For the QLFC Practice Round (Celebrate Good Times)!

Position: Tutshill Tornados, Keeper

Prompt: an anniversary

Interpretation: In French 'anniversaire' means both birthday and anniversary.

Word count: 1,877


Fleur Delacour talks rapidly on the phone to her cousin, Emmeline, who lives in Paris.

Her voice carries out of the living room and into the kitchen, where her eldest daughter sits alone.

Victoire Delacour-Weasley, the first-born of her generation, can't help but feel miffed as she tugs on her delicate silver-blond curls that her mother painstakingly pulled back into a tight bun twenty minutes ago. Victoire doesn't like the pointy pins that Maman puts in her hair, so she took them out. She doesn't like having to wear a drab black dress and shiny black shoes on her birthday or sitting quietly while everyone comforts Uncle George.

Chante pour nous, says her mother every year. Sing for us, mon chou.

So, Victoire folds her hands over her black dress, like she does in choir, and sings a pretty, sad song.

For Victoire, May 2 is a day of celebration. For the rest of her family, it is a day of grief.

Joyeux anniversaire, indeed.

She is eleven years old today. Uncle Fred died thirteen years ago today.

It's not fair that she should have to feel selfish on her birthday. When Louis and Dominique have their birthdays, the house is full of joyous noise, they can wear any color they like, eat birthday cake with their friends, and they don't have to be quiet and remember not to smile. Nor are they expected to set an example. She must, because she is the eldest.

"Victoire!" her mother reprimands as she enters the kitchen. "Mon chou, qu'est-ce que tu as fais avec tes cheveux?"

Victoire says nothing as her mother gathers her hair into a black scrunchie, then replaces the ghastly pins, each one digging into her scalp.

Her eleventh birthday is special. There should be conversations about Hogwarts over breakfast, guesses at what House she'll be Sorted into (she's hoping for Ravenclaw), speculation about what time her letter will arrive.

But there is none of that. There is a solemn drive to the Burrow, sitting in the back of Dad's car. Victoire can see her father's grim face reflected in the rearview mirror as she sits behind her mother. Her younger siblings are playing a quiet game of cards and giggling softly. They are too young to understand, her mother says, but when Victoire was six, the same age that Louis is now, she sat quietly.

"Boys will be boys," her father says, shaking his head as Louis shrieks excitedly, pleased with beating Dominique at their game. Victoire stares hard at the back of her mother's chair, forcing the resentment down. She will be a good daughter. She will say only nice and comforting things. She will not sneak off with Teddy, because today is about Uncle Fred's memory.

Life, Victoire thinks, is not about me being happy.

She smooths her dress as they get out of the car, and her mother fusses over their hair. Victoire stands with the perfect posture drilled into her from all of her ballet classes, the ones that Dominique did not have to take.

She holds her father's hand and greets Grandma and Granddad respectfully.

Uncle Harry (her favorite uncle) and his godson, Teddy, are standing in the corner, talking quietly. Victoire waves at them, but Maman gave her strict instructions to stay with Dad.

The smaller children are noisy, especially little Lily Luna and Hugo, the youngest children. They are only two years old; they don't know any better, but Dominque should. Maman would never allow Victoire to be that boisterous.

"Why don't you help Grandma Molly in the kitchen?" suggests Dad. Victoire nods and gives his hand a comforting squeeze, like her mother did in the car. She pats Lily Luna's head, smoothing her messy red hair, and kneels down so that they are eye-level.

"Do you want to help Grandma?" asks Victoire in her best talking-to-children voice, drawing Hugo close as well. Aunt Ginny throws her a thankful look as she attempts to wrangle James and Albus.

Lily Luna nods, and Victoire ushers them into the kitchen, with one last longing look at the blue-haired boy talking to Uncle Harry.

"Oh, good," says Grandma Molly as they enter the busy kitchen, handing Victoire an apron. The boys don't have to help with the cooking, she thinks resentfully as she ties it around her waist, then goes to help Aunt Angelina, who is particularly solemn on May 2, with the mashed potatoes.

Finally, they finish making dinner. Victoire is grudgingly glad that Maman did her hair up so tight; otherwise, it might have gotten messy. Teddy and Uncle Harry set the table while she helps Aunt Audrey bring things into the dining room from the kitchen.

"Have we got enough chairs?" asks someone, counting all the adults and children, then adding an extra one for Uncle Fred.

Victoire usually sits with Teddy at family gatherings, but her mother shepherds her between James and Albus to help keep the peace. Lily Luna and Hugo look sleepy, sitting between their fathers. Teddy sits on the other side of Uncle Harry, next to Uncle George.

Victoire doesn't like looking at Uncle George on days like this. He looks empty and lost, and the thought of grown-ups being empty and lost terrifies her. Instead, she sits straight and stays quiet during dinner, managing to dissolve several mini-arguments attempted by the little boys sitting on either side of her.

After dinner, they all sit in the living room, except the younger children who have to be sent to bed, and listen to people telling stories about Uncle Fred, punctuated by sad smiles and sorrowful, restrained laughter.

Victoire sits on the floor, her legs folded under her and her dress arranged neatly, like a proper lady, even though the position makes her feet go all dead and tingly. It's very uncomfortable.

The entire thing is very uncomfortable, and Victoire wishes that her birthday didn't bring discomfort.

No one has wished her a happy birthday yet, not even her parents this morning, not even Dominique and Louis, who are barely aware that this is a solemn day.

"Maman," she whispers, "may I use the bathroom?"

Victoire stands in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the spotty mirror. For a second, she thinks of giving the awful bun one rebellious tug, sending silver hairpins flying across the room and clattering against the tiled floor.

But she cannot, because Victoire is supposed to be a good girl. Be a good girl for Maman.

Instead, she runs the tap and splashes some cold water on her face. Suck it up, Victoire. A few more hours, and you can be selfish.

She walks slowly down the stairs, her shiny black shoes tapping ominously on the bare floorboards, and emerges into the living room once more.

"Chante pour nous, mon chou," says her mother, like clockwork. So she closes her eyes, folds her hands in front of her black dress, and begins to sing, as sorrowful and sweet as the nightingale who makes the cold-hearted king cry in the fairy stories her mother used to tell her when she was little.

She has a beautiful voice, everyone says, I wish Fred was here to hear her sing.

Victoire retreats back into her corner, and she cannot deny that her heart leaps with joy when Dad tells her it is time to leave.

"Give Uncle George a hug," he whispers, so Victoire gets up and goes to him.

She doesn't know how to comfort him, so she just whispers, "I'm sorry," and hugs him. It feels like hugging a clothes mannequin, and Victoire doubts that it made him feel any better — no amount of pretty singing or being a good girl can bring his brother back. It is a grief that Victoire does not understand, but she knows it must hurt.

"Fred really would have loved to hear you sing," says Uncle George, so she does a sad sort of nod and is grateful when her father's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and he takes over, saying all the correct, comforting words that Victoire does not know how to say.

Night has begun to fall, the deep violet of twilight slowly darkening to black, and it is by Maman's wandlight that they make their way over to the car, accompanied by Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, and Teddy.

Victoire hugs Teddy for the first time that day, and it is her first not-sad hug.

"Hey, Vic?" Teddy whispers. "I got you something. It was in my pocket, so it might be a little squished."

"Teddy, you didn't have to!" she whispers back as he giddily offers her a small blue box. Victoire hides it behind her back, so neither Maman nor her siblings can see it.

Uncle Harry mentions something about Hogwarts this year, and she beams at him.

"Mon chou!" her mother calls. "We are leaving, now!"

So, feeling slightly better, Victoire climbs in the car beside Dominque, wedging the box between her and the door so that it is out of sight, and leaning her head on the window, watching the sky turn black and the stars grow bright as Dad takes the car around the slow, lazy bends back up to Shell Cottage. Victoire rolls down the window, inhales the soothing, freeing scent of sea lavender, and sneakily removes each and every one of Maman's silver pins. Dominique and Louis are snoring, so they can't tattle on her.

She savors the feel of the sea breeze playing with her hair, blowing it to and fro. It is nearly midnight when she hears the familiar crunch of car tires against the gravel of the driveway. Dad helps her sleepy siblings out of the car, but Victoire, fully awake, gets out by herself and follows Maman into the house, running upstairs to hide Teddy's gift as soon as she takes off the shiny black shoes.

Dad takes Dominique and Louis up to bed, and although Victoire is not tired, she tells her parents that she loves them and goes off to get ready for bed.

She puts on a pair of bright blue pajamas. It is 11:50, and Victoire smiles because she got to wear her favorite color on her birthday. She crawls onto her bed and stares out her window at the pitch-black night, adorned with millions of sparkling stars.

Victoire hears the fluttering of wings outside of her window. Quiet as a mouse, she tiptoes out of bed and goes to the window, opening it silently. The sweet, fresh sea air wafts in, and so does a cute little owl.

She shrieks with joy, not caring about waking anyone up as she cradles the owl's gift in her hands. Victoire doesn't even need to read it to know what it says.

The box Teddy gave her contains a small cupcake with Teddy's best attempt at icing 'Happy Birthday' written in bright blue frosting (her favorite color). It's squished and warm, and the frosting is nearly melted, but as Victoire looks out her window at the starry sky, her fingers covered in sticky blue frosting as she reads her very own Hogwarts letter, cross-legged on her bed, she thinks that it's the little things that matter.


Translations for Fleur and Victoire:

Mon chou = a term of endearment, literally means 'my cabbage,' probably close to something like 'pumpkin' or 'sweetie' in English

Chante pour nous = Sing for us

Joyeux anniversaire = Happy birthday

Mon chou, qu'est-ce que tu fais avec tes cheveux? = Pumpkin, what did you do with your hair?

Note: edited because my French is rustier than I thought it was, completely forgot that cheveux is plural, thanks Dorea for pointing it out!