A Promise Made

Narrator: And so it was that the baker returned to his wife.

The baker sauntered dejectedly up the road that led to his front walk. He couldn't quite yet believe what he had gotten himself into. Surely, his wife will hate him now for sure. What was he thinking, giving away his blood to this...this...witch? Cursing to himself for calling the poor girl names, he raised his head to take a good look at his home. Even from this distance, he could already see the dark brown head of hair that belonged to his nine-year-old son who had already become quite the baker himself.

How was he going to break it to him that he had given away his not yet born brother or sister to a young woman he hardly knew? Who was he kidding? He didn't know her at all. He had no ideas what her intentions will be. And his wife! She was going to be grief stricken. Shifting the vegetables that he had been holding in his arms, he walked slowly forward.

It was then that his son, Joseph, had caught sight of him. The Baker could distinctly hear his son call out 'Father is home,' before the front door flew open and his son raced out to meet him.

"Father!" The boy yelled in greeting. "Did you get them?"

The baker glanced at all the vegetables in his arms before turning his eyes up toward the sky. Sometimes, the boy was as daft as his mother, he thought before smiling down at his son.

"Yes, boy," he said with a grimace. "I got what your mother asked of me."

The boy jumped up and down gleefully and clapped his hands. "Can I help you carry some of the greens father?"

The baker let out a deep sigh and handed over half of his load. The boy grinned happily as he took the load an ran towards a very frail and pregnant woman that was holding open the front door. She was a beautiful sight with her golden-yellow hair gleaming in the light of the moon. She was young, as she had not yet reached her twenty-seventh birthday, but she was a good wife. She was loyal and loving, traits that showed up equally in her voice. She was a beautiful singer and every night, she would sing both he and his son to sleep.

"Are these for me?" She asked her son who nodded happily and ran into the house. She gave the boy a big smile just before turning it on her husband. "I can't believe you actually went against your morals and stole these for me."

The baker watched as an amused look crossed her face. "And I certainly can not believe you actually got away with it." She continued.

Pushing past her, the baker walked over to the table and deposited the rest of the vegetables on the table next to the small heap his son had placed there. "Then don't believe it." He mumbled.

His wife waddled over. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

'Women', the baker thought with a roll of his eyes. "I said. 'then don't believe it.'"

The woman in front of him gave him her famous confused glare. "I don't understand."

Slamming his hand down on the table in frustration and startling both his son and his wife, the baker sat down in front of the vegetables. "Son, go outside and play."

The boy gave him a look that mirrored his mothers. "But Father, it's dark out."

"Do as I say!" He yelled. "Just don't wonder past the gates."

The baker watched as his son exited the door. He didn't bother even looking at his wife, for he knew that she would be leveling him with a look that was anything but friendly.

"Bloody hell," She swore.

The baker cringed. The last time she spoke like that, was when he over heard her yelling at her older sister for having an affair and later running off with the married, dairy man down the road. Granted he really couldn't blame the man for who he was married to. The woman was a down right shrew who did nothing but dote on her two-year-old, son, Jack. Now, that crisis was over, and he had yet to see where this new one was going to take him.

"What did you do that was so bad that our own son couldn't hear what you had to say?" She enquired.

When the baker didn't answer, she yelled out. "Well?"

The baker launched into the story about being caught by the young woman who owned the vegetables and then about how he was given a choice. "She said that I was to either give her our child, or suffer a 'muggle' I believe that was the term she used, punishment of cutting my hand off."

"'Muggle,' you say?" She asked quietly with fear breaking into her voice.

The baker nodded. "Yes, do you know what it means."

Swallowing back a lump of bile that entered her throat, the woman nodded. "'Muggle' is the term that the wizarding community that I was born into uses for non-magic folk."

The baker gave her an confused look. "I thought you said that the term was 'squib'."

She shook her head. "A 'squib' is someone who was born of a witch that has no powers. I'm a 'squib' were as you are a 'muggle'."

The baker nodded his understanding. "But that means that..."

"Young Miss. Parkinson is a witch." His wife whimpered before dropping to her knees and crying out in pain.