Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Potterverse. That privilege belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Violet eyes watched, horrified, as the Death Eater shot the spell in the direction of Fred Weasley. Her heart gave a painful squeeze as the explosion knocked her backward, her back slamming against a cold gray statue, and she could only stare in horror as the wall gave way, collapsing on top of the only person the girl had ever loved. She sank to her knees in the middle of the battle field and buried her head in her hands, scalding tears slipping down her cheeks, burning her skin like fresh, hot wax.
She heard a scream. It sounded like Percy. Voices yelling, the quiet, then another voice. Everything went calm, the Death Eaters left, but she didn't notice a thing. Her eyes were trained on the ginger-haired mother, who's hands covered her mouth, eyes red and puffy as salty tears dripped down her chin and landed on the still-warm, half-buried body of her son.
Chrys closed her eyes and threw her head back. "Why? Why!" she screamed. "Why did it have to be him?" She hugged her cold body, tears coming faster now, more, blurring her vision as she watched countless other wizards and witches grieving, standing over the corpses of their loved ones.
"Please," she whispered. "Please. I'll do anything. Turn back time. Start over. Make everything how it was before. Back to the beginning. Go back to the beginning! Please! Please…."
I know it's short. Like REALLY short. I know it's probably confusing, and maybe not all that good, especially compared to a lot of other HP stories. But it's just an idea that popped into my mind, and I HAD to write it down. I think my life depended on it.