"Fleur." Gabrielle murmured softly but insistantly, moving so she could catch her sister's eyes. "Zat... woman... did no such zhing." The younger witch moved her hands slowly, cautiously to her sister's cheeks. "You are still beautiful, amour."
Gabrielle could not have meant the words more. Her sister always had been beautiful to her, and always would be. That would not change just because Fleur now had a scar placed there by someone who had never known love or affection.
Daring to stroke Fleur's cheeks with her thumb, Gabrielle whispered, keeping herself in bounds only by the slightest of margins, "I still want you."
She wanted to tell her sister that she would still want her even if her entire body was scarred, even if Bellatrix had horribly disfigured her instead of simply cutting into her. Gabrielle wanted to yell it, wanted to proclaim it proudly instead of respecting her sister's wishes, but that was the crux of it: Gabrielle would never do anything against her sister's will, even if what she wanted was a lie.
She wanted to take Fleur to her bed, to reassure her with lips and tongue that Gabrielle would always worship her. She wanted to kiss every inch of her skin as if that which was flawless was no different than that which was scarred -which to Gabrielle it wasn't- until Fleur believed it. Until Fleur accepted that a scar was no more and no less than that, a scar. But the younger Delacour held herself back, controlling her urges until that day (and Gabrielle had to believe such a day would come) when Fleur stopped lying to herself and took Gabrielle into her arms.