InsaneJournal

Who: Fleur Delacour-Weasley, OPEN to any DEs that care to pop in
When: This evening
Where: Wherever Bellatrix has her held
What: Dealing with things
Warnings/Ratings: PG at least for mentions of violence
Status: Complete, unless someone wants to tag in.

M.a.d.e.l.i.n.e..

The letters were elegant and loopy as she traced them delicately into the dust with the pad of her finger absently. If she squinted she could see them properly in the poor light of the room but she didn’t bother trying. She already knew what was written there without actually seeing it.

I.s.a.b.e.l.l.e.. É.l.i.s.e...

Chewing on her lip in quiet contemplation, ignoring the cold hardness of the floor she laid on, Fleur added another name to her list; Louis Laurent, for good measure. Yet call it intuition but she was nearly certain her first child would be a girl. She would have Bill’s eyes and her smile.

Fleur blinked back the tears, refusing to let them fall, and wiped the floor clean with the sleeve of her shirt and with it the hopes of the future. Nothingness was better. It was cold, lonely and dismal but it was almost comforting. It held none of the venom of the future. In abyss that was nothingness, she was alone. In nothing she wasn’t wearing one of Bill’s t-shirts because her own clothes were getting uncomfortable with the swelling of her changing body. She wasn’t wrapped in a blanket on their couch with a book of baby names open on the couch between them as they playfully bantered over baby names, with Fleur insisting they were not going to keep the Weasley tradition of naming kids after themselves, even if only with middle names. In nothing, they weren’t counting the days until they finally knew whether their child was a boy or girl.

They were all things she should be doing. Not laying in a dark place tracing names futile into the dirt. She wasn’t waiting for a rescue that she couldn’t even be sure would ever come.

How long had it been since she had been locked up there? In the darkness of a room Fleur could only describe as a dungeon she couldn’t be certain. There were no windows, no way of marking the passage of time by the the sun. Instead she had her the bruises that blossomed across her skin. First red and inflamed before blossoming into brilliant shades of purple-blue and lastly yellowing until they faded away nearly ten days after they appeared. The first round of bruises had been replaced by not only a second but a third set. It had been approximately twenty days.

That meant tomorrow would be the official start of her second trimester. The day they were going to finally share their news with their family and friends. Instead of planning her baby shower they were probably planning her funeral instead. Had they planned it already?

Sometimes, she wished she was dead already.

With a whimper Fleur rolled over onto her side after adjusting the jumble underneath her head that had been her jacket, it offering little comfort to her sore achy body. Again she found herself wishing that she could fall into that sense of nothingness but her brain refused to allow her that comfort even for a little bit.

”I am trying Bill,” Fleur whispered in her head to the shadow of his memory that lurked ever present in that dark place. Both haunting and comforting her in equal degrees. ”It is hard though. Je veux donner parfois...”

Fleur sighed and let the conversation die there and instead shifted as she heard the soft sound of footsteps falling on the hall outside her room. Before she had always been afraid that it would be Bellatrix or one of her friends but not she found she didn’t care much. Visits of any type were almost welcome because they she wouldn’t be alone. The being alone all the time was worse than the Cruciatus Curse.

She was starting to think she should just surrender and tell them where the box was but in essence it didn’t matter. The Cottage was protected by the best charms and wards magic knew. Without being told its location from its secretkeeper, Bill, no one would be able to find it anyhow. It was a practice in futility. There was nothing Fleur had that she could offer them in exchange for her freedom.

Still she hadn’t told them yet where the box was or if they had, for a fact, open it yet.