fic: je t'aime
title: Je t'aime
characters: Teddy/Victoire
words: 2257
rating: PG
note: First fic of 2008! First fic I’ve written of this era. Late Christmas/early birthday present for Anne-Marie ahewlett ♥ I would have written Victoire’s voice more like Fleur’s but I find that accent both a pain to write and read :|
Je t'aime
Teddy Lupin had the distinct feeling he was being followed as he walked along the River Thames one chilly evening. Regardless whether he was right or paranoid, he clutched his wand tightly in his pocket as a precaution. A walk by the river had cleared his head, but the air was crisp and he craved a drink to warm his stomach. He took a shortcut - a narrow, gloomy alleyway that reeked of the sewers - until he reached a small bar. Relaxing his grip on his wand, he gazed up at the crimson neon sign and ducked inside the building out of the cold.
He ignored the dance floor, dancing clearly not on the agenda, and headed straight to the bartender behind the counter. Within minutes he was staring thoughtfully into his drink and the barman was shooting him sympathetic looks from time to time. In the end the young man had a stab at chitchat and Teddy welcomed it gratefully.
“Dumped by your sweetheart, sir?”
Teddy smiled meekly at him; the barman couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“No, that would require me to be in an actual relationship with her,” replied Teddy, tracing the rim of his glass with his index finger.
“What’s stopping you, sir?” asked the young man, cleaning a glass with a cloth.
Teddy took a swig of his drink and sighed.
“She’s too good for me.”
The stranger looked upon him sadly. “Don’t say that, sir. I’m sure you’re quite the catch.”
A great deal of optimism was in his voice. Teddy laughed; he hoped his friendliness hadn’t given the bloke the wrong impression. Teddy didn’t swing that way, despite the rumours.
“Thank you,” he answered regardless, but the barman was too busy serving another customer to hear him express his gratitude.
Small talk no longer readily available to distract Teddy, his mind floated back to a certain Weasley that had stolen his heart: Victoire. She was just so beautiful and clever and perfect and sometimes she would speak French in that melodic voice of hers and Teddy would forget how to breathe and bump into hard vertical surfaces. But she was the princess and he was the pauper. Plus he was terrified of Victoire’s father. When Teddy was small he’d arrived to his own conclusion that the scars on Bill’s face were from his victorious battle to the death with an angry Griffin using only his bare hands. Obviously when he was older he learned Bill had been attacked by Fenrir Greyback, but it wasn’t at all comforting to find out Bill was sort-of-but-not-really a werewolf, just a tiny bit, and loved rare steak. Under no circumstances did Teddy fancy being sliced, cooked for a short time, and served on a platter in all its red, raw glory.
He pushed the image of Victoire’s shiny, silvery-blonde hair to the back of his mind - but really, the back was the front in disguise. Speaking of hair, someone was touching his. That was strange.
Teddy ducked away from the hand that had appeared out of nowhere. Sitting on a stool beside him was a young girl his age, blinking up at Teddy’s bright blue hair in wonder.
“Do I... know you? See, I don’t normally let strangers touch my hair...”
Either the girl didn’t hear him, or chose not to, slurring as she spoke.
“Your hair is so blue. Like the ocean. I could stare at it forever.”
“Please don’t,” pleaded Teddy under his breath. The bartender had caught on she’d had one too many drinks.
“Is she bothering you, sir? I can get someone to throw her out-”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Teddy didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the girl asked, knocking Teddy's drink over in the process.
“I have one. Well, had....” The bartender was quick to wipe up her mess and almost looked like he wished he could swab her with a cloth as well. “But thank you for asking,” he added kindly.
“Dance with me!” she squealed.
Teddy looked terrified by the invitation.
“I don’t dance-”
Apparently that didn’t matter to the girl; she’d hauled Teddy off his stool and onto the dancefloor. Several times he tried to escape her, but she kept clinging to him like a pair of tight trousers clinging to curves and Teddy was this close to dragging her outside and pushing her in the River Thames.
“Fancy coming back to my place?” the girl yelled loud over the music. Several people dancing turned to look at them. Teddy reddened under their gaze.
“Um. I’m going to the loo,” he lied through his teeth, fleeing to the bathroom.
“Hurry back!” she called after him.
The toilets were deserted, and for good reason - it smelled as bad as the alleyway he’d journeyed through to get here, a trip that hadn’t been worth it. He stared at the long, rectangular mirror that stretched above the sinks.
“Why are you only capable of attracting batty women?” he asked his reflection with a sigh.
He had serious doubts he would leave the bathroom alive. How long did he have until the outrageous woman waiting for him started searching for him? Would she dare to enter the men’s loos? Of course she would dare, she was glaringly drunk. Teddy would have to use the innate ability he’d inherited from his mother to get him out of this dilemma.
He concentrated hard, starting with his hair, crafting chocolate brown curls to spiral out of his head and fall in front of his eyes, replacing his beloved blue locks. He wiggled his nose until it was humped like a camel, swapping his dark twinkling eyes for bright green ones like his Godfather. Finally, he traded his heart-shaped face for an oblong one. Pouting ridiculously in front of the mirror, he struck a pose. It worked; he no longer recognized himself, and neither would that insane female outside. He took off his cloak and held it under his arm just in case she recognized his clothes. After wishing his reflection good luck, he strode out of the bathroom.
Meanwhile, the girl was still performing some sort of strange mating dance on the dancefloor. Head down, Teddy hurried across the dance floor towards the exit. He felt a stab of guilt when he passed her, and he could sense her eyes on his back, almost as if she knew it was him.
Coward, he thought gloomily as he stepped back out into the nippy air. His teeth had already began to chatter, but he didn’t want to go home quite yet, even if it was late and Gran was probably worried sick about him. He took the weight off his feet, settled onto a bench, and relaxed his face until he looked like Teddy Lupin again. He felt much more at ease with his usual face back, shutting his eyes and relishing the cold ….
Someone was touching his hair again.
“Oh no,” muttered Teddy, thinking the woman from earlier had followed him outside. However, these hands were much softer and familiar. He wouldn’t mind a scalp massage from these particular hands…
He tipped his head back and looked up into the owner of the velvety fingers.
“Victoire?”
No longer did he have to picture her pale eyes and long silvery hair when they were shimmering in the moonlight right before him.
“In the flesh,” she answered with a warm smile that melted his insides. “I followed you, I’m sorry.”
He would have believed her apology if she wasn’t so obviously grinning.
“You’re not sorry at all,” he replied, unconvinced.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry. Victory for Victoire!”
Teddy looked up at her fondly, until he realized how much trouble he was in for being the reason Victoire was out this late. He let his head fall forwards again to stare miserably ahead.
“Your dad’s going to kill me. He’s going to tell Charlie to set a dragon on me. You’ve doomed me.”
Victoire took a seat beside him and rolled her eyes.
“I have not doomed you.”
“You…”
Again with the hair-touching.
“Your hair looks nothing like the ocean.” Teddy’s heart continually skipped beats as she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair. “No British ocean I’ve seen. It reminds me of this field of bright blue forget-me-nots we used to play in when we were small. Do you remember?”
Teddy nodded wordlessly, completely spellbound by her touch, until he finally worked out she must have gotten inside the bar to have picked up on his conversation with his drunken admirer.
“How did you get passed the bouncer? You’re too young.”
Victoire fluttered her eyelashes.
“Part Veela, remember?”
Hard to forget, Teddy thought.
“Nice dress,” he said all of a sudden, taking in what she was wearing for the first time that night. She had a habit of looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. Then again, she could wear a sack (with or without potatoes) and still look good. Victoire studied her boots in a shy manner.
“Thank you. My mother bought it for me from Paris.”
Teddy blinked at her.
“I cannot believe how casually you just said that.”
“What! She did…” Victoire reddened.
“Well, my Gran got me this-” he gestured to the cloak resting across his lap “-from Shropshire.”
“Stop poking fun at me! It’s mean.”
“I’m sorry.”
She would have believed his apology if he wasn’t so obviously grinning.
“You’re not sorry at all!”
“You’re right. I’m not sorry. Triumph for Teddy!”
He punched the air with both his fists, and Victoire took this opportunity to thwack him in the stomach while his midriff was exposed.
“Ow!” yelped Teddy, protecting his middle far too late.
“That wasn’t hard, you big baby. And I suggest you spend your last few minutes on Earth - prior to Uncle Charlie feeding you to dragons - being nice to me.”
Teddy took one look at her, lifted his cloak off his lap, and placed it around her bare shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said appreciatively, resting her head on his shoulder.
“No problem,” Teddy told her, slinging an arm around her tiny waist.
They sat comfortably in silence for a moment, still, and quiet as mice, until Victoire spoke.
“Blondes not your type?” The girl from the bar earlier fitted that description.
“Not necessarily, no.” Teddy said, catching Victoire’s eye.
“I like the way you look at me, Teddy.”
He coughed awkwardly into his hand. “What do you mean?” he murmured in reply.
“Men who pass me on the street look at me like I’m a piece of meat,” she scowled, and Teddy wanted the names of all those men so he could murder every single one of them in their sleep. “But you… you look at me, like… You look at me, you know?”
She looked up at him with the roundest, shiniest eyes, and Teddy could count every eyelash on her. He brushed her hair back over her shoulders and spoke in soft tones.
“Victoire, no one can deny you’re beautiful. But there’s so much more to you than looks.”
He was caught completely off guard when she suddenly hugged his middle.
“Je t'aime,” she whispered into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut.
Teddy stiffened.
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t understand French?”
“A thousand times more.”
“I… should take you home.”
“No,” protested Victoire, but it was too late. She felt a recognizable somersaulting sensation in her stomach. When she opened her eyes again she was standing outside her house. She really wished Teddy would ask - or at least warn her - before he chose to Disapparate and Apparate the two of them places.
“Jerk,” she called him under her breath, letting go of his sides, and Teddy regarded her apologetically.
“You can keep that,” he gestured to his cloak hanging off her shoulders, pulling it more snugly around her.
“I was planning to,” she replied with poise. “It looks better on me.”
Teddy smiled lopsidedly and nodded.
“It does.”
Victoire pushed open the creaky gate and walked up the garden path to her front door.
“Hey, Teddy?” she said from the doorstep.
“Hmm?”
“Do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know…”
“I’m not your performing monkey.”
“Please?”
She’d said the magic word. He sighed and wiggled his nose: he now had a pig’s snout. Victoire burst into giggles, hugging her chest. Blushing, Teddy quickly turned his nose back to normal again.
“It’s not even that funny,” Teddy said through involuntary laughter.
“Shut up, it is.” She opened her front door and stepped inside. “Goodnight, Teddy.”
“Sweet dreams, Victoire.”
She sent him a starry-eyed smile through the gap of the door, and then closed it entirely behind her.
Alone again, Teddy leant against the garden gate and stared wistfully at the Weasley’s front door for several minutes.
Eyes drifting upwards, his attention was brought upon movement on the second floor of the Weasley home. He gazed up at one of the windows. The curtains were shut, but he could distinctly make out Victoire’s silhouette. Even her damn silhouette was exquisite.
“I love you, too,” he confessed to her shadow, then Disapparated with a pop.
characters: Teddy/Victoire
words: 2257
rating: PG
note: First fic of 2008! First fic I’ve written of this era. Late Christmas/early birthday present for Anne-Marie ahewlett ♥ I would have written Victoire’s voice more like Fleur’s but I find that accent both a pain to write and read :|
Je t'aime
Teddy Lupin had the distinct feeling he was being followed as he walked along the River Thames one chilly evening. Regardless whether he was right or paranoid, he clutched his wand tightly in his pocket as a precaution. A walk by the river had cleared his head, but the air was crisp and he craved a drink to warm his stomach. He took a shortcut - a narrow, gloomy alleyway that reeked of the sewers - until he reached a small bar. Relaxing his grip on his wand, he gazed up at the crimson neon sign and ducked inside the building out of the cold.
He ignored the dance floor, dancing clearly not on the agenda, and headed straight to the bartender behind the counter. Within minutes he was staring thoughtfully into his drink and the barman was shooting him sympathetic looks from time to time. In the end the young man had a stab at chitchat and Teddy welcomed it gratefully.
“Dumped by your sweetheart, sir?”
Teddy smiled meekly at him; the barman couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“No, that would require me to be in an actual relationship with her,” replied Teddy, tracing the rim of his glass with his index finger.
“What’s stopping you, sir?” asked the young man, cleaning a glass with a cloth.
Teddy took a swig of his drink and sighed.
“She’s too good for me.”
The stranger looked upon him sadly. “Don’t say that, sir. I’m sure you’re quite the catch.”
A great deal of optimism was in his voice. Teddy laughed; he hoped his friendliness hadn’t given the bloke the wrong impression. Teddy didn’t swing that way, despite the rumours.
“Thank you,” he answered regardless, but the barman was too busy serving another customer to hear him express his gratitude.
Small talk no longer readily available to distract Teddy, his mind floated back to a certain Weasley that had stolen his heart: Victoire. She was just so beautiful and clever and perfect and sometimes she would speak French in that melodic voice of hers and Teddy would forget how to breathe and bump into hard vertical surfaces. But she was the princess and he was the pauper. Plus he was terrified of Victoire’s father. When Teddy was small he’d arrived to his own conclusion that the scars on Bill’s face were from his victorious battle to the death with an angry Griffin using only his bare hands. Obviously when he was older he learned Bill had been attacked by Fenrir Greyback, but it wasn’t at all comforting to find out Bill was sort-of-but-not-really a werewolf, just a tiny bit, and loved rare steak. Under no circumstances did Teddy fancy being sliced, cooked for a short time, and served on a platter in all its red, raw glory.
He pushed the image of Victoire’s shiny, silvery-blonde hair to the back of his mind - but really, the back was the front in disguise. Speaking of hair, someone was touching his. That was strange.
Teddy ducked away from the hand that had appeared out of nowhere. Sitting on a stool beside him was a young girl his age, blinking up at Teddy’s bright blue hair in wonder.
“Do I... know you? See, I don’t normally let strangers touch my hair...”
Either the girl didn’t hear him, or chose not to, slurring as she spoke.
“Your hair is so blue. Like the ocean. I could stare at it forever.”
“Please don’t,” pleaded Teddy under his breath. The bartender had caught on she’d had one too many drinks.
“Is she bothering you, sir? I can get someone to throw her out-”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Teddy didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the girl asked, knocking Teddy's drink over in the process.
“I have one. Well, had....” The bartender was quick to wipe up her mess and almost looked like he wished he could swab her with a cloth as well. “But thank you for asking,” he added kindly.
“Dance with me!” she squealed.
Teddy looked terrified by the invitation.
“I don’t dance-”
Apparently that didn’t matter to the girl; she’d hauled Teddy off his stool and onto the dancefloor. Several times he tried to escape her, but she kept clinging to him like a pair of tight trousers clinging to curves and Teddy was this close to dragging her outside and pushing her in the River Thames.
“Fancy coming back to my place?” the girl yelled loud over the music. Several people dancing turned to look at them. Teddy reddened under their gaze.
“Um. I’m going to the loo,” he lied through his teeth, fleeing to the bathroom.
“Hurry back!” she called after him.
The toilets were deserted, and for good reason - it smelled as bad as the alleyway he’d journeyed through to get here, a trip that hadn’t been worth it. He stared at the long, rectangular mirror that stretched above the sinks.
“Why are you only capable of attracting batty women?” he asked his reflection with a sigh.
He had serious doubts he would leave the bathroom alive. How long did he have until the outrageous woman waiting for him started searching for him? Would she dare to enter the men’s loos? Of course she would dare, she was glaringly drunk. Teddy would have to use the innate ability he’d inherited from his mother to get him out of this dilemma.
He concentrated hard, starting with his hair, crafting chocolate brown curls to spiral out of his head and fall in front of his eyes, replacing his beloved blue locks. He wiggled his nose until it was humped like a camel, swapping his dark twinkling eyes for bright green ones like his Godfather. Finally, he traded his heart-shaped face for an oblong one. Pouting ridiculously in front of the mirror, he struck a pose. It worked; he no longer recognized himself, and neither would that insane female outside. He took off his cloak and held it under his arm just in case she recognized his clothes. After wishing his reflection good luck, he strode out of the bathroom.
Meanwhile, the girl was still performing some sort of strange mating dance on the dancefloor. Head down, Teddy hurried across the dance floor towards the exit. He felt a stab of guilt when he passed her, and he could sense her eyes on his back, almost as if she knew it was him.
Coward, he thought gloomily as he stepped back out into the nippy air. His teeth had already began to chatter, but he didn’t want to go home quite yet, even if it was late and Gran was probably worried sick about him. He took the weight off his feet, settled onto a bench, and relaxed his face until he looked like Teddy Lupin again. He felt much more at ease with his usual face back, shutting his eyes and relishing the cold ….
Someone was touching his hair again.
“Oh no,” muttered Teddy, thinking the woman from earlier had followed him outside. However, these hands were much softer and familiar. He wouldn’t mind a scalp massage from these particular hands…
He tipped his head back and looked up into the owner of the velvety fingers.
“Victoire?”
No longer did he have to picture her pale eyes and long silvery hair when they were shimmering in the moonlight right before him.
“In the flesh,” she answered with a warm smile that melted his insides. “I followed you, I’m sorry.”
He would have believed her apology if she wasn’t so obviously grinning.
“You’re not sorry at all,” he replied, unconvinced.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry. Victory for Victoire!”
Teddy looked up at her fondly, until he realized how much trouble he was in for being the reason Victoire was out this late. He let his head fall forwards again to stare miserably ahead.
“Your dad’s going to kill me. He’s going to tell Charlie to set a dragon on me. You’ve doomed me.”
Victoire took a seat beside him and rolled her eyes.
“I have not doomed you.”
“You…”
Again with the hair-touching.
“Your hair looks nothing like the ocean.” Teddy’s heart continually skipped beats as she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair. “No British ocean I’ve seen. It reminds me of this field of bright blue forget-me-nots we used to play in when we were small. Do you remember?”
Teddy nodded wordlessly, completely spellbound by her touch, until he finally worked out she must have gotten inside the bar to have picked up on his conversation with his drunken admirer.
“How did you get passed the bouncer? You’re too young.”
Victoire fluttered her eyelashes.
“Part Veela, remember?”
Hard to forget, Teddy thought.
“Nice dress,” he said all of a sudden, taking in what she was wearing for the first time that night. She had a habit of looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. Then again, she could wear a sack (with or without potatoes) and still look good. Victoire studied her boots in a shy manner.
“Thank you. My mother bought it for me from Paris.”
Teddy blinked at her.
“I cannot believe how casually you just said that.”
“What! She did…” Victoire reddened.
“Well, my Gran got me this-” he gestured to the cloak resting across his lap “-from Shropshire.”
“Stop poking fun at me! It’s mean.”
“I’m sorry.”
She would have believed his apology if he wasn’t so obviously grinning.
“You’re not sorry at all!”
“You’re right. I’m not sorry. Triumph for Teddy!”
He punched the air with both his fists, and Victoire took this opportunity to thwack him in the stomach while his midriff was exposed.
“Ow!” yelped Teddy, protecting his middle far too late.
“That wasn’t hard, you big baby. And I suggest you spend your last few minutes on Earth - prior to Uncle Charlie feeding you to dragons - being nice to me.”
Teddy took one look at her, lifted his cloak off his lap, and placed it around her bare shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said appreciatively, resting her head on his shoulder.
“No problem,” Teddy told her, slinging an arm around her tiny waist.
They sat comfortably in silence for a moment, still, and quiet as mice, until Victoire spoke.
“Blondes not your type?” The girl from the bar earlier fitted that description.
“Not necessarily, no.” Teddy said, catching Victoire’s eye.
“I like the way you look at me, Teddy.”
He coughed awkwardly into his hand. “What do you mean?” he murmured in reply.
“Men who pass me on the street look at me like I’m a piece of meat,” she scowled, and Teddy wanted the names of all those men so he could murder every single one of them in their sleep. “But you… you look at me, like… You look at me, you know?”
She looked up at him with the roundest, shiniest eyes, and Teddy could count every eyelash on her. He brushed her hair back over her shoulders and spoke in soft tones.
“Victoire, no one can deny you’re beautiful. But there’s so much more to you than looks.”
He was caught completely off guard when she suddenly hugged his middle.
“Je t'aime,” she whispered into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut.
Teddy stiffened.
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t understand French?”
“A thousand times more.”
“I… should take you home.”
“No,” protested Victoire, but it was too late. She felt a recognizable somersaulting sensation in her stomach. When she opened her eyes again she was standing outside her house. She really wished Teddy would ask - or at least warn her - before he chose to Disapparate and Apparate the two of them places.
“Jerk,” she called him under her breath, letting go of his sides, and Teddy regarded her apologetically.
“You can keep that,” he gestured to his cloak hanging off her shoulders, pulling it more snugly around her.
“I was planning to,” she replied with poise. “It looks better on me.”
Teddy smiled lopsidedly and nodded.
“It does.”
Victoire pushed open the creaky gate and walked up the garden path to her front door.
“Hey, Teddy?” she said from the doorstep.
“Hmm?”
“Do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know…”
“I’m not your performing monkey.”
“Please?”
She’d said the magic word. He sighed and wiggled his nose: he now had a pig’s snout. Victoire burst into giggles, hugging her chest. Blushing, Teddy quickly turned his nose back to normal again.
“It’s not even that funny,” Teddy said through involuntary laughter.
“Shut up, it is.” She opened her front door and stepped inside. “Goodnight, Teddy.”
“Sweet dreams, Victoire.”
She sent him a starry-eyed smile through the gap of the door, and then closed it entirely behind her.
Alone again, Teddy leant against the garden gate and stared wistfully at the Weasley’s front door for several minutes.
Eyes drifting upwards, his attention was brought upon movement on the second floor of the Weasley home. He gazed up at one of the windows. The curtains were shut, but he could distinctly make out Victoire’s silhouette. Even her damn silhouette was exquisite.
“I love you, too,” he confessed to her shadow, then Disapparated with a pop.