Evan Rosier (Harry Potter Fanfic/ Prequel)

5 | 65 | Runaway

Evan's POV

"You have to find her," I snap to the wizard in front of me. He's an assistant of my father, he has an entire team of our people that have been looking for Arabelle.

"Where did she go?" My fathers asks Arabelle's parents.

Her mother sniffs. "I don't know. We woke up and tried to check on her, but all her drawers were out and it looked like she packed her bag for Hogwarts."

Her husband comforts her by patting her shoulders gently and whispering in her ear.

I turn away with a disdainful snarl. I don't have a problem with Arabelle's parents, but they aren't helping.

"Evan, they will find her," my mother assures me, standing tall and proud and looking unfazed by all this.

I glare at her, wishing I could accuse her of not caring. That would get me nowhere if I started an argument with her, so instead I use my anger on the assistant.

"Go look for her, damn you!"

"Evan," mother snaps sharply.

"He's sitting here with that stupid look on his face," I snarl. "Get out of here and don't come back until you find her."

He Apparates away, leaving me with mine and Arabelle's parents. I start to pace the room.

"She couldn't have gone far," my father assures me. "Bella is only a teenager. She cannot even Apparate."

I scowl. "I know that. So how come she can just disappear like this?!"

"Evan, calm down," Mother tells me. "Arabelle's parents probably feel terrible about this and you're not helping."

"Fine," I hiss. "I'll go look for her myself."

"Just leave her be," Arabelle's dad speaks up. "She'll come back when she's ready."

I gape at him, open-mouthed. Her own father doesn't care that she's gone.

"I can't stand this. You've all lost it."

I run to my room and slam the door shut, proving that I really am an immature teenager.

I lie on my bed, forcing down tears. How can she leave? What's gotten into her?

What if she's hurt somewhere?

I lie on my side, taking deep breaths. Arabelle is just mad that her parents got marked. She can't hate them because of that. What if she hates me because of that?

I look at the clock.

It's 1:08 in the afternoon. She's been gone for eighteen hours.

Again, I feel my throat dry up while my eyes start to water. Trying not to cry only makes it worse, so I let it out.

No one comes to check on me while I sit on my bed and sob into my pillow. I just want Arabelle to come back. I know why she's mad, and I also know that she's going to rethink our relationship.