For Hannah; because we used to roleplay this perfect little family.
The small redheaded girl bounces into the front room, holding her pillowcase tight in her small little hand. As she runs around, the plain white fabric flows around her, being almost as big as she is, it's a surprise she hasn't fallen on her face yet.
Her parents laugh, she's just too adorable when she's excited. They know they should remind her that there is no running in the house, that we are two walk in order to prevent breaking of certain irreplaceable items (such as little girls named Clara). It's Halloween night, though, and Hermione is excited to have her daughter go out trick-or-treating in the same neighborhood she did herself for the first time.
Clara crashes into her Father, who picks her up, a large grin on his face.
"Who are you, little one? Where's my baby girl?" Fred asks, tickling the small child. Clara is wearing a pink dress, her red locks tied up in a perfect bun, giving her the illusion that she's dressed as a ballet dancer,
"I'm Clara, daddy, see!" She points to her face, or tries to as her dad tickles her sides, moving her arms is quiet the difficult task when her sides are in slight pain from all her quiet little laughs. "I'm just dressed up in a cost-tomb."
"Oh, right, I forgot." He sets Clara down, the child tosses her case on the ground, running to the bathroom after bluntly stating "I gots to wee."
"She's too cute, where did she get that from?" Hermione asks her husband as they walk over to the brown sofa.
"From me." He shrugs nonchalantly as if it wasn't so very obvious that he is the most adorable thing on the planet, and it should be obvious that their daughter of four learned it from him.
"Right, you keep telling yourself that." She nods once, a smile plastered across her face to let him know that she isn't serious. At least, not completely.
"Okay, baby, you know what to do now, right?" The small girl runs up the steps to her grandparents house, ringing the doorbell. As soon as the two answer the door, she screams as loud as she can.
"TRIKATREAT." The man who answered the door chuckles, picking up his granddaughter and kissing her sloppily on the side of her face.
"There's your treat, pumpkin."
"Poppy, I'm not a pupken, I'm a ballerina!" She states it matter-of-factly.
"Are you sure?" he asks the little girl as they walk inside the house, Fred and Hermione trailing slowly behind.
"I'm sure, see, look." Clara points to the bun on top of her head. She crosses her arms over her chest, attempting to roll her eyes at her grandfather. Seriously, how could he think she was a pumpkin, clearly the pink outfit and the bun gave away the fact that she was a dancer, not some orange squash. Some adults.
"Are you ready, Clare?" Fred asks his daughter as he puts her on his shoulders despite the fact that the lace from her skirt itches his neck like no other.
"Ready, Daddy. I wants candies." The little girl is excited, candy is one of her favorite things, even though she knows it's bad for her teeth. (Being the daughter of a daughter of two dentists will do that to a child.)
The four adults chuckle to themselves. Surely it will be an eventful night with a small child running around, high on the sugar from the candy which she is given just because she is small and quiet adorable.
Fin.