Thick Smoke

Once Upon a Dark Day

In Clifden, in the west of Ireland, there stood a house much like any other built for a large family, though it was carefully hidden between thick, overgrown trees that seemed to shield it from the rest of the world. At a glance, it gave the impression that whoever lived there valued privacy above all else, and the quiet isolation of the place only reinforced that belief.

It was one of those rare sunny days, the first after a long stretch of grey, heavy weather that had kept the skies dull and the air thick. In the garden, a girl of about seven years old, with short brown hair and pale green eyes, was playing on her own, slowly discovering that she could create small things out of nothing at all, as if the air itself answered to her will.

A few steps away, her mother stood watching her, her expression soft and filled with quiet pride. The red-haired woman was pleased, even relieved, to see that her daughter was already showing signs of wandless magic at such a young age. Their life had been a quiet one, deliberately so, and the villagers rarely ventured close to what they assumed was an old, abandoned house.

"Mommy, look! A fox!" the little girl exclaimed, her voice bright with delight as she pointed toward the creature running across the garden in the direction of her mother.

But it was not an ordinary fox. It shimmered faintly, its form composed of silvery light. It did not need to speak; a simple inclination of its head was enough for the woman to understand.

"He's coming," she whispered, the words barely audible.

Her gaze snapped toward her daughter, who was still captivated by the Patronus. Sensing the sudden change, the girl looked up, her small smile fading into a puzzled frown. The color drained from her mother's face, and panic settled over her features in a way the child had never seen before.

"Darling, you have to hide," the woman said quickly, her voice firm despite the fear beneath it. "Go into my room on the second floor and hide in the dresser. Do not come out, no matter what you hear."

The urgency in her tone left no room for questions.

The front door burst open with a force that echoed through the entire house, and even the child could hear the heavy, deliberate footsteps of a man whose presence seemed to bring death with it wherever he went.

The mother hurried inside and up the stairs, her movements swift and precise despite the rising dread. Once in her bedroom, she gripped her wand tightly, positioning herself as she waited for her unwanted guest to reach her.

"You have greatly disappointed me," the man said as he entered, his voice cold enough to strip the warmth from the room and leave it feeling lifeless and still.

The woman met his gaze without flinching. There was defiance in her eyes, but there was also a remarkable calmness, one that did not falter even as he towered over her.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Give me the little one," he replied, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on her.

Hidden away, the girl could not see what was happening, but she could hear enough to understand that something was terribly wrong. There was a sudden, sharp noise, followed by a voice that rang out with terrible finality.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Mom!"

Eliza woke with a violent jolt, her body tense and trembling. She was drenched in sweat, tangled in the white sheets as her breath came in uneven bursts. It took her several moments to steady her racing heart before she pushed the covers aside and rubbed her face with tired hands. The sun had not yet risen, and the room was still wrapped in the dim quiet of early morning.