(no subject)

Fleur dumps her tea in utter shock all over the table. Behind her, the landscape passes quickly. “You want me to what?” she asks in complete shock.

Lady Von Strauss smiles into her tea. “I want you to do your family honor. Prove you worth.”

“Honor? HONOR? YOU ARE INSANE!” Fleur stands and does not care any more that she is making a spectacle of herself. The train is mostly empty, her mother is standing idly by, and they want her to—to— “I will not!”

“You will. You will, and you will enjoy it.” Von Strauss smiles again, all fangs and her eyes glow a dark, sick yellow. “Or, do you want my little one to do it?” Her eyes turn to Gabrielle.

Her mother finally acts and moves protectively in front of her youngest daughter. Fleur’s mouth falls open, and she stares at her grandmother in utter shock.

“You—you would do no such thing! You would not!”

Von Strauss smiles again and sips her tea. “Well, what is your choice?”

Fleur gulps. Bernardopheliabernard, help me. Help me.

“I will do as you ask. I will…win over your Dark Lord.”

“You will show him what only a quarter veela can do. If a mutt like you can win him over, than what can a full blood do for him?”

And her grandmother laughs, her mother cringes, and Fleur sits back down slowly and prays for the first time in her life.

(no subject)

It was worse than she expected. Much worse. She should have known it was more than offering her as a once given gift to their Dark Lord. Her grandmother never did things by halves.

She was more than a one night gift. Her guards, a squat Englishman with horrid breath and a hooked nosed German, thought she was still obvious. They thought that the fresh scent of blood was covered by the spills of lavender petals and seemingly endless rows of incense burners. She could scent the crisp stench of ash left during a vampire's death thongs. The scent of werewolf blood was so thick, she could taste it along the back of her tongue. They were going to kill; bleed her for some wizard ritual like a stuffed pig, and her family had led her here.

Her bare feet were scraped raw, her wrists were shredded from the manacles they had used to restrain her (she was happy to know before she died that the squat one was missing a finger and the hooked one was without a bit of his nose), and she refused to think of her back from when she had been tied to that rocky wall and she had tried to escape. At least her hair was in order. She would go with all her hair.

For one about to die, she was very clear minded. It didn't matter a wit what happened now. She would fine her way back to Ophelia and Bernard. Death was just another way. She and Ophelia could talk to the flowers together. And Bernard would stop worrying in the back of his mind that one day, she would grow bored and leave him. It was a fine plan. It saved her sister from a horrid fate, and she could be Home again. And she would help Tonks bring them down from the inside because who knows better than the killer's victim.

They were marching her again. March march march through the dark tunnels full of blood, lavender, and death. March march march. Maybe she could bite off that dumpy fool's other finger before they gagged her. Maim him more, make him pay--

A scream cuts the night air. Fleur gets the distinct scent of veela before the squat man goes down, and there is blood splattered everywhere. The hooked man goes for his wand, and she throws herself bodily at him, anything to give her would-be savior time, but trips over her own feet and falls. The German makes a move toward her, but the veela snaps his neck without a thought. The sound echoes in the cavern.

"...p'tite?"

Fleur looks up, frantic, and it is her mother. Her mother covered in blood, gore, and still wild eyed. She reaches out a bloody hand, and touches Fleur's face.

"Ma p'tite fleur..."

"Maman?" Fleur reaches up and covers her mother's hand. "Maman, what--what--?"

"Hush. Just hush. Here. I have your stick. Go. Go be a witch. Go back to your man and your woman and your home. Go to that place you write to be about. Go." Her mother presses her wand into her bloody palm. "Go go go, please."

"Maman! Grandmere--what about Gabrielle? Maman!"

"I have let this go too long. Your sister is safe. I have seen to that." Her mother strokes her cheek, than roughly kisses both Fleur's cheeks, her forehead, and clings to her daughter for just one more moment. "I almost let them. I almost did. Forgive me. Please forgive me one day." She pushes Fleur back and stares into the shocked girl's eyes. "I love you." She gives her daughter's shoulders one last squeeze before shoving her back on her feet, and disappears off into the night.

Fleur looks down shakily at the bloody mess at her feet. It only barely registers that the other Death Eaters will be soon to come. Clutching her wand to her chest, she closes her eyes and thinks franticly of home...

(no subject)

*And with a pop, Fleur appears in the middle of the bar. Her face is covered in blood, her feet are bloody and raw, and debris is scattered about in tangled clumps in her hair. She blinks slowly, her eyes still unfocused.*

...home...

*She crumples to the floor.*