HMM, THiS iS PReTTy CLiCHe, iSN'T iT? OKaY, THis is JaMieS'S Li'L 7YRoLR SiSTeR POV, aND HeR HouSe HaS JuST BeeN BRoKeN iNTo (aND By DeaTH EaTeRS!). *thats getting pretty tiring, so i'll stop now* She seems pretty unfeeling later on, but its not like she's cold and heartless, its just that she's not old enough to understand the current situations. That and ignorance.

          The chapters aren't going to be very long (at least, I think) and I really AM trying my best to keep this series going. Be a little bit patient with me (though u r free to flame me if the urge ever comes) and pls do have a little understanding; this is something like my first fic and I've got mid-terms next week... :( Do Me a LoT oF GooD aND R/R!

          --@EVeRyTHiNG u ReCoGNiZe iS MS. JKROWLiNG'S aND eVeRyTHiNG THaT you DoN'T is MiNe, MiNe, MiNe!@--

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-prologue-

Hidden

by stawberri sweetness

          I was hidden in the uppermost shelf of the cupboard, pinching myself to stay quite as I shook and watched with eyes wide and scared and disbelieving. Men so unknown of and new to me they almost seemed alien ravaged through the house, creating a mess that achieved beyond the utter messiness of Daedrid's bedroom. Godric's Hollow had never seen anything like this, nor had my still raw and callow eyes and I wondered why Papa or one of my too many brothers didn't swoop down and stop these obviously bad men. I had a strange kiddish desire to jump down and fearlessly save my beloved home (whilst half-immersed in imagining my whole family coming to me with tears in their eyes thanking me and saying things like 'if it weren't for Lian!')

          Something a dash wiser than my imagination told me not to, though. That, and the all too serious voice of Papa telling me to stay here quietly, to wait until these men had gone away, to run to phantom Black's villa and something about getting help. I tried to keep this all in mind but all of the sudden the seriousness and danger and Terribles of everything going on struck me. This isn't a game, a determinedly (though resulting mimic-y) stern voice at the back of my mind whispered to me.

          The real grown-up tension that wasn't yet supposed to affect me planted its cancer straight to the pit of my stomach and my worried brains. When I felt footsteps getting closer, I shut my eyes so tight they screamed and prayed so bad that I guess the guy could hear me anyway. When I heard the faintest sign of screaming/shouting (I couldn't yet differentiate) I clogged my tiny ears with my chubby fingers till they hurt bad. But still I could see the imagined images in my mind, and still I could hear the screaming shouting clearly.

          The shouting told most of the story, mostly because they were real. At first I could hear the gruff alien voices of the Bad Men ordering people here and there. Then I could hear more familiar voices (though my puny head just wouldn't sort them correctly) at first demanding, then reasoning, then angry; a whole set of changes so drastic and abrupt. And then there were the returning angry or amused or superior voices that were so gruff and mean and villainous. I guess that I was crying by then, but that the sound of all my blubbering was deafened by the shouting. My crying stopped when I heard a scream-shriek, a chorus of laughs, then footsteps. There too were gruff murmurs and talk, and then the sound of closing doors.

          'Are they gone yet, Anna?' I whispered to my redheaded cloth doll. She didn't seem to know, so I guess that's why she didn't say anything but kept on smiling and staring straight to the cupboard door.

          'Look?' I whispered anxiously, utterly astonished by her bravery. 'Are you sure?'

          Her solemn silence seemed enough for me, because I soon shoved away the many blankets and bags Papa had piled over me, pushed open the cupboard door and jumped clumsily down to the small heap of fabric. The fabric did little to break my fall, and I slipped and fell flat on my face. I was scared and could smell the creeping grown-up badness, so I ran as fast as I could to the door, and then to the only other house propped on the other hill.

          I cried as I ran there, and the memory of everything onwards seems to have been erased, because the next thing I remember was a hospital, brightly lit but dark and creepy. The nurses looked at me strangely, and there weren't any other kids. My hands shook as I drank out of a paper cup.

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