When you first saw her, you noticed her hair, a glorious silver gold shining in the midday sun.
You noticed her eyes, an electrifying blue with either a playful twinkle or an intense gaze, like she could see through every lie you told, every guarded wall you built.
You saw her mouth, the bottom lip a little bit plumper than the top and the constant strain from resisting to smile in the most somber of occasions.
You listened to her laugh, a hopeful, melodic song like chime in the wind, and the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards when she was amused.
When you heard her speak, you knew you'd do anything to hear that voice directed at you, that perfectly imperfect mouth against yours, running your fingers through the soft strands of silk she called hair.
That was the moment you knew you were impossibly and irrevocably in love with Victoire Weasley.
Word Count: 155
#582: Hopeful Song