Fleur Weasley (parexcellance) wrote in changedrpg, @ 2012-01-31 00:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !date: 1998 - january, bill weasley, fleur delacour |
Who: Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley
When: Late hours of January 30th/Early January 31st
Where: Fleur's parents' house, Marseille, France
What: Fleur's hysterical after this and Bill's come to get her
Status/Rating: Closed//PG-ish for possible arguing
"Bill?" Fleur called to him softly in a hoarse whisper as she heard footsteps on the stairs. It had to be him, right? She wasn't expecting anyone else but someone had clearly had been in her room at some point during the day so she couldn't be sure. It made her realize that she did not know immediately where her wand was. It had been on her nightstand at least that was where it had been before she had opened the box. The hours between then and now were a blur in her mind. Frantically, she glanced around the moonlit room to see if it was still there. It wasn't. Where had it gone to? Fleur wasn't sure and she really didn't have time to search for it as the footsteps were now just outside her door. The silver box still laid on the floor at her feet, tipped over, its bloody contents spilling onto the floor.
When Bill got into the room, Fleur looked up at him a bit lost but glad he was there. Even in the darkness of the room it was evident that there was blood on not only her hands, but her clothes and in her hair from where she had ran her fingers through her hair. The doll that she held tightly in her hands was also covered in blood. It had been in the box along with the lock of blonde hair and the human heart. "Bill, the box..." Fleur motioned to the box that was only a few inches from her feet. "It, it..." Fleur stumbled over her words, still trying to make sense of what had happened and the fact that all the evidence pointed to the fact that her sister was dead. It was something that she didn't want to comprehend. "It cannot be true..." Fleur muttered as she continued to hold onto the doll tightly and stare at Bill blankly.
Fleur wrinkled her features as she tried to make the words come out that she wanted to say, but instead they came out in French as the English slipped her mind. It was frustrating but when she was upset her words tended to come more in French than English. "I 'ant to go 'ome," she told Bill absently as she let her gaze drop to the box and she choked back a sob. Before she knew it a fresh round of tears were streaming down her face and her cries subsided into more choked sobs. If she had been thinking straight, she would have told him about what had happened specifically, but she wasn't. What she wanted was to run away from it all because it hurt too much to face head on.