Although it was small comfort, Victoire Weasley could be assured in one thing: at least she hadn't come here clutching her mother's hand. The scene from last year was still burned in her mind, when her eleven-year-old self had walked haltingly, a parent on each side, to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. She had been a terrified first year back then, but she was different now. She was brave.

Or so she liked to think. The truth was that as she stood at the station, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive — she had showed up a good half hour too early, and had been trying to pass the time — her whole body was trembling slightly. Had she not been wearing her black going-out gloves, then anyone could've seen that her knuckles were white from gripping her luggage's handle so tightly. "Ne t'inquiete pas, Victoire," her mother had told her that morning, before they parted ways, her mother to go shopping with Dominique at Diagon Alley, herself, to the station. Don't worry. Easier said than done.

Victoire was the oldest, and although her parents had never said it to her, she felt a weight of privilege and responsibility with that position. In truth, her parents fussed over her and Dominique equally, and even Louis, still a year short of school-age, was watched over like some precious jewel. Yes, Victoire's parents treasured her and her siblings, and would've done anything to protect her. Victoire frowned, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. That was why she had chosen to keep silent; she couldn't have her parents fighting her battles. She had to learn to protect herself.

And indeed, her parents didn't even know there were any battles to fight. Last year, Victoire had written a shallow, cheerful letter to her parents about how happy she was to be accepted to Ravenclaw, and how she hoped to make a lot of friends. She did not mention the jealous glares girls had given her in the hallway. She did not mention the whispers of "snob" and "stuck-up frog" that she often heard from her classmates. "Just because she's part Veela, she thinks she's too good to talk to us," they would say. If Victoire had the courage, she would've pointed out that it had nothing to do with being part Veela, and everything to do with being very shy, and very worried over her accent — but then, it was these worries which kept her from speaking, and made all the girls think that she was stuck-up.

It didn't help that the boys would always be staring at her, making her feel horribly self-conscious. "Look at her. She just loves all that attention, doesn't she? Git." Even when she heard girls saying things like this, she couldn't bring herself to correct them. Whenever she tried to approach them, they would glare at her, and then proceed to give her the cold shoulder.

Ultimately, Victoire might've been all right with all of this, and made it through her first year of school easily enough, despite her loneliness, if it had not been for the, as people had taken to calling it, "Eros incident." She shuddered at the memory, trying to push it from her mind — and luckily for her, the train pulled gradually into the station at that very moment.

Tightening her grip on her luggage ever so slightly, Victoire cast a brief glance over her shoulder, on the off chance that she might see Dominique. She had told her parents that she was fine waiting for and boarding the train alone, but when the moment of truth came, she found herself wishing for her younger sister's company. It was Dominique's first year, too! Surely her little sister wanted the reassurance of someone who'd already been through a year of school, someone who could warn her about it?

Victoire frowned. She saw small huddles of families, parents kneeling down and adjusting their children's robes, hugging their final goodbyes before the children, smiles on their faces, bounded aboard the train. Dominique was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, Victoire turned and boarded the Hogwarts Express. In the end, she knew Dominique would be fine on her own. Dominique was nothing like her. Dominique climbed trees and punched boys three years older than her. Dominique wasn't afraid of anything, and most of her peers were a bit afraid of her. Dominique would not be called names, and would not be pushed down in the hall, and would not have her school books hidden when she needed them the most. Victoire tried to be happy for her sister, but she couldn't push down the twisting jealousy she felt in the pit of her stomach.

As she made her way down the aisle of the train, she looked through the compartments, wishing for an empty one. Even though she had boarded fairly quickly, however, most compartments were already occupied by at least one person. She saw many upperclassmen whom she did not recognize, chatting idly amongst themselves, a few first years, excitedly whispering and comparing books, and — with a heavy heart — she saw a few of her own peers, most of whom either did not notice her, or sent her short sideways glances, before turning back to their friends and speaking in quicker, quieter tones than before.

Victoire bit her lower lip, to keep it from trembling. She had almost reached the back of the train and still hadn't found anywhere to sit. I'm not going to cry. Babies cry. I'm just going to find a seat and that'll be that. She repeated the words in her head to keep her breath at an even pace — and as if they were some charm, she found herself beside an empty compartment. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scooted in, putting her luggage beside her and shutting the door. As she sank down into her seat, she turned towards the window.

Her whole body went rigid. This was not an empty compartment after all. She hadn't been able to notice before because of the angle she had been looking into the compartment at, but sitting across from her, curled up by the window, was a boy wearing a Gryffindor uniform. She couldn't make out his face; his shoulders were hunched around his neck, and his feet were on the seat, so that his head was nestled between the window and one of his knees. His hair was a pale shade of brown, although she could've sworn there were little twinges of turquoise at the ends. He looked almost like a puppy, all folded up and asleep like that. The nervous jittering gradual subsided in Victoire's stomach. If he was asleep, then it wouldn't matter that she was there.

She relaxed, trying to put her mind at ease, but her thoughts wandered back to where they had left off at the station. "The Eros incident." Even the thought of the words made a lukewarm sinking sensation well up inside her, a familiar sense of shame that she couldn't escape from. Really, it had all been a misunderstanding, but it wasn't as though anyone had believed her. The events of that day unrolled in her mind, like some old horror movie repeating itself over and over on one of those muggle film reels.

It had been a few days before Christmas vacation, and all she had wanted to do was study for a charms test. It had taken her half the morning to find her Charms book — hidden in one of the girls bathrooms, courtesy of one of her classmates — and she was concerned she wouldn't be able to review the material in time for the exam that evening. She just needed to be alone to study. Earlier that year, she had found a place on the school grounds that was fairly secluded from everywhere else, hidden behind a few trees, a ways away from the lake. She decided the cold air would help her focus, and, charms book in hand, had set out for the spot.

Victoire drew her knees up onto the cushioned seat. She did not want to remember what happened next, but the thoughts snowballed in her mind. She remembered how there had been a boy already there, a fifth year, by the look of him. She remembered the strange flush on his face, how he seemed to be in some sort of a trance. How he had looked at her and said a name which wasn't hers.

You're mistaking me for someone else, she tried to tell him, but he didn't seem as though he could hear. And it was frightening, because he had been so much taller than her and he had come too close to her, and she was scared. She had pushed him back, but he was holding the sleeve of her robe, so she fell right forwards onto him.

And that was when the other girl had shown up.

Victoire put her head in her knees. She had not cried at all then, but she could never remember it without tears welling up. She had found out after the fact that this girl, also a fifth year, had a severe crush on the fifth year boy she had run into, and had convinced one of her older, more skillful friends to put a love charm on him. It was a peculiar charm, the Eros charm — it was able to induce powerful infatuation for the span of twelve hours, at which point its effects wore off entirely. Unfortunately, it didn't specify who the hexed person would be infatuated with. It was just, the first girl he saw. That ought to have been the other fifth year girl, but Victoire had happened to show up...

"You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Proffessor Flitwick had told her reassuringly. He was the only one who believed Victoire when she said she hadn't been the one to cast the charm in the first place. He knew that it was far too difficult for a first year student. Unfortunately, Victoire's classmates interpreted the event differently.

And really, it was easy to misinterpret. There she was, sprawled on top of a boy four years older than her who was madly infatuated, with a charms book right nearby. "Victoire Weasley tried to seduce a fifth year!" "Are you serious?" "But she's only eleven... That's just not right." "She put an Eros charm on him! As if it wasn't enough for her to have those looks." The words echoed through Victoire's head, drawing back up every bit of humiliation, every bit of crushing mortification, and most of all, the indignation she had felt knowing that it hadn't been her fault at all. She cried as quietly as she could into her knees, her shoulders shaking as the little sobs rocked her body.

"Um... Are you okay?"

Victoire tensed at the sound of a boy's voice. She remembered her sleeping companion, and slowly, trying to wipe her eyes without being too conspicuous, drew her head up. With a sinking feeling, she saw that sure enough, the boy was awake, and regarding her with a bewildered expression.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling unconvincingly. "Just a little homesick." She might've convinced him that she really was fine, had he been blind and partially brain-damaged, but her voice cracked a little as she said "homesick." As it was, the boy's eyebrows creased, and he scooted over so that he was sitting directly in front of her.

"Do you live far from Hogwarts?" he asked. Victoire nodded, glad that he had believed her.

"Me too," he said, crossing his arms and nodding with great seriousness. He was so serious about it that he actually looked a bit silly, and Victoire felt the smallest twinge of a smile cross over her lips. She wasn't sure if the boy noticed, but whether he had or hadn't, he beamed at her. "But the way I see it, Hogwarts is sort of like a bigger, classier home, you know? I mean, a castle! It's like we're royalty while school is in session."

Victoire grinned, but her eyes were sad. "I'm glad you can feel that way," she said, sensing how awkward her phrasing was. The boy didn't seem to notice. He just frowned.

"Don't you like Hogwarts?" His tone was so concerned, as though he wasn't speaking of the school, but some close friend of his whom he loved more than anyone else. Victoire sighed. She felt strangely at ease with this boy, although she couldn't quite place why.

"I'd like to like Hogwarts, but, I guess things are difficult sometimes." Maybe it was because he didn't stare at her like other boys? Or because he wasn't too shy to speak to her? Or was it the fact that he seemed to wear all his thoughts and feelings on his face, for all the world to see? He seemed to have no secrets, no bad intentions, no ulterior motives.

He bit his lip, looking at her for an extended moment. "You don't say a lot of words when you talk, but you sure say a lot, huh?" he said. Victoire raised an eyebrow.

"... pardon?"

The boy, realizing he wasn't making much sense, flushed, and to Victoire's surprise, the ends of his hair also turned a bubblegum pink color. "W-Well, what I mean is, you don't have to say a lot to say what you want to say. Or like, you say what you need to say, which isn't as much as other people might say because they say more than they want to say, or they want to say more than they need to say..." He fumbled over his words, trailing off, as though he had been derailed from his own train of thought. Victoire giggled slightly, unable to help herself. The boy suddenly beamed once more.

"You laughed! Ahh, I'm so relieved. You looked so sad a second ago it was like you were dying," he said. He jumped up abruptly. "Hey, I know! Here, wait a second." He turned to his bag, rummaging around in one of the pockets for a minute before retrieving a half-eaten bar of chocolate. He broke off two squares and handed them to her. "I guess that my dad used to always have chocolate on trains, too. Actually, I think he just had it with him in general. He said it cheered people up. But you know, he meant it in the totally scientific way. This stuff's a natural antidepressant."

Victoire chewed the chocolate slowly before speaking. "You're using the past tense...?" It hadn't been a direct question, but her tone implied it, and as she spoke, the boy's expressions seemed to darken ever so slightly. But an instant later, he was smiling again.

"Well, yeah. I never really knew him, but I hear he was pretty cool. He died when I was still a little baby."

Victoire frowned. "How sad for you and your mother." The boy laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, sort of sad for her, but she didn't really have much time to mourn him," he said. "They were, you know, buried at the same time." It took Victoire a moment to process what the boy meant. When she did, a horrified expression came over her face.

"I'm so sorry! That must be awful..." her voice faded out, because the boy was adamantly shaking his head.

"It's really not bad at all. I didn't know them ever, you know? And besides, they're both definitely heroes! And I ended up with the Chosen One as a father figure," he said, grinning. "I'm kind of lucky, if you think about it." Victoire furrowed her brow.

"Wait. 'The Chosen One'?" She turned her head to the side. "That's what they call Uncle Harry."

The boy's face went blank with puzzlement. "Wait. 'Uncle Harry'?" Victoire blushed, wishing she hadn't mentioned it. Now the boy would think she was bragging.

"Well... I'm Victoire Weasley, so Harry Potter's sort of, well, my uncle," she mumbled. The boy's jaw dropped open.

"No freakin' way," he said, punctuating each word with such genuine amazement that Victoire had to giggle once more. "So you're Bill's daughter? That's why you're so pretty!"

"You know my father?" Now Victoire was a bit confused. People were normally surprised that she was related to the great Harry Potter, but few people knew much about the rest of her family. The boy, however, smiled, jumping up from his seat.

"Naturally! Allow me to introduce myself." With excessive bravado, he drew himself into a bow. "The name's Theodore Lupin, wizard extraordinaire." With a sheepish glance to the side, he added, "But people usually call me Teddy."

Victoire laughed, wiping a stray tear from her eye — but this one was of amusement, and had nothing to do with pain. The humiliation she had been reliving in her head just minutes earlier seemed terribly distant now; indeed, for the first time, she realized that it had happened almost a year ago, and she could just let it go. "Teddy, like a muggle teddy bear?" she asked. "In that case, is it okay if I hug you?" The boy's hair turned bright pink all over, but he opened his arms wide.

"Go right ahead!"

- End -