Lalochezia - The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain.
All the classes and conversations could never have prepared Fleur for this moment. She sits by Hermione's bedside: Useless, helpless, and pathetic only able to hold her wife's hand as she watches the birth of their daughter. Meanwhile, a team of healers bustles about them in a blur that can only be described as practiced.
The French witch doesn't even see them.
Waves of pain slither like snakes through her lower back and the pit of her belly, but she knows these to be the sympathy pains of her culture. They immobilize her, and she can only imagine what they feel like to Hermione.
"Fleur," Hermione grinds out past bleeding lips. Her sweaty hand tightens around Fleur's, and she hears her knuckles crack.
"Mon soleil?"
"I fucking hate you today." Before Fleur can respond, Hermione arches off the bed, the swell of her belly canting into the air as she endures another contraction. "FUCK."
Fleur winces at the violent pulse between her legs. She brings her lover's hand to her lips. "Je suis désolé."
Her aching, angry laughter is an imposter and the sound it makes disturbs Fleur. It hurts her to know she is the cause of Hermione's pain and discomfort. Tears streaking down her cheeks, Hermione manages, "You better be fucking sorry. YOU," When she bites her lips, another sharp pain stabs Fleur's side. "YOU DID THIS."
The only Fleur can think to do is run her fingers through Hermione's matted hair, watching her chest heave in an unnatural pattern with a growing sense of fear. The blur of a healer solidifies for a moment and Fleur pins her with silver eyes:
"'Ermione will be okay, oui?" Her voice could cleave diamond.
"Yes, Mrs. Delacour." The witch combs through a number of potions barely glancing at the distraught Veela. "This is nothing new. Your wife will be fine."
"Did that cunt just say I'll be fine? If I survive this homicide, I will hex her so hard she will spout shit out of her mouth."
They had seen the sunrise twice before their beautiful Aurore finally arrives and puts them all to shame.
She is healthy. She is beautiful. She is here.
Crowning her head, hair colored like honey spouts in an enchanting tuft that refuses to stay flat. Her eyes are mysterious, dark with a promise of brown or blue, but also bright with a spark of intelligence that Fleur would recognize in her weakest moment. There are a smattering of other features that confirm her parentage, but they are overwhelmed by her as a whole.
She wraps her fist around Fleur's thumb and studies it with those wise eyes before pulling it tightly to her chest. Reclining in the hospital bed with Hermione, Fleur pulls her wife into the hallow of her chest and with her, Aurore who has burrowed in her mum's chest: Fleur's hand caught in between them.
The peaceful silence and the morning sun fill the room for a second or forever.
"I'm sorry for all that I said to-"
Fleur cuts Hermione's worried whispers off with a soft kiss. "You were in pain." Blue eyes search brown. "You needed me to be there. I took what you gave me. If," Fleur's eyes gravitate to Aurore, tears falling steadily. "If this is what I get in exchange for a moment of hurt feelings, I would be your victim every day for as long as you let me live."
Hermione gazes at her with love and admiration, in a moment it disappears replaced by tears and a crumpled facial expression. "Shite, Fleur. Stop making me cry."
"Je suis désolé. Je t'aime."
"I love you."