Victoire Weasley was not an indecisive person.
She had never been one to shy away from commitment; once her mind was made up, the forces of heaven and hell combined could not waver her from her chosen path.
She was completely and utterly resolute in her decisions.
She ofthen blamed the Veela in her for her unshifting stubbornness.
So used to knowing what she wanted, it became the case that a particular unanswerable question had started to keep her up at night.
Loud or quiet?
Coming to a decision was almost impossible, and it kept her tossing and turning for many hours.
Loud was Teddy groaning her name in his low, growling tones when the rest of the world was silent.
It was the creaking of his double bed as their bodies moulded into it.
Loud was the pounding of her heart, beating in time with his.
It was the hiss that escaped through his teeth as her fingernails scraped the taut muscles of his back, or the way she would moan and throw her head up as his lips traced a familiar path over her body.
It was the sounds that escaped her throat as his fingers traced a tingling map across her skin, or the breaths they would gasp together as fire spread through their bodies.
Loud was the way his eyes locked with hers, searing, begging, beckoning. It was the way his gaze would travel over her exposed figure, dark irises drinking in her appearance as though she was a bottle of Firewhiskey and he was an alcoholic.
It was waiting in anticipation, it was reuniting, it was desperation, it was the distance between them for most of the year.
Loud was the way her pulse increased when she spotted him for the first time amongst the crowds of people, it was the way his arms would lock around her slim frame, an unspoken promise to be fulfilled behind closed doors.
The way she burned when he touched her was loud.
It was the way she felt whole when he was inside her, the way their bodies fit perfectly together.
Loud was the way they loved each other, the endless, burning passion, the aching wanting, the unquenchable desire.
Of course, loud would have been Victoire's favourite, if it wasn't so frustratingly perfectly juxtaposed with quiet.
Quiet was after.
It was the way his fingers would twirl her silver hair as the panting slowed, and air filled their lungs again.
It was the way the muscles in his arms would quiver as she gently stroked one finger down his bicep, or the small smile that would settle on his face, even as his mind drifted into sleep.
Quiet was his blue hair, the colour it turned whenever they were together, the colour of her eyes as they watched his sleeping form.
It was his grey doona lying discarded on the floor, and discovering the cold spots within his navy sheets forcing her body closer to his.
It was the way his dark eyes would settle on her pale ones as the passion ebbed from her body, and the way the whisper of her name would rest upon his swollen lips.
Quiet was their stolen glances, their linked fingers, the smell of his t-shirt folded under her pillow at school.
It was the quiet tears that fell on long nights when she wasn't with him; it was the smell of his skin as he folded her into his arms when they reunited.
Quiet was the way he would brush the hair from her eyes so he could see her better, it was the way they knew what the other wanted without having to say a word.
It was the promise that they belonged together, that they knew each other souls.
Quiet was the way they loved each other, the whispered vows, the gentle touches, the silent understandings and the unbreakable trust.
And so Victoire was stuck; unable to choose.
It wasn't that one was better or more important; it was simply that in choosing one favourite, she lost the other.
Despite the weight of the choice driving her to insanity, she could not pick, she must have both, or none at all.
And she was ok with that.
Sort of.
Because while Victoire Weasley was not an indecisive person, she was willing to break all the rules for one boy and his silent, roaring love.
Reviews are like a hug from Teddy ;)
