Small Victories Ch. I: The Defeated Victor [Teddy/Victoire]
Fic Title: Small Victories
Chapter Number and Title: Chapter I: The Defeated Victor
Ship: Teddy/Victoire (in later chapters)
Rating: Soft R, for quite a bit of swearing (Vicky has a dirty mouth) and self harm (by way of eating disorders)
Warnings: Anorexia and bulimia, swearing, angst like whoa. In later chapters this fic will deal with gender identity. If you think transgendered and genderqueer people are creepy and weird, a) go dunk your head in ice water and try not to be a bigot, and b) don't read this fic.
Wordcount: ~1500 words, this chapter
Summary: Victoire knows she's messed up, but she doesn't know why.
A/N: After this chapter, this won't be an eating disorder fic. It'll more than likely come up a few times again, but the ED was more Victoire's coping strategy for a deeper issue, and it won't be the focus of the fic.
Chapter I: The Defeated Victor
Dappled September sunlight illuminated the map spread out on Teddy's lap. There was Dominique, in Remedial Charms -- incredible, for once she wasn't cutting class to snog Harry Thomas. There was Molly, in Professor Edgecombe's office -- Merlin, detention again? There was Victoire ...
What was Victoire doing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?
Teddy furrowed his brow. "Mischief managed," he muttered, and shoved the map under his bed, getting to his feet and making his way towards the ghost's loo.
As the eldest of the Weasley brood and, now, Head Boy, Teddy had always been the responsible sort. He'd always been left to watch over the older children when the adults were busy running after the younger ones, and ever since Victoire had started Hogwarts in his third year, Teddy had been checking on her regularly with the Map.
Victoire had always been quiet and small but hot-tempered -- exactly the type to get herself into trouble that she couldn't get herself out of. She had never managed to get herself into too much of a mess -- but only because Teddy always got there first.
Molly and Dominique had followed soon after, and as both had inherited the Weasley Troublemaker genes that Victoire had (thankfully) missed out on, Teddy now felt like he spent more time chasing after his relatives than he spent studying for his NEWTs.
But they were his relatives (though not by blood), and he loved them, so he didn't mind. Much.
Teddy reached the door to Myrtle's bathroom and was about to pull it open, when it swung out and almost hit him in the face. Victoire stood in the doorway for a moment, frozen like a grindylow in the wandlights, before setting her jaw and pushing past him without a word.
"Victoire, w--" Teddy caught hold of her wrist, and the words died in his throat. Had Victoire always been this ... fragile? Victoire had always been tiny, but in a sturdy, healthy, Weasley way. Now Teddy could feel little else than bone under his hand. Victoire's robe sleeve had slid down to the elbow, and her forearm looked like nothing more than a radius and ulna wrapped in pale, freckled skin.
"What?" Victoire asked. Her voice sounded strained, like she hadn't spoken in days. Maybe she hadn't -- Teddy had known her to go weeks speaking only to professors, and to him.
"Are ... are you alright?" Teddy said lamely. Merlin, she couldn't be.
"I'm fine." The words came out in a perfect monotone. She let absolutely no inflection into her voice. She didn't snap the words, or shout them, or try to use a comforting tone of voice. She simply spoke them, and it did nothing to convince Teddy of their truth.
"No, you're not," Teddy contradicted her. "Is it OWL stress? Because --"
"Yes," Victoire said instantly. "It's OWL stress. I was just going to the hospital wing to get a potion. See you." She pulled her wrist out of his slackened grip and set off briskly down the staircase.
Teddy pursed his lips as he watched her go. Victoire was never one to admit any kind of weakness -- she had latched onto the excuse far too quickly for it to be believable.
Teddy ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and tried to forget about it. He had his own NEWT stress to deal with.
* * *
As it turned out, there was no way Teddy could forget about it. Over the next few weeks, Victoire returned to the abandoned bathroom nearly every day, usually shortly after meals. It wasn't until the Halloween feast that Teddy discovered the reason.
Teddy was watching Victoire from the Hufflepuff table when she stood up suddenly, set her fork down, and left the Great Hall. Her fellow Ravenclaws went on chattering away, no one paying her any mind. No one ever payed her any mind.
Except Teddy. He excused himself from the (largely one-sided) conversation that Minnie Davies was having with (or, more accurately, at) him about broom racing, and followed Victoire out into the Entrance Hall.
Despite his recent decison to become a Healer, it was times like these that Teddy was glad that Harry and Ron had been teaching him all the Auror secrets since he was just a kid. They certainly came in handy in Teddy's endless battle to keep his relatives out of trouble.
Now, Teddy tried to recall what Ron had said about tailing someone silently. Walk quickly, but don't run. Let your feet hit the ground at the same time as the other bloke's, so that he doesn't notice any footfalls out of sync with his own. Or, you know what? Better yet, just put a bloody silencing charm on your feet.
They reached Myrtle's bathroom, as Teddy had predicted. Victoire dashed in, and Teddy counted to twenty-five before entering behind her.
He couldn't see her yet, so she must be in one of the stalls. That, or -- no, she didn't speak Parseltongue.
Teddy was trying to decide which stall to check first, when a whispered spell drifted out of the second one.
"Evomo."
Teddy's heart sank. A vomiting curse? Was someone hexing Victoire? He forced the locked stall door open and pulled out his wand --
-- only to see Victoire, her back to him, her own wand pointing at her stomach. As he watched, she made a painful retching sound. A trickle of bile splashed into the toilet, followed by a waterfall of vomit -- it seemed to be mostly water and pumpkin juice, confirming Teddy's suspicion that she had barely eaten at the feast.
Oh, shit. "Victoire!"
She turned around like a whiplash. Yellowish vomit trickled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her robe, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet. She said nothing, trying to shove past Teddy -- as usual -- but he caught her shoulder and pushed her back.
"Victoire," he repeated. He felt sick. Was this his fault? It could only be his fault -- he hadn't watched her closely enough, too busy chasing after Molly and Dominique, hadn't noticed anything was wrong, had surely abandoned her when she needed him most ...
"What are you doing in a girl's bathroom?" Victoire snapped.
"What are you doing in a ghost's bathroom?" Teddy replied. "Hell, Victoire, what are you doing at all?"
She opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked like she wanted to look away, but was determined to bore holes into him with her eyes.
"You don't think you're fat, do you?" Teddy asked. "Merlin, Vic, you can't possibly think you're fat." But that was what it was, wasn't it? Body dysmorphic disorder. A healthy person thinking they're fat, until they starve themselves beyond recognition ...
"No, I do not think I'm fat," Victoire spat. "I've always thought that was a bloody stupid thing to care about."
"Then why?" Teddy asked. He was pretty sure he was going to start crying any minute now. How could he not have realized? She was so thin, this surely must have been going on for months.
"Hell, Teddy, I don't know. I'm messed up, " Victoire cried. Her voice was almost a shout. "There's something wrong with me. Maybe I thought I could ... could vomit it up, or starve it out. I don't know."
"What's messed up about you?" Teddy asked. His own voice was barely over a whisper.
"I don't fucking know!" Victoire shrieked. She looked like she wanted to bolt, but Teddy hand was clamped down so hard on her shoulder that the knuckles were white.
His hand started to tremble.
"Why are you crying?" Victoire shook her head wildly, ginger plait moving through the air like a whip, or a snake. "Why the fuck are you crying?"
"Because it's sad," Teddy said hoarsely. "Merlin, Vicky, it's horrible."
"Too right it bloody well is," Victoire said, but she seemed marginally calmer now.
"How long?" Teddy asked.
"... a year, or so. Or a bit more, or a bit less," Victoire shrugged violently, as if trying to dislodge Teddy's hand from her shoulder. "Does it matter?"
"A year?" Teddy cried. How had he not noticed, not seen it on the map?
"I used to use the other girl's loo," Victoire said. Sometimes it was like she could read his mind. "But it was too crowded. I didn't want to get caught."
Teddy released her shoulder. "You need to go to the hospital wing. Come on."
Her feet remained firmly on the ground. "Hell, no."
"You need potions," Teddy said. "You look like you're about to die."
Victoire crossed her arms. "If I need any bloody potions, you can give them to me. Everyone knows you've got the biggest bloody unregistered stash of self-brewed medipotions in the world."
"That's not entirely true, but I can," Teddy shrugged. "If you prefer."
"I trust you a bit more than Madame Pomfrey, anyway," Victoire said.
Teddy felt warmth rising in his chest -- this was high praise from Victoire. As they set off towards Hufflepuff, he grabbed hold of her hand on a sudden whim, walking hand in hand with her like they had done as kids. She gave him a funny look, but didn't pull away.
Chapter II
Chapter Number and Title: Chapter I: The Defeated Victor
Ship: Teddy/Victoire (in later chapters)
Rating: Soft R, for quite a bit of swearing (Vicky has a dirty mouth) and self harm (by way of eating disorders)
Warnings: Anorexia and bulimia, swearing, angst like whoa. In later chapters this fic will deal with gender identity. If you think transgendered and genderqueer people are creepy and weird, a) go dunk your head in ice water and try not to be a bigot, and b) don't read this fic.
Wordcount: ~1500 words, this chapter
Summary: Victoire knows she's messed up, but she doesn't know why.
A/N: After this chapter, this won't be an eating disorder fic. It'll more than likely come up a few times again, but the ED was more Victoire's coping strategy for a deeper issue, and it won't be the focus of the fic.
Chapter I: The Defeated Victor
Dappled September sunlight illuminated the map spread out on Teddy's lap. There was Dominique, in Remedial Charms -- incredible, for once she wasn't cutting class to snog Harry Thomas. There was Molly, in Professor Edgecombe's office -- Merlin, detention again? There was Victoire ...
What was Victoire doing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?
Teddy furrowed his brow. "Mischief managed," he muttered, and shoved the map under his bed, getting to his feet and making his way towards the ghost's loo.
As the eldest of the Weasley brood and, now, Head Boy, Teddy had always been the responsible sort. He'd always been left to watch over the older children when the adults were busy running after the younger ones, and ever since Victoire had started Hogwarts in his third year, Teddy had been checking on her regularly with the Map.
Victoire had always been quiet and small but hot-tempered -- exactly the type to get herself into trouble that she couldn't get herself out of. She had never managed to get herself into too much of a mess -- but only because Teddy always got there first.
Molly and Dominique had followed soon after, and as both had inherited the Weasley Troublemaker genes that Victoire had (thankfully) missed out on, Teddy now felt like he spent more time chasing after his relatives than he spent studying for his NEWTs.
But they were his relatives (though not by blood), and he loved them, so he didn't mind. Much.
Teddy reached the door to Myrtle's bathroom and was about to pull it open, when it swung out and almost hit him in the face. Victoire stood in the doorway for a moment, frozen like a grindylow in the wandlights, before setting her jaw and pushing past him without a word.
"Victoire, w--" Teddy caught hold of her wrist, and the words died in his throat. Had Victoire always been this ... fragile? Victoire had always been tiny, but in a sturdy, healthy, Weasley way. Now Teddy could feel little else than bone under his hand. Victoire's robe sleeve had slid down to the elbow, and her forearm looked like nothing more than a radius and ulna wrapped in pale, freckled skin.
"What?" Victoire asked. Her voice sounded strained, like she hadn't spoken in days. Maybe she hadn't -- Teddy had known her to go weeks speaking only to professors, and to him.
"Are ... are you alright?" Teddy said lamely. Merlin, she couldn't be.
"I'm fine." The words came out in a perfect monotone. She let absolutely no inflection into her voice. She didn't snap the words, or shout them, or try to use a comforting tone of voice. She simply spoke them, and it did nothing to convince Teddy of their truth.
"No, you're not," Teddy contradicted her. "Is it OWL stress? Because --"
"Yes," Victoire said instantly. "It's OWL stress. I was just going to the hospital wing to get a potion. See you." She pulled her wrist out of his slackened grip and set off briskly down the staircase.
Teddy pursed his lips as he watched her go. Victoire was never one to admit any kind of weakness -- she had latched onto the excuse far too quickly for it to be believable.
Teddy ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and tried to forget about it. He had his own NEWT stress to deal with.
* * *
As it turned out, there was no way Teddy could forget about it. Over the next few weeks, Victoire returned to the abandoned bathroom nearly every day, usually shortly after meals. It wasn't until the Halloween feast that Teddy discovered the reason.
Teddy was watching Victoire from the Hufflepuff table when she stood up suddenly, set her fork down, and left the Great Hall. Her fellow Ravenclaws went on chattering away, no one paying her any mind. No one ever payed her any mind.
Except Teddy. He excused himself from the (largely one-sided) conversation that Minnie Davies was having with (or, more accurately, at) him about broom racing, and followed Victoire out into the Entrance Hall.
Despite his recent decison to become a Healer, it was times like these that Teddy was glad that Harry and Ron had been teaching him all the Auror secrets since he was just a kid. They certainly came in handy in Teddy's endless battle to keep his relatives out of trouble.
Now, Teddy tried to recall what Ron had said about tailing someone silently. Walk quickly, but don't run. Let your feet hit the ground at the same time as the other bloke's, so that he doesn't notice any footfalls out of sync with his own. Or, you know what? Better yet, just put a bloody silencing charm on your feet.
They reached Myrtle's bathroom, as Teddy had predicted. Victoire dashed in, and Teddy counted to twenty-five before entering behind her.
He couldn't see her yet, so she must be in one of the stalls. That, or -- no, she didn't speak Parseltongue.
Teddy was trying to decide which stall to check first, when a whispered spell drifted out of the second one.
"Evomo."
Teddy's heart sank. A vomiting curse? Was someone hexing Victoire? He forced the locked stall door open and pulled out his wand --
-- only to see Victoire, her back to him, her own wand pointing at her stomach. As he watched, she made a painful retching sound. A trickle of bile splashed into the toilet, followed by a waterfall of vomit -- it seemed to be mostly water and pumpkin juice, confirming Teddy's suspicion that she had barely eaten at the feast.
Oh, shit. "Victoire!"
She turned around like a whiplash. Yellowish vomit trickled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her robe, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet. She said nothing, trying to shove past Teddy -- as usual -- but he caught her shoulder and pushed her back.
"Victoire," he repeated. He felt sick. Was this his fault? It could only be his fault -- he hadn't watched her closely enough, too busy chasing after Molly and Dominique, hadn't noticed anything was wrong, had surely abandoned her when she needed him most ...
"What are you doing in a girl's bathroom?" Victoire snapped.
"What are you doing in a ghost's bathroom?" Teddy replied. "Hell, Victoire, what are you doing at all?"
She opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked like she wanted to look away, but was determined to bore holes into him with her eyes.
"You don't think you're fat, do you?" Teddy asked. "Merlin, Vic, you can't possibly think you're fat." But that was what it was, wasn't it? Body dysmorphic disorder. A healthy person thinking they're fat, until they starve themselves beyond recognition ...
"No, I do not think I'm fat," Victoire spat. "I've always thought that was a bloody stupid thing to care about."
"Then why?" Teddy asked. He was pretty sure he was going to start crying any minute now. How could he not have realized? She was so thin, this surely must have been going on for months.
"Hell, Teddy, I don't know. I'm messed up, " Victoire cried. Her voice was almost a shout. "There's something wrong with me. Maybe I thought I could ... could vomit it up, or starve it out. I don't know."
"What's messed up about you?" Teddy asked. His own voice was barely over a whisper.
"I don't fucking know!" Victoire shrieked. She looked like she wanted to bolt, but Teddy hand was clamped down so hard on her shoulder that the knuckles were white.
His hand started to tremble.
"Why are you crying?" Victoire shook her head wildly, ginger plait moving through the air like a whip, or a snake. "Why the fuck are you crying?"
"Because it's sad," Teddy said hoarsely. "Merlin, Vicky, it's horrible."
"Too right it bloody well is," Victoire said, but she seemed marginally calmer now.
"How long?" Teddy asked.
"... a year, or so. Or a bit more, or a bit less," Victoire shrugged violently, as if trying to dislodge Teddy's hand from her shoulder. "Does it matter?"
"A year?" Teddy cried. How had he not noticed, not seen it on the map?
"I used to use the other girl's loo," Victoire said. Sometimes it was like she could read his mind. "But it was too crowded. I didn't want to get caught."
Teddy released her shoulder. "You need to go to the hospital wing. Come on."
Her feet remained firmly on the ground. "Hell, no."
"You need potions," Teddy said. "You look like you're about to die."
Victoire crossed her arms. "If I need any bloody potions, you can give them to me. Everyone knows you've got the biggest bloody unregistered stash of self-brewed medipotions in the world."
"That's not entirely true, but I can," Teddy shrugged. "If you prefer."
"I trust you a bit more than Madame Pomfrey, anyway," Victoire said.
Teddy felt warmth rising in his chest -- this was high praise from Victoire. As they set off towards Hufflepuff, he grabbed hold of her hand on a sudden whim, walking hand in hand with her like they had done as kids. She gave him a funny look, but didn't pull away.
Chapter II