In the wizarding world, those under the age of seventeen are monitored by the trace. The Ministry Of Magic does this so that the misuse of magic is limited.
However, you cannot trace a young witch or wizard when you don't know they exist.
Ingrid Te...
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Ingrid sat, swinging her legs to and fro. The cool, autumn morning breeze whipping her hair around her face. Gingerly, she opened her book and placed it beside her so she could read and still grip either side of the bark on which she was sat.
Small rays of sunlight streaked through the gaps in the leaves of the branches, shadows dancing like ballerinas on the pages of her book. Silently, a large leaf fluttered down, spiralling in circles before it landed on the open book. A chill coursed through Ingrid's body as her hair fell in front of her face.
The autumn months were unusually cool and filled with rain. Not that the bad weather would deter Ingrid from sitting outside as she adored any chance to be away from her house - even if she was just sitting a few metres away from the back door.
Although, Ingrid did notice the sudden silence.
Normally her head was filled with the voices of her parents talking from within the house. She could always hear her parents talking even from the other side of the locked door. Sometimes, Ingrid was convinced she could hear her parents talking even when their mouths weren't moving.
But now there was silence.
That meant something was wrong.
Ingrid tucked a twig into her book to act as a bookmark and tucked it under her arm. She pushed herself off the branch of the tree and landed softly on the damp ground below. Ingrid adjusted the book under her arm before brushing her hair out of her eyes and starting towards the back door of her house.
There were no voices, and there would be no sound at all were it not for the few birds chirping and the sound of leaves crunching under Ingrid's feet.
Tentatively, Ingrid pushed open the back door and stepped into the kitchen. The counters were clear apart from a small plate with two pieces of toast placed in the centre of the table. She held her hand out to touch the bread and noticed it was stone cold, yet there were clear markings of where it had been toasted and where the butter had soaked in. For once, all the washing up had been completed and every single utensil was neatly put away. Throughout Ingrid's short life, the home had never been completely tidy.
The young girl placed her book down on the table and pushed her hair behind her ears before continuing on through the house.
The house was eerily silent. Normally, the building was filled with noises and chatter and laughter. Ingrid just couldn't understand what was wrong.
"Mummy?" Ingrid called out quietly, pushing open the door to the living room.
Nothing.
The entire room was spotless. Everything was cleaned and polished and tucked away out of view.
She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows as she decided to try and look upstairs.
Ingrid's parents rarely left the house. Let alone both of them leave at the same time. It just didn't happen. Ingrid was constantly watched by her parents, neither of them allowing her to venture away from the home let alone meet other people.
