Paisley was 5, playing on the playground with her older brother Percival, 10 at the time. They were playing a game of tag, running all around the jungle gym and laughing like crazy, their voices high pitched and absolutely thrilled. It was the beginning of fall and the leaves on the trees were just beginning to change color, some still green, others an intriguing mixture of orange and green, and very few a vibrant red. The air had chilled, so both were dressed in a sweater and scarf, though their thin legs were bare in a pair of shorts. Despite this, a thin layer of sweat shone on their breathless, grinning faces.

“I’m going to get you!” Percival threatened, peering at his younger sibling through the tube she was crawling through.

“No you won’t!” she squealed, twisting around to plant her feet on the mulch before taking off. She looked behind her as she ran, releasing another cry as she saw the boy chasing after her with outstretched arms and hands in the shape of claws. The young Bellweather raced towards where her parents were sitting on a bench, watching them and chatting with amused expressions.

Angelica Bellweather’s arms were crossed, her body angled so that she leaned against her husband. A characteristic grin was stretched across her face, rounding her cheeks and exposing the small set of crow’s feet at the corner of each of her hazel eyes. Percival certainly took after their mother in both looks and mannerisms, always a ball of energy with a great big heart.

Reginald Bellweather sat, leaning back against the bench with a book perched on his lap. He wore a set of reading glasses which rested at the tip of his nose, aligned in the perfect position so that he could look down to read his book on wizarding law while also look up on occasion to check on them. The patriarch of their little group was a large man, standing at six foot five inches with broad shoulders and a mostly bald head. Anyone looking between the pair could tell he was the more reserved of the two as his wife chatted away about something or other, one of her arms occasionally coming untucked to wave animatedly to accent a point. But, he didn’t look annoyed. Far from it, if the soft quirk of his lips had anything to say about it.

Paisley flew behind them with Percival on the other side as they played a match of keep-away.

“Whooooa whooooa, don’t put us between this, you hooligans!” their mother laughed.

“Now I think Paisley is just using her head. Strategizing if you will,” their father commented.

“She can strategize all she wants! I’m still coming for her!” Percival howled, moving to round the bench.

The girl ran in the other direction, moving as fast as her legs would carry her. The oldest Bellweather child, being taller, could easily catch up to his younger sibling, but what would be the fun in that? So, when he was it he would chase her for a good while before finally letting her be it. In that moment, according to him, that time frame was up. He lengthened his strides until he quickly gained on the dark-headed girl, tapping her on the shoulder before quickly coming to a halt. “Told you,” he grinned, panting as he bent over to balance himself with his hands on his knees.

“Okay, I’m it. Time out. Water,” the girl panted and her brother nodded in agreement.

Percival turning around, calling to let their parents know what they were doing before the pair began walking toward the nearest water fountain.

It was between two playgrounds, the playgrounds roughly two-hundred meters apart so there was ample room between. As they walked over, Paisley took note of the other children playing. She wasn’t jealous or anything, she was perfectly happy playing with her brother, but she was curious nonetheless. Maybe she’d see a fun game that they were playing that her and Percival could play together instead of tag. A familiar child caught her attention as they reached the fountain, the five year-old looking in a perplexed manner and she searched her brain for where she remembered them from. Her brother slurped thirstily from the fountain. Suddenly, it clicked.

It had been earlier that summer, when they’d attended a family function. She was pretty sure the other child was a cousin of hers, or whatever that was. Either way, they were family. With a grin, the five year-old raced over without a thought.

“Hi! Do you remember me?” she asked happily.

The little boy looked confused for a second, staring at her before a light-bulb seemed to go off overhead. “Oh, yeah!” he responded, a mutual grin spreading across his features.

“My brother and I are playing tag. You want to join?” she asked, looking back to see Percival wiping the water off his mouth with the back of his hand and walking over to them.

“Sure! Let me go te—“ he began, but was cut short by a frowning woman.

“Archie, we’re leaving,” she commanded, grabbing her son by the wrist.

“But Mum! We just got here. I was going to go play with them,” he whined, trying to dig his feet into the ground to keep from leaving.

“We’ll find you someone else to play with. I told you not to play with these ones. They’re dirty,” she said, glancing back at them with a glare.

“We’re not dirty. You’re dirty, you old hag,” Percival bristled, grabbing Paisley by the shoulder and pushing her behind him. She looked shocked, her big brown eyes wide with surprise. Her attention drew downwards, looking at her clothes in confusion. She wasn’t that dirty. Maybe there was some dirt on her knees and her palms, but she thought she looked pretty okay.

“Go back to your traitor father and muggle mother, cretins,” she hrumphed, moving out of earshot though her son’s protests could still be heard echoing.

Paisley stood there in shock. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. She knew that a lot of her family at the gathering had shied away from them, but she hadn’t thought much of it. She wasn’t horribly social and could be kind of shy around strangers, and her parents hadn’t been talking much either so she’d just stuck by them and her brother. But…what had just happened? What did they mean, traitor? She’d sounded so…so mean.

Tears pricked the edge of her eyes.

Percival leaned down in front of her with a frown, wiping her eyes roughly with his sweater sleeve. “Don’t cry over them. She’s just mean and old and doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There’s nothing wrong with us and nothing wrong with mum and dad,” he said firmly. “Next time someone says something like that to you, I want you to give it right back!”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes still watery and her head still swimming in confusion.

“Come on, lets go,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back toward their parents. He barked at them that they wanted to leave and, with about as much confusion as the young Bellweather, the family packed up and left.