Severus is standing in a Tesco's nearest the return address on the card he received; Mr and Mrs Evans' new residence, the family having sensibly moved further from the dwindling hellscape of Cokeworth some time ago. He isn't sure when. He also isn't sure how they heard the news - obituary, maybe, though he can't imagine why they'd be reading them. Or why they'd care. They had left a thoughtful card and a pudding in a glass baking dish with their sincere condolences about Eileen.

He does believe their sincerity. They're just that sort of people.

It's only, Tobias had broken the baking dish, and Severus couldn't stand to be in there another second. He should have just charmed the thing back together but he couldn't, didn't, merely left. Now he's standing here, in the cookery gadgets aisle, trying to remember what the fuck the glass baking dish looked like over the more consuming thoughts. Which are: how he's going to kill his father. It's a calm, cold determination. Nothing for it. Maybe if he hadn't finished school and come back to this, but—

His spine stiffens, derailed entirely, catching the sight of red hair out of the corner of one eye. He doesn't turn.