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Content Warningblood, abortion/pregnancy loss

24th March, 1895 — Malfoy Residence

She thought she might actually be dying. She had been afraid of this all along – although maybe it was because she had delayed so long that it wasn’t working right, and that was why she was dying? Or the pain from the potion was expected, and necessary, and perhaps only exacerbated by the fact she had been tight-lacing her corsets twice as much as usual to try and hide the growing swell of her stomach, even if it gave her cramps and bruised her ribs. Or because potions weren’t foolproof, and there was a risk of dying anyway, even if this worked.

But she had finally done it, either gathered the courage or succumbed to the reality that she simply could not keep on going like that, and needed to be free of it hanging over her head.

She had pled feeling faint to her family – just the usual sort of stomach ache provoked by her monthlies – and stayed in bed all day yesterday and today without anyone’s protest. (She thought they were all almost glad to be rid of her for an afternoon or two.)

This evening she had thought it was done, that the pain was over. Hours later, she knew she had been wrong. It was the middle of the night – she hadn’t let the maid in to close the curtains, so the moonlight was streaming in – when Estelle lurched up out of bed, doubling over in pain.

She tried to cross the bedroom for a pitcher of water on the side table, but her vision was off or her grasp was too weak, and the jug dropped, smashing to pieces around her bare feet. The sound hardly startled her – the stabbing pain was distracting enough – but someone else had heard it, because footsteps were coming down the hall. Not Mama, she prayed, but their parents’ rooms were not so near as her sisters’ were. Let it be Angeline, then, she might’ve hoped – but as the doorknob turned, Estelle was too busy swaying on her feet to see who had intruded.

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Victoire Malfoy

  

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Torie had stayed up too late with her latest book from Mr. Echelon-Arnost. She had never put this much effort into her studies, aside from astronomy, yet here she was, speeding through his literature at a rapid pace. In staying up so late, she had gotten hungry and thought she would sneak a snack from the kitchens. It was easier said than done; Torie had no idea how to work anything in the kitchen, nor trusted herself to use a knife, so she had wound up simply stealing a few fruits from the counter and broke off a hunk of bread she hoped nobody would miss come morning time.

After she inhaled the snack, feeling satisfied and ready for bed, she stole back up the back stairs toward her room. She had made it past Estelle's, nearer to her own door than her sisters, when she heard the crash. Brows furrowed in concern, she padded back down the hall and put her ear to the door. She didn't hear anything, but something struck her as off. Carefully, she turned the knob— hopefully it was nothing, but she felt compelled to check.

The scene before her was wildly unexpected and she stifled a gasp behind her hand. Closing the door quickly, she hurried into the room, but stopped before she could step on any glass or slip in the water. "Estelle? Elle are you alright? Oh be careful, there's glass on the floor." Even in the moonlight her sister looked pale and unwell and Torie was immediately worried.

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   Estelle Malfoy

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Red again! June 1894

“It doesn’t matter,” Estelle answered, about the pitcher in pieces; she had meant to whisper it, but the words came out louder, frantic. She didn’t want to wake anyone – anyone else, if Torie had already intruded upon her – but at the same time she wanted to wail in pain, like a bawling baby.

Mostly she wanted her sister to care less for the glass on the floor and more for her. (Merlin, she wished someone, anyone, would actually care about her.) A little deliriously, Estelle reached out to clamp her hand around her sister’s wrist, tight as a vice – even that was scarcely enough to steady her from the temptation to collapse to the floor, but she clung on, trying to stay upright. “Torie. Help me,” she moaned. “I think I might be dying, Torie.”

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Her sister's tight grip was just as alarming as everything else, and Torie's eyes widened at the statements that came next. She ought to get help; call for a healer, alert her mother, anything, but all she did was freeze momentarily before her heart lurched into motion again. "What's happened? Step carefully, I don't want you to hurt yourself on the glass." She edged backwards, carefully, though she at least had slippers on, pulling Estelle with her toward the bed slowly. Her hands were shaking, concern clear on her features, at the sudden emergency, but she still didn't know exactly what to do.

"Should I call someone?" She whispered frantically, reaching out with her other hand to help hold her sister up, as if Estelle would collapse at any minute. It was still a mystery to her what exactly was the problem, but she couldn't make any decisions until she knew what was wrong.

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Red again! June 1894

Torie was leading her back towards the bed – there was a dark stain of blood where she had been lying for the last few hours, and some that had bled through her nightgown. The potioneer had warned her about the bleeding – that was supposed to happen – but it seemed to be getting worse. Much more than her monthlies. And exactly how much bleeding was too much?

So a little cut or scrape from the broken jug was low on Estelle’s list of things to care about; perhaps the loss of blood was making her woozy, because even walking across the room felt like a feat right now. Torie was about the only thing getting her there – but when her sister suggested calling someone, Estelle shook her head vehemently and dug her fingernails deeper into Torie’s arm, as if to prevent her. “No,” she said, eyes wide, with all the force she had. “No. If you do that I’ll be worse than dead. No one can know what I’ve done. You can’t leave me – and you can’t tell. Swear you won’t tell.”

The empty potion bottle was still tucked away in her bedside drawer, along with the potioneer’s instructions. There was no undoing it now – but it would be better to die of it than have her parents or a healer examine the scene and realise what had happened. With Torie’s help, Estelle slumped onto the edge of her bed, heedless of the bloodstains in the middle of her sheets, and clutched at her abdomen again as it cramped.

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As Estelle got closer and they moved toward the bed, she could more clearly see that something was very, very wrong. There was blood on the bed and on her sister's nightdress and Torie's eyes were wide with panic. "Elle, what's happened, you're scaring me." It looked like a lot of blood— more than just her cycle. There was such an upsetting cadence to her sister's voice that Torie automatically agreed to whatever it was Estelle needed.

"Alright, alright, I promise, I won't tell anyone. Tell me what is going on?" It was terrifying to watch someone be in such pain and her sister no less. Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around Estelle's shoulders and held her close. There was no way, despite their differences, that Torie thought Estelle would be better off dead. If she kept bleeding though, she might just be. What was she supposed to do? She'd just promised not to tell anyone, but she wasn't going to let Estelle bleed to death either!

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Red again! June 1894

Torie’s tone might have registered as unfamiliar to her, if Estelle had been able to conceive of much beyond the nausea and the cramping. Even through the pain, she could recognise the strangeness of her sister’s arm around her, though – and she knew she had lost too much blood and lost all sense if this contact was comforting to her, but Estelle buried her face against Torie and clung tightly to her hand.

“There’s a letter in my drawer,” Estelle whispered, nodding her head very slightly towards the beside table. “I need to send for a blood replenishing potion.” Torie would see, if she read the potioneer’s instructions; Estelle didn’t think it had been as long as he said yet, but she would rather take it sooner than later. She didn’t know if Torie would be clever enough to work out what she had taken (which was not much of an insult, given Estelle hadn’t known potions could do such things as this to begin with), but she felt she ought to preface it with some acknowledgement. “I – I did something very stupid, Torie. I gave up my virtue to him.” Why had she done it? Why had this happened to her?

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Torie was sure her tight grip was to keep her own hands from shaking as much as it was to comfort her sister. This was all a little too much. Every broken snippet of information she was getting didn't make much sense, but as it all started to come out, she was putting the pieces together slowly and uncertainly.

Until the latest bit.

A very real fear, a very real, very visceral memory of her own popped up and she had to shove away the thoughts for another time. Now was not the time to deal in what ifs, it was time to deal in pragmatic steps to fix this. Torie was not especially known to handle chaos well, but she was going to try her best tonight. She swallowed hard and pried herself from her sister's deathly grip, just enough to reach into the bedside table and extract the letter. She skimmed it for the important information, the seriousness of the situation settling uncomfortably in her bones.

"Alright, I will handle it." Torie understood now just how dire this was and what she had to do. "I will send the letter and hurry back." She assured Estelle quietly, brushing the hair from her sister's face gently as she extricated herself to follow through.

The next few minutes were a quiet flurry of rushing around— racing back to her own room to write the request, sending her own pocket money to cover it without knowing the cost, before sneaking into the nearest linen closet to take some spare sheets and towels and anything else she could think of that might help the situation. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity before she slipped back into Estelle's room quietly. "I sent the request and made clear it was urgent." The letter to this mysterious potioneer best be received tonight or they would be in for it.

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   Estelle Malfoy

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Red again! June 1894

She heard Torie’s promise, if it was a promise and she could be trusted to help rather than turn her in. Estelle wasn’t convinced, but nor did she have any strength left to do anything but stay curled up and contorted on her bed, waiting to see if her sister would return.

She had tried counting the seconds or the minutes, but the time had gone hazy the harder she tried to keep track of it – she might have been lying here for hours, moaning quietly, until a face swam back into view. “Thank you,” she mumbled without thinking, foreign as the words were to her, and reached out for Torie, wanting someone to stay with her. “To the potioneer?” she queried, confused, as panic rose in her throat like bile. “You wrote to the potioneer, didn’t you, and not to Leo?” Merlin, she hoped so – she didn’t want him to think she had suffered this badly for his sake.

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Torie set the linens down on the chair nearby and slipped back into bed beside her sister. They had never been this close, physically or emotionally in their entire lives, but this felt monumentally different. "Of course," she assured Estelle quietly as she settled onto the pillow more comfortably.

She didn't know what to really do now, except pray that the potioneer was awake to send the necessary potion. She wanted to ask how her sister was feeling now, but Estelle's next statement has her freezing. It was another piece of the puzzle. A name. One she didn't recognize immediately, based on her sister's use of what she assumed was a nickname, something familiar, intimate. Torie considered her options.

"Yes, the potioneer," she answered, breathing it out on an exhale if indecision. "Estelle, who is Leo?" If this was the father, Torie needed to know. This man had somehow manipulated her smart, cunning sister into giving up something she probably shouldn't have. Tor didn't think Estelle was the kind to be the kind to make a rash decision based on romance so something else surely had to have happened.

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Red again! June 1894