Self-Worth

As much as it was a barrel of laughs to have most of the family over for the day at the cottage, Victoire needed at least twenty minutes to find some peace and quiet on the beach. She sat cross-legged in the middle of her green-yellow blanket that matched the grass that sandwiched her between it and the sea, her pink floral dress failed to cover her knees down from the sun and her irresistibly soft cream cardigan absorbed the warmth, plunging her into a sea of tranquillity. The crashing waves were the perfect soundtrack for such a beautiful afternoon and the words of the book she read danced with the subtle breeze that tickled her cheeks. Becoming lost in a moment like this made her lose complete track of time until she noticed her perfect scene being interrupted by footsteps in the sand. As the footsteps grew closer, the sound of heavy breathing and wheezing stole her concentration and when she turned her head, she bolted up from her blanket and sprinted towards Fred. Pulsing rays of the sun couldn't heat Fred's cold skin as tears streamed down his flushed cheeks and she guided him down onto the blanket. She held him the way a caring and concerned mother held her fragile beloved son and rubbed his back hoping her touch and gentle shushes would ease the speed of his thumping heart. Whenever Fred had a panic attack, his parents were always seconds away to take care of him and whisk him away to somewhere safe, but the cottage was a ten minute walk away and Victoire was alone. Powerlessness weighed down her heart as Fred began to struggle for breath as if someone was choking him and he firmly grasped her arm in an effort to pull himself out of the thoughts that he drowned in. It was hard to not allow her worry to morph into panic as she helplessly watched her cousin.

"Focus on the waves. Focus on the seconds between each gentle crashing," she instructed him as she began to rock back and forth.

Through his panic, Fred nodded, and she watched him squeeze his eyes shut as he did just that.

Minutes passed before his heart started to slow down, the wheezing stopped, and his tears became less frequent. Eventually, Fred calmly rested in Victoire's arms, admiring the beauty of the almost perfectly clear sky together and constantly thanking her for staying with him.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened?" she made sure to keep her voice as soft as her cardigan.

Fred sat up, wiping remnants of his tears away with his wet sleeve and bit his bottom lip like he always did when he was nervous. Victoire questioned how he could have such low self-esteem when he had beautiful toffee skin that glistened in the sun like that one sweet everyone craves and goes crazy over and the curls of his chocolate brown hair was only matched in fluffiness by clouds.

"E-e-e-e-everyone was p-p-p-p-pestering Albus over if h-h-h-he had a girlfriend o-o-o-or not," Fred started,

"And he deflected the attention onto you. Then what happened?"

Only once before had Fred's eyes locked with Victoire's with such seriousness and fear in them and that was when he decided that he didn't want to take over the family business. There couldn't be anything this big to divulge though. What was the big deal about Grandma Molly nagging him about not having a girlfriend?

"Next time just say you haven't found that special girl yet," she said as if she had solved the problem until Fred's eyes widened when she said 'girl'.

Their gaze remained on each other as if Fred was trying to telepathically send a message to her, but the signal was getting fuzzy and he had to repeat himself again and again. The problem was that he didn't have a girlfriend. Maybe he didn't want a girl-

"Y—y-you're," Victoire began to receive the message clearly.

Fred slowly nodded as a stray tear escaped his eye.

"Oh," so many things rushed through her head, "at least I have someone to talk about boys with."

The smile on Fred's face as he allowed a short laugh to leave him made the heavy weight around Victoire's heart evaporate. Being bullied about something that was once only a rumour had made him think that his own cousin would feel ashamed of him for simply being who he was meant to be. She should've made it clear to him that she didn't care about whether he liked strawberry ice cream or not, whether he liked her fox Tonka or not and she definitely didn't care whether he liked women or not. The only thing that mattered was his happiness.

"I love you so much Freddie-weddie," she squeezed his cheeks, "such a thing can never change that, and I promise it wouldn't change the hearts of our family either,"

Fred's breathing quickened, "I'm not ready to tell. I haven't even had a boyfriend yet and it could just be a phase,"

"They said that about my feelings from Teddy."

Victoire pulled Fred into her, wrapping her arms around him as if she could offer more warmth than the sun itself. The sensitiveness of him that she adored made his own thoughts the sharpest weapons that she was adamant to protect him from.

"Whether it's a phase or not, I'll be by your side no matter what."

Such simple but heartfelt words made Fred calm down again. The two remained in an embrace under the sun for another five minutes before deciding to brave going back to the cottage and putting up with another family meal.

This scene played in Victoire's head like a broken record as she sat in the middle of the front room of the tent. Like in the scene, she sat cross-legged, but this time in the middle of the enormous burgundy and gold rug that stretched across most of the room. An assortment of pillows, cushions and a giant beanbag chair or two bordered the rug and a long sepia suede sofa stretched along the back of the room with wooden side tables either side. Though the wind blew its hardest, the walls of the tent remained as solid as a rock and the collection of lightbulbs that hung in the centre of the room like a poor man's chandelier refused to budge an inch. There was a constant stream of warmth circuiting the tent, yet a chill pestered the back of Victoire's neck and she found herself becoming restless and she stared into nothing as if the memory was playing in front of her like a never-ending movie. The more it played, the more guilt filled her as she blamed herself for the panic attack she caused her cousin to have.

"He's asleep. That scarf seemed to help," Lucas walked tentatively into the room,

"It belonged to Uncle Fred," Victoire's voice was flat.

Lucas sat in front of her, crossing his legs and trying to interrupt her gaze.

"If I had just kept my cool and ignored Alodie, this wouldn't have happened," her inner monologue decided to be heard,

"And she would still be picking at you like a carcass amongst starving dragons. You defended yourself, no one can blame you for that," Lucas reasoned,

"But I'm the head girl and representing our school in the biggest even of the year. I'm supposed to be caring and kind, I'm not supposed to throw drinks at people and be violent, that's not who I'm supposed to be,"

"So, you were just going to let her spread lies about you and spin her web around you until you became too entangled to fight back? That's not you, Vic."

No, that wasn't her. The her behind closed doors didn't take crap from anyone, drank alcohol straight from the bottle when in the mood and enjoyed walking around in her boyfriend's hoodies and stained joggers. But this wasn't how she could be when the doors were open.

"I should've kept my mouth shut, apologised for the misunderstanding and carried on eating, that way she wouldn't have confirmed that Fred is gay in front of basically the whole school. I should've just been polite and acted the way a head girl should," Victoire assured herself,

"Vic, you don't have to be perfect all the-"

"YES, I DO!"

Victoire couldn't stop her emotions from overflowing as Lucas became blurred by her anger at herself, "I need to be perfect all the time. I need to prove that I was worthy of getting into my dream school, I need to earn my surname, I need to be perfect or they'll pick at me like a dead carcass even if I'm alive."

Lucas wrapped his arms around Victoire the same way she did a couple of years ago for Fred. The annoying chill was battled by the warmth of having her friend stroke her hair and remind her that there were people who loved her despite her imperfections.

"You are a stubborn, hot-headed perfectionist and I would not have you any other way, in fact, I don't think I'd like you if you were perfect," the hard edges of Lucas's voice were smoothed down,

"Really?"

"Yes. You're worth much more than you think you are Miss Weasley. You're just too stubborn to see it."