Chapter One of Polaris

The Exploding Cake

By carefreewritergirl

~Written in honor of the approaching official "19 Years Later" date from the epilogue of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows~

Oooh, if only I could be a Muggle

I'd be watching the telly from morning till noon…

Oooh, if only I could be a Muggle

Instead of a broomstick I'd ride a balloon, oh…

-The Weird Sisters, "Muggle"

Okay. I think I'm ready to start.

So...as I was saying earlier: The problem is that the story I'm about to tell isn't really my story at all; it's Victoire Weasley's. But she won't tell you her story because she's so busy living her stupid mundane little life, so I have taken up this burden/privilege/responsibility/whatever-you- want-to-call-it for my own.

I will admit you right now that I don't know much about Victoire, that I never have known much about Victoire, but I do have an inkling of where her craziness began. (She was crazy, you know. Everyone everywhere seems to laud her now, but she was definitely crazy.) It began with the fierce love she had for Teddy; all the insanity that followed stemmed from that. If she had never felt that love for him, she would have never feared for him. If she had never feared for him, she would have never come to Hogwarts. If she had never come to Hogwarts, she would have never met me. And if she never met me, I would have never died.

HA! Knew I got your attention there!

So, anyway, my death was basically sealed the moment Victoire Ginerva Weasley woke up screaming late one May night in the upstairs bedroom of Shell Cottage.

She was twisted in her hot, heavy blankets, her face smashed against her pillow, unable to see but her mind still somehow roared and throbbed with the image, as sharp and bright as snow in the sunlight, of a pale-faced boy lying spread-eagled on the ground, the whites of his eyes shining at her, driving knives into her heart of pain and fear and hopelessness.

Even with her mind on fire, the dim thought skipped on the outer reaches of her brain that it wouldn't be so bad, it really wouldn't be so bad, if it had been just any face, any unknown tortured face she could dismiss as a nightmare and nothing more, but no, she knew this face…

It was the face of Teddy Lupin.

Victoire sobbed into her pillow. She had had this dream many times. The Dream, she privately called it, because before The Dream she had never had any dreams. For days, weeks, months - who knew how long - it had been haunting her. Every time she closed her eyes or let them rest anywhere too long, his tortured face seemed to swim in front of her gaze, a picture permanently planted on the backs of her eyeballs. And at the same time she was sure that there was no cure, nothing to make it go away. But did she want it to go away?

What if her vision was real? What if, sometime in the future, this might happen? What if there was nothing she could do to stop it? What would it do to her friend, Teddy? What could possibly transform him from the happy, grinning boy of now to the gaunt, deranged one of her dream?

She had no answers. All she had were questions, and they surrounded her, stabbed her, like so many spears brandished suddenly out of the dark. For the rest of the night her sleep was fitful and when she woke she saw a line of congealed blood on her arm - while reaching for Teddy's hand in her dream, she had unknowingly gripped her own arm, scratching it deep enough to bring up blood.

Shaken, she slipped carefully out of bed and padded softly into the bathroom, where she ran her arm under the tap and dried it. The blood was gone, but the stain of it still remained in her memory. But then she took a deep breath, and firmly closed a mental door on the happenings of last night: Today was her 12th birthday, as a rule, during your birthday you were supposed to be happy. She thought she might cement that rule in place by grinning at herself in the mirror for a minute and a half to establish a false sort of cheeriness (The mirror wasn't much help: it had an obsession with the pimple in Victoire's ear and went into hysterics whenever it saw it. Victoire quite agreed that pimples didn't belong in ears, but it was there, and what could she do about it? Everyone knew what happened when Eloise Midgen tried to curse her pimples off. She told the mirror to shut up, which it thankfully did.).

"Victoire! Victoire!" An hour later a small warm ball of humanity erupted into Victoire's arms. It was James Potter, her Uncle Harry's son, and he was beside himself with excitement. With lightning-fast reflexes as quick as his father's (Victoire had thought before that maybe someday he'd become a Seeker too), his hand darted into her back pocket and surfaced with his stolen prize: a slab of chocolate.

Victoire had a bad habit of keeping a bit of chocolate in her pocket, bad not only because it got mushy and melted after a while, but also because occasionally little pirates came to snatch it away. James and sometimes his brother Albus and her own brother Louis, though usually Albus and Louis were much nicer, had found out her secret a long time ago and had never failed to take advantage of it. Now James skipped in exuberance around the room, while Victoire chased after him fruitlessly over furniture and through the kitchen (Her mom preparing lunch was not too happy with that), all the while screaming "YOU RASCAL!" and James laughing delightedly. She finally managed to snag him in the corner by the door and carried him with a few light spankings to his prison (i.e. the couch), but before she could set him down she was bombarded with more little people: James' seven-year-old brother Albus, and his sister, Lily, who was five. And then on their heels came Rose and Hugo Weasley, Rose with her mother's intelligent eyes and Hugo with his father's good-natured grin. Victoire's younger siblings Dominique and Louis also joined the commotion. Victoire suddenly found herself swallowed by a savage, noisy group, all screaming for vengeance against James for the stolen chocolate.

"Why did he get chocolate - I want some -"

"All I have are Fizzing Whizbees, I hate them -"

"I like them, give me one for once, Hugo; you hoard all the candy to yourself -"

"So what, you can get more for free at Uncle George's Place -"

"You're such a little glutton -"

"Moom, Rose is using big words again -"

"The first person who can tell me what day it is will get a piece of chocolate!" Victoire shouted desperately over the ruckus, and of course they all cried out at once, "Your birthday, your birthday!" So in the end they all got chocolate, even James, who'd certainly had more than his fair share.

Once Victoire managed to get all the little people out from underneath her feet, she went to greet her Aunt Hermione, who gave her a warm smile, and her Uncle Ron, who gave her one of his characteristic one-armed hugs. Harry and Ginny came after; poor Ginny was loaded down with so many presents that when she tried to look around them to say hello to Victoire they all cascaded out of her arms. It took a while to clean them up but Hermione helped with a Hovering Charm - Ron did too, but maybe not quite as smoothly or successfully as his wife.

"No, honey, it's WinGARdium LeviOsa; make the GAR nice and long -"

"Oh, shut up."

But Victoire knew by their expressions that both spouses were just bantering, and the two kissed each other as the last present was set on the table.

Everyone else moved out of the doorway and into the room - except Victoire, that is. She stood, leaning against the doorframe, staring out into the front yard for the person she most longed to see.

It seemed to take forever, but it might have only been a few moments that she stood there - nevertheless, when she saw an old, white-haired woman and young man with bright blue hair tumble into view, she felt herself releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

The moment Teddy caught sight of her he smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. The right side was pulled up more than the left and his teeth were only just showing, an uncertain, shy grin, unique to him. Calm, slow, it turned a normally deadpan face into something alive. He ran toward the door, his grandmother teetering somewhat precariously behind him. And then the door was flung open and Teddy, beaming, bounded before her.

"Vic, you should just see what I got you for your birthday! You'll love it. I promise!"

"Not more photos?" Victoire said, raising her eyebrow at him skeptically. Teddy was a photographer, and although he often took beautiful shots, she couldn't help but get a tad bored of his hobby. She had several boxes of his photos stashed underneath her bed.

"Not one more photo, cross my heart," Teddy said with utmost sincerity. "But - c'mon, where are all the little ankle-biters; we need to give them our annual performance."

At every family social gathering Teddy and Victoire put on a little act of the Wizard and the Hopping Pot to amuse "the little kids". For some reason, no matter how many times they saw it, the kids still thought it was hilarious. Victoire had a hefty job: she had to play the narrator, the various neighboring townspeople, the young wizard, and his father, inflecting her voice differently depending on each one. Teddy, meanwhile, imitated the pot: taking great hops around the room (and occasionally chasing the audience, adding to the fun), he put his Metamorphmagus powers to work sprouting warts and pimples while he moaned, whined, cried, brayed, choked, groaned, and made every other weird noise he could possibly think of, every once and awhile making a new one, which was awarded with applause and shrieks of laughter.

But Teddy couldn't keep hopping indefinitely (both because of physical limits and his grandmother laying down the law, saying he was going to break his foot someday if he wasn't careful), and when he finally slumped, exhausted, to the floor, all the boys leapt forward and tried to tackle him to his feet, and the girls begged him to do more. Teddy protested - and got his punishment when James sat on his stomach in a last resort.

Thankfully (for Teddy, at least), at that moment the dinner bell whizzed through the air, ringing wildly. Teddy seized his chance to recover by taking a few deep breaths and rubbing his bruised and battered legs while the children flooded toward the table. Anyone seeing Teddy at that moment would make the assumption that being an adopted cousin is no easy task, and they would be absolutely right.

Dinner passed without mishap, that is if you didn't count the tense moment where James was discovered hiding broccoli in his napkin by his parents. Harry said he sympathized, because he remembered the summer with Dudley's awful dieting regimen all too well, but Ginny was firm. After that James ate his broccoli, but not without many spiteful sidelong glances at his mother.

At a point where the conversation lulled, Victoire deliberately set down her fork, wiped her mouth (though it was spotless), and faced her uncle. "Thanks for coming, Uncle Harry."

Harry looked up, his scar shining blazingly in the light from the window. A grin was crossing his face - but suddenly it disappeared as he realized she was being serious. Harry was busy and famous, a combination that made it difficult to find time to reunite with family without disturbance relating to his job and shake off reporters that tailed him wherever he went. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, his eyes trained steadily on hers. Victoire became acutely aware of the entire family's gaze and blushed slightly. (James, for instance, was watching the proceedings with such avidity that he swallowed a broccoli whole without one grimace.)

After the plates were wiped clean (except for James, who still had one piece of broccoli left on his) Victoire's grandmother and mother rose and disappeared into the kitchen. A silence tense with excitement promptly followed her departure. The Mrs. Weasleys were bringing out the cake!

Fleur and Molly's cakes were always magnificent, all the more so because they were never the same. They ranged from banana-upside down cakes to raspberry tart cakes to cakes covered in fruit and nuts with a creamy topping. Sometimes Fleur hid galleons in them, sometimes pieces of Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and once even a Remembrall (Albus was the one who found that, and then he put it in a drawer and forgot all about it. It was found by Lily, then a toddler, who wanted to make it her nightlight except the moment Albus saw it it stopped glowing. Lily threw a tantrum until it started glowing again, which thankfully wasn't too long later.). Everyone had learned to prepare themselves for a surprise whenever one of the dynamic duo's birthday cakes made an appearance.

And as the birthday cake floated in, guided by Fleur's wand, everyone gave an involuntary gasp of surprise (except for James, who burped). It was three layers, swathed with spectacular swirls and spirals of chocolate frosting. The top layer was fruitcake, embedded with strawberries and blueberries, the middle was coffee cake, sweet and dark, full of walnuts, and the bottom was vanilla-flavored and colored green, red, and blue, which flashed darker and lighter shades of their respective colors. There was also a group of little musicians dancing around playing their instruments at the top, and as the cake was set down the singer broke into song, "Oh if only I was a Muggle…"

They were miniature representations of The Weird Sisters, Victoire's favorite band. And Muggle was her favorite song, because somehow it made her feel better about her own predicament…

Everyone else, however, paid no attention to the little band: Their eyes were fixed on the extraordinary cake. Rose, with her swift eyes, had spotted some Bertie Beans in the bottom layer and now all the kids were jumping on top of each other to get a slice from that layer. Molly Weasley was shaking her head, remarking to Fleur that she knew that they should have made two layers with Bertie beans...but Victoire recoiled: She had a deep and secret fear of Bertie Bott's beans.

She remembered the first time she had eaten one: a mere five-year-old, she had begged Teddy for one after he'd gotten them from his godfather. Harry had tried to intervene, but it had been too late: Victoire one popped into her mouth. The consequences were horrifying. She retched, and retched, and retched, and finally threw up all over Harry's best boots. She stayed in bed for the entire rest of the day and no matter how many mugs of hot chocolate Ginny had generously made for her she couldn't seem to get that atrocious taste to go away. It was not a happy memory: in fact, it was one of her worst memories ever.

But suddenly, again, swimming before her eyes rose a memory equally as bad and closer to home. Nightmare Teddy's dark blue eyes reached across dreams and into reality and pierced her - her mind and heart went cold, absolutely cold.

She gazed at the boy just across the table and thought of all the days they'd spent together and memories they'd shared. He was like an older brother to her, she thought. Before her own brother and sister were alive, he was there. They'd played on Muggle playgrounds and made little houses out of wood chips; they'd played pranks and gone to zoos; they'd stayed up late together during sleepovers at Harry's house and hid under the covers shining wands Teddy had magically lighted into each other's faces. Most of her favorite memories had Teddy in them; the funniest, heartwarming pictures she had were of the two of them together.

And now, the thought as quick and sudden and terrible and unalterable as a Killing Curse: The thought that she might lose him.

There he was, gently slicing a piece of cake for Hugo, making sure the size was right, that the Bertie Bean Hugo wanted was situated right in the middle of it. Her friend, her brother...her heart tore, and tears, unnoticed by the cheerful, busy crowd of family swirling around her, were running swiftly down her cheeks. Melancholy gripped her and she bowed her head to her chest so her hair covered her face, taking no notice as people shunted her aside on their quest for cake.

"Hey, Victoire? Where's Victoire? The birthday girl should have gotten the first slice!" someone called out. It was Teddy.

In that moment, an extraordinary change came over Victoire: Instead of feeling waves of despair crash over her, she felt her heart burn with some strange emotion. Later she realized it was anger.

This anger swelled and grew wild and reared its head inside of her like a dormant dragon being roused from a long sleep, and as the anger expanded in intensity she knew, deep down inside of her, that something was going to happen, though she could have said precisely what-

The cake exploded.

Bits of it flew everywhere. Fruit cake was suddenly glued to the windows in a hideous conglomeration of blue and red; crumbs of coffee cake fell on the carpet and the cat sped forward, a grey blur, to enjoy its unexpected feast; the vanilla layer decided to plaster itself all over everyone's clothes, faces, and hair. A long, thick silence followed during which James picked the Bertie Beans carefully off his T-shirt and ate them one by one. His muffled gag as he swallowed a particularly bad one was the loudest noise in the room.

But then, suddenly, Teddy started laughing louder and more joyfully than he'd ever had before - laughing and crying and smiling all at once. "You had it in you," he cried, "You had it in you all this time."

Covered in cake, with frosting on his nose, he ran up and hugged Victoire.

It was the first time she had ever made magic.

The wind seared and burned Victoire's bones with a ferocious cold as she stepped onto platform nine and three quarters. It was a grey day; few people were about. Drawing her winter robes more closely about her for warmth, she half-ran across the platform to where a small brunette figure with short curly hair stood, looking impatient. The icy wind whipped her face, leaving it numb and slightly stinging as she rushed to a halt.

"What took you so long?" Vivian asked, wrestling her midnight black owl into its cage with furry-mittened fingers. Her brown curls bobbed and blew in the chilly breeze. "I've been here for a least fifteen minutes already."

"My alarmbrall didn't go off," Victoire murmured, her teeth chattering, her whole body cold with guilt and throbbing with fear.

"Some weather, isn't it?" interrupted Vivian. "The first of September and it's almost snowing. Oh! It's a quarter to eleven; we'd better go."

She arranged her owl cage a little more securely, moved her earmuffs more snugly over her ears, and then took off at a run towards the barrier. Victoire watched her go, her heart sinking. Three...two...one…

But suddenly her friend skidded around and stared back at Victoire. Victoire stared back with mounting dread.

Vivian yelled to her, and her voice was faint, carried away by the wind. Yet Victoire still knew what she was saying:

Why aren't you coming?

And Victoire, at this awful, final, terrible moment, couldn't bring herself to say it. Slowly she turned around and began walking away.

Hot breaths hit the back of her neck and a warm furry little hand grasped her shoulder.

"What's going on?" For the first time in Victoire's memory, a hint of fear tainted Vivian's voice. "Where's your school stuff? Aren't you coming?"

The questions pulsed and throbbed in Victoire's ears; for a moment she felt hollow, empty, drifting and whistling about like the cruel wind whipping around her. Suddenly she clenched her fists and felt herself return: all her dark anger, her grieving courage, her fierceness born from painful longing returned. She turned to face her friend.

"I'm not going," she said. Just three words, but they cut into the roof of her mouth like needles and screamed through her mind the truth, the horrible truth.

Vivian's hand slowly slipped off Victoire's shoulder. "What?"

"I told you. I'm not going."

Victoire could feel Vivian's brain racing, searching for an explanation. "Are-are you going to some other Wizarding school, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or one of those strange American schools - Oh, I hope it's not one of those, they're way too far away and besides they don't allow house elves I don't know why but my mom said it had something to do with a civil war they had, but I don't believe her because why would they have been fighting, I mean they didn't have Voldemort or anything-"

"Vivi, I'm not going to another wizarding school. I-I just came to see you off. I-" Victoire stopped. She couldn't say anything more.

At last the horrible truth began to dawn on her friend. "Are-are you a-a-a," she gasped, but she could not bring herself to say it. Before Victoire had a chance to move her frozen limbs, Vivian flung her arms around her and held her tight. "Oh, Vicky, I'm going to miss you so, so much!" Her voice, choked, fell silent, and the two clung together as much for warmth as for emotional support. Soft, thick snow began to fall.

But then it the moment was broken: Vivian's mother rushed up and hustled her daughter through the barrier, pushing aside some disgruntled-looking Muggles ("What were you thinking; it's three to! "But Mum!"). Victoire slowly moved back to stand by her mum as Vivian vanished into the barrier and out of Victoire's life. There was a gulf that separated them now that could not easily be breached.

She heard from Vivian only once more, a hastily scribbled letter delivered by her owl in December of that year. Victoire sat on her bed at her Muggle boarding school (need name) and opened the letter with trembling fingers, this long-awaited missive that she'd been waiting and hoping for, and felt a weary sense of disappointment settle upon her as she read. It contained a bit of news on her classes and mentioned her house (Hufflepuff) briefly, but mostly it was about new people Vivian had met and new friends she had made (There was this Eleanor, Victoire, so wickedly funny, just brilliant, you would have loved her…). Hastily written and self-absorbed, it failed to ask about Victoire and what was going on in her life and somehow lacked the old inside jokes that used to make them both laugh so much. It was from a different person, and they were different people now. There was no returning back to old times; her whole life had changed for better or for worse, and a friend was lost in the process.

At least, she thought, folding her arms underneath her head and staring up at the ceiling, at least I still have Teddy.

Somehow, he was there with her even from far away, because she knew his thoughts rested with her. Her first year alone at boarding school she received a letter every week and sometimes candy from Honeydukes on Teddy's periodic Hogsmeade visits. The thought of him walking into Honeydukes just to buy candy for her (Teddy had never been a great fan of wizard candy, and shared Victoire's abhorrence of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor beans) sent pleasant warm shivers throughout her body.

Victoire would stay up past midnight on Sundays, waiting for the Muggles around her to fall asleep so his owl could come in. When the letter came, she would always gently, carefully, meticulously slide it open, wanting to make the sweet moment last as long as possible, and read it as slowly as she possibly could, savoring each and every word. He was always very thorough, describing everything even down to the most mundane so she could feel like she was there, experiencing it all. The pranks he had heard about and seen, the atmosphere and results of Quidditch matches, the various interesting things he'd learned in his classes: it was all there, drawn in minute and loving detail. He, unlike Vivian, never mentioned anything about the friends he'd made, perhaps intuitively knowing that it would only cause Victoire more bitterness and envy. At least, that was what Victoire believed, but his grandmother had told her a different story once last summer when Victoire had stayed at her house.

They were slicing onions together in companionable silence when Andromeda suddenly looked up and out the window. Victoire, assuming she was about to hear about some interesting new bird at the bird feeder, waited expectantly, but Teddy's grandmother remained frozen, her knife resting against the cutting board. When Victoire finally looked up, to her surprise she saw tears glistening in the older woman's eyes. She quickly looked down and began slicing onions more vigorously, almost violently. She could never bear it when other people cried.

"I'm worried about Teddy." The voice was remarkably clear and calm.

Victoire's knife slipped and a shallow gash appeared on her index finger. "Teddy?" She couldn't conceal her bewilderment. He was healthy; he was cute; he was smart. What was there to be worried about?

"Yes." The onion chopping began again. "He's had two whole years at Hogwarts now, but he hasn't made any friends. He spends most of his time in the Potions dungeons." Andromeda gave a small, choked laugh and shook her head. "Imagine that! The Potions dungeons! I always told him his hobby would get out of hand."

Victoire gave a wry smile. It sounded like Teddy. She imagined him for a moment, leaning over a cauldron in which one of his photographs was soaking, waiting earnestly until he could take it out and watch the picture move. Her smile disappeared. Her daydream-Teddy had dark, brooding eyes and a pallid face devoid of energy or enthusiasm. For several moments that face haunted her: it seemed all too real. She shivered.

"Well, Teddy's like that," she said finally as she moved on to slicing tomatoes. "He likes being all by himself, doing things all by himself. I dunno; it's just the way he is."

Andromeda came over and scooped the tomatoes into her hands, throwing them into the bubbling soup pot. Victoire caught her eye; there was a strange expression there. "What?" she said a bit defensively.

Andromeda scratched her temple thoughtfully. "You just don't know what you are to that boy," she said slowly. "You're the best - maybe the only - friend he's had."

Victoire had bowed her head, trying not to feel too pleased. Now, however, nine months after that conversation, the memory was still bright and clear inside her head. And suddenly, a puzzle piece clicked within her, and her future was laid out in front of her like a treasure map: Full of danger, full of possibility. All she had to do was follow the necessary steps and then all the wealth of her wishes would be hers. Already she could feel the bright September sun beating down on her head, the train's farewell whistle before it sped out of the Platform Nine and Three Quarters...her parents standing there, so proud, so happy for her, their faces beaming out of the mist…

"Who did zis?" The harsh words snapped her flimsy daydream like a twig. Victoire felt her fantasy die away like a sunset, so frail and yet so precious. Her mother filled her vision. She was shaking, maybe with rage, maybe with fear, Victoire didn't know. Her French accent, so carefully edited away over the years, now came back in full force.

Nobody moved or even seemed to breathe for a moment. Teddy's arm dropped off Victoire's shoulder and he looked quizzingly over at Fleur, whose eyes were so large and whose mouth was such a thin line she looked borderline creepy. Teddy cleared his throat and said cautiously, "What do you mean? Victoire did it; it was obviously an accident. No one would purposely blow up a cake...would they?" he added somewhat uncertainly.

Fleur's eyes swept across the room staring down each suspect; her gaze lingered longest on James, who stared defiantly back. Victoire thought Teddy had a good point; she couldn't imagine any of the children blowing up the cake; they were all too eager to have a piece of it. Dimly she saw her father gently take her mother by the elbow and the two went into the kitchen; she could hear the murmur of their voices through the door and imagined what they were saying. Her dad, trying to persuade her mum to be reasonable, and her mum, saying fervently under her breath, "Bill, is zis someone's idea of a vairy funny joke? Ah! Je ne suis pas amusé!"

"Victoire," Teddy said.

"Oh, the French? It means 'I am not amused,' " Victoire said distractedly.

"Victoire, are you alright?" Teddy asked.

Victoire suddenly noticed that everyone was staring at her. She resisted the urge to gulp. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Teddy put his hands back on Victoire's shoulders. "You did it, didn't you?" he said breathlessly. Victoire could hear the kitchen door's squeak as it opened. Her parents had re-entered the room.

For a split second, her vocal chords felt paralyzed. At last she said, just to break the silence: "Well, Teddy, I did it. Finally." Her voice was lifeless and dead; her eyes vacant and empty. Teddy's grip tightened on her shoulders as the silence in the room intensified.

Ron whistled.

Everyone in the room audibly let forth a sigh simultaneously and then nervously giggled. Hermione, beaming, broke into applause; scattered applause ensued that gradually gathered in intensity. Lily jumped down from her chair, ran to her cousin, and hugged her. Victoire crouched down and hugged her back. As she glanced up, she noticed the deeply contrite look of her sister and promised herself she would talk with her as soon as everyone left.

Even as the atmosphere lightened and small talk ensued, there was still something uncomfortable in the air, a deep uneasiness that seemed to pervade everything. It showed itself in perturbed manner Albus was looking at his cake, as though he weren't quite sure if it was safe to eat, and the way Ginny almost dropped several dishes as she cleared them from the table. Victoire glanced at Teddy and found his concern and fear mirrored there: As far as they knew, something like this had never happened before. Most children with magic in their blood showed it by the age of seven - Victoire had never heard of a twelve-year-old having their inciperamagicae (first sighting/showing of magic). But there must be someone! she thought desperately. She didn't know. All she knew was that what had just happened was no fluke. She was a true witch.

In a dream she found herself steered to the living room; dimly she felt the warmth and softness of the davenport underneath her and the gentle weight of presents being tipped into her lap. No one said anything more about the exploded cake or extrapolated on the cause of Victoire's sudden and unexpected inciperamagicae. It's all too much for everyone to absorb, Victoire thought. For the first time she wished that everyone around her could just disappear for a moment so she could begin to understand and accept the enormity of what had just happened.

But instead she heaved an inner sigh and proceeded to open presents and pretend to be delighted with them: for how could she be really delighted with these mere trifles? The best birthday present had already been given. Victoire pondered for a moment: Who was the giver? Was it herself - or was it fate?

~Please remember that reviews are always appreciated. :D