It was a quiet July night. All of the lights in the houses had long since been out, the residents having gone to bed. Everything looked at peace. Until a scream, high-pitched and terrified, echoed out from one of the houses. It cut off suddenly. Lights flicked on, people came rushing out.
Witnesses would later say that a young man had run out of the back of Number 7 and into the woods. The family's money and valuables were missing. Mr. and Mrs. D'Anjou were left stabbed to death in the kitchen. Their little girl, only about a year old, was left crying upstairs. The Ministry of Magic took over from the Muggle police without anyone noticing. A young official detached from the group with the baby in his arms. He said goodbye to the others and Disapparated.
Master Bartlebee and the Ministry official sat around the dining table in Bartlebee's flat. He lived above his Apothecary in Diagon Alley. That morning, he had not expected finding Mr. Thomas in his den holding a small sleeping child. Together they had set up the donated baby items in the small second bedroom, set down the sleeping baby, and sat down with coffee at the table.
"I'm very sorry about your loss Master Bartlebee," said Mr. Thomas. "I know they were like family to you. Their will was for you to take care of Abbigail". Bartlebee nodded and took a sip from his mug. "Thank you. Please find the man who did this soon." Mr. Thomas gave his promise that he would and left to return to work. Bartlebee sat at the table alone, his head in his hands and tear dripping onto the table.
After a while a sound from the hallway caught his attention. A small cry from the second bedroom. He got up slowly and went into the baby's room. He picked up the crying child and held her close. She had inherited her mother's dark hair and her father's light blue eyes. Her chubby face was screwed up with the effort of crying. If Bartlebee hadn't already raised three children he would have worried.
He got her a bottle and sat on the sofa in the den. As the little one drank up the formula he gazed at the pictures on his mantle. Abbigail's mother was one of his apprentices. She was closest thing to a daughter he had had. He would do all he could to raise Abbigail well in her honor.
(AN: I'm sorry this is fairly short. The next chapter is much much longer. Thanks for reading! Constructive critisim is welcome. Flames feed my dog, Cerberus)