Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. CS Lewis owns Narnia.
This is a prequel to my story 'A World For Dreamers', but it does stand alone, mostly. There are a few references you might not get, though, so I suggest you read 'A World For Dreamers', first.
Dedicated to all the wonderful people who reviewed 'A World For Dreamers', and especially to my amazing friends Jenny (xrawrDINOSAURx) and Hope (AccioHope) who wanted me to write this and encouraged me while I was doing so. And, of course, to my twin Beth (Bethhhhhhh), for being an awesome twin and also encouraging me to write this!
Because when she's around him, her world is a little bit brighter, and maybe that's enough.
Victoire tumbles down onto her bed, eighteen and unbelievably afraid of the world, and thinks.
This is her favorite part of the day, lying on her bed with sunshine filtering in through her window and her childhood toys and books and clothes scattered all around her, when she can just think in peace and not have to worry about Dominique's latest kitchen disaster or Louis's latest prank or her father on full moon or her mother…being her mother.
Here, she doesn't have to worry about moving out of home, of Teddy's upcoming proposal (because, really, he's as subtle as a brick), of getting into the Healer training program, of graduation, of anything.
And these days, that's all she really wants.
She closes her eyes, relaxes her breathing, and just lets herself be.
Unbidden, a memory springs to mind, of a time four years ago when she had first learned to do this – except she hadn't been in this world.
"Hey, there," greets a blond-haired boy, an easy grin on his face as he peers down at her. "What are you doing?"
Victoire beams up at him, stretched out luxuriously on the dewy grass of the courtyard. "I'm looking at clouds," she answers. "Wanna join me?"
A small part of her marvels at the fact that she's speaking to this boy – this King – so freely and easily, but a larger part of her is simply delighted at his proximity, and she focuses on that larger part as he drops down next to her, his crown tilting lopsided in the process. (For the record, yeah, he does look completely adorable, thanks.)
"What's the purpose of this?" he asks curiously, bemused blue eyes fixed on the vast blue skies above.
She shrugs as best she can in her position. "I'm trying to relax. I just want to enjoy my time here."
"There's a better way to relax than simply laying there and looking at clouds," he informs, a grin on his face, head turned sideways to look at her.
Victoire blinks at him. "What is it?"
"Close your eyes," he instructs her, scrambling to a sitting position so he can watch her. "Take a deep breath."
She follows his instructions, closing her eyes against the (not at all unpleasant) vision of his smiling face and taking slow, steady breaths.
"Keep doing that," he says. "Do you feel relaxed now?"
"I – yeah," she manages, almost forgetting to breathe at the realization of his voice a mere few inches away from her face. "Yeah, this is nice."
"I told you." She can practically hear the grin in his voice. "Hey, uh, are you crying?"
He seems adorably alarmed at the thought, and Victoire quickly opens her eyes to flash him a smile. "I'll just miss you, is all," she tells him, keeping the sniffle from her voice, "when I have to go home again."
His impossibly blue eyes warm as he looks at her, and she's pretty sure she can spot a blush on his cheeks. "Yeah. I'll – um – I'll miss you, too."
Victoire rolls over and buries her head in her pillow, mentally chastising herself for thinking about the tall, handsome King who'd stolen her heart all those years ago.
It's stupid, really, she reminds herself. It was just a crush, we were too young, he's from a different world, and I have Teddy, for Merlin's sake.
But for some reason, it's getting harder to remember Teddy's face with memories of that other world and that other boy swimming in her mind.
Almost absentmindedly, she reaches out towards her bookshelf, and her hand brushes against the well-worn spine of a book she would know anywhere. Sitting bolt upright, her relaxation forgotten, Victoire fumbles with the book for a moment before dragging it out and into her lap so she can look at the cover.
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe
A smile crosses her face without her permission at the memories the book invokes – of her as a young girl, reading and falling in love with the book, of her falling into a waterfall and clambering out to find herself in Narnia, of her meeting the four Kings and Queens who had haunted her dreams for years on end, of her looking into the face of the High King, into his blueblue eyes and charming smile and –
Never mind.
Victoire sighs and hastily puts the book away. She has no time for childhood memories, not when she's about to graduate, about to move out, about to get married (well, depending on how soon Teddy works up the nerve), not when she's already passed the magic of Narnia onto Lucy.
Still, though, her eyes – the same color as the Narnian sky, she remembers Susan telling her once – travel to the window, where grey clouds are gathering, hiding the once-sunny blue skies, getting ready to unleash a storm upon the world.
And she remembers a world where the sky wasn't perpetually grey, where it was always blue and the sun was always shining and she could spend time with a boy who made butterflies dance in her stomach and not have a care in the world, no jealousy over Teddy, no expectations of good grades, no girls undermining her because she's just a pretty little part-Veela girl with nothing going for her but her looks.
This isn't going to help, warns the rational part of her mind.
But the heart wants what the heart wants, doesn't it?
"Do you have something against normal modes of transportation?" Peter asks with a grin, helping her out of the lake where she's fallen into. "Honestly, that's the third time in as many years!"
Victoire gets her breathing under control, and then she attacks him with a hug. "Yes, my King," she teases, happily warm in his arms, "I'm prejudiced against modes of transportation that don't involve me getting thoroughly soaked."
Peter clears his throat and pulls away, apparently just realizing the implications of that statement – namely, her almost-transparent yellow sundress. "Um," he says eloquently, averting his eyes, a blush growing on his cheeks. "Right, well, we best get you dried up and ready for lunch – Susan and Lucy will be delighted you're back, and I can't speak for Edmund, but he does seem rather fond of you."
Victoire giggles. "And you?"
He coughs, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, um, I'm quite fond of you as well."
Something warm blossoms inside her at his confession. "Well, I'm glad. I'd hate to hug somebody who disliked me, you know."
Peter blinks. "I could never dislike you, Victoire. You're too – uh, you're really sweet, is all."
She'll never admit it, but his compliments make her blush, and that particular one adds an extra bounce to her step for months afterward. "Well, thank you."
"You're welcome," he smiles, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"
Victoire laughs and loops her arm through his. "We shall."
A knock on her door brings her harshly out of her reverie.
"Hey, Torie," grins Teddy, poking his head into her room. "It's time for lunch. We did agree to go to that café down in Ottery St. Catchpole, right?"
Victoire shakes her head to clear it and offers him a smile. "Yeah, we did. I'll be right there. Let me just put this away first."
Teddy glances at the book still clutched tightly in her hands. "Didn't you stop reading Narnia a couple years ago?" he asks curiously. "I haven't seen you even touch those books since you gave Lucy that box set for her birthday."
"Yeah, I was just…on a trip down memory lane," answers Victoire, her smile turning wistful. "Don't worry about me," she adds, catching the concern in his green eyes. "I'm fine. I'll be right there."
"All right," Teddy says, retreating out of her bedroom. She waits until she can hear his footsteps echoing down the staircase, then stands and walks over to her bookshelf.
For a moment, she just stands there, feeling a little lightheaded at the memories spinning around inside her head. In her mind's eye, she can clearly see Peter, flashing her that heartmelting grin of his, can see Susan, giggling with her over silly, girly things that were oh-so-much fun to talk about, can see Edmund, teasing his brother, can see Lucy, laughing in delight.
She can see Narnia, for just one moment – Cair Paravel rising majestically out of the ground, the blue skies spreading out above her, sunlight streaming across the land – and it's breathtaking.
And for just one moment, Victoire lets herself dream.
The ballroom of Cair Paravel is, as she expected, grand and opulent and gorgeous, and on her last day in this magical world, she finds herself gravitating towards it, wanting to see the beauty for herself one last time, just to bask in the crystal chandeliers and the golden walls and the ivory thrones for the Kings and Queens, still set up from the last ball.
"Having fun?" asks a familiar and highly welcome voice, and Victoire whirls around to find herself looking at a grinning Peter.
"Oh, yes," she answers, feeling her heartbeat triple at his presence. "It's very pretty."
"It is," Peter agrees, hands behind his back as he strolls towards the center, where she's standing. "I had hoped you might be able to enjoy a ball this last visit, but no such luck."
Victoire smiles at him, hands fluttering around her mint-green dress, nervous because he's standing so close and he's so very handsome, it's kind of ridiculous. "It's all right. Next time a pretty girl comes to Narnia, you can ask her to a ball."
Peter grins. "I'll do that. Although I doubt she'll be as pretty as you."
She feels her cheeks warm in a trademark Weasley blush. "Oh, um, thank you."
"Welcome," he says lightly, his eyes dancing, and looks away from her to examine the oh-so-interesting chandelier above him. "Will you miss us?"
"With all my heart," she answers immediately. "Why would you even have to ask?"
"I was just wondering," Peter says. "I mean, we'll all miss you, certainly. Edmund claims you're the only one with wit around here, and Susan says she'll miss having a teenage girl to talk to, and Lucy just adores everyone, but especially you."
Victoire bites her lip. "And you?" she probes, wondering why he'd none-too-subtly omitted himself.
Peter looks at her, finally, blue eyes warm and honest and inducing butterflies deep in her stomach. "I'll miss you, too," he answers simply.
He reaches out and touches her arm, his hand refreshingly cool on her bare skin. "You're a lot of fun," he tells her, a sincere grin crossing his face. "And funny, as well, and you're perhaps the only one who can put up with Edmund and Lucy when they're throwing tantrums."
She giggles after remembering how to breathe. "It's a gift," she says teasingly. "And thank you."
"You're welcome."
His words echo in the ballroom for a moment, and she suddenly feels very small in this grand room, this beautiful castle, this wonderful world, very small next to the magnificent High King, very small when she remembers that she's probably just one of many girls charmed by his artless grace and smiles, just a girl who's met him thrice and who'll have to return to her world soon and who'll never see him again after today.
There's a moment where he leans down, just a little, and for a moment, she thinks that he might kiss her, but he seems to lose his nerve at the last minute and looks away.
"You're really cute, you know that?" Victoire tells him without thinking – she's never truly had to filter herself around a crush before, but here, when his bemused blue eyes turn towards her, she finds herself blushing, thinking that she really shouldn't have said that.
"Pardon?" Peter asks, a half-smile on his face.
"Nothing," she says quickly.
"You said something," he insists, seeming almost amused now. "Did you say I was cute?"
"No," she lies, feeling herself turn redder by the minute. "No, um, never mind that. I should probably go…"
"Victoire," Peter murmurs, stopping her in his tracks. "You're really cute, too – especially when you're blushing."
She draws herself up, indignant in the face of his amusement, even as butterflies continue to waltz in her stomach. "I am not – "
"Yes, you are," he interrupts, grinning, and then he – finally! – leans down and his lips meet hers.
She practically melts in his arms, thoughts of Teddy and what her parents would think flying out of her mind at his kiss, the taste of mint and lemonade overwhelming all her other senses. Her arms snake around his neck, pulling him downward for more kisses, and his arms are comfortably in place around her waist, hugging her against his chest, and he's so warm and how on Earth did she not do this earlier?
Peter draws back first, a blush growing on his cheeks at having kissed her for so long in a manner that certainly wasn't proper of the High King and his guest, and stammers out, "Um – I – that was – I mean – it was – uh, Victoire, I – "
Victoire giggles because she was right – he is really cute – and says, "That was nice."
He relaxes a little and offers her a grin. "So, you admit you think I'm cute?"
She reaches out to smack him in a mock-outrage and he dodges, still grinning mischievously at her, so much more like an English schoolboy than the High King he usually was.
"You're a prat," she announces, having failed to hit him.
Peter laughs. "Yes, well, you're a brat. A pretty brat, but a brat nonetheless."
"Take that back," Victoire demands, arms crossed, trying not to smile at his humor.
"I most certainly will not," he tells her, smiling. "For you are very pretty."
"Not that bit," she huffs.
"Oh, all right, then," he grins, but he doesn't take it back.
"You're awful," Victoire declares after a moment of silence.
"Thanks," Peter says, and she takes a moment to marvel at how they can switch from passion to playfulness in an instant.
And then his blueblue eyes are oh-so-serious again. "I'll really miss you, Victoire."
"I'll really miss you, too," she murmurs, shifting her weight from one side to the other. "I just – um, Peter – "
She can't quite find the words, so instead, she reaches up and tugs him down for another kiss, pulling all of her emotions into it, tasting the sweetness of first love and laughter and the magic of this world.
And then, much faster than their first kiss, it's over in the blink of an eye.
It's all over.
Delicately, she slides the book back into its place on her bookshelf.
Her world, brightened by the memories for one precious moment, dims again as she registers the pounding of feet that signals Louis and James playing another prank, the laughter that indicates an aunt or uncle has come over, the knock on her door to remind her of her date with Teddy (Teddy, not Peter, remember?).
"I'm coming," Victoire says, glancing one last time at the book that made her childhood so magical, and walks towards the door.
"Oh, good," grins Teddy, taking her hand. "I was beginning to worry you'd stood me up."
"I wouldn't do that," she laughs, twining her fingers with his and trying not to think about how wrong that felt. "Come on. I'm starving."
Teddy tugs her over to the stairs with a laugh and a joke that she misses as she closes the door to her bedroom. There's a thud, then nothing.
And it kind of feels like she's just closed the door to Narnia behind her.
Because every childhood has an end, and not even the boy who brightens her world can change that.
Author's Notes: So, I know this definitely isn't as good as 'A World For Dreamers', partially because I put a heck of a lot more effort into that and nothing tops LucyEdmund (although PeterVictoire comes pretty darn close), but I do hope you all enjoyed this, anyway! If you read it, please do review it and tell me what you thought – and don't favorite without reviewing. Thanks!