Prologue: Just Gone

Victoire Weasley is gone.

Before my mother even answers the ringing telephone, I know.

"Hello?" I hear my mother say politely. "Yes? Weasley? Oh you must mean Delacour. "

There is a long, silent pause. Then I hear my mother gasp.

"Yes? Alcohol? Well she's only seventeen…but-"

Another pause.

"Victoire? What? Are you sure? How?"

As I listen to her voice, I feel the walls that have hidden away certain memories continue to crumble. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears, ready to scream. But all I see behind my eyelids is Victoire. Victoire with her tearful blue eyes. Victoire standing above me. Victoire telling our secret to a crowded room filled with people. Victoire walking away, leaving me in the rubble of my ruined life.

I hate you! I hope you pay for this!

I had screamed those words inside my head, but somehow she had heard me. Because we weren't seven anymore; more like seventeen.

"But-but she's only seventeen! Are you…? Oh!" My mother says.

Yet another pause. Then another gasp. Next thing I know my mother is standing in my doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Brooklyn. Something terrible has happened." She says her voice quiet and hesitant. It's like she doesn't want to tell me, but she knows she has to.

I just look at her. I know. But she doesn't know that.

"Victoire is gone. You know which one I'm talking about? Fleur Delacour's daughter."

I am still looking at her blankly so she comes to sit on my bed. As if that will fix anything.

"Weasley. Her name is Fleur Weasley now. And Victoire is not gone. She's just … temporarily disappeared."

My mother looks at me. Her gaze filled with pity. I should be crying, as if Victoire missing should bother me. But it doesn't. Because I know what happened to Victoire Fleur Weasley. She was born May 2nd 1998; and she died June 5th 2015. And I know this. Because I witnessed her murder. Maybe even caused it. And I won't tell anyone. Because secretly, I think she deserved it. But I still feel this overwhelming sense of guilt and relief, and they're fighting each other inside my chest.

"Brook. Say something. I know you must be upset. I am too. But think about that poor girl's family. We must go visit them."

No. I can't. If I so much as see Dominique Weasley's tearful blue eyes, Teddy Lupin's devastated face, or James Potter's supposed indifference I might as well just prepare myself for prison.

Victoire deserved it. I know that. I'm positive of that. But why do I feel guilty. Well that was a stupid question. Because I'm the reason she tried to kill herself. I'm the one who got her killed.

I knew. She knew. And she was terrified. Every time she felt my breath on her skin, she cried. And I would just ignore her. I would pretend to not know that she was wishing she was with anyone but me as I kissed her. I knew it was wrong. But it felt so good; putting my hands up her shirt and way down her pants, feeling every part of her. And when I punched and hit her I tried not to make it feel like punishment. But I couldn't help being rough and angry.

Because the only thing I can think right now are her words. It's over. Just. Over. And each time I think of Victoire's name I get pulled back there. To the time when Victoire and I were still best friends. The feelings come rushing into my chest. I shake my head. Swallow. Push them back down. But I see us anyway. Victoire. Teaching me the rules about trust and secrets. There were so many hard things to get through. But now I have to start my journey alone . Figure out how we got from there to here. My journey to understanding is the one thing I'm scared of right now. Because Victoire died at the end of hers.