author's note: i know, i know, i should be updating my multi chapters, but i'm stuck in a bit of a rut creatively, and so i wrote this to see if i could shake it off as it were. reviews are better than pancakes.

Things Victoire Gabrielle Weasley likes; the poems of Emily Dickinson (if I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain); the feeling of sand underneath her toes and the smell of sea salt in the air; the way her mother says her name, Veek-twah, the reminder of where she's from and how she came to be; the wind whipping her hair around her face as she flies through the air, Quaffle under her arm; the zing of lemon and the sweetness of sugar on crepes in the morning, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window; her sister's bawdy laugh and the way her brother taps on his knees when he's nervous; Teddy Lupin's crooked half smile, the face he pulls when he's changing his appearance, and how he sings badly and loudly in the shower. Teddy Lupin. Victoire Gabrielle Weasley likes Edward Remus Lupin. (In fact, she loves him).

She tells him this at the height of summer, the sun glimmering on the sea.

"Teddy," she says quietly, clinging to his bony arm. He glances down at her, and his hair gets a little brighter. (Everything gets a little brighter when she's around).

"Vic?"

"I like you."

He laughs. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

It feels so easy, she thinks, holding his hands and whispering the words that have destroyed empires. There is nothing difficult about this, and she wants to tell everyone who says that love is dangerous and difficult and that you should suffer for it to take a very long walk off a very short pier. There's nothing beautiful about tears and snot and mess and brokenness, but there's beauty now, in this moment, as Teddy leans towards her, and she whispers I think I love you into his pointed ears, the ears that have been listening to all her secrets since she could talk.

"You think?" he asks, cheeks a little pink, flushed with the enormity of her words.

"Well," she says, teasing him, "I'm worried about dropping the 'I think' in case you don't say it back."

He nearly throws her into the ocean. She's making fun of him, of it, of them, and he loves her for it. Who said it had to be serious, this falling in love lark? It's the funniest thing in the world.

"Oh you are, are you?" he mocks her right back, and she grins.

"Yes, very worried indeed," she giggles, and he wraps his arms around her waist, still beaming. His hair is fluorescent now, but he can't be bothered to trying to control it. No one can see them here anyway, they're too far down the beach. Not that anyone would care – he thinks his grandmother would cry with joy if she knew what was happening right now.

"You shouldn't be," he tells her, and the tide starts to come in.

"I shouldn't?"

"Nope," he shakes his head and ignores how wet his shoes are getting.

"Shall I amend my previous statement?"

Teddy nods, and she laughs, a roar that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"I love you," she says simply, "I really, really love you."

Things Edward Remus Lupin likes; the poetry of ee cummings (someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage); the sound of rain on the window pane and the sight of dark clouds gathering above the Yorkshire hills; the way his grandmother puts an emphasis on the end of his name, Teddy, a reminder that whilst he may bear his grandfather's name, he is his own person; the roar of the crowd at a Quidditch match, the warm feeling he gets in his chest when he tells a joke and the whole room laughs; the smell of toasted marshmallows and the crackle of a campfire; his grandmother's sad smile and the photographs of his mother as a young girl that line the walls of his home; Victoire Weasley's 1000 kilowatt beam, the way she sticks her tongue out when she's concentrating and how she always beat him at Gobstones. Victoire Weasley. Edward Remus Lupin likes Victoire Gabrielle Weasley. In fact –

"I love you."