Backtrack to when Penelope is 7. Winter

It was a cool winter night, with clouds looming on the edge of the horizon. A storm was coming no doubt, but in a certain small house in the middle of a crowded lane, young Penelope knew nothing of the storm that was to be coming.
Instead, she was having fun playing with Caroline, a porcelain doll she had gotten from her aunt for Christmas. Her aunt always gave her dolls. “A young girl should play with other young girls,” she claimed, although it made no sense to Penelope. All the young seven-year old knew was that playing with dolls was much more fun than talking to other girls.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Penelope’s mother and father were talking and whispering quietly to one another.
“William still isn’t home, he’s broken curfew much too many times.”
“He’s a young man, let him roam. I did that, too.”
“You know he’s hanging out with those friends. I don’t like them at all.”
Penelope walked it o the kitchen, her small bare feet slapping the tiled ground as she went.
“What’s going on?” She asked.
“Nothing!” Her parents said in unison, and it didn’t take a wild guess to think that they were lying.
“Ok,” was all Penelope said. She didn’t want to stay and eavesdrop. She’d done that once, and all she’d gotten out of it was something about taxes.
“Can I play with the broom?” She asked.
“Ok, fine.” Said Penelopes dad. Penelope grinned and took the small broom out of the closet, hovering around on the ground.
She knew it was almost time for bed, and, if it were a normal day, she already would’ve been asleep soundly in her bed upstairs.
As Penelope flopped onto the ground and off of the broom, there was a knock at the door. She picked herself up and went to go tell her mom.
“Thanks, pen!” Said her mom, and she pulled open the creamy door.
“Hello, is this is Alexander residence?” The person asked, their voice brisk.
“Yes, who are you?” asked Penelopes mom.
“I’m a witch from the ministry of magic. I come to tell you that one William Alexander has been sent to Azkaban.” They said, reading off of a piece of parchment paper.
“What?”
“He’s been sent to Azkaban prison. I cannot give any more information at this time.” With that, the witch turned on her heel and left.
“Mommy?” Asked Penelope quietly, walking up to her mom. There was no response. There was a long silence, so long Penelope wodnered if she was dreaming, and she really had been upstairs sleeping the whole time.
“Pen, Williams gone.” Said her dad at last. He wiped a hand over his face as if trying to wipe the thought out.
“What?” Penelope felt tears come to her eyes. She had to have been dreaming. She pinched herself, and when she felt it, she whispered to herself,“No. My brother. Not my brother.”