With half-an-hour left until departure, the crowd was stifling.

Students, parents, and siblings jostled their way through the station, hauling trunks and cages, and trying not to get crushed. More than a few stray animals roamed freely across the platform, dodging between the feet of wizards to avoid getting trampled.

Three new cars had been added to the train this year, with additional compartments bewitched into each. Victoire finished checking through the last them, smothering a smile as she broke up a pair of amorous fourth-years, and stepped off the train back onto the platform. The Hogwarts Express had been idling at Platform 9¾ since eight o'clock that morning; she had arrived shortly before nine-thirty to get a headstart on her duties. New arrivals continued to trickle through the gate even now, and as she watched, three more people appeared on the platform by Apparition.

The mother, father, and young son popped silently into being near the column to Victoire's left, and she instantly recognized that brazen blonde hair. Draco Malfoy wore a black coat buttoned to the collar; his wife – Victoire couldn't remember her name, but felt sure it had something to do with music – was dressed a bit more casually, but with the same air of careful calculation. Their son had already donned his school robes, and from the look on his face, it had almost certainly not been his idea.

Scorpius, Victoire remember with a grin. Scorpius Ambrose Malfoy. Not a name that was easily forgotten, especially considering he'd been born on the same day as her cousin Albus, two doors down the hall and fifty-seven minutes later. Victoire's grin spread into a full smile as she thought of her cousin, who would also be starting his first year later this evening. Albus Severus Potter. Another name not easily forgotten. Uncle Harry had certainly turned the pressure up on that one. As she thought of it, Victoire realized that those first few years after the War ended had produced some eccentrically-named children, herself included. She imagined naming her own children something more traditional. John, perhaps; or Robert, and Rachel for her daughter.

The elder Malfoy was kneeling in front of his son and speaking, and Victoire found herself fascinated by the notion of Draco Malfoy dispensing fatherly advice. That wasn't really fair, she knew; her entire conception of the man had been based for so long on the opinions of others. He uncle Ron was the loudest and most negative, but none of the Weasleys really had anything nice to say about the Malfoy family. Uncle Harry at least tried to be objective, but more often than not he preferred to avoid the subject entirely.

And then there was the issue of the Daily Prophet that ran in early May of each year, including its regular editorial criticizing the exoneration of the Malfoys. Aunt Hermione had cautioned Victoire to take that particular publication with a few grains of salt.

She wandered the platform as she mentally organized her schedule for the rest of the day. Rosalind Archer and Stephen Holmes would hold a meeting of the prefects in about an hour, but they'd mostly just rehash what Peter Cunningham had told them all last year. She dispersed a knot of rough-housing teenagers who hurriedly rushed aboard the train, undoubtedly to hex each in the privacy of their own compartment.

She took in the commotion of the station. Observation was a habit she had picked up during the countless gatherings of her vast family, and it had served her well as a prefect.

She saw a father wearily hauling a trunk and owl-cage despite the objections of his daughter, who tearfully outlined all the reasons why she shouldn't go away to school. A mother nearby hastily resorted to a tergeo charm to remove some smear from the face of her son, who was less interested in his own hygiene than in chasing after a pygmy-puff.

A lanky girl with a green-and-silver scarf around her waist conjured a handful of bluebell flames to the amazement of her friends. A tall boy with slicked black hair and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt passed her, a Valkyrie racing broom slung over one shoulder, and in his wake Victoire spotted a small cat with a distinct burgundy pelt. The cat cast furtive glances around the crowd before its heterochromatic gaze fell upon Victoire.

One of its eyes was a rich lilac, while the other was a pale cobalt. The cat regarded her briefly, then padded off down the Platform. A moment later, the brick face of the gate shimmered briefly, and Victoire saw Professor Diggory step onto the platform. Her dark hair hung loose and halfway down her back, but she would have it wound up into her signature chignon before the train reached Hogsmeade. The professor was a neighbor of her grandparents in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Victoire had started through the crowd toward her when she heard a faint crack behind her.

Her first thought was that the unruly duelers had spilled back onto the platform. She didn't make it to a second thought, because before she could even turn about, an arm shot around her waist, and everything went black. Her mind clenched in a moment that seemed to stretch out to infinity in all directions as her body felt like it was imploding. She sensed that infinite tightening, like she might fold up into a single point in space and time, and pondered what fantastic new universes would issue from such a phenomenon.

Then she was standing in a pergola overlooking a winding brook edged by majestic willows. The stillness was stunning. She recognized the place instantly; it was where she'd kissed Teddy Lupin for the first time, just two years ago. She had startled him so thoroughly that his hair had flashed from iridescent fuchsia back to a neutral brown.

Now Victoire wheeled on the spot and gave Ted a curt slap across the shoulder.

"Bet you think you're funny, huh?" The smile tugging at the corners of her mouth completely undermined the severity of her tone. Ted at least did her the courtesy of pretending the swipe had hurt, rubbing at his arm and groaning through gritted teeth.

Except, Victoire knew that when Ted was really injured, he gave no indication at all. So this playful little ruse just came across as patronizing, and for that she gave him an extra shove square in the chest, knocking him back a step. That accomplished nothing more than to start him laughing, and then the giddy sound of his amusement got her laughing, and of course that swiftly dismantled the entire pretense of the argument.

Ted recovered his ground and reached for her waist. She folded her arms over he chest, but didn't stop him from lacing his fingers together behind her back. She set her face again and gave severity another try. "I could have been in the middle of something."

His grin would not be diminished. "You weren't."

"Ah, right," she said. "Stealth and Tracking." This time, the seriousness fell away for good, replaced by her delicate smile. "Hazard of dating an Auror." She unfolded her arms and slid her hands under his arms to hold onto his sides. "So who were you today? The thirteen-year-old flinging Blinking Jinxes? The kid in the Cannons t-shirt?"

She thought a moment, looked at him skeptically. "The burgundy cat?"

"Trade secrets, dear," he laughed, arching an eyebrow theatrically at her.

She sighed through her grin. "Of course."

Ted flashed his most striking smile then. He didn't even know it, though, because his most striking smile was the one he never used on purpose. It only emerged when he was at his most comfortable and unassuming; when he was completely at peace with the state of the world, even if the world consisted of nothing more than a pergola overlooking a winding brook; when he was entirely content within the confines of his own skin.

Victoire liked knowing that her presence gave him such peace and contentment. She leaned back in his arms as he moved toward her, making him chase her, knowing that the chase was half the fun and enjoying it herself. When she couldn't outrun him anymore, she relented and let him close the distance between them. His reward for persevering.

Of course, it was as much her reward for making it worth the effort. She savored his intoxicating fragrance, that heady mix of shampoo and detergent and pheromones, as his lips brushed against hers once, twice, again, more. His hands roamed the contours of her back, and even in this hidden sanctuary, he kept north of her waist. She could feel herself smiling against his mouth, but that was alright, because he was smiling against hers.

A dry rustling drifted through the pergola. Victoire saw Ted open his eyes and glance across the brook, and she pulled back to follow his gaze. Across the water she spotted a shaggy chestnut Aethonan nudging through the foliage along the far bank, stripping the leaves from a drooping willow branch. The horse's massive wings were folded back against its body, and it looked up to eye the teenagers as it chewed.

Then it ruffled its wings and dipped its head to the stream to drink. Ted laughed softly, and Victoire turned back to him, leaned forward to peck his lower lip. "Alright," she said, licking her own bottom lip. "Enough of that."

"Never," Ted disagreed, but made no move to pick up where they'd left off. His hands rested on her hips as she perched her elbows on his shoulders, picking at the back of his hair with her fingernails. It was back to its natural brown again, and the sunlight rifling through it turned it the color of umber.

"I have to get back to King's Cross," Victoire told him. "The train leaves at eleven."

Ted's eyes glittered. "D'you think I could Apparate onto a moving train?"

She shook her head with a grin. "I think you'd splinch yourself across half the English countryside." She watched his amber eyes, then asked, "Then what would I do?"

Ted glanced away, over her head, and sighed. "I guess you could seduce that Bardsley chap." A breeze swept across the water then and fluttered her hair, which caught the light from a million brilliant angles. He broke into a grin as he tucked an errant strand behind her ear. "I hear he already fancies you."

"You know, I could," she said, pretending to consider the matter earnestly. "His mother sits on the International Confederation of Wizards, and his father is the Healer-in-Charge of Spell Damage at St. Mungo's." She nodded, flashed half-a-grin; "they're quite respected. I hear Mr. Bardsley is friends with the Minister from their Hogwarts days."

Ted cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that what you hear?"

"Rumors, you know," she dismissed. "Warren likes to brag."

He nodded with a laugh. "That's wh—"

She didn't give him a chance to tell her what that was, because turnabout was fair play. He was still holding her waist; she tightened her grip on his shoulders, twirled sharply there in his arms, taking him with her as she punched a hole through space and doubled back the way they came. The intense pressure did not blindside her this time.

They emerged onto the platform again. Ted sucked in a sudden breath and coughed once, having been caught in the middle of a word. Then he saw where they were, tucked away in the corner of two brick walls of a train station, and he laughed. He moved in again and found Victoire's top lip with both of his; she leaned into the kiss as the noise of the crowd and the train churned around them. They were blissfully oblivious to it all.

"Hey!" Victoire heard a familiar voice cut through the discord from startlingly close by. She opened her eyes and tilted her head, and found her cousin James just a few feet away with his arms folded accusatorily over his chest. "What are you doing back here?"

Victoire thought it rather obvious what she and Ted were doing. She stifled a laugh as he turned to James with an arched eyebrow. "You don't really need me to explain the mechanics of what's going on here, do you?"

James opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to realize he had nothing substantial to say, and settled for an indignant glare instead. Ted flashed him a flippant grin, hoping perhaps for some degree of male solidarity; all he got was James's protective disapproval.

Ted sighed, but never lost the hint of a smirk when he told James, "I just popped by to see her off, wish her luck." Then a tiny sneer crept into his voice as he said, "so what say you make like Percy Fawcett and get lost."

James glared at Ted for a couple of extra seconds, then turned pointedly to Victoire. "Mum told me to tell you she still hasn't found the pendant, but she's not giving up. Said it probably got misplaced in the move." His shoulders slumped with fatigue. "She's half obsessed. If she doesn't find it soon, she's threatened to start recruiting fresh eyes."

Victoire hadn't thought of that pendant in weeks. It wasn't a particularly costly piece of jewelry: just a polished stone of copal the size of a Galleon, strung from a thin brass chain. She'd become fascinated with it as a child when her Aunt Ginny had worn it to her Uncle George's wedding, and Victoire had spent most of the reception watching the stone as her aunt talked about the distant relative she'd inherited it from. The longer Victoire had looked into the glossy amber, the more it had seemed to swirl lazily like liquid gold.

So for Victoire's seventeenth birthday this past May, her aunt had promised her the pendant just as soon as she dug it out of the rubble of the Potter Family's latest move. Except that the pendant had proven itself notoriously elusive, and despite Aunt Ginny's apparently ceaseless efforts, it had yet to turn up. Victoire certainly hadn't pestered her aunt about it. As far as she could remember, she had only mentioned it once, in passing and half-jokingly, at Uncle Harry's surprise birthday part a month back.

Now it sounded rather like it had become a personal quest for James's mother.

"Tell her not to go crazy looking for it," Victoire said, aware that would probably be as effective as telling a dragon not to breathe fire. "It's not a matter of life and death."

"Won't work." James shook his head; "she's already set on it." He shrugged at the inevitability of his mother's single-mindedness, then glanced across the concourse. "I've got to get back. Al's starting this year, and someone's got to make sure he doesn't get run down by a rogue trolley." He delivered his most put-upon sigh, shot Ted another hard look, then merged back into the crowd.

Victoire turned back to Ted. "Percy Fawcett? Really?"

"Too obscure?" he asked, grinning at his own wit.

"Binns doesn't get into the 20th Century until seventh-year."

"Ah, right," Ted nodded, looking wistful. "Some of the best naps of my youth."

A moment later, his reminiscence was cut short by the sharp tenor of the Express's whistle. The shifting of the crowd quickened; Ted leaned in and pressed another kiss to Victoire's upper lip. "That's my cue," he told her, letting go of her waist. "The Ministry waits for no man; important Auror business to conduct; ne'er-do-wells to apprehend, justice to be served. That sort of thing. Sure you understand."

"Go then," Victoire interrupted with a laugh, breaking him off before he could build up a full head of steam. "Keep the world safe for wizardkind."

He took a step back, and tipped her a wink. Then he twitched in his place, and was gone.

Victoire laughed again and shook her head as she joined the tide of students crossing the platform. She helped a short queue of first-years onto the train, then climbed aboard herself and headed down the narrow corridor. The train began to move.