Victoire smokes. Teddy has caught her multiple times on the shore, head ducking against the breeze with a trail of white-grey smoke passing between her lips.
She watches him as he watches her, a silent challenge in her blue eyes. Will he tell? Will he reveal that Victoire Weasley- Little Miss Perfect, Little Miss Has It All Together- isn't as collected as she seems?
He won't, of course.
It's her habit. Her dirty little secret.
He'll take it to his grave.
OoOoO
The first time he kisses her, he can taste menthol and tobacco on her tongue, all cold and bitter. Maybe it should disgust him. But on her lips, it tastes like home.
OoOoO
She holds him close, like maybe she never wants to let him go.
But then her arms fall back to her sides, and her lips brush over his cheek as she turns and disappears down the corridor.
Teddy wonders if she'll ever crave him the way she craves the nicotine.
OoOoO
She is his nicotine. Every touch, every kiss leaves him wanting more and more of her.
She is his habit, his addiction, and Teddy is pretty sure that he can live with that.