Oh, and I'd rate it R for character death and bad things.
Tara screamed, tears of helplessness streaking her cute ten-year-old face as she cowered behind the fallen table with her mother and one of her younger brothers.
Hexes were flying this way and that, and her mother was desperately shooting off curses. Tara wasn’t really old enough to recognize that most of them were considered Dark; all she knew was that her mama was protecting her.
Suddenly shards of wood were flying every which way in a cacophony of sound and light, and Tara was thrown back against the wall, her brother thudding against her a second later. She looked down through her pain, instinctively clutching at him, to see wide, sightless eyes looking back, a stake of wood in his chest.
She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Her mother threw herself in front of Tara, and the little girl desperately clutched at her mama’s robes. “Don’t hurt my babies, gods, don’t hurt my babies, don’t hurt th-”
A flash of green light ended her pleading.
Pell-mell, Victorious, Sweep
Tara clung to her mother’s heavy, limp body, shaking the dead woman. “Mama! Mama, wake up … please mama, gods mama, please wake up, Simon’s hurt, mama please …”
“Someone shut the kid up,” a tall, black Auror snapped, obviously distracted from directing the pell-mell activity going on around them. Aurors went this way and that, and a couple swept in looking angry, dragging in bodies with them.
“All hail the victorious,” the Auror who had killed her mother smirked as they dropped the body of her father unceremoniously on the ground.
“Daddy! Daddy,” she wailed, moving to scramble close to him.
“Shut up and be still!” the killer said, unceremoniously backhanding her. Tara felt like the breath was knocked out of her but instinctively began to crawl towards her father again. Dawlish, fed up, drew his wand in a fit of adrenaline-spiked pique and snarled a hex in her direction.
She ducked, but wasn’t quick enough. It struck the left side of her head, just above her ear, and her scream this time was a high-pitched, childish shriek of pain and agony as she clutched at the side of her face, blood running out from between her fingers.
Blood dripped on the floor, on her robes, staining carpet and clothing indiscriminately. Tara cried, tasty salty blood and tears in her mouth as she begged incoherently for her mama or daddy.
She didn’t catch the tall black Auror pushing Dawlish forcefully, asking him what the hell he’d cursed a kid for. It wasn’t until big hands grabbed her gently, trying to force her face up for inspection that she was aware of anything but the pain and the blood.
She reacted just about as negatively as could be expected, striking out forcefully. Her nails scratched a matched set of lines down Kingsley’s cheek and she screamed and struggled against being touched.
“Lemme go lemmegolemme go … I HATE YOU I HATE YOU let me GO,” she yelled, kicking and clawing and biting, whatever she could do to get him to release her. At one point he did drop her and she blindly back up. Everything on the walls was shaking, trembling in the face of a child’s uncontrollable emotional magic.
“I HATE you, HATE you all I’ll KILL YOU,” she screamed over and over, resuming her beating on Kingsley as he grabbed her again, this time successfully restraining her wrists with one hand and her legs at the knees with the other arm. He held her with just enough force to keep her from harming herself or him.
“I hate you I hate you I’ll kill you … I’ll kill you right now lemme go …” she sobbed, body writhing in his arms until someone mercifully cast a deep sleep charm on her, causing her to go immediately slack in the big man’s arms.
She looked so small, though she was already tall for a ten-year-old. Blonde hair was dyed red with blood. He carefully pushed it out of the cuts, which were still bleeding. He demanded a clean handkerchief and only one of his crew of Aurors could provide one. Kneeling, he carefully dabbed at the girl’s face, his frown growing even fiercer when he saw the extent of the damage.
“You idiot,” he said flatly to Dawlish. “She’s just a girl … her parents may have been Death Eaters, but she’s just a girl.”
“Collateral damage,” the man said, and Kingsley looked around with a heavy heart. Besides the elder Yaxleys, there were two other young children, a boy and a girl, dead, and, he noted with faint horror, a baby, maybe nine months old. An old couple, as well, probably grandparents on one side.
This girl had been the only survivor of what should have been a simple capture. What was going on, that they could slaughter as indiscriminately as Death Eaters did?
“They made their bed, now they can lie in it,” another of his Aurors said fiercely.
“So our children die and their children die,” Kingsley replied tersely. “At this rate, give it a few years, Desmond, and there won’t be any beds left for any of us.” He scooped Tara up in his arms. “Take her to St. Mungo’s … I’ll go there later, so I better find her there.” His voice held an ominous edge as he transferred the girl into Desmond’s arms.