Bill sighed, wiping his sweaty brow as he threw open the door to shell cottage. He had a migraine, having been sitting in a conference room with goblins all day, and coming home to Fleur shouting in French from upstairs didn't help.
He winced as Louis's screams were added to the mix. Finally, he began to make a cup of tea.
Just as he began to put in a tea bag, he could hear stifled sobs, now that the shouting had stopped. He quickly poured another cup of tea, and took the stairs three at a time.
As quiet as he could, Bill opened the first door on the right, into Dominique's room. The bed was un made, there were toys and clothes strewn over every inch of the floor, a tank of frog spawn spilled in the corner, a squashed pumpkin pasty on her pillow, a thick layer of grime coating the window, and not to mention the smell of a dying animal.
Curled up on the bed, was Dominique, pink hair sticking statically in all directions, her face buried in her stickily arms.
Bill's eyes opened wide, but he shoved a pile of unfinished homework Fleur had given their daughter, that was sitting on the food of the bed to the ground and sat where it had been. Dominique's head shot up, and he huge eyes flashed, but when she saw it was her father, her lip trembled and her tiny face softened.
"Hey, Dom." Bill handed his daughter the mug of tea, speaking softly. "What's up?"
Dominique furiously wiped her little nose on the torn sleeve of her jacket.
"Nothing."
"Honey, you're obviously not okay."
The little six year old looked into her Dad's eyes, and began to bawl, dropping the tea and throwing her arms over her father's neck. The steaming tea splashed all over Bill's lap, Dominique's sheets, floor and toys. Eyes stinging, Bill tried not to swear.
"Victorie hates me!" Dominique wailed, voice muffled by Bill's shoulder."
He tried to pull away to look her in the eye and tell her it wasn't so, but she clung to him for dear life, not letting go.
"Honey, she doesn't hate you."
"Yes she does!" Cried Dominique loudly. "She tells me every day! You know what she said daddy? She said that she would choose Teddy over me if we were dying and she had to pick someone to save!"
"Dominique," Bill began, trying to think of how to help his daughter. "We all say things we don't mean when we're ma-"
"She meant it!" Dominique interrupted, tears splashing down her cheeks. "And I hate her too! And mommy hates me! Even Louis hates me! They all hate me!"
Bill didn't know what to say, every time he tried to deny it, she repeated it until she was screeching at the top of her lungs. He heard Victorie shout in French through the wall. "taire vous sorcière." which he thought meant something like "shut up," except he wasn't sure.
"I don't hate you." He said quietly, and Dominique nodded, brushing her rosy hair out of her face.
"I don't hate you either daddy. I love you."
***
Later that night, when the kids had been put to bed, and Fleur was just finishing up the last bit of laundry before going to sleep herself, Bill approached her.
"Hey, I need to talk to you." He said, absentmindedly running a finger across the scar on his face. It was a habit now.
"What is it?" Fleur asked in her thick French accent, hanging up shirts on a line through the open window with a flick of her wand.
"It about Dominique." Bill said tartly. He was already in a sour mood regarding both his wife and his oldest daughter, but at all costs wanted to avoid a fight. "You need to give her a little slack."
"She has more slack than she needs, zat girl." Fleur answered curtly, lips pursed. "She never cleans, she is clumsy, she-"
"She said you hated her. She said Victorie hated her. She was bawling Fleur. So I'm asking you to give her some slack, because I don't know about you, but it hurts me, physically hurts me, to see my daughter cry like that."
A wave of emotion passed over Fleur's face. Then, she took a deep breath, and swished her long curtain of silver hair over her shoulder, hand on her hip.
"Discipline is something every child needs if they want to succeed. Dominique has potential to be very smart, she just never listens, and maybe if she did, she wouldn't have that problem. When I was a leetle girl-"
"This isn't France Fleur!" Bill interrupted angrily. "I get it, you can teach her French, to 'pass on your heritage', yeah, okay, I get that. But the studying? The nagging? The strictness? She's six! And she's your daughter!"
"I know oo' she is Bill," Fleur's nostrils flared. "A girl who is wasting her potential. You let me raise my kids."
"They're my kids too dammit!" Bill banged his fist on the table. "She thinks you hate her! Fleur, is that what you want? Because that's the kind of unopen relationship you're setting for her, and once that's how it's set, that's how it's gonna be. She won't trust you, she won't feel comfortable with you. If that's the kind of relationship you want with her, fine."
Then, he got up and left, out the front door, to sit and watch the ocean water hit the rocks, until well past midnight. Fleur stood, dumbstruck by the window, like a still statue, for what seemed like hours, and then, wiping one diamond like tear from her smooth, porcelain cheek, went to bed.
***
Sorry I got my phone taken away :/