She's pretty sure the voices aren't supposed to be there. You're not pretty enough. You're not good enough. You're not enough. They visit her in her nightmares: her maman and sister are her uncle's dragons, and they're burning her blistered. She wakes up feeling awful and sweating. They visit her at school: "Blimey, your sister aced this course! I don't understand what's wrong with you." They visit her every time she shags a boy: the boy she really loves is completely and utterly off limits.
Between herself, the Potter cousin, and the Malfoy boy, there're plenty of fags to go around at Hogwarts. It's one of Lily's; it's thin in between her fingers, and she thinks she can smell the dainty, lady-like fragrance in the smoky air. She knows they're bad for her - Molly tells her at least once a class period. To be quite frank about the entire thing, she doesn't care. They make her lightheaded, and on the verge of passing out, she forgets how she isn't as perfect as Victoire or as smart as Rose or as innocent as Lucy. Her hair isn't blonde enough, and her eyes aren't icy enough, and she just isn't Veela enough. And as if she could forget, let's not leave out the fact she's in love with her cousin. The word is tainted and leaves her feeling dirtier than the cigarette.
She throws the after-dinner fag away - Myrtle never tells on the Weasley-Potters - and goes into a stall. She asks herself the same question she asks herself every time she sticks her finger down her slimy throat: why can't I be normal? She rarely laughs anymore or smiles anymore, and even Molly's boyfriend Tommy Boot told her she's been looking a bit gaunt lately.
Even in the next generation of Hogwarts nobody uses the ghost's loo, so the whispering voices are out of place near the sinks. She hears the sloshing of the toilet in the stall next to her as Myrtle squeals and dives in.
"Dominique?" a voice calls out. It's husky and sexy and oh so familiar.
She doesn't say anything and hopes he'll go away, but not a moment later and she sees his chocolate eyes and nose identical to hers peeking underneath her stall's door at her.
"Come out," he pleads, and the unhappiness his lips portray is enough to make her open the door.
He wraps her up into a hug at the sight of the unflushed toilet and whispers into her ear how amazing she is, how brave she is, how beautiful she is. She blinks away tears; he cannot see her cry. She refuses to let it happen. But his words drain the energy from every muscle in her body, and she slowly lets the waterworks flow.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks her, and she notices that his eyes are misty.
"I-I didn't want you to know," she chokes out, and he squeezes her tighter. "It's just… I d-don't know wha-at to do anymore-e."
"Look at me." She does. "Be yourself. I'll help you. You… We don't even have to tell anyone; it'll be just me and you, forever."
"Do you promise, James?" The tears are coming out so hard now that she can't even see the beautiful boy in front of her.
"I promise.