One-shots and plot bunnies

POV: Mother

It started with a scream, distant and sharp, that sliced through the stillness of the night. Emma Wilkes stirred from her place on the couch, her knitting needles halting mid-stitch. The faint, acrid scent of smoke reached her nostrils, mingling with the sound of shouts.

"David?" she called to her husband, who sat engrossed in the evening paper at the kitchen table.

"I hear it," he muttered, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted to the window, where a faint orange glow flickered across the curtains.

Emma moved toward the window, pulling the curtain aside. Her breath caught.

"David." Her voice was tight, trembling. "There's a fire. It's... it's the Miller's house!"

Before he could respond, the fireball that once was their neighbor's home erupted, sending fiery debris into the night sky. Figures dressed in black cloaks circled the wreckage, their faces obscured by masks that gleamed in the firelight. Emma gasped as one of the figures turned, raising a stick—no, a wand—and pointed it at a screaming woman on the lawn.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The woman crumpled, lifeless. A green light pulsed in the darkness, illuminating the masked figure's cruel laughter.

"Get the kids," David barked, already moving toward the staircase. "Now!"

POV: Girl (Abigail, 9 years old)

Abigail clutched her stuffed rabbit, ears ringing from the loud noises outside. She didn't understand why her parents were rushing around. She only knew that the glow in the window wasn't the usual streetlamp but something far more menacing.

"Abby, come here, sweetheart," her mother said, her voice trembling. She scooped Abigail into her arms.

"Is it fireworks, Mum?" Abigail asked, her voice muffled by her mother's sweater.

"No, love," her father said grimly, peering out the window. He turned to his son. "Evan, listen to me. Stay close to your mother and sister, all right?"

Evan nodded, but Abigail saw his face pale as their father bolted the door and dragged a heavy cabinet in front of it.

POV: Father

David barely had time to block the front door before the glass shattered, sending shards raining across the floor. A sickening, high-pitched cackle followed.

"Run," he hissed, shoving his family toward the back door.

A voice, deep and mocking, echoed through the house.

"No use hiding, little Muggles. We can smell your fear!"

A blast rocked the doorframe as it splintered apart, wood flying like shrapnel. David turned, instinctively shielding his family. Four figures entered, their wands drawn. Their masks were grotesque, twisted depictions of skulls, but it was their laughter—inhuman and shrill—that chilled him to the bone.

"Expulso!" one of them hissed. The floor beneath David exploded, and he was thrown backward into the wall.

POV: Boy (Evan, 12 years old)

Evan screamed as his father hit the wall with a sickening crunch, his body crumpling like a rag doll. His mother screamed, clutching Abigail tighter as the masked figures closed in.

"Get away from them!" Evan shouted, his voice breaking. He grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and lunged, but one of the Death Eaters flicked their wand lazily.

"Depulso."

Evan's body slammed into the cupboards, and the knife clattered uselessly to the floor. Stars danced in his vision, but he fought to stay conscious. He watched, helpless, as one of the Death Eaters advanced on his mother and sister.

"Please, don't hurt my children!" his mother begged, tears streaming down her face.

"Crucio!"

Her screams filled the house as she collapsed, convulsing. Abigail wailed, clutching her mother's arm, only for another Death Eater to seize her by the hair and drag her across the room.

"No!" Evan shouted, forcing himself to his feet. Blood trickled down his temple, but he didn't care. "Leave her alone!"

POV: Girl (Abigail)

Abigail screamed as she was yanked by her hair, her feet kicking uselessly. The masked figure laughed, their grip like iron. She turned to her mother, who lay twitching on the floor, her eyes wide and unseeing.

"Mummy!"

She didn't understand why no one was helping. Why was this happening?

POV: Death Eater

Bellatrix Lestrange tilted her head, surveying the scene. The boy was fighting to stand; the little girl's screams were delightful. She felt alive in these moments—the destruction, the chaos.

"Finish them off," she ordered the others, her voice languid but firm. "Make it art."

She turned her wand to the boy. "Crucio."

POV: Boy (Evan)

Pain erupted across Evan's chest as invisible blades tore through his skin. He collapsed, gasping for air, his vision blurring. He could see his sister in the corner, one of the Death Eaters raising their wand.

"No," he whispered.

There was a flash of green light, and Abigail's small body crumpled.

POV: Mother

Through the haze of pain, Emma saw her daughter fall. The world seemed to slow, her vision narrowing to that small figure lying lifeless on the floor.

"Abigail," she sobbed, her voice barely audible.

A boot pressed against her back, forcing her face into the splintered wood.

"Goodbye, Muggle," a voice sneered.

POV: Boy (Evan)

Evan opened his eyes to silence. The air was thick with smoke, the stench of burning flesh and wood choking him. His limbs felt heavy, his chest raw with pain, but he forced himself to sit up.

The Death Eaters were gone.

The house was unrecognizable, half of it reduced to rubble. His mother and father lay motionless. Abigail's stuffed rabbit lay beside her, scorched and torn.

He crawled to her side, ignoring the searing pain in his body.

"Abby?" His voice cracked. He reached for her hand, but it was cold, unyielding.

Through the broken walls, Evan could see their neighborhood. Other houses burned, their occupants screaming. Figures in black cloaks moved between them, their laughter echoing in the night.

Evan clenched his fists. Tears blurred his vision, but rage burned brighter.

The Death Eaters hadn't killed him. But maybe they should have.