The Terrible News

It was an Island, far away from Privet Drive, where a family enjoyed their Halloween. Abigail Monroe and her husband sat by the fire in their little town house tucked in the corner of a merchant street. Their two year old son played on the floor with his set of blocks and their daughter half his age cooed in her bassinet. The family had just finished carving pumpkins and lit them outside on the steps. It was a messy job of course, pumpkin guts and little Kieron trying to put the seeds up his nose. He of course had to be washed in the tub by his father as his mother cleaned the kitchen.

It was a peaceful night the only sounds or distractions coming from the fireplace or the occasional group of children trick or treating outside. Abigail sighed, her husband sitting beside her with a book. The two loved each other to the moon and back. Though they practically came from two different worlds, they still managed to fall in love that one Christmas eve near an old pub. It was cold and the snow had finished falling, and garlands were wrapped the street lights that let off a cheery glow. Abigail was returning home from visiting her Nan and stopped in the pub for a drink to warm up. There she met quite a handsome muggle bartender named Scott who told her charming stories of his past Christmas.  It was getting late, and she still had to floo home, but before she left the bartender happened to smuggle his number into one of her mittens. Least to say she called him the next day about possibly seeing each other for the New Years.

Scott looked up at the clock, the hands showing nine o'clock sharp. He placed his book on the small table beside him, and scooped up his tired  son and carried him up the stairs to his nursery. The boy himself already asleep in his father's arms before they reached the top of the stairs. He placed the boy in his crib with a kiss and headed back down the stairs to see his wife in the kitchen making a kettle of tea while talking to an elderly witch from next door.

“It is absolutely terrible Gail! A whole family killed but the child, what kind of person would do such a thing?” Mrs. Flint said, fixing her night robe. Her silvery hair in tight pink curlers and the slippers on her feet wet from walking in the snow.

“What have I missed?” Scott asked rather confused at the sudden appearance of his neighbor.

“A wizarding family was murdered in Britain, my sister called a bit ago and told me the news. It was something about a dark wizard coming to power, he killed a husband and wife in their own home. They had a boy you know, yet some reason he  could not kill the child. That poor boy; who knows what will happen to him after this, but he is sure going to be a star.”

The kettle whistled and Scott sat down with the elderly woman. He was not a man of magic, but the thought of a man killing him and his wife with their children all alone set shivers down his spine. His shivers were soon met with a steaming cup of tea in from of him made just the way he liked. A few hours later they waved Mrs. Flint off asking her to be careful and to be safe. The Monroes themselves locked the doors and windows and charmed the house just to be safe for the night.  It would be a long one full of terrible news and much gossiping.

The next few years the Monroe family grew not in just age, but in number as well. The family welcomed a newborn baby boy a year after the Potter tragedy. For a newborn, Sean did not scream or wail very often like most children would. he had his father’s eyes and the same mop of red hair. His cheeks were rather chubby, but he would eventually lose it.

It was one morning their father left to run a few errands around town. The morning was thick with fog, the outdoor steps slick with a thin layer of frost. It was nearly dinner time when the Aurors arrived at the door. Their greatest sincerities when they told the Mrs. of the outcome of her husband. Abigail Monroe fell to her knees.

The aurors arrived later that day with terrible news. The shorter and pudgier of the two men took off his hat to give Abigail the news.

“I’m sorry Ma'am to tell you that your husband has been killed. Many wizarding families are being murdered at this time for unknown reasons. We will try our best to find and capture who did this to your family."

Abigail began to weep, “My poor children, what will I tell them?"

Young Kieran stood behind his mother, holding a handful of his mother’s dress. “Mama, what’s wrong, where’s Papa?”

That afternoon she gave her children the tragic news.  Kieran became even more quiet than usual, Molly wailing far into the night because Papa wasn’t there to read to her, and young Sean was far too young to understand what was going on.  Abigail herself found that sleeping on the couch was her way of coping. The bed was filled with the smell of her groom and the happy memories that they shared. She only went into her room when she needed fresh clothes.

The bar closed for a while, about a month or so until Abigail finally composed herself and hired a young student fresh out of Hogwarts to work in the bar as a waiter. The boy was scraggly and his shoes always found themselves un tied, however, the boy never seemed to trip on them.  He was a good worker, but by the time Kieran was nine, the waiter quit because of a job opening in the Ministry.

Kieran began taking orders for his mother and as she was finished she’d serve the drink herself. Molly joined in at this time cleaning off tables and checking in on Sean every once in awhile to make sure he was alright. The four of them managed on their own with occasional help from the elderly witch next door who became like an adopted grandmother to the children. She would spoil them with stories of her time at Hogwarts when she was a child.

It was mid April when finally good news had come, a week prior to Kieran’s eleventh birthday to be exact. His mother met another man, a business partner to help manage the bar.  He was rather short in frame and rather square shaped, but his small size was made up by his passion and merry making. Novellus Brickwell was a man of many talents. He helped paint the chipping paint outside, fixed a creaky floorboard, and made drinks faster than a snitch. The bar seemed good as new and many people began to pour in, wizard and muggle alike.

The following Tuesday, the bar was closed, nearly empty aside from the Monroe family and a few family friends. The oldest Monroe boy would be turning eleven in exactly five minutes. His mother looked at him with loving eyes. He had grown to look much like his father, his distinct eye shape and jaw. His black hair was always in place and his dark blue eyes held so much knowledge. Molly carefully brought out the white frosted cake that said Happy Birthday in blue, eleven candles in rows ready to be blown out.

“Make a wish my boy.” His mother said.