October 7, 1980

Beatrice Burke: Age 3 (born 1977)

The newly built mansion was quiet until the tapping of tiny feet ran down the stairs.

"Come on Bea!" Brendon Burke called. He ran down the stairs after the giggling little girl.

The small child ran as fast as she could into the sitting room. She began to jump on the couch and laugh harder.

"Now where did you go?" asked her father. He knew where Beatrice was but he liked to play along.

Being a loyal Death Eater, it was hard to imagine Brendon Burke being so fun with his children. He figured, however, that he might as well take advantage the rare occasion his wife being out at a late tea party.

Little Beatrice gasped and ran into the nearby closet. She shut the door and tried to hold in her laughter.

Brendon stepped into the sitting room quietly. "I know you are in here, princess." He turned his head swiftly, hearing the tiny giggles coming from the closet.

"I wonder what's in there." He made his way over to the noise.

The giggling got louder as Brendon turned the rusty door handle until-"HA!" he exclaimed as the arm swung the door open. The small brunette squealed.

"No, Daddy!" she shouted while her father set her onto the nearby couch and held her down. "You are a dirty little girl, Beatrice Burke."

Beatrice shook her head and squealed. "No! I am clean!"

"No," Brendon smirked playfully. "I think it is bath time for you, sweetheart."

"No bath! No bath!" Beatrice chanted.

Brendon just laughed and scooped his daughter up. "Yes bath!" he answered back.

"No way!" Beatrice started kicking her legs.

The little girl's father ignored her. He continued to carry her up the stairs and brought her into the large bathroom.

Beatrice continued to kick, but it didn't hurt very much. How strong could a three-year-old be anyways? Her father stood with her in the bathroom, calmly waiting for her to stop until-

"AH!" Brendon shouted and bent down in pain. His daughter let go of him, frightened at what had just happened.

He plopped down onto the floor. "Shit…Bea!" he growled in pain.

"Daddy! What happened?" asked the tiny girl. She looked at her father with worry.

Brendon looked at his daughter, trying not to seem too mad. "You kicked me in the…balls!"

"I kicked you where?" Beatrice replied in confusion.

"Oh! Erm…nowhere," said Brendon. He had just realized that his daughter had no idea what balls actually were.

Beatrice nodded and walked closer to where her father was seated on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him. "Did I hurt you?"

Brendon sighed and patted his daughter on the back. "Just a little, sweetie."

"But so yelled so loud!" said Beatrice. "I'm sorry daddy!" She kept the embrace and placed her head on his shoulder. "Did I really kick that hard?"

The little girl's father sighed. "You kicked me pretty hard, princess."

Beatrice felt guilty and hugged her father tighter. "I'm sorry…"

"It's alright sweetheart," he chuckled. "Just use it on a mudblood next time, alright?"

"Yes daddy," Beatrice replied, "I still hate baths though."

Brendon let go of his daughter. "We all have to do things that we don't like sometimes." He finally stood up and grabbed a towel off of the shelf. "We just have to deal with it, sweetie." He set the towel on the edge of the bathtub. "Now will you please get in the tub?"

The tiny child folded her arms. "Only if you answer one question."

"Alright," Brendon sighed again. "What is it?"

"What's a ball?" Beatrice asked, smiling.

Brendon bit his lip. "Um…you know what balls are…you play with them all the time."

Beatrice shook her head. "But you said that I kicked you in the balls."

"It's just an expression, princess." Brendon kneeled down to begin unbuttoning his daughter's robes.

"But do you have balls inside of you then?" She was very smart for a three-year-old and would not stop asking questions until she was sure about the answer.

Brendon shook his head. "Princess, please just get in the damn tub." Sometimes, his little girl could be just as stubborn as the Dark Lord himself.