Fire.
Victoire Weasley was just that, a haze of glowing ambers and words left forgotten. She made an art out of causing havoc and luring innocent people, males and females alike, in with her part Veela physique and flirtatious melodies. She was fierce, indestructible, an illusion, a defence mechanism.
Teddy was a seventh year Hufflepuff with nothing more than eyes for a certin blonde and the weight of two dead parents lingering on his spine. He had grown used to the façade, the sympathetic smiles and the exclamations of "you just look so much like your father!." He hated Remus and Nymphadora, no, he detested them. He loathed them. Here he was, alone, because they hadn't thought about the consequences of their actions in the war. Obviously, if the thought of their newborn son was not enough to prevent them from entering the war and leaving him alone in the first place, they clearly wouldn't have been good parents. Perhaps this was for the best. Sure, maybe it confused Teddy that he was placed in Hufflepuff, when his thoughts were darker and cruder than a winter's night, but then again, he covered it all up with a smile and a cheery grin. Only one person saw straight past his mask.
Teddy and Victoire were just that, fire. Ignited, walking, and breathing flames.
This is the story of their love, and they say romance is dead.