A/N – Written for Quidditch League Round Three – Natural Disaster (I went with the London Tornado of 1091) and the prompts Biting, Hardened and Decision.
Some of the historical information might not be as accurate as I would have liked, as I didn't have enough time to do the research on everything. If you notice something that's blatantly wrong, please let me know.
The storm had been raging for days, forcing many to take shelter indoors. If people were forced to leave their homes they did so briefly –with their heads down, and hoods, hats and scarves used to cover their faces from the biting winds – hurrying to their destinations and arriving drenched and shivering.
Neighbours banded together, several families sharing living space, causing homes to be even more cramped than usual. Blankets were shared out, and people would sleep together in one room to conserve heat. Streets would pool their limited food supply together, ensuring that everyone received at least one meal a day, even if the rations were poor.
And amongst it all, one lonely house on the end of the street received no aid. No one allowed them access into their homes; no one offered them blankets or food or even a greeting. Because strange things happened in that house, that were usually best left ignored.
Flowers blooming even in the midst of the harshest winter; owls flying around the house at all hours; strangers from far off places visiting in the most unusual attire.
Sometimes people entered that house never to leave.
She couldn't recall a time when she had been more terrified, as the thunder crashed and the lightening lit up the otherwise dark sky.
As another round of thunder rumbled through the sky she curled closer to her mother's side, watching the flickering flames of the fire spread heat and light throughout the small room. Her mother pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders, surrounding her in the familiar smells and comfort of home.
She wished her father were still here, he had always made the most beautiful fires. Hers weren't anywhere near as good – too much smoke, and they always seemed to die out far too quickly – but it was all they had right now, and for once her mother wasn't telling her that she should be trying to act more like the other children.
It was all that was keeping them warm, after all.
The storm continued to worsen; the dark clouds rolling fiercely in the sky, reaching down towards the ground and rotating faster and faster as the wind built up.
People were moving now, away from the strange cloud formations and towards better shelter than their wooden homes could provide. She had wanted to go with them – she had asked her mother before; large eyes staring imploringly into her face and hair crackling as the lightning lit up the sky outside.
Her mother had thought it best that they remain.
She didn't remember much after that. There were flashes of terror and pain and yet more fear.
The loud noise of wood splitting as it was torn from the ground, her mother screaming and moving to shield her from the debris. Her ears were ringing from the noise of it all, and she must have been screaming too for her throat felt like she had swallowed glass fragments.
Her fear spiked as it felt like the entire house shifted and she could no longer feel her mother, and she couldn't see must of anything through the chaos that their small home had become.
And then everything began to fade, and she let the darkness swallow her.
Absolute silence greeted her when she awoke. The kind of silence that echoes loudly in your head and leaves your ears ringing until the smallest noise breaks it.
She was expecting the pain to overwhelm her, but once the numbness had abated the only thing that remained was a dull ache in the back of her throat and just behind her eyes.
She couldn't see her mother anywhere – she couldn't see much of anything through the wreckage that her home had become. There was no movement – no indication of any life other than her own – but maybe her mother had gone to wait for her outside.
Slowly, she made her way to where the door had once been, stumbling over unidentifiable objects scraping her palms and knees each time she fell.
The silence followed her out onto the street. Not a single house remained standing, the entire street decimated by the storm.
She stood outside in the cold October evening, shivering and alone.
She wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually people began to return to their homes to see the damage that was caused.
Her eyes stared blankly at a child's toy; the tiny object somehow miraculously still intact despite much more durable things being completely destroyed by the storm.
People worked around her to clear out the street; taking what little was salvageable and discarding everything else.
Throughout all this she stood motionless, watching but not registering the activities going on around her.
It was as though a fog had filled her mind and there was nothing to tether her to this reality.
The haze didn't lift.
She watched the hardened faces of her neighbours as they looked down at her, she saw the looks of anger and disgust that adorned their faces, but none of that penetrated through the fog in her mind.
She knew they were holding an important meeting – she knew that meeting was about her – but she could not bring herself to care. They didn't know what to do with her – she had nowhere to go, none of her relatives lived nearby, and she had been accused of Witchcraft and the use of healing magic, and causing death through her philters.
And when they came to a decision, she couldn't find it within herself to even react.
She was to live with a relative of her father's. A woman she hadn't seen since his death, and who she could barely remember.
She was to fast for seven years. She didn't even object that she wasn't the one to cause the storm, and so she wasn't responsible for the two deaths. She made no move to defend herself whatsoever.
She just watched the world on around her while she was left behind.
A/N – And, some of the research I did manage to do, just to clear up any confusion:
Whilst the storm caused a great deal of damage throughout London (including destroying the wooden London Bridge) only two people died.
The title is a reference to the four rafters (each twenty-six feet long) that were driven so far into the ground that only four feet remained visible above the surface. These rafters were originally from the church of St. Mary-le-Bow.
The penalties for Witchcraft were relatively mild at the time this was set. Just the use of any form of magic resulted in the accused having to fast for twelve months, and if anyone died this was increased to seven years. Fasting, in this case, involved consuming only bread and water, so it's nowhere near as bad as it sounds.