This is one of the shortest one-shots I've ever written; really reluctant over the last week or so wondering if I should post it at all. There will be many who will figure out where exactly I got this idea from and don't ruin it for those who don't! They need to figure it out themselves! Enjoy!
Nightmare
A heavy thunderstorm rattled the windows of a countryside home. It sent loose leaves flying upon raging winds, skies cracked with boisterous booms of thunder and it held no signs of relenting soon. Well into the early morning hours when a wakeful form bolted upright in her bed; the post war nightmares had plagued Fleur for months following its conclusion but even after a year had passed, they had stubbornly persisted. Some were darker, some were sickeningly realistic.
That night a sinister presence had corrupted the once peaceful atmosphere. An unknown figure, tall and lanky with massive rotten claw-like fingers was robed in darkness and somehow had entered their home. It at first wandered almost aimlessly, fixated on the search for their defenceless forms. Claw marks traced into the wooden furniture and tore apart picture frames in its relentless search until it found the room of rest where the unknown victim lay within. The creature of death stood over their bed silently; it waited, heaved a repulsive air of rotten flesh and decay before it began to move. With a bloodstained hand outstretched. A flash of lightning illuminated manic vengeful red eyes…
Blood raced heavily and in immediate fight mode, Fleur had her claws extended and golden eyes focused on her surroundings. She searched for the assailant; her magic sparked wildly between fingertips for even the slightest movement to come from the shadows. Not again; never again. Silence followed. It took a couple of beats but nothing happened in response to her wakeful action. With a heaved sigh as her heart rate and breathing settled down, Fleur allowed herself to reason that no one was there.
It was a dream.
"Merde…" A mumbled hiss passed through clenched teeth and a talonless hand ran through her messy locks as Fleur mentally berated herself for such irrational thoughts. She should've been over it. She shouldn't have ignored the advice of her family and should've instead gone to see someone about the traumatic images.
On the other side of the bed, draped atop her plush pillow like it was the best comfort in the world and barely covered by the thin silk sheets was the form of Hermione; Fleur's beloved wife. The brunette slept in nighties, long shirts or on the hotter nights; nothing at all. Negligee clad herself, the Veela woman adored her counterpart's nightly preferences and often admired the way Hermione could look so flawlessly beautiful while doing nothing. If she wasn't so averse to having physical evidence sitting out, Fleur would've taken a picture eons ago.
Blue eyes scanned the space one more time. She knew where every piece of furniture stood, the distance it would take to cross the carpeted floor and every candle that sat about their bedroom. Despite Hermione's upbringing, she favoured the real flame over any substitute.
Fleur lay back down softly. In a final attempt to ease her paranoid self-consciousness, the Veela woman curled an arm over her love's body and pulled. It was easy enough to secure the brunette against her scandalous clad form in a firm hold. Hermione, in her deep slumber, went along with the unconscious suggestion and repositioned herself over the warmth that radiated from her wife; she remained contently asleep.
Unlucky as she was, Fleur couldn't shake the haunting image that scarred her memory and lay there in what peacefulness the atmosphere allowed with her eyes focused above her. The ceiling was enchanted to show the expansive colours and swirling actions of the galaxy; from mesmerizing planets to endless starts; a gift from the intellectual witch.
Hermione had spent hours one afternoon just talking non-stop over their universe. Such miniscule specs they were, in the massive perspective of what couldn't even be measured. The witch often admitted to her 'lack' of magical knowledge about their world but what always mystified her was the muggle desire to expand their understanding of what was out there. In the unknown reaches of space.
It always enlightened Fleur to see her wife so excited. So childlike and eager. It was what she had fought for.
Eventually, and with time, Fleur's eyelids began to get heavier. She gave in to what she hoped would be a dreamless sleep; after the last weeks, even a few hours of rest would do her an exponential amount of good.
On the far side, beneath the view of the occupants on the bed frame itself, were several drops of blood; untouched and pooled in a central point. It was crimson fresh.
This is mostly a filler chapter guys but thanks for reading! I'm still working on other chapters for Living the French Life, Time and Space and more One-shots. Thank you for your patience! Writer's block is a b*tch to get through and family issues don't help much either.