O' Children
They are knocking now upon your door
They measure the room, they know the score
They're mopping up the butcher's floor
Of your broken little hearts
O children
Forgive us now for what we've done
It started out as a bit of fun
Here, take these before we run away
The keys to the gulag
O children
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice
Children
Rejoice, rejoice
August 1, 1997
\*/
The Aarden Family
"Kate…"
The small brown-haired girl, sleepy and tousle-haired, turned away from the whisper. With a sigh, she settled back into her pink covers, two fingers in her mouth, a third over her nose.
"Kate," her older sister repeated, prodding her in the shoulder.
"Whatimbisit…?" she mumbled wearily, her eyes flitting half-open, her sister's unwelcome eager face greeting her. A sliver of sunlight hovered on the lavender wall just behind her.
"Who cares what time it is? It's my birthday today and that means you have to do whatever I say and play whatever games I want!"
"Samantha…" Kate groaned, wrapping herself with the warm sheets. "I'm tired, go away…"
Her words were not well-received. Within moments, the blankets were ripped from her small body and a chill swept straight through her cotton pajamas. Kate buried her face into the mattress and moaned, pulling her pillow over her ears.
"Can we at least play something fun?" she grumbled. "I don't want to play Muggles again, it's so boring."
"Muggles is not boring!" Samantha replied, indignant, throwing the blankets to the hardwood floor.
"Is too!" Kate snapped back. "All we do is mess around with Daddy's telephone and computer."
"It doesn't matter if you think it's any fun. I'm six now and Mum said you have to do everything I say." Samantha tried to pry the pillow away, but Kate's grip was iron-tight.
Angrily, she released the fabric and continued on with a different tactic. "Daddy is a Muggle. Do you think he's boring?"
Kate said nothing.
"What do you know anyway?" Samantha sniffed, crossing her arms and throwing herself on the other end of the bed. "You haven't shown any signs of magic yet. What if you're a Muggle like Daddy?"
"Mum said it's only because I'm four!" Kate snapped, finally sitting up in bed, glaring fiercely at her sister.
"Well Mummy said I was floating teacups by the time I was two!"
Samantha knew only too late she had gone too far. Convincing her sister to play along with her many schemes of pretend was a difficult and delicate task. Oftentimes it ended with a bitter feud and, like this morning, a fit of loud crying. She threw her hands over her ears and begged Kate to stop, but it was too late. In a few moments, the doorknob turned and their mother shuffled into the room. Lavinia Aarden was a plump woman with an oval face that echoed of a beauty that existed before birthing two exuberant girls. Her bathrobe stretched around a bulging, pregnant belly nearly seven months along. One hand was pressed against the wand pocket of her robe. The other was scratching her head through a mass of unkempt brown hair.
"Girls, what's going on?" she asked softly, removing her wand and flicking it at the curtains. They opened promptly and sunlight poured in, causing them all to wince.
Samantha opened her mouth, but Kate was quickest.
"Sam said I was a Muggle!" she bawled, her little face beet red.
"I didn't—"
Lavinia placed a quieting hand on her eldest's shoulder before turning sternly to Kate.
"First of all, I thought we'd already discussed this." She gave no chance to respond. "Second of all, what does it matter if you're a Muggle, Kate? Your father is one and I love him nearly as much as I love you girls. If makes no difference to me if you can't do magic."
Sam rolled her eyes but for Kate it was enough. The crocodile tears ended almost instantly and attention was again upon the oldest.
"As for you," Lavinia tightened her grip on her shoulder. Samantha braced herself for the inevitable lecture. Her mother took a deep breath and said, smiling, "Happy birthday. Your father's still sleeping, but what'll it be for breakfast, dear?"
Sam smiled as well, a gap-toothed grin brimming with excitement. "Bacon sandwiches and chocolate pancakes!"
"Thought you'd say that. Off to the kitchen then!" Her mother pointed them out of the room and they scampered off with the promise of good food. Lavinia followed just after flicking her wand to make the beds.
\*/
The O'Hara Family
The later morning hours arrived with clear blue skies and stagnant immobile air that pressed down upon six-year-old Mae's little chest as she hovered on her Cleansweep Five. She wavered as her two elder brothers raced toward her, old tattered Quaffle tossed adeptly between them as they neared their trembling sister. She was supposed to be Keeper, but had never really managed to conquer her fear of the ball. Her brothers neared and the faded red object flying between them caused a fearful pounding in her chest. Suddenly it was flying straight for her. Instead of trying to catch it, Mae O'Hara closed her eyes at the last fleeting second as the Quaffle made sharp contact with the side of her face. She released her broom and brought her hands to her bleeding nose, but forgot she was still in the air. With another jolt of her stomach, she fell three feet from her seat to the long grass below.
Her eyes burning, her body aching, unable to breathe properly, she felt the swell of tears at the back of her throat. When she opened her eyes, her brothers were standing there with unsympathetic grins on their faces.
"Alright there Mae?" asked the younger of the two. Fergus O'Hara was short, squat, with rotund features and a pale complexion. His watery blue eyes were sparkling with undue joy. He was twelve years old, a Slytherin, to whom nothing mattered except being better than his two younger sisters and just as good as his elder brother Lorcan.
The fifteen-year-old was leaning on his broom, hands crossed beneath his sallow face.
"Sorry about that," he laughed. "I was aiming for the goal post right behind you, sis."
"No you weren't," came a snappy voice from beyond them both.
Mae squinted against the sunlight as her older sister came into view. The girl was tall like Lorcan, pale like Fergus, but had the same dark brown frizzy hair that belonged to Mae. Though she was but eight years old, Martha's feisty attitude brought her up to the same playing field as her brothers in the endless war that is sibling rivalry. Instead of abusing their youngest sibling with Quaffles, however, she chose to protect her from the violent camaraderie Lorcan and Fergus had forged ever since attending Hogwarts together.
"You aimed that ball right at her head!" she barked, bending down to Mae and wiping some of the blood that had apparently come from her lip. At the sight of it, Mae began to cry and the brothers rolled their eyes.
"I most certainly did not," drawled Lorcan, standing straight and tilting his broom to the side. He had one hand on his hip and was still grinning at his toppled sibling. "She did a great job blocking that goal. The blood just shows what a great Keeper she really is." Fergus sniggered to his right.
Mae was helped to her feet and put both hands to her tender lip. Martha was growing red beside her.
"Where were you, Martha, eh?" Fergus asked accusingly. "We asked if you wanted to be Keeper; you know Mae hates it, so why didn't you step in?"
"Because Mae hates any kind of flying, and at least if she's Keeper she doesn't have to fly higher up."
"She would have done a better job catching it than you," sniggered Lorcan.
Martha launched herself at him, but he made a swift and fluid arm motion and she barely stopped just short of his wand tip.
"You can't use magic outside of school," she huffed bitterly, staring down the bridge of the weapon.
"Maybe not yet," he whispered back. "But the Slytherins have been talking and there are a lot of rumors going around, you know."
"Like what?" she spat as Mae crept closer to her side, painful licks of fear and curiosity tearing at her.
"Well, the Dark Lord has managed to get Albus Dumbledore killed, so really it's only a matter of time, isn't it?"
Martha took a step back and crossed her arms skeptically. With an irritating arrogance he continued on.
"It's only a matter of time before he takes over everything. Personally, I'm excited. He's got some good ideas, You-Know-Who…"
"Yeah, like picking on little kids?" Martha muttered.
"Like separating the strong from the weak," Lorcan retorted. He looked very serious now. "All I'm going to say is we're lucky to be pure-blood."
There was a heavy silence, as thick as the still summer air.
"What's pure-blood?" Mae finally asked.
"Nothing you need to be worried about," Martha hushed, but Lorcan fired up at once.
"Pure-blood is everything," he said with a frightening sincerity. With that, he stormed off to the shed, broom in hand. Fergus followed with a final lingering stare towards his sisters.
\*/
The Waters Family
Cynthia Waters entered her dining room levitating a pork roast before her. Her children Arthur, Aiden, and Abigail were busy running in circles around the table, yelling and squealing as they rounded each corner.
"Kids! Sit down! Now—no, stop hitting your sister Aiden, stop!"
They finished another lap and bolted past Cynthia, who staggered backward. A wave of gravy plopped onto the ground and she let out a frustrated growl. Her children paid no attention.
The sound of the front door opening stopped the hectic play in its tracks.
"Dad!" they chorused, scampering over to the door and jumping around his feet.
"Hey, go sit down," he said in his soft voice, patting them on their heads, giving the youngest, five-year-old Abigail, a kiss on the cheek. "Dinner's ready, come on."
They immediately obeyed and Cynthia gave her husband a consternated look.
"They always listen to you," she hissed, lowering the pork roast on the table and putting her hands on her hips.
Tom Waters didn't reply; his gaze was cast downwards. He brought with him an aura of anxiety which deadened the atmosphere of the room. The children, for once, were silent.
"What's wrong?" Cynthia nearly whispered, but her question was met with a shake of his head.
Dinner was eaten in near silence. 8-year-old Aiden almost spilled his milk and 11-year-old Arthur accidentally burped. Abigail excused him, but that was the extent of dinner conversation.
"You kids need to go to your rooms," Tom declared when the last bite was eaten from his plate. He cleared his throat and pulled out his wand, waving the dishes from the table, through the archway and into the kitchen sink.
On their way upstairs, Aiden suddenly stopped. Abigail bumped into him from behind and her cry of pain caused Arthur to turn around from the top of the steps.
"Listen," Aiden hushed, putting his hand over Abigail's mouth as she whined.
The three of them crowded around the oak banister, ears pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen.
"How could You-Know-Who take over the Ministry? Scrimgeour, he—" came their mother's low and anxious voice.
"I don't know if it's even happened," replied Tom. "I just… I have a very strong feeling about it and I'm nearly positive it's happening soon, if not tonight…Things didn't feel right at work today."
The children huddled closer together, pushing their faces farther through the gaps of the rail.
"Do you know what this means?" Cynthia squeaked. They heard what sounded like a sniff and some muffled tears. The hum of rushing water reached them and the clap of a tea kettle.
"We have to leave the country," he answered. "And soon. They'll bring us both in for questioning and we have no chance if they're going after what I suspect."
"What do they suspect?" Abigail whispered to her brothers.
"Shh!" they hissed, Aiden clapping his hand over her mouth again. She squealed behind it, and their eavesdropping opportunity ended there.
"Go to bed right now!" snapped their father from the kitchen. Without a moment's hesitation the three of them thundered up the steps, hearts pounding. Their bedroom doors slammed shut one—two—three. The house went silent.
\*/
The Montgomery Family
Vivian awoke in the middle of the night, her little soft rabbit toy tucked beneath her arm. Light crept in the crack of her bedroom door and she heard mutterings from the living room. The family owl, Eros, hooted from nearby. Parchment paper rustled.
"It's from Nott," announced her stepfather, Cain Montgomery.
"What's it about?" her mother asked.
"Mudbloods," he responded bitterly. "Says here the Ministry's finally seeing reason. Took them long enough. Nott says Scrimgeour's stepped down and Thicknesse is taking over. Should see it in the Prophet tomorrow."
Vivian couldn't hear her mother's mumbled response, but her stepfather continued on.
"Now I wouldn't go so far as Nott and become one of those Death Eaters. I'm too old for that." He gave a single, low chuckle. "But You-Know-Who's got the right idea. I've always thought so. Mudbloods have got no place in the Wizarding World. Ministry's been soft for too long."
Her mother's quiet voice again was lost.
"Go on to sleep," Cain answered. "I'll write him back, let him know we've got a cellar ready for any use the cause can put it to. Oh, and that girl left her clothes in the bathroom again. You've got to keep her under control. I don't want to have to yell at her any more than I have to."
"She's only six," said her mother, finally audible.
"Plenty old enough to keep her things in order," hissed Cain. "Go on to bed, I'll take care of it."
Vivian's stomach turned over and she hugged her rabbit closer. She closed her eyes tight as heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked and light poured in. Her breath caught painfully in her throat and she focused all her energy on pretending to be asleep. She heard him cross the room. Suddenly, her rabbit was being pulled slowly from beneath her arm. Wanting desperately to stop him but knowing things would only get worse if she did, she kept silent and immobile. The rabbit was gone, his steps left the room, and the door closed. Vivian opened her eyes to darkness. A single tear fell. If she'd learned anything from previous missteps with her stepfather, she would never see her rabbit again.