AN: Written for the 'Tragic Romance' challenge by Toxic Rainfall.

The house on top of the hill was our place. It had been since we were eight, when Molly had left for Hogwarts and I was crying because I had no one to play with anymore. He'd just had some big argument with Lorcan and we comforted each other, in a way. We packed up some banana sandwiches and a few biscuits, and left my house that afternoon, hiking down to the river and beyond. We made it surprisingly far for two eight-year-olds. After a few hours, we reached the house on top of the hill. Never had we been this far away from home on our own before, and it was exciting. The house on top of the hill became our place, the secret hideout we escaped to when we needed to get away.

The house barely passed for a house at all. It had clearly been deserted for decades, and reminded me strongly of the Shrieking Shack we saw on our Hogsmeade trips. In slightly better shape than the Shrieking Shack, we deemed it safe enough, even though the wood was rotting and the whole structure leaned to the side slightly, and a few too many floorboards creaked dangerously. All the windows had been smashed in, and the few pieces of furniture that were left were torn, ragged and infested with maggots. It wasn't a pretty sight, and it never would be. But nobody would ever think of looking for us there, which was why we treasured it. It was ours and ours alone – our best-kept secret.

Over the years, we managed to restore the house on top of the hill so it was somewhat possible to live in it. Sneaking old items and building materials out of Granddad's shed was easier than we first predicted; he had so much junk piling up in that place, he wouldn't miss anything. We snagged wooden chairs, boards to cover up the gaping holes in the windows, an old lamp that didn't need that electricity thing to run on because of Granddad's tinkering with it. We even made a makeshift sofa. It was all Muggle stuff, of course, but that didn't matter because we weren't of legal age to use magic outside school anyway.

When we were fifteen, we were sitting in one of the downstairs rooms on our makeshift sofa, eating sweets stolen from The Burrow. It was Christmas Day, and we'd managed to escape the festivities and the chaos of practically everybody we knew partying and getting drunk and playing pranks. Nobody would miss us – all the adults would be waking up with a killer hangover the next morning, and neither of us meant much to my cousins. Slipping away was far too easy.

He wrapped his jacket around me, because I'd forgotten to bring mine and it was freezing, as well as snowing. Huddled up near the fire he'd built – where did he learn to build fires, anyway? – and leaning into him, I didn't notice the cold as much. As usual when we were here, it was just us that mattered. I could even pretend that the arm he threw around my shoulders didn't mean anything.

"You know," Lysander murmured, swallowing one of the sweets, "Lorcan says this place is haunted."

I frowned up at him in surprise. "Lorcan knows about the house?"

He nodded. "Not that we're here, of course. Just that it's haunted."

I snorted, wrapping Lysander's jacket tighter around me to hide the shivers. "That's a load of crap and you know it. We've been coming here for six years, I think we'd know if it was haunted."

Lysander shrugged. "I don't know. In summer, when we were last here, I was sure I kept hearing footsteps behind me."

"That was me, you idiot," I pointed out.

"Two pairs of footsteps, then."

I laughed. "Whatever you say, Lys."

"It's true! Didn't you hear the door slam behind us earlier?"

I shifted uncomfortably, because I had heard the door slam behind us when we both got inside the house a few hours ago. "It's windy outside."

"Not that windy. Don't you think it's strange that this place creaks so much? I asked Dad about it, and he said the house was in surprisingly good shape for its age. It shouldn't be making as much noise as it does."

"Maybe it was always creaky." But I inched closer to Lysander's side anyway, watching the dancing flames of the fire cast shadows on the wall that looked eerily human and real.

We were sixteen when he kissed me.

It was the summer before our sixth year at Hogwarts, nothing special about the day whatsoever. Victoire and Teddy's wedding was coming up in a few weeks, and I couldn't deal with the tension and the frantic rushing around anymore. Victoire would scream the house down every time we slipped up in the preparations just a tiny bit. Rose had given me the idea, sneaking out the first floor window to meet Al and Scorpius. Well, Victoire wouldn't miss us. Rose and I were possibly the least helpful people in the world when it came to flower arranging.

I sent an owl ahead of me asking Lysander to meet me at the house on top of the hill. He was there before me, rocking back and forth on his heels as he tended to do. It was just a habit of his. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Thanks for this," I smiled as I met him, hugging him quickly. "If I had to stay there five more minutes, I would have had to cast the full Body Bind Curse on Victoire. I swear, this wedding is making her crazy."

Lysander grinned. "No problem. So are you saying that at your wedding, you're not going to go all psycho on anyone?"

"Nope. At my wedding, everyone can turn up in jeans and gather in the kitchen for the ceremony, then watch us gallop off to our honeymoon on a donkey."

Lysander chuckled, leading the way inside the house. "I love you, Lucy Weasley," he laughed.

I nearly tripped over my own feet. Ignoring the knot forming in my stomach, I gulped and said, "Of course you do. But first I have to find someone to marry."

"You mean there's no one you want to marry yet?"

I shook my head, not noticing the slightly hopeful raised eyebrows on his face. "But if I do, you'll be the first to know! Anyway, I'm only sixteen. I've got another wedding to plan after Victoire's before my own."

"Whose wedding is that?"

"Rose and Scorpius'."

"Ah… do they know you're planning their wedding?"

"Course not. But I hope one of them asks the other out before I spring the news on them that I've booked the Hog's Head as the venue, otherwise it's just going to be awkward."

We stayed in the house on top of the hill until dusk fell, not even noticing when darkness cloaked the building and the hill outside and we only had our flickering lamp to see each other's faces.

"Lucy," whispered Lysander, his arms around me. It was normal for us to do that. A friendly thing to do. "You know what you were saying about weddings before?"

"About the Hog's Head?" I yawned. Lysander laughed.

"No, about… finding someone you want to marry."

"Oh, no, you're not going to try and get me an arranged marriage, are you?" I asked, only half joking. "Because if you do, you're not going to be my maid of honour."

"Lucy, will you just shut up for a minute?"

"Sorry."

He sighed, shifting so we were facing each other. "Lucy… would you ever consider me?"

I didn't know what to say. Luckily, Lysander made up my mind for me.

"To hell with this," he muttered, and in one fleeting movement, pressed his lips to mine.

A jolt ran through my body, burning fire and sizzling ice coursing through my veins together and making every single nerve burst into life. I was completely unprepared for the way his lips fit perfectly against mine, kissing me desperately as if it was our last kiss as well as our first. I didn't expect him to taste of cinnamon and strawberries and the minty sweets we always took to the house on top of the hill. I wasn't ready for him to pull back and gaze at me so tenderly and anxiously that it made me feel guilty beyond belief that I'd denied returning his feelings.

His face looked beautiful in the near darkness.

"I love you, Lucy Weasley," he whispered, cupping my jaw with his gentle fingers.

Most of all, I never once imagined myself murmuring, "I love you too, Lysander Scamander."

We were seventeen when it all fell apart.

It was exactly one year after our first kiss, the summer before our seventh year, and Lysander insisted on celebrating our 'anniversary' by taking a picnic up to the house on top of the hill.

"Lucy, I've got something important to tell you."

Suspicion arose in me as soon as I recognised the nerves in his voice. "What is it?" I asked apprehensively.

"I… I've been thinking about jobs. You know, after we leave Hogwarts," he began uncertainly, picking at the picnic rug.

I nodded. "You want to become a Healer, right?"

"Well… I did."

A sandwich froze in midair, halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean? Have you changed your mind?"

"Yes. Lucy, next summer I won't be here. I'm going to be in Romania."

"With your family?" I didn't want to hear the words come out of his mouth. But apologetic as they were, they had to be said.

"No, Lucy. I'm going to work with dragons. That's what I want to do."

I stared at him, then started to laugh shakily, convinced this was just some joke. "You're kidding, aren't you? We're going to graduate together, train as Healers… that's what we've been saying since we were thirteen… we're going to do that, aren't we? Lys?"

He didn't reply.

"Lysander?"

Sighing, he took my hands in his own, rubbing my palms with his thumbs. "I'm sorry, Lucy."

Wrenching my hands away, I glared at him. Uncle Charlie worked with dragons in Romania, and we only saw him in the holidays. Sometimes he didn't even turn up at Christmas. If Lysander went off chasing dragons, would I ever see him more than once or twice a year? He couldn't be serious. He couldn't. After a year of being together… he couldn't just leave me like that.

"Lysander, this isn't funny. Tell me you're joking! Tell me that you're going to become a Healer or – or work in the Ministry, or something!"

"Lucy, stop it!" His eyes were hard now, glaring at me with as much force as I was using to glare at him. "Why would I lie to you about something like this? This is what I want to do! I'm sorry, but that's how it is. You want to be a Healer, Luce. Not me."

Where had this change of heart come from? I knew Lysander loved the outdoors, and Care of Magical Creatures was his favourite class, but he'd never so much as mentioned dragons before. He had been asking about Uncle Charlie's life for a few months, though… should I have spotted this earlier? Was this my fault for not talking him out of it?

"You can't…" My voice broke into a sob. "I'll never see you again! Uncle Charlie hardly ever gets time off to visit us!"

"We've still got a whole year to ourselves, Lucy," Lysander tried to console me, gripping my hands again and brushing my hair behind my ear. "And there's always the chance that I won't like it out there. This is just me trying it out. It doesn't mean forever."

"But it will be forever! You will like it! I know you, Lys! You always seemed less enthusiastic than me about Healing…" I wiped my eyes furiously. "There's a reason Uncle Charlie never came back. You're just like him. You'll never come back either. And I hate that!" My voice had risen to a shout that I was surprised to hear, but all the anger and the tears and the thought of never seeing Lysander again had gotten to me.

"I thought you'd be happy for me, Lucy!" Lysander snapped. He stood up, staring down at me like he didn't even know me, like I disgusted him. I must have looked like a pathetic mess. "I thought, of all people, you'd be the most supportive. Turns out I was wrong."

When the sobs racking my body had finally subsided and I managed to lift my head, he was gone.

A week passed with no contact from Lysander. I didn't blame him. I knew I had overreacted, and was still beating myself up about it. How could I be so selfish? If working with dragons was what Lysander wanted to do, I should have given him the all clear with a smile. Now I was scared that things would never be how they used to be. We'd had our small arguments before, but this had been the ultimate betrayal. We had had an unspoken agreement since we were eight that if everybody else was giving one of us a hard time about anything, the other would be the supportive one. Nothing was ever supposed to come between us.

But it did. And it was my fault.

The knock at my bedroom door came after nine days had passed.

"Come in," I said, not bothering to make sure my voice was heard. The door opened anyway, and in stepped my mother, her face troubled.

"What is it?" I asked immediately, fear twisting in my stomach. Had Lysander left a year early for Romania without telling me? Would he really do that, despite everything?

I wish now that he had.

"Lucy," my mother said softly. She came to sit gingerly on my bed. "Sweetie, something's happened."

"What's wrong?" I was acutely aware of how frantic my voice was. "Is Lysander OK?"

"Yes, honey," Mum said, but the sigh of relief I allowed myself was quickly replaced by another punch to the gut, "but Lorcan isn't."

It took a moment to sink in. "What do you mean?"

"He's missing, Lucy."

I tried to process the main word through my brain, but it wasn't working. "Missing? How can he be -?"

"Lily and Lorcan had a fight yesterday, and Lorcan was the first to walk out of the argument. Nobody has seen him since yesterday evening."

"What's happening? Is anybody looking for him?"

"Lysander has been out since last night, and everybody else has been joining in as the news reached them," Mum told me.

Since last night… "But there was a storm last night. Lysander wasn't safe, neither of them were." I pushed myself off the bed, heading towards the door.

"Lucy –" Mum tried to stop me.

"No, Mum, if there was a storm last night anything could have happened! What if they're both lying dead somewhere right now?" Suddenly I felt alive, like I actually had a purpose, something to do other than sit around in my bedroom feeling sorry for myself. Mum stared at me, her lips pursed. I didn't wait for her reply, instead hurtling downstairs and Flooing to The Burrow immediately.

Everyone who wasn't part of the search party was gathered in the living room or the kitchen. Rose held Lily, who was crying into a cushion.

"I hope you're happy," I spat at her. Lily glanced up at me, biting her lip to stop another wave of tears. "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you and your stupid argument."

What was wrong with me? First I turned into a selfish cow, and now I was the world's biggest hypocrite. It had been my fight with Lysander that drove him away, but at least he hadn't ended up going missing.

But with the storm, he might have been now.

Rose's glare propelled me into the kitchen. I didn't even bother to try and comfort poor Luna before I grabbed my coat and raced out of the back door, into the rain which hadn't stopped since last night, and pounded down incessantly. My coat didn't have a hood, but that was the least of my worries now.

To this day, I still don't know whether I was looking for Lorcan or Lysander. I only knew that I started the familiar route to the house on top of the hill without even thinking about, trying to squash the uneasy fear that was putting me on edge every time something moved out of the corner of my eye.

As I got closer to the house, I sped up until I was sprinting up the hill. Someone was standing outside the house, as drenched as I was. I spotted a mop of blonde hair shining against the wet, grey background. Was that Lorcan or Lysander?

"Lucy!" the figure called, only making me run faster. As soon as I reached him, he fell into my arms, the rain mingling with his tears. "Lucy…" he croaked.

It was Lorcan.

"Lorcan, you're OK!" I cried with relief, hugging him tight and rubbing his back. Why was he crying so much? "Where's Lysander? We need to get you both home…"

Lorcan said nothing, just pointed over his shoulder towards the house on top of the hill and continued to sob into my shoulder.

Easing him off me, I left him out there in the rain and ventured into the house. Was Lysander in here?

"Lysander?" I called, walking into the living room. There was our makeshift sofa, the rugs and cushions all tousled up. Lorcan and Lysander had spent the night here. Lysander must have found Lorcan in the middle of the storm and reached the house, knowing it was the safest and closest thing they could get to. "Lys?"

Something was wrong.

I walked back into the hallway, a growing sense of fear slowly taking over me. I was sure the house had never seemed this dark before.

Even the darkness couldn't hide the body.

"Lysander?" I found myself running to the end of the hallway, dropping down by the body I knew to be my best friend. "Lysander! Wake up, wake up, wake up…"

I shook him violently, tears coursing down my cheeks. "Lys, wake up! The storm's over now! You found Lorcan, we can go home… Lys?"

Arms wrapped around me from behind. I jumped, and turned to see Lorcan staring at Lysander's body, his eyes red and puffy but his grip as strong as Lysander's had been. "I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm so, so sorry."

I couldn't breathe. I felt nothing but numb. This wasn't happening. "How?" I choked out, unable to tear my eyes away from Lysander's still, cold body. Any second now he'd jump up and scare us both half to death... it would all be one big joke…

At least five minutes passed before Lorcan could gather himself together enough to tell me. "Lucy… someone pushed him."

My heart froze.

"He was… standing on the second floor, two flights up from here… said he was getting a better look at the storm. I heard… there was a struggle, Lucy. I heard him say, "Who's there?" and feet scuffling. Except there was more than one pair of feet. Someone was up there with him, Lucy. Someone pushed him."

Tears spilled over Lorcan's eyes again; I felt them splash onto my head and dampen my hair. "He fell two flights, Lucy… he cracked his head open. There was no way he could have survived."

How long had Lorcan been here with his dead brother's body? I couldn't bring myself to ask.

At some point, Lorcan stood and walked away, his breathing ragged like he was trying to hold back more sobs. The rain had stopped outside. As soon as he was gone, I started screaming.

My throat was raw and destroyed by the time they found me. Hands gripped my shoulders, my waist, my legs, pulling me back as I clung desperately to Lysander's body, my shrieking more of a wild, animal-like cry of grief as I clutched my best friend's hand, clawed at his chest and his face. His beautiful face. I couldn't just leave him here, they couldn't take me away from him like this! Eventually, they managed to rip me away from his body, and I felt myself being hauled up. There were more people here than I first thought. Lorcan must have gone for help. I vaguely recognised the faces of Uncle George, Louis and James before I blacked out.

At the funeral, they wanted me to give a speech.

I couldn't do it. What was I supposed to say? I'm sorry I killed you. I'm sorry it was my fault you went after Lorcan in that storm, because if we hadn't fought, you'd have come to me first. I love you.

All of those things were true. One of them was selfish. I didn't want to face up to the other two.

I never went back to the house on top of the hill. I still didn't know why Lysander had fallen – surely someone pushing him was just what Lorcan thought had happened when he was caught up in his grief – but I did know it wasn't safe there. I wouldn't have been able to walk through that house and not see his body everywhere.

I never told anybody.

I never told Luna and Rolf that I had killed their son. I never told Lorcan that I had killed his brother. I never told Uncle Charlie that I had killed his apprentice.

I never told anybody what really happened in the house on top of the hill.

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