Author's Note
I seriously have no idea how this story came up. I was just sitting with my computer and then suddenly... poof. You know, that kind of thing. I hope you like it (though it's a bit depressing...). Please leave a review, and thanks for reading!
Bill awoke quite abruptly one morning. Fleur was crying, crying so hard, and he couldn't understand. And then he understood the only two things that could make her cry that hard: it was either Victoire or Dominique. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest. He ran to see Fleur in his youngest daughter's room. She was clutching the small girl to her chest and crying, crying, crying… then he made sense of it. Dominique's eyes were closed, but if they were open, he was sure they'd be empty. And that freckly, lovely little face… it was pale, too pale for a two-year-old. And his brain understood the truth his heart denied: Dom was dead. He sat next to her, trying to make sense of how this could've happened… how? Why was their lovely, beautiful, smart, angelic little Dominique dead? Why wasn't she breathing? Why wasn't she waking up, asking her mummy why she was sobbing? Why? Before he could stop them, tears ran down his face, and sobs filled his chest too, as the realization, the confirmation of what happened reached him. Five-year-old Victoire came at the door, rubbing her eyes, sleepily. "Daddy? Mummy?" she asked. "Dom?" Bill stood up, took Victoire in his arms and tried to assure himself that she was okay. Victoire wasn't going anywhere. She was alive, and in that moment, he could exchange it for a miracle. Later, he'd never know where he found the strength to take the little girl's corpse and apparate to St Mungo's. He'd never know how he managed to tell his family that yes, they had lost a member. That yes, Dominique wasn't coming back. That yes, nothing would ever replace the happy-go-lucky ginger angel that they had lost forever. He could remember clearly Victoire not understanding. "What does it mean, dying, Daddy? I want to play hide-and-seek with her."
"You can't, honey." She just couldn't make sense of the word. Dying. "I don't like that word." She announced. "Now Daddy, why don't you take it away so Dom and I can play hide-and-seek?"
"Vic, I can't take it away. She's with the angels now."
"That's not true! I saw her!"
"Darling, it's not her anymore!" Vic started crying. "No! It's her! I saw her! Daddy! I want Dom back! Where is she? I'm her sister! She said my name before she said Auntie Audrey's or, or Auntie Ginny's! Where is she?"
"Nowhere we can get her back from, sweetie." And when Victoire almost became hysterical with tears, Bill held her close. Because nothing could ever separate him from his daughter anymore. He'd always remember the grieving as the worst pain he'd ever felt, worse than when Greyback had clawed at his face, worse than when Fred had died. Victoire was eight, and Dom's third death anniversary had just passed, when Louis was born. Victoire (much like her mother and father) would always wake up early in the morning, or some times even in the heart of the night, just to go and check he was alright. They were having breakfast one morning. "I want to be a doctor." Victoire announced. She was nine. "You want to be a what, honey?" Bill said, mindlessly, looking at the Daily Prophet. "A doctor."
"Why a doctor?" Fleur had asked. Her English pronunciation was almost perfect, by now. "A doctor, because so I can cure everyone."
"That's a nice thing." Bill had approved. "Maybe, when Dom died, if I had been a doctor, I could've saved her." Fleur, who was carrying a plate, dropped it on the floor, Bill's glass of orange juice shattered on the floor. Louis, who was one, just started giggling like mad.