December Twenty-First, 1943

They were not indented to be killed that night. 

They were not the intended targets. 

But only a few days out from Christmas, far, far away from Hogwarts... 

Everything changed. 

Their house was modest. Made of dark brick with vines creeping up the walls and seeping into the roof. Arabella's room was the smallest room in the house, and it was damp and cold. But she never minded. The whole house was always damp and cold. 

Agatha and David Lettermen were always very kind to the girl. Ever since they took her in, their recourses and the wealth they did own, dwindled. But they loved Arabella Caerwyn and stood by her side throughout the hardships. 

At school, Arabella didn't talk about her family- not even to Jaelyn. 

They were Muggles you see, and having two Muggle parents- biological or not- was not an ideal situation for a Slytherin student. 

However, Arabella did love the pair. They raised her well and they loved her to bits, despite her agonizingly obvious faults. 

They were the reason Arabella held no prejudice towards Muggles and Mudbloods, they kept her grounded. She feared what she could have become without them, witch or no witch. 

The night was cold and snow fell gently onto the white ground, already covered in a blanket of soft snow. It was almost too beautiful, and fate just had to step in and ruin everything. 

The sky outside was dark and the lights from the Lettermen's house flooded the street with a yellow glow, turning the pavement golden. 

Next door, was the town's bank. It was small, but it held the wealth of the entire village inside a couple of old vaults. Inside, a few people milled about, waiting for a clerk or basking in the warmth of the fire that blazed in the centre of the building. 

Suddenly, a big black car screamed up to the curb and five burly guys leaped out of the door. They yelled, and David Lettermen woke suddenly from his nap with a snort. 

The men sprinted into the bank, black objects gripped tightly in their hands. Shots went off inside the building and the walls of the Lettermen's house shook and dust fell from the ceiling and books shuddered in their shelves. Agatha flew down the stairs and into the embrace of her husband. Carefully, the pair huddled in a corner and trembled in each other's arms, flinching as more shots went off with tremendous bangs. 

In a split second, there was a yell, a bang and a pained screech, damped by the walls of the house and the space between them and the bank. David, who was once a doctor, tensed and crawled up and headed for the front door. 

"Dave!" Agatha called and reached for her husband's arm, not realising he would never hold her again. 

But their front door swung open. His need to help those in pain was too strong. David Lettermen ran down the path and out of the gate. He had made it to the road when two of the armed men sprinted outside and began to get back into their car. 

David looked at the men then down at the plate of the car. A man who had not yet gotten inside glanced at him before yelling something that was muffled by the scarf around his lips. 

Agatha Lettermen made it outside of her house bravely just in time to see her husband shot. 

She screamed and let go of all reason. 

Agatha began sprinting for her husband who's limp body had hit the ground and almost vanished into the white snow, red blood stained the ice. 

The same man raised his pistol again and pulled the trigger. 

Agatha and David Lettermen died only inches from each other's embrace. 

Killed by a muggle's gun, shot by a muggle man. 

Tom Riddle had no clue of these events but they serviced him greatly. 

That event would change everything.