AN: In response to The Original Hufflepuff's 12 fics of Christmas challenge. There isn't really a theme, but each fic will centre around a different girl or woman from Harry Potter (why not guys? I don't actually know). Each fic will be called something from a carol, or a Christmas quote of some sort. Now, to find some lyrics I can fit with Firewhisky... :)

First: Victoire...

Little Child

(Mary was that Mother Mild,

Jesus Christ, her Little Child)

Prompt: Victory

When she was born, she was weak.

The well meaning aunts and godmothers and everyone else looked into the cradle and sighed. Such a pity, they thought, that such a sweet beauty would be wasted.

But her parents did not give up. "Never," they decided. "Never will we give her up. Not after everything. We're not losing her too."

She was in hospital every second day, for more tests, more potions. The Healers were puzzled. It was as if the child simply did not want to survive. But when she opened those icy eyes so much like her mothers, they could see that she was clinging on with every fibre of her being.

Christmas was coming. The child was two months old, and still as delicate as she had been when she was two minutes old.

On Christmas Eve, however, she was visited.

First came her mother, Fleur, who looked into the cradle with her tragic beauty.

"My darling," she said. "Ma chérie. I have a gift for you." She smiled and produced a little golden hairbrush. "They always told me I was beautiful," she whispered. "And you are too. This is for you. Because you are going to grow up, and have the most magnificent head of hair anyone has ever seen. And every night you will brush it with this. And you will be beautiful on the inside too." Her mother left and curled back into the empty bed, her husband barely slept these nights.

But then he entered his daughter's room.

"Hey," Bill said softly. "I have a present for you." He lay down a cuddly toy beside her. "A few years ago," he explained, "I was attacked by a man who turned into a wolf. He left me scarred. But now he is dead, and the people who are werewolves are being accepted in the world. There is one boy whose father was a werewolf, and one of the best people I know. You will grow up and be friends with that boy, and you will remember he had his history too, every time you see this toy, this teddy wolf. I'm sorry, it's a bad joke, I'm sorry I couldn't give you more."

He left and gently, so as not to wake his slumbering wife, he climbed into bed.

From below, his younger brothers and sister sneaked in to the little girl's room.

First, came Charlie, her father's best friend. "Hey gorgeous," he said. "I'm going to give you something and you have to take care of it, alright?" He put a scale of a dragon through the bars. "I live far away," he said. "Which is why I don't see you a lot. But one day, you will grow up and you will travel, and you will come and see me and the creature this belongs to."

Next, Percy climbed the stairs. Below her cover, he tucked a little book. "I once left my family behind," he told her. "That was a mistake. You need your family, little girl. You will grow up though, to love them and be independent, clever and intelligent, and support your own family with your brains, and you will remember far back to that night when your uncle gave you your first book."

The one eared boy went next. Very slowly, George tied a friendship bracelet around her tiny wrist. "I used to have a twin brother," he says quietly. "And now he's gone. I want you to help him and every other lost sibling live on. He was the best brother I could wish for. And you will grow up to be the best sister anyone could wish for, and you will give your little brother or sister this bracelet and remember my twin." He left.

Next, came the youngest boy. He smiled shyly at the cot. "Hello," Ron said. "I'm going to give you a present." He put down a little silver locket. "I'm in love," he said unashamed. "And once, a golden locket tried to tell me I wasn't. But now I am. And you will grow up, and fall in love, and this locket will tell you that you are, and you will never listen to the doubts."

Finally, came the youngest child, the sister. "Hey sweetie," Ginny greeted the second Weasley girl. "If I give you a present, do you promise to use it?" She imagined the baby nodding. "Well, this is it." She passed a scrapbook in. "Sorry," she apologises. "I'm broke this Christmas. This is a book of all the things your family have done. We're all famous in our way, did you know that? And when you grow up, you'll be famous too, for being clever and pretty and loving."

The next morning, Fleur, tired and weepy because this may be her daughter's only Christmas, entered the room to hear faint, but strong, rhythmic breathing. Then the baby opened her eyes and smiled, and cooed.

Her mother laughed out loud, looking at the presents that surrounded her daughter, then ran into her own bedroom to give her husband the best Christmas present of all.

And the baby is finally named, after all this time, of chewing over things that didn't quite sound right. But this one, with its French sound and simple meaning, is perfect.

Her life, after all, will be a victory.