I Know The End {Fred Weasley, ACT I}

Chapter 35- And the Lie She Created

"I don't understand," Fred repeated, the blood drained from his face. "All of that happened at the dance and then you just... Why?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I- not until the third task."

"The third task?" Fred echoed back. "We were together until the third task? Six whole months. You erased six whole months from my memory!"

"Not erased," Eleanor mumbled, "altered." Although, there wasn't much of a difference in the end. They'd spent so much time together in that span of six months it felt like wiping his memory clean.

Fred's face fell into his hands. He took a few calming breaths before trying to speak again. She could feel his anger radiating from his body.

"Why?"

Eleanor bit her lip. That answer was a bit more complicated. And if she told him the truth, he'd hate her even more than he probably already did. But it was best he know now. About everything. Especially about that fucking prophecy.

June 25th, 1995.

It was a beautiful morning. Truly. The sunrise was painting the sky in streaks of pink which reflected off the lake and illuminated the trees. Eleanor remembered an old wives' tale about such sunrises. Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in morning, sailor's warning. It was a little too late for a warning. Cedric was already dead.

She looked over the grounds from the owlery, shivering in the warm summer breeze. Harry's cries still echoed in her ears; Cedric's lifeless form still branded into her mind. Voldemort was back. He'd only been back a mere few hours and he'd claimed another life. Not just any life, but Cedric Diggory's. Someone she knew would have done great things. He was a better person than her. Maybe not a stronger wizard, but a smarter one. He was in control of himself. Something one could never say about Eleanor.

Voldemort was back. The realization was coming in waves, crushing her as the truth of it all seeped in. He was really back. The man who'd murdered her parents, who'd tortured Muggles and Muggle-borns alike, who'd stricken fear over an entire generation was alive and well once more. And he was coming for Harry. He was coming for her. Eleanor leaned over the window ledge and vomited the contents of her stomach. Unfortunately for her, that was next to nothing. Stomach bile has such a rancid aftertaste.

Cedric was dead. The body of a boy she'd once known now void; the soul that had once inhabited its form gone. He was always so expressive, Cedric Diggory. It pained her to see his face so blank of character.

Harry would never be the same. He'd been forced to bear witness the death of a boy not much older than he. An innocent bystander. Nothing more than a wrong place, wrong time type of situation. And blame always seems to tag along with such tragedies. If you can't make sense of it, then it must be your fault. Small decisions as simple as suggesting to split the winnings of a stupid tournament become a matter of life and death. Little did Harry know that he could pass a fair portion of that blame onto Eleanor.

And all because she ignored that fucking prophecy.

Stomach bile found its way out of her system once more. She coughed, continuing to dry heave as her stomach refused to push out any more of its contents. The owls lining the habitats of the Owlery hooted indignantly in response to her retching. She found it quite hypocritical as owl pellets crunched under her feet.

Voldemort was back.

Cedric was dead.

Harry was fucked.

Voldemort was back.

Cedric was dead.

Harry. Harry. Harry.