"Papa, can we dance?"
The man looked up from his work. He was hunched over a rather large map, feeling the ache in his shoulders and neck. Small hands gripped onto the edge of the map table, and a small feminine face peered up at him.
"I have a lot of work to do, I'm very busy-" He began, but she cut him off.
"You've been working all day!"
"I don't think I should," He sighed, running a hand through his graying salt and pepper hair.
"But Papa," She prodded, looking up at him with big eyes. He softened when he saw her eyes. She had light eyes, inherited from her mother and unlike his own, which were dark like the night. She looked so similar to her mother, the woman he so loved and the woman that he so lost.
"Alright, just for a little bit, I need a break anyway," He gave her a tired smile, and she squealed with joy.
"I'll put on the music!" She exclaimed, running over to the old record player they kept in the corner of their small house.
As she put the cartridge on the disc, music spilled from the record, flowing and filling the house. The small girl stood on her father's toes, bouncing with excitement. Her father took her young and delicate hands in his own weathered and broad ones, and began to sway with his daughter. Her long dark locks flowed around her petite body, framing her face that was lit up in a beautiful smile stretched from ear to ear. They danced together in a waltz of sorts and she pressed her cheek softly against his chest. Admittedly, he wasn't particularly any good at all at dancing. But it didn't matter to his daughter. What mattered was that in this exact moment, everything was perfect.
But the heartfelt moment wasn't for long. There was a sudden sharp crack that came from outside and made the two jolt apart. The father quickly set down his daughter and rushed over to halt the record. He then looked up at the small girl, who was trembling, bundled up within herself, and looking as if she might cry.
"Papa, who's outside?" She asked fearfully.
He didn't answer her.
"Papa," She insisted, "Who's outside?"
"Hush, child. Go upstairs with your brother. Keep an eye on him." Her father ordered sternly, fiddling with the door lock and looking out the peephole. He drew his wand and kept it close to his body. Looking back, he saw his daughter frozen in her place. "Go!" He barked.
She somehow willed her legs to move. She didn't know how. She scurried up the stairs, down the hall, first door on the left. The young girl saw her brother on the floor, only aged two, playing with a stuffed rabbit. She ran to him and clutched him to herself, as she heard loud voices downstairs.
"DONAHUE!" The booming shout sent a shiver down the girl's spine. "You can't hide from us forever!"
"Look, my kids are upstairs-" She heard her dad's gruff voice say.
The first loud voice scoffed. "You think that will erase what you've done? You think that will stop the Aurors from arresting you? You're pathetic."
"Did Potter send you?" Her dad asked carefully and quietly.
"Of course he did. We've all been after your ass for years. I think he in particular has a special cell in Azkaban chosen just for you."
The girl gasped when she heard that dreaded word. Azkaban.
Suddenly, there was a crack downstairs that made the whole house rumble and shake. The girl shrieked and grasped her brother closer to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Hot tears streamed down her face. She couldn't even comprehend what was going on downstairs. There was yelling, loud cracks of curses, and incantations she didn't understand. And then there was a single scream and then there was silence.
She heard footsteps come up the stairs and refused to turn. She hid in the closet, shutting the wicker door behind her and peering out through the wooden slots. She saw two men searching the room, both wands drawn menacingly, one with flaming red locks, the other with dark brown hair and horn rimmed glasses. The bespectacled one looked over at the closet and made instant eye contact.
The girl let out a squeal and cowered back, covering her mouth with her hand as the man drew close.
The man opened the closet and the little girl froze when the light hit her. Why couldn't she move?
"Found them," The man announced.
"What should we do with them?" His redheaded friend murmured, sympathy in his deep brown eyes.
"We'll take them to their grandparents," remarked the first man, "Cassius Wright and Ariana Wright, the old Wizarding couple. Her mother's parents."
The redhead nodded.
They led the children downstairs, the girl's feet turned to putty as she blindly followed, shocked down utterly to her core.
There were more men downstairs, bustling in and out of the now-destroyed home, rummaging through cupboards and personal belongings.
The girl opened her mouth to protest, say that her father wouldn't like that very much, that it's private, but she was rendered absolutely speechless when her eyes fell on the sight in the middle of the room.
Her father laid on the ground, contorted so awfully and unnaturally, limbs crooked in painful position. Her eyes met his, but his were so glassed over- the life had left his eyes.
Her father was dead.
Tears formed once more and the brown haired man tugged on her hand to try and move her from the wretched scene. Her heart fell, it was crushed.
As the small girl crossed through the threshold, left her house and everything she'd ever known, clutching her baby brother tightly in her arms, she knew that she was leaving as an orphan.