Well Done, Victoire!

Everyone goes through that unsettling and uncomfortable moment of feeling like someone is watching you like a hawk. Victoire was used to this and had embraced it, however she felt on edge knowing that Alodie and Leon had their dagger eyes on her. She had a tune she couldn't quite name in her head to ease her through the tension as they waited in McGonagall's dimly lit study. There was a smile of glee waiting to surface as Victoire congratulated herself, I can't believe this is happening, well done, Victoire, well done, she sang to herself. She stood leaning against a side table that held a statue of a cat on it, with her opponents standing opposite her. Alodie tapped her foot with her arms crossed, occasionally smoothing down her hair and scanning her competition. There was such a sourness in her face that almost spoiled her sweet looks, but Victoire couldn't tell why. Leon was the only one who had reason to maybe slightly dislike Victoire, after she humiliated him in front of his rugged mates, but she hadn't done anything to Alodie other than give her a friendly nod. Trying to occupy herself, Victoire began to fiddle with her promise ring, giving in to the urge of smiling as the image of Teddy's adorable face entered her mind.

"What's made you so happy, blondie?" Leon's rude tone wiped the smile off of her face,

"Nothing that concerns you," she replied,

"She's probably practicing her gracious loser face for after I walk over her body to the cup," Alodie smirked,

"I'm sorry, what?" Victoire took a step forward, ready to challenge her opponent, but the sound of a door opening interrupted her.

McGonagall walked in, with the room becoming brighter with each of her steps and following her was the headmasters of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons and Kingsley following her. As they came closer, Victoire began to step back in line with the other two contestants with her eyes focussed on the people who walked towards her. Biting down on her lip, she repeatedly instructed herself not to speak unless spoken to, to act gracious and to keep her excitement trapped in a little bottle.

"I would like to congratulate you all for being chosen to become history," Kingsley smiled, "such a tournament requires nerve, skill, grit and determination, but do not let the tournament claim the best of you."

Victoire nodded.

"When do we find out what the first task is?" Alodie demanded,

"You will find out on the day of the first task, but that does not mean you cannot prepare yourselves and build on your strengths," Kingsley calmly replied,

"Well, aren't you the most helpful Minster of Magic,"

"Compared to others, I think you'll find that your sarcastic comment carries nothing but truth," Kingsley shared a cheeky look with Victoire.

Being part of the Weasley family meant having the perk of knowing very important people, one of those people being the great Minister of Magic. Though she wasn't close to him and wouldn't see him often, Victoire and Kingsley seemed to share the same humour, making them a dynamic duo at big family gatherings. She looked up to him and the changes he was making in a magical world that was still piecing itself back together. His presence along with McGonagall's made her feel more comfortable around people she would never affiliate herself with if it wasn't for the tournament and as the rules, terms and conditions of the tournament were explained to them, Victoire caught Olympe Maxime looking at her more than what would seem normal.

"Ginerva Weasley will arrive at noon for your pictures and interviews. Now, off to bed; you need to reserve your energy," on Kingsley's words, the champions moved towards their headmasters.

McGonagall ushered Victoire towards her desk while everyone else apart from Kingsley moved to the other side of the room. There were so many questions running through her head, but before she could let one out, she felt a soft couple of taps on her shoulder. Olympe Maxime stood somehow gracefully behind Victoire, towering over her and blocking out most of the light. As a child, Victoire would guess how tall Maxime was, hoping that she would find out at the age of 11 on her first day at her dream school, but at least she had found out now. She didn't believe her mother when she said she was taller than Hagrid and now she owed her 20 galleons.

"Tu ressembles beaucoup à tes mère," Maxime spoke softly,

"On me dit que beaucoup," Victoire looked up at her with a kind smile,

"Non seulement tu as l'accent, mais tu parles parfaitement la langue,"

"Merci beaucoup."

A long sympathetic sigh left Maxime as she wistfully looked at Victoire before turning away and paying attention to Alodie. The brief interaction made Victoire both confused and intrigued as to why she was looked at in such a way and why Olympe Maxime even talked to her in the first place. Though she knew McGonagall was saying something to her, she kept her gaze on Maxime and Alodie. The two were deep into their conversation that Victoire could only guess was about their plans for the tournament, and when they started to leave, Alodie shot Victoire another hateful glare, to which a simple wave in reply would suffice.

"I'm guessing I'll have to say all of that again," McGonagall sighed,

"Oh erm, I mean, if you want to," Victoire smiled,

"Your mother would be proud of you," Kingsley put his hand on her shoulder, "my memories of the last time this tournament was held are not ones I wish to surface, but you have the ability to change that by being a great contender."

Looking down at the ground for a mere second was enough time for Victoire to ask herself, would her mother be proud of her? Not only had she not told her anything about even wanting to take part, she also knew that her mother would object to the idea and had therefore gone against her wishes; all actions that would make a mother less than proud.

Not allowing herself to dwell on the subject, she quickly looked up at Kingsley with a bright smile, "Every great contender must have an equally great outfit."

The hint was enough for McGonagall to go through the draws of her desk until she found a scroll that she spread out and held the light to. It was hard to act impressed by the sketches of the proposed uniform for the tournament, as they were simple with very little effect. The front of the long-sleeved top had four blocks with the two of them being black and the other two being labelled as the colour of whichever house the champion was from. The Hogwarts emblem was proudly in the middle with the trousers being a simple black. She understood that sometimes simple was best, but she wanted to put her stamp on everything so that even if she didn't win, she would have a reason to be remembered. Behind McGonagall's back, she got Kingsley's attention and raised her eyebrows as she mouthed her want to change the design. After a firm nod of approval from him, she took a quill from the desk and began a small sketch in the corner of the page.

"I don't mean to mess with tradition but," Victoire apologised.

Ideas flowed from her brain to the quill and she barely registered what she was creating until she stepped back and took it in. She had drawn a long sleeved turtleneck with holes for her thumbs to go through, to keep with tradition, she had the torso be two diagonal black blocks and two diagonal blue blocks with the Hogwarts emblem in the centre and the trousers were black combat trousers with 'Ravenclaw' written in blue down the left leg and 'Hogwarts' written in blue down the right. She stood up straight with pride on her face at drawing such a good design so quickly, but then turned to McGonagall who didn't seem convinced by it.

"You know this would have to be made in time for your interview tomorrow?" she asked,

"Yes, but that's what magic is for," Victoire sang.

Kingsley chuckled as he picked up the page and rolled it up with a smile.

"Not many students get this treatment, but you, Victoire Weasley, are a promising young witch with an attitude that never ceases to entertain me," Kingsley laughed as he put the scroll in his robes, "so, leave it to me,"

"Thank you so much. I just want to put my mark on it, you know and I'm sorry if it doesn't follow tradition, Professor," a burst of excitement came from within Victoire,

"Oh no, it's not that. Traditions are made to evolve or else how do we grow? It's just," McGonagall looked Victoire up and down, "Weasley's don't tend to come with as much care for fashion as you."