The Beginning: The End

April 28th 1998

The stadium was only half full, which isn't saying much seeing as it was only a small stadium. But the vibe coming from the witches and wizards was enough to make Miette Delacour smiled from her seat on her broom. Since the rise of You-Know-Who, not many people had risked going to watch high-speed racing. Hell, many witches and wizards had stopped racing altogether. But this was something Miette loved. For all her life she had been in her cousin's shadow. Of course, Fleur was part Veela, so it is understandable. And Miette had been happy being her cousin's quiet best friend. But flying was something Miette was good at, better than Fleur.

And she loved it. She was the French champion, unbeaten in the past three seasons. She even had a few offers from various Quidditch teams for the next Quidditch season. So on that lovely spring day, Miette was ready to race. From the starting point, Miette tightened her gloves and tucked a few stray blonde hairs behind her ears. She was between her fellow French teammate Nicole Rousseu and the Russian Anya Ivanova, who were both laughing about a joke someone else had told. That was what Miette loved about the sport; everyone was friendly. Sure, you got the odd over-competitive bitch, but generally they were all friends.

The commentator, some overly large and seedy man spoke. "Ladies, get ready!" his voice boomed and Miette pulled on her goggles and gripped her broom tightly, blocking out all outside noises.

The only sound she registered was the bang, signifying the start of the race. Immediately, Miette shot forward, her mind focused entirely on the race. At the end of the first lap, Miette was in the second to the English team's Lucy Jones. The second lap ended with her tied with Lucy and Anya. By the fourth lap Miette was in first place with a large distance between her and Lucy. And that is when it all fell apart. She passed someone on the previous lap when a green flash passed her and hit the woman who plummeted to the ground.

Screams filled the stadium and the racers all panicked; they were all easy targets, what with the top of the stadium closed. Pulling her wand out of her boot in record time, Miette spun her broom around to see what exactly was happening. Gasping, her eyes fell on a group of Death Eaters who were happily throwing curses at audience members and racers alike. Deflecting a curse, Miette sent a curse of her own before dodging whatever else was being thrown in her way.

Fellow racers were dropping from their brooms with various flashes of coloured light, and Miette frantically looked around for Anya or Nicole. Her stomach dropped as an orange light hit Nicole. As fast as she could fly – which is pretty fast – Miette caught her friend who was bleeding profusely from a wound on her side. "Nicole, can you hear me?" she asked in rapid French.

The brunette grunted in reply and clung to Miette. Adrenalin racing through her veins, Miette began to fly towards the stadium seats but changed her mind when she saw flames begin to consume anything flammable. Smoke was rapidly filling up the stadium and Miette coughed violently, still dodging curses and holding Nicole tightly. On the positive side, the Death Eaters could no longer see her through the smoke.

Something creaked and with a loud crash part of the stadium caved in on them, sending up more dust and smoke. But Miette could not see where the opening was. The smoke in the air had put a coating on her goggles which further impaired her vision, but she knew taking them off would only mean the smoke would go into her eyes and possibly cause her to go blind – if she survived.

Nicole seemed too still in her arms and Miette felt tears prick her eyes. "Nicole!" she yelled hoarsely before coughing again. Her head spun from lack of oxygen and her lungs ached from smoke inhalation. Feeling weaker, Miette drifted down, the smoke disorientating her. There was another crash from somewhere above her and debris rained down on her. Another crash and parts of the roof hit her, causing her to drop Nicole. She screamed, clinging to her broom with a death grip. Blood was dripping from various cuts on her body, but Miette barely even registered her own pain as she began to sob.

Another coughing fit followed and in her weakened state Miette could no longer hold onto her broom and she plummeted to the ground below. She landed with a sickening crack and an intense pain filled her body. A small part of her mind reminded her that feeling the pain meant she hadn't broken her neck, but the shear panic of the situation over ran any coherent thought.

From where she lay amongst the debris, Miette could see the charred ruins of broken stadium and flames that moved closer to her by the second. What looked like bodies littered the ground and Miette fought the urge to throw up. She wasn't the fighting type; war wasn't her domain. Unable to feel anything but fear, Miette felt her consciousness slip away and in her lost moment of awareness she briefly wondered if she was dead.

May 19th 1998

The war was over. Done. It was a bittersweet thing, though. Whilst Voldemort was finally gone for good, everyone lost someone dear to them. Everyone felt the sting of loss. And with the fighting finally done, such people were given time to dwell on their losses.

Charlie Weasley was one such person. The loss of his brother hit him hard, and he hadn't spoken to anyone for over two weeks. But it wasn't only the loss of Fred that he felt; the loss of Tonks, too. Throughout Hogwarts, she had been his best friend. And now? She was gone. The sight of their bodies was burned into his memories, and made him want puke. He helped his parents rebuild the burrow, doing anything to distract him from thoughts of his little brother and his best friend. But it never worked for long. It seemed that everywhere he turned was a reminder of Fred. Be it the remainders of a prank, or even just looking at George. But he tried to stay strong. He needed to stay strong.

George needed him.

Charlie had always seen the twins as two separate people, something not many people did. He always treated them like individuals. He knew that George was a mastermind when it came to planning things, and that Fred secretly liked to read Dumas. And they had both been grateful for that. And so Charlie knew that George would need him. Charlie had always been there for them. He was the one who taught them how to fly, the one who helped get them out of trouble, the one who they had always turned to for advice.

And so, seventeen days after the battle found Charlie sitting under a tree with George staring out into the distance. Both were silent, knowing that they didn't need words to comfort each other. They had done so every evening since the battle, and never had the silence been broken.

"It seems unfair, don't it?" George said finally, his voice hoarse. "That I'm here, and he's… not."

More silence followed, but George wasn't expecting any sort of answer.

"I think…" Charlie said softly, as though not sure his voice would still work. "I think that it is unfair that fucking Death Eaters are still here, and he's… not."

Surprised at his brother's first words since the war, George turned to face him. "I killed people, Charlie. I took lives. Fred—" George's voice broke and he forced back tears. "He didn't kill anybody. In all that fighting, he didn't kill. He should still be here. I'm the one who killed people."

There was a long silence, the only sound coming from Charlie standing up. He put his hand on his brother's shoulder and looked at the sky grimly. "We all killed people, George." He said quietly before turning and walking away, his hands stuffed in his pocket and tears running down his face. And not for the first time Charlie wished he was the one who died. He should have tried harder to protect his family, to protect his friends.

Filled with regrets, Charlie apparated to a random pub to drink away his problems.

A/N

Well I have decided to publish this story… I have written bits of it over the past few months, so here it is! Don't know if it is any good, because I never ever ever write romance stories. I don't even read them. So this is for my boyfriend who does. And if it is crap, I humbly apologise.

-x-