Beauxbatons [Charlie Weasley]

Epilogue

The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage.

She sat in the garden behind their cottage, feeling the grass beneath her hands and the warm chest of her husband behind her. The smile wouldn't leave her face as she watched her two little girls play amongst the fruit trees.

The sun shone after the night's storm, and the two little girls dirtied their white clothes as they ran around laughing, slipping in the mud. Throwing it at each other. Two dogs joined in, still gentle with the babes, the older one coming to rest next to his parents.

The girls were five and three, at the age where they had to help their parents out with everything. That play out in the fruit trees had started off as a job to collect fruit and veggies from their garden. The girls had to help, of course, and then it became a family outing.

There was a cat in the family then, too. The youngest daughter had found it in the front garden and promptly picked it up. She had brought it to her mother and begged to keep it. The golden-haired woman had agreed, and then girl and cat were best friends.

More people arrived on the scene. A dark-haired woman and a blond man. They brought their three children along, two boys and a baby girl. Not strangers to the family, the children set about playing with each other immediately. More mud was fallen into and thrown at each other, and no fruit or veggies were collected.

The golden-haired woman watched the children play with that same smile on her face, but her eyes grew sad, even as she kept up her facade and spoke cheerfully to the newcomers. Old memories surfaced in her mind, of a life long ago, a life before.

She saw images of a young, carefree girl dance in front of her eyes. The girl's long brown hair seemed to float around her as she laughed, dancing to music only she could hear.

Seated on the grass next to her, a golden-haired girl knelt, looking up at her best friend. Amusement danced in her eyes as she watched the brown-haired beauty spin and twirl, her pale blue dress fanned out around her.

The brunette reached down with her porcelain hands, pulling her best friend to her feet. Following her lead, the golden girl danced and laughed, the two of them turning into a whirl of ivory and blue.

Their bare feet flattened the brilliant grass in the pattern of their footsteps. The shade of the tree they were under allowed spots of sunlight to filter through; their hair and eyes shone when they caught the light.

The memory faded from her mind and her eyes focussed again on the children in front of her. She knew deep down that they had nothing to worry about anymore. But still, the sadness didn't leave her eyes.

Another image flashed before her. She saw a thin, sickly girl spread across a mattress, her brown hair fanned out around her head. A golden haired girl sat next to her, gripping her hand tightly as tears streamed down her face.

Men and women in pale green uniform bustled around the room. They talked quickly and quietly in hushed voices to one another, eyes flickering to the bed-ridden figure.

The golden girl's face held no joy; her cheeks were tear-streaked, her brilliant blue eyes watery. The brunette did not stir; her breathing was shallow and short. Her skin got paler by the second, turned almost greyish as she lay still.

The golden-haired woman blinked, and came back to reality for a second time. She knew things would be different now, forced herself to believe that that next generation running around in front of her would grow up to lead carefree lives.

Her thoughts wandered back to the worst day of her life. The first time she wore black. It was a rainy day, as though the heavens knew what had happened and were mourning along with everyone else.

Huddled under a thick, black umbrella, the golden-haired girl stood stony-faced, unable to will the tears to come. She was silent throughout the entire service, the first one to arrive and the last to leave.

There had been many days of wearing black since then for the golden-haired woman. That was just the beginning of the mourning, the losses. One day, when her daughters were old enough, she would tell them about her dancing best friend. She would take them to the gravestone, and make sure she wasn't forgotten. She would tell them the stories of her life, the battle of the school each of them will go to.

But not then. They didn't need to worry about anything then. There wasn't anything to worry about anymore.

Her black-haired friend asked her if everything was ok. She replied that of course it was. And that time, her smile was genuine. The sadness left her eyes.

The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage.