[[ Aghhh I was halfway through this when my laptop died and I forgot to save it… curse you aqua scuuuuuum ]]

Victoire had never been so grateful for wine. It flowed freely among her family, and the more they drank, the less attention they paid to her. Her Uncle Charlie was booming a fantastic story about his recent encounter with a Welsh Green family pod, gesticulating wildly as he enthralled their family with his mad adventures. She felt a wistful pang of longing at how [i]happy[/i] he seemed, assuring her cousin Molly that no, the burn he’d got was really nothing and it had been worth it to help the juvenile dragon escape a trap. As a child, Uncle Charlie’s stories had always been her favorite. He’d been so passionate, so [i]alive[/i] when he talked of dragons. She could only dream of feeling the same love for healing.

She dropped her gaze to her wine glass, polishing it off. Now was not the time for maudlin thoughts. Her family had a strange way of knowing when things were wrong and an absolute relentless need to fix things. The Weasley clan operated under the idea that anything could be solved with enough pushing and food, neither of which appealed to her at the moment. She’d made a valiant effort, but her nerves had twisted her stomach into a ball of snakes. 

“You alright?” She felt her father’s words more than heard them. His hand dropped to the one in her lap, squeezing it affectionately. She clung to his calloused palm desperately, leaning against him for a long moment. Victoire breathed him in, all spice and scotch. It settled the violent churning in her stomach, slowing the fluttering of her pulse in her wrists. Her father could make anything better, of that she was certain. He’d never pushed anything on her, had simply let her make her choices and leant an ear and a shoulder to cry on whenever she’d made a mess of things. She felt him drop a kiss to the top of her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment, she could pretend everything was wonderful.

“Just tired,” she murmured finally. Everything in her protested at that—there was so much [i]more[/i] to it, but this wasn’t the time nor the place. She hated lying to her family. Especially to her father. It was pointless anyways; he could read her like no other. The look in his eyes affirmed her suspicions, but he smiled kindly, squeezing her hand once more before releasing it.

“You know where to find me,” he assured her and she could only smile. The guilt crashed over her again, and it was a struggle to breathe. 

Dinner was winding down. Her father was engaged in conversation by her Uncle Ron, and Louis was locked in earnest discussion with her cousin Molly about Quidditch. Their table was out of wine, and Victoire excused herself as quietly as she could manage. No one looked twice as she slipped towards an empty table. Someone had put Celestina Warbeck on the wireless, horns and her grandstanding voice filling the tent. Victoire privately amused herself by studying her family as she refilled her wine glass, her grandfather and several of her uncles looking rather worn. Little Lily Luna was dancing with her father. Dominique was laughing and dragging Louis out to the floor, and Victoire was temporarily stunned by the radiance of her siblings. They’d taken after their mother far more than she had, all white blonde hair and dazzling charm. She busied herself with her wine, trying not to let her envy get the best of her.

She was hyperaware of Teddy’s movements throughout the tent, no matter how she tried to distract herself. As if by imperius, her eyes kept tracking him, sliding in his general direction. He was so at ease here, and it was impossible to stop the memories, seeing him in the thick of her family. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved him, in one fashion or another. As a child, she’d admired his fearlessness. Being around Teddy had made it easier to be brave, and she’d followed him into all sorts of mischief, whether it was exploring the beaches by Shell Cottage or secret passageways at Hogwarts. It had been so easy to fall in love with him. He’d been so patient with her, whether she was neurotically studying for an exam or trying to eke out a win in whatever stupid competition she’d found herself in. Victoire had never laughed as much as she had with him. She could never have imagined life without Teddy; the idea that she would be the one to cut him out would have been pure madness to contemplate.

But she had. She’d burned everything between them with a lash of temper, drowning in the terror of her own inadequacy. She’d never had a chance to breathe, to be alone, and she was horrified at the idea of never [i]being[/i] anything. Victoire had no idea who she was, what she really wanted, and she’d capitulated to the urgings of her family. Healing was such a good, stable life, they’d assured her. With marks like hers, she’d be daft not to take the offer, not to study at the finest hospital in Europe. How could she defy their advice when she didn’t know what she wanted? 

And Teddy—glorious, wonderful Teddy—had been so patient with her, so content to let her figure it out, and she’d been terrified of failing him. He was so good and kind, she didn’t doubt that he would have supported her in anything, but she couldn’t drag him with her into the mess of her life. Victoire couldn’t let him be lost with her, couldn’t bear the idea of making him miserable as she stumbled her way through the misery of her training program into the utterly soul-crushing nights in the A&E.

Victoire shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. She’d gone maudlin there. She turned her gaze instead to the garden, where she spied Fred and Albus slipping off into the night, undoubtedly up to something. A shadow of what could only be a gnome toddled along the grass.

“Victoire,” she froze at the sound of his voice. Seeing him had been agonizing enough. After a long moment, she looked up at him, and it was impossible to breathe. Merlin, he had no right to be this captivating. She swallowed, her mouth having suddenly gone rather dry. “D’you want to dance?”

It was such a strange question. Two years of silence between them, and this was how it was broken? He looked so casual and it felt as if someone had plunged a hand into her chest and squeezed her heart. [i]Two years[/i]. Of course he would have moved on. Teddy was resilient, not the sort of bloke who would be hung up on her. She’d been so cruel, so [i]furious[/i] with everything, with her inability to know what she wanted or who she even was. She’d lashed out at him, had always known that he hadn’t deserved her wrath, but it had felt so [i]good[/i] to indulge her fury. 

She should say no. Just be polite and [i]run[/i] and go home and never come back. He deserved her family far more than she did. But he was here and every inch of her skin ached to remember him. Victoire blamed the wine. She had always been good at blaming blameless things.

“I… yes,” she startled herself by accepting. It was a fantastically stupid idea. She needed to leave, before she mucked things up more. Touching Teddy would undoubtedly lead to something awful. But he was here and she’d never been good at refusing him. She’d have followed him anywhere. It felt like something else was piloting her body, raising her from her seat. Victoire yearned to touch him again, but she had the mad feeling that he would disappear, and she hesitated.