Fleur sat by the window, in the breakfast nook, it was her favorite place to be now she was off work. The winter scene outside was monochrome, blanketed in white, and the upholstery on the bench was gray.
White and gray. Bland. Like her life.
She did not know how long she sat there, wallowing, lamenting the passage of time even as she wasted it. The pit that had consumed her rolled and belched her back out with the click of the front door.
"Fleur?" Harry stuck his head in, still garbed in Auror red, and his face softened as his eyes befell her. She tried to pull her gaze off the window, but she couldn't, she tried to greet him, but the oppressive weight of her mood hung in the room and smothered her words. She just sighed.
"Okay, what's wrong?"
He crossed to her, and she resisted his efforts to pull her up. She did not relent, did not go quietly into his embrace, but she had no fight left in her.
"There's no purpose left-" She murmured weakly as he carried her down the hall, her pregnant swollen form no trouble at all to him.
"I know love," he murmured patiently.
"I seek the solace of a dark room my love," he chuckled as he moved through the threshold of one such room. "Thank you, now leave me to perish."
He kissed her forehead as she settled into the blankets.
"Have a good nap my love." He closed the door behind him, shaking his head at his wife's antics.