't one of his cousins. Evan knew they had two male cousins—the heirs of the House of Black. As for Crouch, he'd never heard of him.

"Why aren't they sitting here with you?" Julien interrupted.
Mulciber shrugged.
"Because they think they're better than us? Black made it clear last year he wasn't interested in hanging out with us, and Crouch..."
"With Crouch, we're the ones who don't want to hang out," Avery finished, laughing.
"Anyway. There are only two girls in our year: Priscilla Nott and Pandora Lestrange. Prissy's kinda cute, but you should stay away from Lestrange."

Evan watched his brother raise both eyebrows.
"Lestrange has two older brothers in fifth and sixth year. You don't want to mess with them," Mulciber explained.

Evan had a feeling that was exactly what Julien intended to do. Tell him not to do something, and he'll do it for sure. Evan decided to stop listening. Avery and Mulciber didn't know anything really important. Knowing not to mess with people who had power and were three years older than him was something he could figure out on his own.

As so often, he found himself thinking back to Beauxbatons. He didn't really have many friends there, no one worth keeping in touch with now. Still, at least he'd had someone to sit with at meals and someone to ask if he'd missed something in class. Would Avery be that person here? He hadn't planned on sharing his friends with his brother, but it seemed he didn't have much choice. Hogwarts had far fewer students than Beauxbatons. Avery had already mentioned it was better to stay away from the two boys in their year.

Evan's gaze wandered down the Slytherin table, as if he could somehow figure out who they were just by looking. He gave up shortly after; how was he supposed to know what they looked like? Besides, he'd find out sooner or later anyway. For now, he had to survive dinner—and Julien's presence. He let his head fall into his hands. Il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte, the first step is the hardest. That's all, it was, a new start, a chance to begin again. To do things differently. Better.

The only problem? Evan had no idea how.