Who: Fleur and Bill When: Thursday afternoon Where: Shell Cottage What: A reunion of sorts Warning/rating: At least PG for talk of violence
It wasn't a coincidence that the Death Eaters had dropped Fleur off so close to home. They had intended for her to go home, to want to go home. What they hadn't intended was the hindrance of a blizzard. Yet even that didn't matter as long as she found her way and after wondering around a bit in the show she had.
"Bill?" Fleur called out him in a hushed whisper in a moment of lucidity. He had to be there didn't he? Who would go out in such a blizzard?
So she stood there shivering a moment and waited; a silent pale statue still dressed in the blue satin ballgown she had been wearing the night of the Masquerade, the night she had disappeared. The snow had soaked her hair and dress and stole the warmth of her skin but other than that she appeared untouched, unharmed. Except she was missing her shoes.
She had been sent as a birthday present of both the best and worse sort.