This is written for the writing school portion of the International Wizarding Schools Championship. The following info is for judging purposes. Happy reading! :)
School & Year: Beauxbatons, Year 2
Writing Technique: Perfect People
SPaG: Pronoun-Antecedant Agreement
Word Count: 815
Additional Info: While this can be read on its own, as per IWSC rules, this is a part of my broken wireless series that follows Bill and Fleur's journey through parenthood.
.: Beach Woes :.
The waves crashed against the shore as Victoire Weasley stomped down the beach. Her face was red and blotchy, and sand flew from under her tennis shoes as she trekked away from her house. At eight years old, Victoire's feelings often felt too large for her small body, and on days like this, those feelings burst out of her like magma from a volcano.
Maman had told her walking helped—that instead of screaming at her siblings or breaking her water glass, she could walk along the beach and kick at the sand or yell at the ocean.
That was Victoire's favorite part. Sometimes when she yelled—when she released the monster that seemed to lurk under her skin—the waves seemed to roll in faster, crash harder against the shore.
"Ahh!" she yelled, clenching her fists. Her voice was lost in the storm of the sea, and the next wave that rolled in drenched her jeans in seawater and filled her shoes with wet sand. She stumbled back a few steps, chest heaving, and plopped right down on the beach, uncaring that she'd get sand everywhere. That Maman would scold her for the mess whilst also pressing a kiss to Victoire's forehead. Maman was weird like that.
The next wave missed her tennis shoes by a meter, and she smacked her palms to the cold sand with a wet slap. She was waiting for her father to come find her. He always did.
A few minutes later, he sat down next to her, and he held something in his hand as he did so. Victoire's heart was still pounding, and even at eight she was full of stubborn Weasley pride, so she ignored him no matter how much she itched to see what he held behind him.
"Do you feel less angry?" he asked.
"No!" she yelled, petulant.
"Okay," he replied mildly as he leaned back on his hands.
Maman always wanted to talk talk talk and that just fired Victoire up even more—made her want to yell yell yell. But Dad was a quiet man—even when she was mad at him, he stayed silent and let her get her feelings out. He didn't try to calm her down, he just waited for her to do it herself. She liked that.
Victoire and her dad sat there for another five minutes before Victoire said, "I don't like all the questions. It's too much noise, and no one ever gives me time to say anything. They just keep telling me things."
"Okay," Dad said again.
"Okay," she harrumphed, digging her fists into the sand.
They sat in silence some more. Victoire liked the silence, especially the type of silence she got when she sat on the beach because it wasn't real silence, just an absence of people noise. She much preferred beach noise over people noise—it slowed her heartbeat. It slowed her heartbeat so much she was once again curious about what Dad was hiding behind his back.
She still didn't want to have to ask him, though, so she just glared pointedly at where the object was hidden, hoping her Delacour eyes would make him fess up. Every time Maman stared at him, he started talking really fast. But he just stared at the beach and ignored her gaze—she'd get there one day, Maman had said.
"What's behind your back?" she asked, caving.
"Oh, this?" Dad whipped out a large, pale seashell and held it out for her. She lifted it gently and couldn't stop staring at it, twirling it in her hands. The insides of the shell were a pretty pearl-pink, and it felt really delicate in Victoire's small hands despite its surprisingly heavy weight.
"This is really pretty, Dad," she said. "Where'd you get it?"
"Well, this is a very special shell," he said, turning to face her and crossing his legs.
"Why?" Victoire mimicked his movements and shuffled towards him so her little knees rested on top of his.
"This is called a Crown Conch. A long time ago, in a big castle by the ocean, a very beautiful princess with long blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes, and"—he grabbed her kneecaps and wiggled her legs playfully, making her giggle—"skinny, knobbly knees, gave it special powers."
"What can it do?" Victoire asked eagerly, her eyes bouncing back and forth from the shell to Dad's face. Before answering her, he tapped the top of the shell with his wand. The entire thing shimmered brightly for a moment before looking normal again.
"If you hold it to your ear, and you listen to the sounds that it makes, it'll help you answer all those questions you hate so much. So now, when you don't know what to do, this'll help you. Go on, try it," he encouraged.
Victoire held it up to her ear to listen, closed her eyes with a deep sigh, and grinned.
Thanks for reading!