Ginny had practically begged him the last time she had been around his flat to visit, and when that didn't work, she laid on a guilt trip that was thicker than molasses. After all, how could Teddy not want to celebrate the wedding anniversary of the people who had taken him in and raised him from a child? It was rather selfish of him to try and skirt the issue, to have the audacity to attempt an excuse about being busy, or needing to go somewhere for work, but there was a cowardly part of him that wasn't above that sort of thing. Ginny, on the other hand, called his bluff in a tone of voice that said he was still groundable, and if he didn't come to the party at the Burrow a few weekends from then, he was in for a world of trouble. The sternness of the older redhead caused him cave, and that was how Teddy Lupin found himself on a grassy knoll with a bottle of expensive wine tucked under his arm.

Breathing a heavy sigh into the balmy June air, Teddy mentally prepared himself for what he was about to encounter. It would be a weekend full of family; catching up, telling stories, sitting around the table and reminiscing about better times. To anyone else, it would have been a fantastic time, but Teddy had knots in his stomach just thinking about his extended stay. It was all because of Victoire and the chance that he might have to see her, or make small talk with her about the bloody weather, or worse, life after the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He supposed it was a bit pathetic to still be raw over their end, but Teddy hadn't gotten much closure, and it didn't help that he hadn't spoken to the blond since they had decided to call it quits.

Victoire Weasley had been a staple in Teddy's life for as long as he could remember. They had grown up together, gone to school together, spent their summers together, and through following every cliche in the known universe, it only made sense that the two o them fell in love. Their relationship wasn't supposed to have ended the way it did, or at all, but Victorie had been keen to get away from everything and pursue healing, while Teddy didn't even know what he wanted to do for the weekend. He supposed that it just came down to them being different people, wanting different things out of life; that didn't make it hurt any less.

In the time that they had been apart, Teddy had done his fair share of maturing. Gone was his bright, blue hair, now replaced with something more natural that often made people tell him he looked exactly like a younger version of his late father. He was more punctual now, a little less reckless and actually focused on his career instead of worrying about who he could play a prank on. Back in his Hogwarts days, Hufflepuff house was often the butt of his jokes, much to the delight of James and his other friends. Teddy thought he deserved some credit for falling easily into adulthood, but he would never openly admit something like that.

A faint buzzing sound caught Teddy's attention, and after swatting a bee away from his head, he realized that he had been standing on top of the hill overlooking the Burrow for far too long. "It's now or never," he told himself as he resisted the urge to apparate back to his flat. Instead, he forced himself to move, now descending from the crest of the hill where he took the shortish walk through the field below and over to the back door.

After rapping his knuckles on the weathered-looking wood several times, Teddy waited for a response from inside. He busied himself with pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, thinking it made his navy blazer look a little less serious and a little more aloof. After all, this was a party for people he loved, not a business meeting or a job interview. The family needed to see that he was happy to be there, and still the same Teddy that they always knew.

"Teddy!" came the delighted squeak from Molly Weasley as she gave him a quick hug and ushered him inside. Teddy followed suit, smiling when he saw her. Her presence was infectious, and warm as ever. The reservations he'd had seemed to melt away as Molly offered him a cup of tea and a place to sit. "You're just in time. Ron and Hermione are on their way, Bill and Fleur are coming with their lot too. Not long now."

Teddy swallowed his tea after stirring two cubes of sugar. "Great," he remarked, ignoring how ill-prepared he was as he chatted with Molly about things around the house, Ginny's quidditch career and the de-gnoming of the garden.

”Healer Weasley to Senior Healer Cycles’ Office. Healer Weasley to Senior Healer Cycles’ Office,” the tinny voice of the Welcome Witch blared through the A&E, disrupting Victoire’s rounds barely an hour in.

Being called to the Senior’s office rarely meant good news. Victoire had spent the past ten minutes trying to figure out what she had done wrong, running over the past few weeks in her head. She had been unable to find an offence worthy of a meeting in the office. By the time she reached the fourth floor, her palms were sweating and stomach churning. It took a surprising force of will not to be sick when her pale hand reached out and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” the familiar bark did nothing to assuage her nerves. Victoire took a steadying breath. Straightening her powder blue robes, she clicked open the door to Senior Healer Deirdre Cycle’s office. It was Victoire Weasley’s least favorite place in the hospital. The yellow walls were barren, and but for the drooping spider plant in the corner, the room was completely devoid of personality. Senior sat at her desk, a small pile of parchment scattered across the oak. Feeble rays of sunlight streamed in through slits in the blinds. A memo looped lazily around Senior’s head, skimming the tight black kinks. The door clicked behind Victoire with an unsettling sort of finality.

“Sit,” Senior’s eyes didn’t move from a document she was reading, her pen tapping on the desk. Victoire obeyed without hesitation. Senior Healer Cycles was not a woman she wanted to cross. Her hands folded in her lap, Victoire tried desperately not to fidget as she awaited judgment. A long moment passed before the dark witch signed and rolled the parchment, finally fixing her gaze upon the slim blonde. Senior tutted as she withdrew a folder from beneath the pile of paperwork, thumbing it open. Victoire recognized her portrait inside the front cover, smiling nervously. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Healer Weasley,” Senior thumbed through evaluations and paperwork, inscrutable as ever. “In nearly three years in my department, it appears you have yet to take a holiday.”

Of all the things Victoire had anticipated, this certainly wasn’t one of them. She realized she was gaping—with a start, she snapped her mouth shut and tried not to look too terrified.

“I… beg your pardon, Senior, but I don’t follow—“

“Weasley,” Senior interrupted smoothly, shutting the folder and steepling her hands. “Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of a young woman barging into my office demanding to speak with me about you.”

The bottom of Victoire’s stomach dropped away as the Senior Healer spoke. It would have been funny, almost, if the thought hadn’t been so horrifying. A young woman barging in screamed Weasley. Weasley’s had a horrible habit of making trouble and wreaking havoc wherever they went. She could scarcely breathe.

“She was rather forceful. Went on and on about how your family has a large reunion planned, how you’ve missed holidays for this, and I quote, ‘Merlin buggered hospital’ for too long, and demanded I get you out into ‘the real world’, as she put it,” the Senior sounded amused at that, but Victoire’s face burned with shame. Victoire sat perfectly still, uncertain if she could trust herself to move.

“Senior, I, I’m so sorry, that never should have happened,” she tried to sound composed, but her voice choked. Senior frowned across the table at her, a brow arched. Victoire felt as though she had been pinned by the full body bind.

“Well, happen it did,” Senior waved her stammering off, looking impatient, “That’s not what’s important. Weasley, I know we’re undermanned as is, but you have to take time off every once in a while. You keep working like this, you’ll burn out, it’s as simple as that.”

Victoire’s mind had gone horribly blank. She felt rather like she was watching a train wreck, unable to look away, unable to stop it. Her nails drove into her palms.

“I’ve managed to squeeze out three weeks of paid leave for you,” Senior’s words made her blood run cold, “That young woman ordered me to deliver this to you,” she reached out, extending an envelope to Victoire. It took her a long moment to accept it. She recognized her grandmère’s handwriting instantly. She swallowed. She’d ignored the previous invite, had planned on claiming that she had missed it while at hospital, but now she had no such excuse. “I suggest you attend whatever engagement this is. This Dominique threatened to hex me when I said you were previously scheduled for work. Dismissed.”

Victoire nodded numbly and rose to her feet.

The next few days dragged longer than Victoire had even thought possible. Without the hospital eating her every waking minute, she found there was simply too much time in a day. She’d never been so idle in years. After cleaning the flat twice over and tending Henry, there was little to do. Naoko was swamped with pre-season practice, and as all her friends were fellow Healers working at the hospital, Victoire had nothing to occupy herself with. Books did little to capture her interest and the near constant rain kept her confined to the flat, too drained to bother with the world at large.

The letter sat on her bedside table. She’d read it a dozen times, had practically memorized her grandmère’s request to visit for her Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny’s anniversary party. She wasn’t sure what to make of Dominique’s delivery of the letter. They had never been particularly close. Her sister had always been so sharp, all fierce confidence and certainty. They’d been in conflict as long as Victoire could remember. But, she supposed it made sense—Dominique certainly had never cared for tact. Victoire could think of no one else who had the nerve to shout down Senior Healer Cycles. Still, she couldn’t fathom why her sister had bothered. She dreaded finding out. Time sensed this and, annoyingly, did not stop its relentless march.



The Saturday of the party, Victoire seriously considered going back to St. Mungo’s and begging Senior to let her work again. The only thing stopping her was the futility of the whole idea. Her frustration was immense. All she wanted was to be at work, doing something useful with herself. The free time was driving her mad. But Senior had put her on leave and there was no arguing with her bosses will. Not for the first time, Victoire cursed her sister’s interference. Everything had been fine. Now she could barely find the energy to get out of bed, let alone enjoy her impromptu holiday. Naoko had suggested she take off to somewhere with beaches and sunshine, but the thought turned her stomach almost as much as the party.

The party. Merlin, she didn’t know why she was going. It was an awful idea. Undoubtedly, the whole family would be there, and though she loved them fiercely she could already feel the headache coming on. It would be like every Weasley-Potter get together—filled with explosions and a dozen people shouting to be heard over each other as Grandmère forced entirely too much food on them. Even in her childhood, Victoire had found the parties to be trying. And that had been before she had dropped off the face of the Earth. She knew it would be a mess, showing up properly for the first time in nearly two years. It couldn’t end well.

“I must be mental,” she informed Henry. The bulldog cocked his head at her, obsessively smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her floral patterned sundress in the mirror. “We should have just gone to Majorca like Naoko suggested.”

Being a dog, Henry said nothing. Victoire breathed in deep, studying her reflection. She’d swept her blonde hair over a shoulder, curling loosely. Her freckles contrasted fantastically against her skin, paler now having practically lived in St. Mungo’s for the past few years. She felt a fraud, put together so neatly when all she wanted was to curl up in bed with a book and a tub of ice cream and avoid the world. She breathed deep. She had to do this sooner or later. Still, she’d always hoped the never face the later. After Teddy, it had been so much easier to simply drift away. She knew she’d never escape him. He was as much as part of the family as she—more so, really. He’d always belonged among the clan, all charm and brilliance. He’d never struggled to breathe at the numerous parties, had never seemed out of place. She’d been a moth to his flame, trailing after him.

And then she had ended everything in an explosion of rage and vicious words, and that had been that. Panicked and trapped and drowning in everyone else’s image of her, she’d lashed out, indulging her temper. She’d severed years in one night and Victoire wasn’t brave enough to decide whether she regretted it or not.

She couldn’t hide any longer. Heart drumming against her ribs, she knelt to wish her little dog a goodbye, before lifting her purse and parcel from the vanity. With a deep breath, she turned on the spot and disappeared in a sharp crack.



The Burrow loomed before her. Judging by the din, most of the family had already arrived. Adjusting the parcel under her arm, she took a moment to compose herself. Everything would be fine. Even if Teddy was here—which he would be—she could handle it. She had to handle it. Victoire tried not to let the creeping sense of panic overwhelm her. She was here and there was no turning back. If Dominique was willing to humiliate her by harassing her boss to get her here, Victoire dreaded to think what would happen if she didn’t make an appearance.

The door was open, and Victoire took the opportunity to slip inside. The parlor table was covered in a mountain of gifts in varying sizes and colourful wrapping paper. She deposited her simple parcel. It looked rather pitiful in its brown paper, and suddenly she wondered if she should have found something cleverer than a crystal decanter.

“You finally decided to grace us with your presence, then.”

Victoire jumped, looking up from the table, blue eyes meeting brown. It was amazing how a girl four years her junior could make her feel so guilty with a single sentence. Victoire straightened, watching as her younger sister leaned against the doorframe.

“Domi,” she greeted diplomatically. When had Dominique grown so tall? Victoire still thought of her as six years old, with a toothy smile and a penchant for playing with the gnomechildren. It was hard to see her sister as eighteen, as having come of age.

Dominique rolled her eyes. Victoire frowned. Since when was she not allowed to call her sister by her nickname? Since you dropped off the face of Earth?

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Dominique spoke, all matter of fact. Victoire fought the urge to purse her lips. More than anyone, her sister knew how to get beneath her skin, how to bait her temper. “Mum’s been going spare. You do remember you’re a qualified witch, right? There’s this fancy thing called apparation, since apparently Floo is too much of a bother for you.”

Dominique was right, of course, but what could Victoire say? ‘Sorry, I needed to escape the craziness that is this family for a while’? Or, ‘Sorry, I ruined everything with the bloke completely enmeshed in our family and I needed space’? Or even, ‘Sorry, I’m human and I make stupid decisions out of fear’? Dominique would poke holes in any defence she offered, and Victoire didn’t have the energy to engage in a ground war.

“I’m here now,” she managed wearily, wishing she could have sounded at least a little more confident there. “What’s done is done.”

Dominique eyed her, something swimming behind her eyes, as if she had a thousand more things she wanted to say. She simply scoffed and turned, abandoning her in the empty parlor. Victoire shut her eyes tight, nails curving into the flesh of her palm. She couldn’t just run away now. Merlin, but she wanted to.

Victoire’s footsteps carried her softly through the house, sidestepping her cousin Roxanne laden with a basket of table settings.

“Vic, hey!” Roxanne at least looked pleased to see her, calling over her shoulder. “Your mum’s in the kitchen, I think she needs help!”

“Ah… thanks,” Victoire wasn’t sure if Roxanne heard her, having started shouting for her brother to stop being a prat. With a soft quirk of the lips, she made her way towards the kitchen. The kitchen was full to bursting, a cacophony of pots and pans and sizzling food. It was madness, and the only relief was that the clamor meant she went rather unnoticed.

It was amazing how many people could actually fit into the Burrow. Somehow, Teddy had forgotten that fact despite having been to many parties there through the course of his life. He could remember being young and watching his godfather celebrate one of aunt Ginny's many quidditch victories, and how the living room and kitchen would always be filled to the brim with laughter, food and an all around warm spirit. Magic was real in their world, but there was something a little extra about the Burrow; it just had a way. In his own thoughts, Teddy could admit that he had missed it, and his family and in the pit of his stomach there was a heavy feeling of regret for not coming around more. At first, it had been to completely avoid Victoire, but he knew that she hadn't been around in a good two years, and not even his ex-girlfriend could be to blame for his absence after a certain point. He wondered, briefly, if she would even show up that night.

The afternoon wore on and Teddy didn't even notice the time as he moved all around, inside and outside of the Burrow to chat with his family and friends. He had always been social, a natural mingler, and most people told him how much he reminded them of his mother. Compliments like that never failed to bring a smile to the young metamorphagus's face, never one to forget the memory of Nymphadora or the things she stood for.

The mood inside of the Burrow was light, although the air was terribly thick and heavy. Toward the evening, Teddy opted for a bit of fresh air and a game of catch-up with James, who had nicked a bottle of firewhiskey on their way out. The two boys had always been particularly close, even though James was younger by a few years, they went well together and had often been inseparable during their time at Hogwarts. It only seemed natural for the pair to be sitting outside, watching the stars come in and discussing Teddy's last trip to Greece as they passed the bottle back and forth.

Soon, it was almost time for dinner and for the party to get underway. Teddy headed inside with James, not drunk and not buzzed, but just about as he re-told the story of nearly being bitten by a vampire in Albania. Gruesome a story as it sounded, the events leading up to it, a card game and several bets, were quite humorous and James always seemed to get a kick out of it.

"So I told him," Teddy laughed as he reached for the back door, just offset of the kitchen, "if you're going to suck me dry, at least take me to dinner first!I like to be wined and dined before I'm--"

"Teddy!" squeaked Rose, sounding very much like her mother when she was angry. "Not that boorish story again, honestly! It's so vulgar."

Teddy chuckled, not daring to finish his sentence as the frizzy-haired girl shoved past him with a dish of something that smelled divine. Most of the women were in the kitchen, and Teddy gave a hello, along with hugs and a few kisses to the girls he hadn't reconnected with yet, the last of which was aunt Fleur. Throughout the afternoon, Teddy made sure to keep track of those Weasley's in particular, and each time the number came to two instead of three, he became a bit more relaxed. His wish had come true, Victoire wasn't going to show, and he could go through this party with little to worry about.

Rather, Teddy thought he had nothing to worry about.

There she was, in a sundress of all things and having the nerve to look pretty as ever, if not a little more pale. Victoire would show up late, somehow that was just typical in a situation like this. Their last encounter hadn't gone well, and the break up was actually the last time they had spoken. Teddy had meant to write, to try and find out what had really gone through her mind, but there were a few things that he couldn't get past. The way she had yelled at him was the worst, and it was as though she took out every last bit of frustration on their relationship and then gleefully threw it all away. Teddy wouldn't have called himself innocent either, and he wasn't proud of the way he had lashed out at her in return, but they never had discussed anything afterward and it continued to hang over everything like a black cloud.

It felt like hours that Teddy stood there and looked at her, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. If she noticed that he had acknowledged her at all, Teddy hoped that his face hadn't looked the way his stomach felt--sick. He reasoned that she didn't deserve to know that he was bothered, and he was sure that she was over it as well. After all, who brakes up with someone if they aren't sure the relationship is over?

"What's that?" Teddy asked rhetorically as he plucked a tray of tarts for Lily Luna's hands on her way by. "It probably belongs on the table. Don't say I've never helped you lot," he managed with a charming smile and ducked from the room with the food. It was a poor excuse, cowardly, and Teddy was sure he hadn't fooled anyone in the kitchen. He hoped no one would mention it.

The fussing hadn’t lasted long, much to Victoire’s relief. Her mother had swept her into a fierce hug before putting her to work. She’d fielded questions about the hospital as gracefully as she could manage, agreeing with her aunts and cousins that, yes, she did need to get more time off. The lie tasted foul on her tongue, but there was little time to worry. She was set to slicing vegetables. The familiarity of the kitchen was a small comfort; even with magic, there was always work to be done. She could handle work. The others bantered and gossiped as they prepared old favorites

Victoire had never taken to chopping by wand—she preferred the weight of the knife in her hand, the challenge in perfectly even slices. She could find peace in the work, even with the white noise pressing in upon her. She hadn’t cooked in months, had lived on cheap sandwiches and peppers from the teashop and whatever Naoko fancied cooking up. She had missed this, she realized, even if she found the sheer volume of people in the tiny kitchen to be oppressive.

“Courgette, Victoire—“ her mother’s voice cut through the static, and she started, sweeping her pile of zucchini into a large bowl and sending it towards her mother obediently. She made the mistake of scanning the room on returning to her work.

The air slammed out of her lungs, as if she had fallen into ice. Her pulse fluttered in her skin, as volatile as wild Abraxans. She thought her ribs might snap under the strain. The last person in the world she wanted to see was turning on foot, claiming a large tray of treacle tart from her young cousin, and for a moment there was nothing but Teddy. Time was an ocean, its depths crystalizing into ice, stilling everything around her.

Merlin, he was every bit as magnetic as she remembered. It was impossible to focus on anything but the familiar lines of his profile. She was sixteen again and stumbling after him and his easy laugh, lacing their fingers together and drinking him in. There were lines in his face now, and not a blue hair in sight, but there was no mistaking him.

Not for the first time, it occurred to Victoire that hiding for two years had been a thoroughly stupid way of handling things. Her pulse raced, quickened by a dozen different memories she had pushed aside, had never dealt with. She had drowned herself in patients and paperwork to forget him, but now she was here and there was nothing to distract herself with. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t help the memories slamming into her like a freight train.

Just as suddenly as she had noticed him, he was gone. Victoire felt her cheeks burn, and she automatically dropped her gaze to the peppers she had to slice. In a fog, she began topping the vegetables, coring them with practiced hands. She could sense wary eyes on her, but she was determined not to look. Somehow, despite knowing that being here would be awful, she hadn’t been able to imagine just how painful seeing him again would be. Her fingers tightened on the knife, knuckles whitening about the blade.

The rest of the preparation passed in a blur. Victoire was barely aware of what was going on, following orders mechanically. She wished she could have left, but by the time they were finishing plating food, her father had found her and she couldn’t find the nerve. He led her to the garden, a source of calm among the disarray. He said nothing of her absence and Victoire wasn’t sure if she was grateful or ashamed. Both, more likely.

They ran into Louis along the way, a foot taller than last she had seen him, more man than boy. Sixteen and he’d be the tallest in the family before long, she was certain. They embraced and Victoire was selfishly pleased that at least he wasn’t unhappy to see her.

“You’re so tall!” She blurted, unable to help herself. He arched a brow at her before the expression shifted to a lazy grin. Victoire smiled through her embarrassment, and despite her dread and the nightmare that was facing Teddy, she found herself deliriously happy to see Louis. They had always been exceptionally close; quieter than the others, and the only one of her family to follow her into Ravenclaw, she’d written him far more frequently than the others over the past two years. The guilt crashed into her all over again, a relentless tide. She shouldn’t have left. She should have been family, no matter her fear.

“You look--- tired,” he decided upon after a long moment. Victoire winced. That was being kind, she sensed.

“I’ve been working nights,” she explained, although she wasn’t sure how much she could pin on the hospital, having had the last three days off. “Never mind that. I hear you picked up Prefect…”

They linked arms, the three of them joining the large throng of family and sorting out seats along the enormous oak tables. The logistics of a Weasley-Potter dinner were always a nightmare, but Victoire was pleased to find herself and Louis a good two tables away from Teddy even if she couldn’t help but sneak glances in his general direction.

The actual party and dinner were being held out back in a tent, apparently one that had been in the family since Ginny was still at Hogwarts. That was nostalgia at it's finest, Teddy reckoned. Seating arrangements at any family gathering never went according to plan, and people ended up moving around so often that the small, enchanted name cards didn't mean much of anything. However, the seat was easy enough for the metamorphagus to find at the beginning of the night, and he was happy to find out that he wasn't in the direct vicinity of Victoire. As an added bonus, he was seated with James, and a few of the other cousins who knew a thing or two about jokes. That was bound to be a good distraction from the icy interaction that had taken place in the kitchen.

"Have you talked to her?" questioned James in a sort of half-whisper as Ron fumbled his way through a little toast to Harry and Ginny. Teddy replied shushing the other man, not wanting to discuss his love life, or lack there of, at the moment. "You should talk to her. Ask her to dance later."

"Shut it," Teddy hissed in reply, not wanting to interrupt and draw attention to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was dance with Victoire, let alone actually talk to her. Teddy, confused as he was, hadn't the slightest idea of what he was even supposed to say in a hypothetical situation where he had enough patience to strike up a conversation. Were they to discuss the weather? There had been a few strange fires as of late. Maybe he should ask her what was so special about St. Mungo's and why she had run off and abandoned everything to work there? Teddy was sure that would only cause friction, though, and there was enough tension in the room already.

After stories of years past and a few toasts, dinner was finally underway. Molly and company had really outdone themselves, because Teddy didn't even remember the food at Christmas being as nice and he was happy to eat and chat with his cousins, and even engaged with a few people at the tables around him. Throughout the meal, though, his eyes couldn't help but wander back to Victoire, she was positively magnetic even when he hated her and a few times he caught himself nearly taking James' advice.

Perhaps it was a bit foolish, but Teddy still thought fondly of the memories he had with the blond girl, and her harsh words had only buried the feelings he had always kept for her. He still remembered when they were sixteen, spending the summer at the Burrow and sneaking out at night to watch the stars. The summer before he had spent weeks trying to learn illusion charms just so he could have the stars spell out her name. In the end, he had only managed Victor, but it made her laugh and that was good enough for Teddy. If he were being honest with himself, he would have been a little appalled at how cheesy that younger version of himself had been, but when it came to Victoire, the embarrassment was worth it.

Once dinner had come to an end, people were up out of their seats and Teddy found himself wandering around from person to person, chatting, catching up and having a good time. When his mind was busy, when he was telling a story, or talking about his job, he wasn't thinking of Victoire, but every time there was a lull in conversation, his thoughts drifted right back to her. It was a terrible pain, one that dancing could not take away, nor chatting with Longbottom about Hogwarts; not even Harry's brave story about the battle could make him forget.

Maybe it was the extra glass of wine, or maybe James finally had a good bit of advice that some part of Teddy just could not ignore this time, but he found himself approaching her and working extra hard to quell the jitters he was currently feeling.

“Victoire,” said Teddy, unable to back down now. “D'you want to dance?” His voice sounded strange in his own ears, and he was concentrating so hard on not looking at all bothered by anything that a few strands of blue had colored their way back into his hair.

If she rejected him, at least he could say he tried.

[[ 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 happy 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 alive 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 more 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 being 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. Two years. 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 furious 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 good to indulge her fury.

She should say no. Just be polite and run 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.

Two long years of silence had finally come to this. This wasn't how Teddy had thought their first conversation would go, or rather, that they would ever speak again. At the end of their break up, the blond girl had made it abundantly clear that she needed space, a chance to breathe and not be suffocated—time to find herself without him hanging around. It had hurt, but not just because the formerly blue-haired young man was losing the girl he loved, but that she seemed to be so disgusted and fed up by their relationship. It had always felt so natural to him, growing from children into a couple in love, and to find out that happiness had been one-sided was devastating.

Talking about his feelings, the depression that had taken over his life in Victoire's wake, wasn't something that Teddy had been ready for. Instead of seeking out his friends and family like a normal person, he had chosen to run. Traveling around the world had seemed like a fantastic idea, as the United Kingdom had suddenly become too small, too soul-crushing and oppressive for the young metamorphagus to survive.

After hopping from country to country, taking pictures and socializing for a year, Teddy had finally returned and settled down. In the time that he had been away, the young half-werewolf had failed to deal with anything from the year before. He had simply returned to his flat, got rid of anything that reminded him of the girl who had broken his heart, and went on with life. There was no grieving, no closure, nothing special. In fact, the way he had dealt with his first break up was highly abnormal, which caused the Potter's—mainly Ginny—to worry about him quite a bit.

Teddy insisted that he was fine, though. Always fine, always happy. Never a problem.

Now that he was there with her, face to face and speaking, Teddy quickly realized what a problem his methods of healing (or lack there of) had been. He was angry with her, sorry and hopeful all at the same time, and the questions; he had so many. In his mind, he thought that Victoire owed him answers because he had always been good to her, so patient and understanding of whatever it was that she wanted to do. In the screaming and carrying on that was the prelude to their break up, Teddy had made a point to tell her that he wanted to stick around and wait for her to finish her training; she was worth it to him.

There she was, speaking, talking, answering him with a yes that seemingly surprised the both of them. Perhaps she didn't hate him, perhaps she was just being polite in front of the family, who were all pretending as if they weren't watching them, as if this were a normal occurrence.

Standing there, the tightness in his chest was almost unbearable, and suddenly the enclosure of the tent felt much too warm, his ears colored slightly, blushing like a lovesick fifteen year old at the sound of her voice. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult for him, Teddy had been posturing for the majority of the night and doing his best to convince everyone that he was aloof, indifferent to her presence. Asking her to dance was already proving to be a mistake, but Teddy couldn't back down now.

Extending his hand, Teddy reached to gently take hers. It was a familiar feeling, the sensation practically burned into his memory from years before. It bothered him that it still felt right, that Victoire still managed to have this type of hold on him after being so harsh. Regardless, he saw her out to the dance floor as a soft song by the always tragic Spellbound began to play. His free hand settled easily on her waist, fingers fanning the bottom of her ribcage over the fabric of her floral dress.

“I heard you were with St. Mungo's now?” he asked, attempting a bit of conversation. Teddy couldn't help but be slightly distracted, though, and he inwardly blamed her small amount of Veela blood for his inability to look away from her clear, blue eyes. “How do you like it?”

He swayed with her, dancing slowly and comfortably for now. He didn't want his emotions to get the better of him, but they were bubbling so close to the surface and still so very raw.

Victoire desperately wanted to run. Teddy had a way of drawing her in, drowning out the world around him in white noise, and she couldn’t have looked away if she tried. The world melted away into a blur of lights. A curious numbness and hypersensitivity flooded her body, pulling her every which way. There were no words for the heat in her skin. No poet could have adequately detailed the way the Earth felt ready to give way beneath her feet.

His hand was agonizingly familiar. How many times had she laced her fingers through his? She’d always needed to be close to him, had used him as an anchor for years. She’d been so terrified that he was a chain, couldn’t handle how desperately she loved him. Victoire could not have imagined anything more frightening than losing herself in him. She knew more of fear now. Nothing could be worse than watching a necrotizing parasite consume a patient. Nothing could be worse than letting a young family know their child hadn’t made it. She’d never sleep right again, not with the burns they couldn’t heal seared into the corners of her brain.

She followed him to the flooring, distantly aware of the wary eyes of her family. Was it always going to be like this? Was she ever going to be able to forget the taste of him, or the way her body fit against his? She had thought herself over him, as much as any girl could be over her first love when she had abruptly ended things for reasons even she wasn’t sure she understood. Facing him now brought back the memories with the force of a stunning curse.

Victoire dropped her gaze, determined not to let herself falter. She had done this. She had to live with the consequences. His hand spanned her waist. The callouses of his fingers felt like a brand. Victoire hated that she craved the heat in her skin, hated that two years later her pulse still quickened at his touch. It was strange to touch him so familiarly. Her free hand rested hesitantly on his shoulder. The act of dancing with him came naturally, even with the turmoil waging in her head. Turning her attention on the music, Victoire nearly missed his question. She flicked her eyes to meet his.

St. Mungo’s. Just the thought made her feel ill. She should be at work. The guilt was horrible. No matter how much she hated the hospital, she couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. Some days it was almost impossible to force herself to go home at the end of shift. It was as if the antiseptic walls had gotten inside of her. Victoire wasn’t certain where she ended and St. Mungo’s began, these days.

“I qualified last summer,” she murmured, forcing herself to look away. She debated on how to answer his question. “St. Mungos is…rewarding.”

It was the kindest thing she could think to say of the hospital, but it felt foul. She pursed her lips, swallowed her distaste for offwhite walls. She steeled herself, willed a polite smile to her face, tried to slip into a mask of poise.

“What have you been up to?” She queried. Victoire was privately amazed that her voice sounded so steady, serene even, when it was an active effort to keep herself together.

Their bodies still fit together like a puzzle, and it made Teddy sick with nostalgia to think that after all this time, there was something there for him. Asking Victoire to dance was proving to be a bigger and bigger mistake for as long as the two of them held one another, swaying to the soft music. Several times after their parting, Teddy had tried to convince himself that the relationship would not have worked out anyway, that they were too young, too inexperienced for things like love and devotion. In that same thought, though, Teddy would recall knowing that the blond girl was the one at only the tender age of sixteen. Those same feelings had never left, they just meant something different now.

Teddy didn't think that Victoire sounded overly excited or thrilled with her work at the hospital, which left a bitter taste in his mouth since that was a large part of why they had broken up. He wanted to say something about it, but there was no sense in causing a scene, especially not when the family was inconspicuously waiting with baited breath for a row to break out.

“Congratulations,” said Teddy, his voice neutral. At the very least, he could be proud of her for accomplishing her goals. “Healing is...noble. Good for you.” Victoire was giving, and considerate, so her career choice had always made sense to him. The choice had never been the problem.

As they danced, Teddy found himself hyperaware of her hand on his shoulder, and her delicate fingers clasped in his own. It was agony and bliss all at once, and still, Teddy was unable to deduce just one of his feelings. They were all mixed together, washing over him like violent waves before a storm. In sharp contrast, Victoire seemed fine, completely unaffected and only dancing with him in order to be polite. It had been foolish of him to hope that she hadn't moved on, and to think that he wasn't alone in his silly pipe dream of getting back together having closure.

His internal, downward spiral was interrupted when Victoire turned the question around on him, her bell-like voice burning his ears as they danced. “I work for the paper now, the Prophet,” he explained. “It's mostly pictures, but I travel a lot. Sometimes I write the sports column.” He felt too chatty with that explanation, sure that Victoire didn't really care what he had been up to. Teddy assumed that she didn't read the paper, or else she would have come across his name on an article every now and then.

Although Teddy had never expected to write for the Daily Prophet, he had done his fair share of hard-hitting pieces; a handful of which he was truly proud of. Taking his career seriously had been the first step to adulthood and it was staggering to think how much he had changed—how much they had both changed.

“Thank you.”

His congratulations should have pleased her. Once, she had practically lived for his approval. Her whole life, she had been acutely aware that she was being watched. She had been six the first time her photo ended up accompanying a scathing commentary penned by Rita Skeeter. Her father had been so furious. It had been one of a handful of times she had ever seen him angry. While he had assured her that he wasn’t angry with her for having accidentally toppled a cart at the apothecary, Victoire had resolved to never let it happen again. She’d policed herself relentlessly to keep things peaceful and her name out of the paper. But with Teddy… somehow, she could actually not care about what others thought of her when she was with him. It had been freeing. It had been mortifying, of course, to read about the World Cup in Patagonia, but in the end they’d had a laugh at Skeeters commentary. She hadn’t been entirely wrong; Victoire remembered very little of the final match. Teddy’s self-satisfied grin had wiped away her embarrassment. If she was honest with herself, she missed that.

Perhaps it was the dispassionate way he offered his praise. It was ridiculous to expect anything else, but his cool politeness stung. He’d always been so unfailingly sincere with her. She couldn’t bear it, the empty small-talk. Merlin but she was a fool, for everything. She should have stayed home and dealt with Dominique privately, should have gone back to work by now and convinced Senior to let her cut short this miserable excuse for a holiday. She should have nicked a Time Turner and stopped herself from ever setting foot in St. Mungos. At the very least, she should have had a few more glasses of wine.

He mentioned the Prophet—Teddy worked for them? Victoire had stopped her subscription ages ago, after Skeeter had published a vile, and wildly incorrect, exposé about one of her Mediwizards, who had the misfortune to be the son of a recently exposed Death Eater. It didn’t sit right with her. Logically, she knew that he wasn’t responsible for what his colleagues wrote, but…

“The Prophet?” She couldn’t quite keep the trepidation out of her voice. Victoire’s bit her tongue, determined to keep her contempt for the newspaper separate from him. He’d found work, and obviously he enjoyed it. Who was she to judge? At least he seemed happy enough. She couldn’t exactly say the same. “That sounds… exciting.”

Merlin, why couldn’t she at least sound pleased for him? A pang of envy shot through her, selfish and petty, and Victoire tried to push it away. She didn’t want him to be miserable. Not truly. But it was one thing to be happy for him from afar and quite another to be dancing with him. This close, it was impossible to forget the taste of him, the dozens of nights she had spent learning him. Even now, she felt almost compelled to be closer to him, and it was only the knowledge that she had broken them that kept her at bay.

The song had to end, soon—she didn’t think she could handle this proximity much longer. A sense of panic began to set in, as the more logical side of her brain assured her that this was an entirely Bad Idea.

Somehow, Teddy got the impression from Victoire's tone and choice of words that she wasn't exactly supportive of his career choices. Over the years, he had had his fair share of qualms with the Daily Prophet, hardly appreciating the articles that had been written about him and the rest of his family. It was Rita Skeeter's doing, always so obsessed and interested in what the children and relatives of Harry Potter were up to. When he had been younger, Teddy hadn't been able to sneeze wrong without it ended up in the paper. Rita was older now, though, and most people actually cared about the news rather than the unnecessary gossip column. If Teddy had thought that the paper was out to do he and his family harm, he wouldn't have worked for them as long as he had.

Had Teddy been thinking a little more clearly, he would have made an attempt to understand Victoire's indignation. It was true that Rita had always been harder on the girls of the family, and that expose` written about the both of them during the World Cup had been particularly upsetting. However, the metamorphagus was in no mood to defend himself or his career choices to her. As it stood, he had praised the blond girl for her achievements in healing, and he didn't understand why she couldn't at least pretend to be a little more happy for him.

“Are you sure you meant that?” he asked blandly, turning her one last time before the song ended and faded into something new. He pulled away from her after, not bothering to linger when he was angry. “Because it doesn't sound like you think it's exciting.”

Asking her to dance really had been a mistake, Teddy was sure of it now. He found himself annoyed with their conversation, unsure of why he had expected it to be normal. How he ever thought that things would pick up where they left off was beyond him, because at this point, Teddy didn't even think they could be friends. With the years between them, it was clear that they were now different people, and it should have been left at that. He was beginning to think that even showing up to the night's party was a bad choice. After all, the Weasley's and the Potter's were her family; he was just some mutt that had gotten dumped on a Harry and Ginny after the fact.

They were looking now, her family, probably wary of what was going to happen. Teddy hadn't wanted to cause a scene—he was far too old for that—too mature, and too male. It was unfortunate that Teddy could only take so much, and after years of pushing away and shoving down his feelings, they were at risk of coming out in front of a whole room over one polite line of praise.

Shaking his head, Teddy got a hold of himself. “Never mind. Forget it.” He was just going to leave, it would be easier that way. “Nice seeing you. Good luck with the hospital.” Walking away from her, Teddy hoped to slip away unnoticed. This would be the last family party, or anything that he would be attending.

Victoire winced—but she deserved that. Merlin, she wanted the ground to open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. She was being daft, but the way he dropped her had her stomach twisting into her nerves, her heart clenching with frustration. You did this, and the guilt of it was impossible to bear.

She had to fix this. She had no idea how; he was no broken bone, no transfigured organ, no splinched child. She had no protocols to follow. This was not a thing that could be fixed with magic. If only it was. She wished she could consult libraries to find the right charm, the one that could ease everything between them. It was a foolish hope. Childish.

She’d never been brave, not like Dominique or Louis or any one of her numerous cousins. Not like Teddy, who she had counted as the single most honest man she had ever known. She’d always been hesitant, disliking uncertainty, preferring to keep quiet and stick to the familiar. Her reserve had put her at ends with Dominique for years. She had always been so much bolder, so fearless. With Teddy, Victoire had found her nerve, and Merlin she had felt like she could do anything. She had been scared, yes, but he’d squeezed her hand and she’d been emboldened enough to try anyways. That feeling felt a life time away, as if it belonged in someone else’s memories.

Gears turned in her head, trying to find something diplomatic, something to ease the tension. Everything came up excuses. And then he was leaving, sharp on heel, and no, she couldn’t let it happen again, it had been awful enough the first time—

“Teddy,” she called, moving after him instinctively, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt. The eyes of her family burned through her, and she couldn’t bear to look. She’d known, of course, that they’d blamed her—how could they not? It had been her fault, her stupidity that had made things so awkward, and it shamed her deeply. “Wait, please.”

She had no idea what to say, what to do, reaching out for his wrist, heart slamming in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not that she had a clue what it was supposed to be like. His skin felt so warm beneath her fingertips. Merlin, it felt so good to be near him, despite everything, and she couldn’t help but hate herself more for it.

“I—“ she had no idea how to phrase anything, making a frustrated sound. She had never been one for spoken word, finding her voice more in the swirl of ink. Talk seemed so hasty, so prone to miscommunication. Writing gave her time to sort through her thoughts, make sense of her feelings. They were near the edge of the tent, and she had the mad fear that if he walked through the flap, she’d never see him again. It would be easier—but even timid Victoire couldn’t let herself ruin things this badly. She hooked her hair behind her ear compulsively, a nervous habit. “Look, you’re right—I, that was unkind of me—“

She felt rather like she was babbling. Like she was some idiot child. She swore beneath her breath, feeling guilty even as she indulged the urge.

“I’m sorry,” she managed finally, willing herself to meet his gaze, hating how weak her voice sounded. She released his wrist suddenly, all too aware that she didn’t have the right.

Spoiling the night wasn't on Teddy's list of things to do, and if leaving meant avoiding a fight that was long overdue between himself and Victoire, then it was simply easier to walk away. The past shouldn't have been an issue for him, and their relationship had been over for quite some time anyway, Teddy knew that he had been foolish to think that Victoire would be anything but awkward with him considering the way in which they parted. Deep in his heart, Teddy knew that he should not have been cross with her, and letting it go was the logical thing to do—just stay away, but it was difficult when she was right there and he had so many things to say, so many questions to ask.

The last thing Teddy expected was for the blonde girl to come after him, or even reach out to physically touch him. His stride paused and he turned back to her, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Suddenly, she was that same girl he had once known back at Hogwarts, anxious and demure, the type that never wanted to leave a fight with no resolution. Briefly, he wondered where that Victoire had been when they had been shouting at each other, when they had said things they could never take back.

For the next several minutes, Teddy planned to remain neutral, just wanting to get through this conversation so that he could leave, and she could have her family back. It hadn't been right for him to think that he belonged there, and part of him wondered if he was the reason that Victoire hadn't been around in such a long time. On top of that, he thought that maybe she and the rest of the family resented him for driving her away. It was frightening to consider that he had been in the wrong this entire time.

Adding to the surprise was Victoire's apology. It was a bittersweet thing to hear—she was sorry for being insensitive, but she wasn't sorry for anything else. Again, Teddy didn't know what he had been expecting, or why he was still standing there, but he had always tried to be polite. When she let go of his wrist, he felt the same sense of loss that he had moments before when they had finished their dance. That same hollow feeling tamped down his anger, and Teddy was left feeling deflated. Why was it so hard to show her how upset he was?

“It's...fine. Don't worry about it, okay?” His face was a mask, hiding his emotions as he looked down at her, and then away. It was hard to keep his attention on Victoire for too long. “I shouldn't expect you to be excited about it, especially with the nonsense Rita always writes,” he added with a curt laugh.

He could still see into the opening of the tent, and there were a few Weasley's gathered around and peering back out at them. It was awkward and strange that people were curious about what would happen, but Teddy couldn't stop them from being curious. He turned back to Victoire, managing a small smile. “I should get going,” he mentioned, “it's been a long day.” It hadn't, actually, and Teddy still had a lot left in him, but running was a much easier option.

Why couldn’t she get this right? Why couldn’t she just be happy for him, that he’d found a job he seemed to enjoy? That he’d found success and was traveling and undoubtedly having wild adventures without her and—her gut sank at the thought.

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, she knew exactly why the thought of him working for The Prophet made her feel ill. She could see him, popping all over Britain, all over Europe, traveling the world for grand stories and adventures. Victoire knew envy all too well. Rita Skeeter was scum of the Earth, but Teddy was a good man, and unfailingly honest. It wasn’t as if Skeeter could corrupt him. And as much as she disliked the Prophet, her displeasure paled to the jealousy coursing through her veins.

It was petty, of course, and Victoire pushed it down as best she could. She’d chosen healing. It had been the Sensible Choice. She’d picked her hospital over him, over her family, and she had to live with the consequences. Still, it stung. Merlin, if she had just been brave…

“Skeeter’s a cow, but that’s neither here nor there,” she remarked briskly, unable to keep her distaste for the woman out of her voice. Victoire had always been one to hold a grudge. She remembered the whispers of a hat in her ear, Very snakelike, you don’t like to forgive do you? The relief when it had caved and cawed Ravenclaw had been overwhelming. She hadn’t wanted to be the first Slytherin Weasley.

“It’s— it’s good work, you’re brilliant at it I’m sure—I—oh Merlin’s bleeding tits, I’m cocking this up,” she pinched her brow, cursing the wine, her stupidity, this whole week. She could feel her wand burning in her pocket, feeding off her temper, even directed inwards as it was. She breathed deep, desperately trying to collect herself.

“Look, please, don’t go—I’ve made a mess, of e-everything, and I get that, I do—I shouldn’t have come tonight, it was silly—“ Victoire swore beneath her breath. She was babbling again. What she wouldn’t do to be eloquent, to sound like she actually had a fucking clue what she was talking about for once. Her frustration was heightening. “It’s—I’ll go, it’s better that way, for everyone.”

Holding a grudge was not something that Teddy was accustomed to. In the past, his schoolmates had said awful things to him, his friends had acted like tossers on occasion and the formerly blue-haired young man had let it roll off of him like it was nothing. It was unfortunately different with Victoire, and Teddy didn't like knowing that she still meant enough to rattle him, that he still hadn't let everything go and managed to move on. He had dated other girls since her, and when the relationships came to an end, he barely thought of them. Why couldn't Victoire be the same? Why did he still want to comfort when she was babbling uncomfortably in front of him?

A frown creased his brow at her words, her statements sounded forced, and fake. “You're sure I'm brilliant but you've never even--” he snapped, stopping himself before he could go on. This wasn't the place for this, nor the time and Teddy was determined not to spoil the whole evening for Harry and Ginny, and the rest of the family when everyone had previously been having such a good time. It was better to leave, just turn his back, walk away and forget all of this; forget her.

Behind them, more Weasley's and Potter's began to gather conspicuously around the opening of the tent, apparently more interested in the conversation than the free food and wine inside. James caught his eye and Teddy did his best to convey an irritated look, hoping that he would corral the others away and give he and Victoire a bit of privacy. However, Teddy was sure that was asking too much when everyone seemed to be so interested in either their reconciliation, or rather, the impending explosion.

When she asked him not to go, Teddy wondered why it mattered to her. If he was gone, she could have her family back, she would never have to worry about running into him again, or think that she had to stay away because sides had been chosen. It was as though Victoire was doing him a favor, as if she was conceding, letting him win and Teddy had to quell his anger once again. He wouldn't yell at her, not again, and he refused to make this worse than it needed to be.

“Please,” blue eyes rolling, he sighed, “they're your family. I didn't keep you from them, and I'm not standing in your way now.” He was leaving, though, unable to come up with a feasible reason to stay. “You belong here, not me. We don't have anything to discuss, so just...piss off.” Perhaps that was a bit more than what the situation called for, and Teddy could have just walked away, but he felt the petty need to try and hurt her.

She hadn’t been this angry in months. She hadn’t felt much of anything in months, if she was honest. It was exhausting, being here, drowning in regret and frustration. Victoire wanted nothing more than a box of cheap wine and the solace of her flat. As a child, these dinners had been made bearable with Teddy’s humor and the promise of the quiet of her room. But her room was miles away and Teddy had no humor to share with her.

Her family, nosey as ever, was beginning to crowd around nearby. They were making half-hearted attempts at concealing their curiosity. Victoire tensed, her spine straightening and heart racing. The feeling of eyes on her made her skin crawl and yearn for the comfort of a disillusionment charm. Her ears burned under the weight of eyes and whispers. The sycamore wand in her pocket was uncomfortably hot, and she half wondered if it would throw up sparks. It had always been attuned to her temper. Sometimes it felt like it was egging her on.

His words cut, but it was her guilt that wounded her more than anything else. He had never stood in her way between her and her family—she had done that all by herself. She had been the one to isolate herself, to hide behind shifts at the hospital and letters. He said she belonged here; Victoire couldn’t disagree more. She loved her family dearly, but Victoire could never quite breathe when surrounded by her plethora of cousins and aunts and uncles. As miserable as the hospital had made her, the freedom from the constant din had been a welcome relief. Living with Naoko had been wonderful. Naoko was more than happy to spend a Friday night on the sofa, listening to radio dramas, or curled up with a book. There were no explosions, no shouting, no demands, no curious eyes, and no elaborate pranks in their home—just peace and quiet. She loved the quiet; and she hated herself for how much she wished that he would stand in her way.

Victoire felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. Her fingers were burning—her hand had automatically moved to her wand, touching the handle through the pocket of her dress.
“That’s bollocks, and you know it,” she snapped, her voice a low hiss. “My place has never been here. We’re all better for having you here and me at the hospital. Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t become you.”
He told her to piss off. And, despite having caused this, despite having deserved this, she yearned to hex him. Victoire grit her teeth.
“Gladly.”

Had the situation been any different, had the time been two years prior, Teddy would have told Victoire how stupid she was being. It was sad to think that she believed her own family didn't want her around, and that they would have chosen him of all people to take her place. He was grateful for the acceptance, even if he didn't always believe that he was wanted, but Victoire was blood and she belonged there at the party. As far as he could see, there had never been any reason for her to stay away, and their break up hadn't influenced her to hide in the shadow of the hospital for the last twenty-four months. It was hard drum up any sort of sympathy for her, though.

The metamorphagus cocked his eyebrow as Victoire's hand went to the pocket of her dress where he thin fingers grasped her wand. Teddy scoffed, half amused and half horrified that she would even think to hex him. Even at their worst, magic had never been any sort of defense of punishment, and Teddy didn't see why that suddenly had to change just because he'd told her to piss off. If he was honest, that wasn't even the worst of what he could have come up with as parting words.

“Really?” he asked, able to remain calm against what he perceived to be a silent threat. He reached into his back pocket, taking hold of his own wand—Willow with a Unicorn Hair core—just in case. “You were never the type to maim with magic. Guess you've changed since I last saw you.”

Having grown up with the Potter's, Teddy had become quite good at defensive magic and had even considered going out for the dueling club back at Hogwarts. During his travels, there had been a handful of times where Teddy had been forced to defend himself, and if half a dozen, fully grown Acromantula hadn't taken him down, he highly doubted that Victoire would get very far. However, Teddy had a hunch that one of the many family members gathered at the opening of the tent would intervene before things got too out of hand. This was a party, not a place for dueling over broken hearts, or whatever it was they were actually fighting about at this point.

Victoire’s stomach churned violently, threatening to empty its contents over her feet. It was difficult to breathe, to think straight, with her blood running like fire. Even through the haze of temper, Victoire could sense her foolishness. She had burned everything, had done so willingly. And now she let her frustration get the best of her. She let her anger boil until she wanted everything to burn with her because in those precious moments she could feel something. It was selfish. It was wrong. But Merlin, she knew from experience that it felt unbelievably good to let her temper loose. There was an almost addictive rush to a sharp tongue and cold fury. The thought terrified her. Terror bled into frustration bled into rage. Victoire wondered if a person could drown in their own head.

He called her on the move of her hand; she flushed with both anger and shame. Her fingers clutched tighter, desperate for the comfort of her wand. For as long as she could remember, her magic had been a safe haven. And though her wand had a temper all its own, it had always soothed her. Her wand did not respond with calm, but with what could only be described as chaos. Her fingers stung and numbed, sparks and humming and smoke curling along her flesh. She released the wand, skin cringing at the burn.

Eyes stinging, she tried for a steadying breath. Everything was a mess and it was her fault; what good did it do anyone for her to be here? Her wand hand grasped the pendant around her neck, blistered thumb tracing a worried path along the back of the gold feather, desperate to fidget. She had the very strange sensation that she was about to be ripped apart in every direction, shattered and flung apart to every corner of the world. She wanted to scream that she hadn’t changed at all, that she had always been this pathetic, monstrous thing, but her anger was giving way to exhaustion and what did it matter anyways?

“Yes, well, you know better than anyone that I’m a shit person,” Victoire remarked in resignation. Her exhaustion was a welcome relief from the terror of rage. She couldn’t meet his gaze. It was one thing to live with herself and her disgust; it was another thing entirely to see it in those she loved. “So, congratulations, you dodged a hex there. Good night.”

Merlin, she sounded almost light there. She didn’t know how she managed it. Victoire slipped past, determined to at least make it home before she was sick.