"You useless girl!"

You watch helplessly as your father belittles your sister once more, each word spewing from his mouth a vile vitriol that would never return or be silenced. All the anger and frustration that was had been pent up in your father was being let loose over a dropped pot that had done no harm.

The shiny quality of your sister's eyes told you that she was very close to tears, and upsetting you with the thought. You wish that you could say that your father hadn't always been like this, that everything had only started with your mother's death less than six moons ago, but you couldn't.

It had been this way for as long as you remembered. Every memory you have of your parents are filled with vile words, anger, and violence. All you remember are the shouts and screams that your mind now associated with your mother: the redredredredred then eventually silence.

Your mother's funeral had been a quiet affair. As far as you know, no one had been informed. Your father had only charmed a hole in the soft ground of the backyard that was roughly the right size, before dumping the broken doll-like shell, that was all that was left of the colourful woman you had once known, into it. That was the first time you had seen your sister cry: large, salty drops sliding down her face as she stood staring at the freshly turned soil.

"You cannot even summon a simple pot to yourself! Are you a witch or a filthy mudblood?"

Your anger grows with every word. Was it not enough that your sister was able to speak with the snakes like you and your father did? You are almost certain that had your father not torn away every last shred of your sister's self-confidence with his acidic spiel, she would been a fine witch. Magic responded to the mind, after all. At this point, you doubted your sister even expected the pot to rattle when she attempted to summon it. You know that had it been you in that position you would never have the magic to do anything.

You wish desperately nearly every day that there was something you could do to change this, anything that you could do to help your sister in some way. You know that your sister was able to read and write, and learn, which was much better than either you or your father had ever attempted. Your mother had been a good teacher, but the strange lines and shapes never found any meaning within your mind.

You know, with certainty that only your sister's determination could assure you of, that if any of the currently living Gaunts were able to restore the previous pride and prestige of their family, it would be your sister. While she had never shared her plans and ideas with you directly, you had overheard her talking to your mother several times, and the pride that had been in your mother's voice had almost always made you envious of her, and ensured that she would have your continuous support.

Your mother had been to Hogwarts, and had often told you stories of everything that happened within the walls, allowing you to become more excited with every word your mother had whispered at the dead of the night. You could never say the same about your father, who had never seen Hogwarts, or any sort of education for that matter, as necessary.

"You're a disgrace to the Slytherin line! I should disown you!"

It was taking all of your concentration to keep your anger at bay. You are only eight, after all, there is no way you would ever be able to harm your father magically or physically. Your father simply knew more than you did, although only through experience.

You didn't think your sister would forgive you for getting unnecessarily hurt anyway. She is always the one to bandage your cuts and bruises when you got into fights with some of the other boys in town. You just wish that there was something you could do to stop this, to protect and care for her.

There was one boy in particular, though, his father apparently important to the mudbloods that they were forced to surround themselves with, who walking around like he owned the place, often choosing you as his punching bag. You had done nothing to deserve it and yet you were forced to endure it. You hated the boy that looked and dressed far better than you were able to afford to even though you were far above someone like him.

"Then why don't you? Because you can't cook for yourself? Too useless? I'm keeping you alive!"

You watch in horror as your sister utters those words that echo menacingly within the confines of your skull. You would never have dared to interrupt your father, nor argue back as she had just done. You wait anxiously as the silence extends around you. The last person who had argued with your father was your mother and she… she…

Your eyes met your sister's and you see the edge of the insanity that lived there. You had also inherited a bit of your father's insanity, but you are able to manage yours much better than your sister is. The only person who had ever been able to calm your sister when she got as upset as she was now had been your mother. You have managed it a few times, but not enough to say that you were in anyway good at it.

"You dare."

You swallow painfully despite the fact that the tone in your father's voice wasn't being directed at you. You know from experience that all that happened when your father used that voice was redredred.

You see a hand rise and the slumped form of your sister. Panic fills you. You can't let him take your sister from you. He has already taken your mother. You simply couldn't let him…. Not your little sister.

You had promised your mother that you would protect her no matter what, that you would make sure that your sister would get everything she deserved. You promised to take your sister out of this hovel and leave your father behind as soon as you could. You couldn't break those promises, especially because they were made to your mother. Those were her last wishes and you simply could not deny her that.

Your panic leaves you in a flood, and you hear a crash on the far side of the room. Your sister looks startled, and you feel extraordinarily tired. You don't understand where the tiredness had come from but you run to your sister, making sure she was not harmed in anyway.

"You shouldn't have done that. He's going to be very angry," she whispers, eyes darting to the groaning form of your father.

"You deserve better than this."

"Not at the cost of you," she whispered desperately. You watched as her eyes widened, "Mor-"

"-FIN!"

Her shriek was the last thing you heard as your world faded to darkness.

Written for Quidditch League: Wigtown Wanderers

Captain: Write about a familial friendship [Merope&Morfin]