The Broken Children
-Victoire-
As usual, the flat stinks of liquor.
"You're tripping again, aren't you?" she snaps, her voice harsh, a contrast to the mellow look in his lazy eyes, their colour constantly shifting to reflect his drug-addled state.
"Just a few drops, Vicky," he slurs, staggering to his feet and knocking over a few empty bottles of Firewhiskey on his way up. He grins lazily before loping towards her, stumbling as he struggles to maintain his balance. She hates that nickname . . . and what's worse is that he knows she loathes it with a burning passion.
She cringes away as he reaches for her cheek, wondering why his touch which had once been her greatest source of comfort, is now enough to cause bile to fill her throat. She backs away, quivering with rage as he tries once again to caress her, long fingers skimming thin air as they miss her face by inches.
"I can't keep doing this, Edward!" she barks, and he recoils at the use of his true name. Nobody calls him that, least of all her. To her he's always been Teddy . . . or when she's cross, it's Ted. Right now though, she's absolutely livid.
"You weren't the only one who lost someone!"
She never expects what comes next, her eyes widening as the back of his hand comes crashing down across her cheek, knocking her off balance and sending her sprawling to the ground. Tears bead in her eyes as he grabs her by the hair, dragging her across the dirty floor till they're standing beside the fireplace, not caring as her body slams against the furniture as it's yanked.
"Do you see this?" he asks, his hair a thousand colours and none at the same time, pressing her face against a photo-frame he's taken from the mantle. Her breath comes in short pants, her throat choking up as she sees the black and white picture of her son, his heart still beating in her womb.
"Where is he? Where the fuck is Remy, Vicky?" he yells, spittle spraying across her face as she trembles, heart breaking as he rubs her greatest shortcoming in her face.
"It's not my fault," she cries out.
"Well it's someone's fault! And it sure as hell isn't mine! Maybe if you weren't so bust spreading your legs for every bloke who went to Hogwarts with us and their fucking brother, then you'd have noticed that his heart wasn't beating!"
Tears sparkle across her cheeks as he throws her flaws at her – she knows she hasn't kept her vows, but then again neither has he. There was a time, long past, when she had been faithful . . . when they had been happy.
That time had died with their son, and the debauchery had begun.
"I never cheated on you till you started using again," she shrieks, fighting her way to her feet and slapping him with all the strength she could muster, her nails tearing his cheek and dotting the carpets with scarlet. He howls and shoves her, throwing her to the floor before turning on his feet and dissaparating with a crack.
Victoire Lupin staggers to her feet once he's gone, dabbing at her split lip with her sleeve as she staggers to her bedroom and locks the door behind her with every spell she knew, before falling against it and burying her head in her knees.
"We were happy once," she whispers, tears staining her skirt as wonders when it had all gone to hell.