Even without all my memories of the painful experience in my teen years I remembered. I was the chosen one. I was the one to stop the Dark Lord. I was the one who had been prophesized to be great from the moment I was born. I was the stupid girl who tried to escape her past only to hurt all the people around me. I was the girl about to be killed by a death eater. I was the girl who couldn't move.
The death eater walked over to me and began to pace around me. "You don't seem so strong. So much better than me. I have you here under this spell and you cannot move. I can kill you easily and you will not even be able to put up a fight," the death eater told me.
He aimed his wand at me and said, "The reign of the chosen family has ended. The reign of the New Dark Lord has begun. Avada Kadavra!"
Except, I did not die. I was not dead. I looked around to try and figure out what or who had just been killed. I looked over to see Fred slumped over, eyes closed and face tranquil.
He was dead. Before I could fully get over the shock, I heard, once again, "Avada Kadavra!" Then, I was gone. The death eater stared at his work and laughed. The two of us died together. I had slumped onto Fred's chest, both of us calm and peaceful.
Long years would follow. Times change when hero's die. Long years ahead. Hard times follow. Long years ahead.
Not all stories can have that fairy tale ending. This story happens to be one of them. Lizzy, Harry, Chris, and Fred passed on to the other side with a fatal curse. I hope that you understand that not all stories can end happily. Not all stories, not all experiences, not all lives, end happy. In the words of my old English teacher, "Only an immature reader gets upset when a story does not have a fairy tale ending, a mature reader accepts it as an unfortunate turn of events." I know its short, but this just didn't fit with the last chapter.