This could be considered a sequel of sorts to voices lost in the depth, though you don't have to read that. For round two of the HPFC 2013 Olympics FanFiction Competition.
toward the sunset.
The first time she walks, she's outside again, and she's heading for the sunset.
In the Muggle fairy tales, and sometimes even the wizards' ones, there's always a sunset at the very end. Maybe she can't read, but she can see the pictures. The knight takes the Muggle woman (or the witch) onto a pretty white horse, and they run off (or sometimes fly) into the sunset happily ever after. Of course, Victoire is far too young for a knight in shining armor—but she doesn't need one. She can do everything by herself.
Daddy and Mommy are talking on the porch, and this time, she can understand them better. Words like future and association and pregnant fly past her ears, and she darts to catch them. This takes her attention away from the sunset, though, so she simply goes back to walking toward the sunset. She stumbles, she falls constantly, but she keeps going.
It's too far away, she eventually realizes. She'll never reach it.
This is Victoire's first real moment of learning in her infancy. The next comes a few months later.
above the daisies.
Victoire's first word is daisy.
She crawls around the grass, giggling softly and plucking flowers from the earth. She likes to think it's graceful—at least, that's what her mother would call it, she's sure—she's just not sure what it means. She feels proud of herself, knowing from the constant flow of words she hears from her parents' mouths that other babies' first words are mama or dada. Not for Victoire, though; every word she ever says will be pretty, from the very start.
Mommy and Daddy are talking quietly on the porch of the cottage again, so they don't notice their daughter talking. This displeases her, and she's about to say daisy again, wanting to catch their attention. Just then, Mommy walks over and picks her up, lifting her above the daisies. Victoire is about to shriek no (a word she's heard many more times than daisy), but she knows it's not a pretty word, so she keeps her mouth shut.
Mommy carries her over to the porch and looks at what's in her hands. It's a bunch of petals in Fleur's eyes, but Victoire knows it's really her rather shabby attempt at a daisy chain, something she's seen older girls make. Mommy tosses it away, saying her hands will get dirty, and that's not pretty at all.
through the wave.
Victoire learns how to swim only a few months after she begins talking, and her father calls her a "natural." She struggles with the word a bit—it doesn't help that she's inherited a little of her mother's accent—and eventually decides to shove it aside for later.
Her mother watches them splash each other and run fearlessly through the waves the water's sending (at least, that's how Victoire thinks it is; after all, they are a little scary), but doesn't join them. She's aware Mommy hates the water, but Daddy doesn't ask her to join them, and it's odd. Maybe she doesn't like what the water does to her hair. Victoire decides to ask Daddy later.
"Mommy's having another baby," is his somewhat reluctant response. (This is when she realizes what pregnant means. It's also when she realizes she's not going to be alone anymore, and she isn't sure if she likes that.)
When the baby's born, there's a lot of shrieking from Mommy, and it alarms Victoire. It sounds like it hurts, like this baby isn't a natural at being born. When her sister pops out at last, Victoire isn't sure whether to like her, because no one hurts her mother. Not even her family.
the slight difference.
Victoire decides that she's not going to hate her sister (Dominique, she reminds herself, a little proud to have a name so pretty on her lips) for the pain she caused her mother, if only because she finds out later she did the same thing. Besides, Daddy doesn't seem to mind, though he's at Mother's (Mommy is too babyish now, and she's giving the word up early; Daddy will go a little later) side for days.
When she takes her baby sister out to the sea, she discovers that she can't swim at all—in fact, she can barely even move her limbs. Disgusted with her sister's lack of ability to do basic things (and failing to remember she went through the same thing), she decides to show her how to make a daisy chain.
She half-carries, half-drags her sister to the patch of grass she's familiar with. She's frustrated to find that Dominique can't even crawl, and she weighs too much for her to be properly carried. Not only that, she sets up a loud wail on the uncomfortable journey, and Daddy and Mother don't notice because they're inside talking together. She can't help but feel bitter—Victoire is their daughter, after all, and the level of attention she's receiving has dropped to zero.
When Dominique finally stops crying, her older sister's already finished a daisy chain. Her fingers have gotten more graceful now, and she offers a tentative smile as she sets it around Dominique's neck. The baby looks at it curiously and eats one of the petals.
Victoire learns that day her sister doesn't care for pretty things.
That same day, she also learns Mother is pregnant again.
toward the sunrise.
The first time Dominique walks, it's through the patch of daisies. It's also the morning the youngest child of her family is born. The sun is bright, a yellowish-white flash as it struggles into the sky.
When Victoire offers her a hand as she struggles through the grass, she turns up her nose with a firm no in her eyes. She doesn't talk half as much as her sister did at her age, but the message is clear. She plucks flowers from the ground, trying to weave them into the daisy chain with her clumsy fingers.
Sitting down on the porch so she can avoid the bugs, Victoire calls for her to come over so that she can help. Dominique doesn't listen, picking up new flowers as she accidentally tears what was supposed to be her daisy chain. Victoire can't help but twitch a little, irritated by Dominique's refusal for help.
Then there's an earsplitting scream.
Victoire knows this scream, although her sister doesn't. She heard it when Dominique was being born (at sunset, and not sunrise).
Daddy (Father, she thinks, but this is no time to shed her infant vocabulary) rushes out the door, holding Mother up as she staggers down the porch. She barely even glances at the two bewildered children, but their father tells them to get in the house.
Grandma Molly comes over to babysit them, and Victoire cries and holds Dominique because Mother is hurting while they wait.
below the daisies.
Dominique's first word is Victoire.
When she hears it, at first, she won't believe it—maybe her sister means victory, which is what she's named for. But no, she really does mean Victoire, and this makes the older girl swell with pride (even though they're waiting for Mother). She's happy to know that as much as she struggles to love Dominique, her sister isn't struggling to love her. Victoire really is trying, after all; it's expected she do so.
Her sister gurgles and smiles up at her, and her first sentence is, I love you.
The line is delivered smoothly, as if she's been practicing it in her head.
Victoire picks her up and carries her outside to the daisies. The younger girl can speak and the older girl can carry her—there's some hope, after all. Dominique crawls through the daisies, and for the first time, she doesn't eat the daisy chain Victoire gives her.
As she waits for her parents, she thinks that everything will be okay.
under the wave.
Mother doesn't come home.
She's dead, Victoire thinks. She's dead. She's dead! She can't help but feel hysterical, but she knows Grandma won't believe her, and Dominique doesn't even know what dead means. In fact, Victoire isn't sure either, except it means that Mother will be gone forever and ever.
When Father comes home, she rushes to him shrieking for news. Her voice is too high and the words come out in a jagged flow, and she knows that they are not pretty at all, but "Is Mother okay?" has to be the most important words in the world. Who cares whether they're pretty?
Father looks very, very tired as he hugs his children, assuring them that Mother's simply very sick and will have to stay at the hospital for a few months. This causes a wail from both of them—a few months?
Victoire feels as if she is drowning.
She drags Dominique out to the sea and they run into the water. Dominique can barely manage a doggy paddle, but Victoire swims as far out as she can, letting the waves sweep her this way and that. Eventually, her sister panics and tells her to come back now before something takes her under forever.
Victoire doesn't care. She wants Mother back.
the slight similarity.
When Mother finally comes home, it's with a baby in her arms. His name is Louis, and the two Weasley children are prepared to hate him already for hurting their mother more badly than either of them did, for delaying her from coming home. They've seen him a few times before, but he's had to stay in the hospital so he can be nursed.
Victoire looks into his eyes, a cheerful sky blue—not quite the shade she has. It's not her sister's color either, a pale and slightly mousy brown. She thinks that even so, he's closer to her than to his sister, and she hates him even more for it.
(It's Dominique being born all over again.)
The sisters make sure to exclude him, running out to the sea and laughing and sending cool glances his way. Mother and Father scold them for their coldness; after all, Louis is still their baby brother. They don't listen.
Victoire places daisy chains around both their necks and realizes that she still hasn't learned her lesson. She shoves it into the back of her mind.
of daisies, suns, and waves—
The first time Louis walks, it's straight into the sea.
Victoire's parents aren't around; Mother's still not entirely recovered, and Father sticks by her side as often as he can. She could just let him drown. Obviously he can't swim yet, and anyway, maybe he deserves it.
No, a voice says in the back of her mind. You don't let people drown. It's wrong.
Victoire does know she doesn't want to see a corpse before she can even read. She doesn't hate her brother that much. Tugging Dominique forward, she swims out into the sea and sees Louis' head is almost below the water.
She pulls him out of the water, struggling to float with his weight. She has to drag him along in the water because she can't carry him, and Dominique's waiting anxiously on the shore. She helps Victoire push him toward the porch, and he's too busy crying and making sputtering noises to really notice.
Before they can set him on the porch (and figure out how to get him up the stairs), Victoire pauses, hesitating. She plops down in the daisy patch and quickly puts together a daisy chain. It's far from her best, but she drops it in Louis' lap and says, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault."
It's not your fault you hurt Mother, she thinks. You don't deserve to drown.
Louis stares at her wide-eyed, wondering where this comes from. The other girl on the porch is thinking the same thing.
"Come on," she says, and directs him toward the sunrise. "You can walk now. I'll make sure you won't fall."
He nods, struggling to his feet again. For some reason, he doesn't strike her as graceful, like her, or steady and stubborn like Dominique, but that's okay. She holds his hand and waits for Mother to see.
She picks up his daisy chain and sets it on his head.