Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Written for QLFC, Round 8: Next-Gen Lovin'
Position: Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies
Prompts:
Victoire Weasley
9 (colour) periwinkle
12 (word) backpack
13 (dialogue) "Where did that come from"
Word Count: 1,185
This is my first attempt at Next-Gen, so thank you to Ever (HP-Forever-XX) for being a fantanstic beta and generally reassuring me about it. And thanks to Lizzie (TheNextFolchart) for the plot bunny. Enjoy!
The shop door swung shut, causing the bell that hung above it to chime. The girl who had just left wrapped her long robes more tightly around her, her blonde hair captured by the collar. A young boy ran down the street after her, his periwinkle hair making him as inconspicuous as ever as he approached her.
"Teddy, I don't want to talk to you," she snapped, her eyes not lifting from the ground.
"Come on, Vic, it's the first Hogsmeade weekend. I sort of thought we might be spending it together seeing as we're public and everything after this summer."
"You thought wrong," she mumbled into her collar. "I'm busy."
(If only she'd been looking, she would have seen his hair start to turn red at the roots before he took a deep breath.)
"Come on, talk to me. You've barely spent any time with me since we got back from the World Cup, and even less time since we got back here. What's wrong?"
"It doesn't matter."
He stopped in his tracks, grabbing her arm as he did so. "It matters to me."
She pulled away and ran back towards the castle, tears streaming down her once-perfect face.
(If only she'd stayed, she would have seen him crumple, punching the wall hard enough to draw blood.)
…
Back in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Victoire sat alone by the window, looking out over the grounds. Her hand ran absentmindedly down her cheek, tracing the line of the scar. Her dad was the only one who knew – the one who'd found her in the bushes, her wand lying out of reach as it was when she was unable to defend herself against the curse.
He'd been the one who'd cleaned her up, and minimised the scar as much as possible. He'd held her as she cried, and tried to comfort her. He knew, after all, what it was like to be scarred. He'd told her she should be proud, as he was.
That night she'd spent hours poring over all the books she could find, until she'd found the spell that could hide it, that could restore her perfect features. By breakfast the next morning she was happy again, sneaking off every few hours to recast the charm.
(If only she'd gone into her father's room after breakfast, she would have seen him repairing the mirror he had smashed while looking at his own reflection.)
…
She assumed that her housemates were returning when she heard the door swing open. But the footsteps were heading straight towards her, and as he got closer she could smell the familiar scent of grass and parchment, mixed with smoke from the fires of the Hufflepuff Common Room that infused everything he wore. She'd warned him not to sit too close, but secretly loved the way it made him smell.
He said nothing as he wrapped his arms around her, stroking her long hair whilst she turned to sob into his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry." It came out as a choked whisper, but it was enough for him.
"I forgive you," he murmured in her ear. "I just want to help."
Slowly, and not meeting his eyes, she lifted her face. She knew the charm would be losing its effect, that the horrible red mark would be showing, pulling her eye down and distorting her face. She imagined his horrified face, eyes wide with disgust.
(If only she had looked up right then, she would have seen the shock on his face, but overshadowed by the sadness that she hadn't trusted him with it for the past month.)
"Where did that come from?" he asked quietly.
She was silent. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't know if she could talk about it. But she knew that she had to.
"It was after the World Cup," she began slowly. "As we were on our way back from the portkey. As we were nearly at Shell Cottage again. I realised I'd lost my necklace from my backpack, so I went back to look for it." She looked up, her eyes meeting his concerned ones. "I got there just as the next portkey got there. One… one of the boys – well men, but young – fell on me, and made a… a comment."
He heard her voice catch, her eyes shining and red.
"You don't have to go on."
She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "His girlfriend saw, and I think heard. I just saw the flash of light, but he'd knocked my wand out of my hand as he'd fallen. I think it was aimed at him, but he dodged it. By the time I woke up, I was in the bushes, and they'd gone."
" They just left you?" Teddy asked, his voice low and menacing.
She simply nodded, seeming exhausted from her efforts to explain. "I think they were scared."
"That's no excuse!" he growled, hands balled into tight fists by his sides. "You're fourteen, for Merlin's sake! Someone needs to teach them a lesson, what I would -"
"Teddy," she interrupted. "It's okay. It wasn't aimed at me. And besides, I don't want anyone to know. I don't want anyone to see me like this." Her gaze returned to the floor, tears of shame gliding over the thin line.
"Vic, you're still beautiful. You shouldn't have to hide like this."
"You don't get it, do you? You're funny and can make everyone laugh. Dominique is already cleverer than me, and she's only in her First Year. As soon as Louis gets here he'll be in the Quidditch team, what with all the practice he puts in. You're all special, and you're going to live up to your names. All I have is my looks. That's how people know me; it's the only thing that's not average about me. It's the only reason you're with me. And now it's gone."
"Do you think I would've spent an hour working out a stupid riddle to comfort a girl I only cared about because of her looks? You're perfect, Vic, inside and out. I love you because you're perfect for me. You're vain, and selfish, and stubborn, but you're the most determined person I've ever met, and you've never given up on something you care about. It's people like you who change the world, but not if you're hiding yourself."
She wrapped herself around him, his arms trapping her in the safety of his presence.
"What should I do?"
(If only she had been able to tear herself away from him, she would have seen the smile form on his face.)
…
The next morning they stood outside the Great Hall at its busiest. Their hands were entwined, and she grasped his even more tightly as he closed his eyes, morphing his face into a scar that mirrored hers. She smiled faintly, and he pushed open the doors.
(If only she had looked around, she would have seen faces of shock, pity, and amazement. But she only had eyes for the boy next to her.)