Disclaimer: OC Alexander Wood is mine. Rest is JK Rowling's, including Potterverse.

Title: When In Doubt, Stupefy

Summary: Victoire was always 1+ to Dominque. Dominique makes it her goal to make her seven years the best years of her life, whether it's stupefying teachers, skinnydipping in the Black Lake, or kissing Slytherins.

When in Doubt, Stupefy

Chapter One: First Year's Jitters

I always trusted the Sorting Hat's judgment. After all, Professor Longbottom was in Gryffindor. Victoire was in Gryffindor, too. So I knew I'd be in Gryffindor. Dad was. Mum was in Beauxbatons, but she was very brave.

So, when McGonagall—Headmistress, a woman who wouldn't let go of her position to read the names off the scroll and jam the hat on the first years' head—called, Dominque Weasley, and the Sorting Hat immediately said "GRYFFINDOR" I panicked.

McGonagall moved to remove it, but I snatched it back on.

There were whispers and a few snickers—especially from the Hufflepuff table. I tried not to redden.

"This can't be true," I had muttered as the Sorting Hat whispered in my head.

"You are destined for Gryffindor," The Hat said. "And once I say it, it's bounded. You are a Gryffindor. Now, go ahead and sit—"

McGonagall pursed her lips and yanked it off, but I stood and snatched it back on, not caring if I was getting expelled.

"B—But I'm a Ravenclaw," I thought impatiently, "Now undo that little bind. D—Dad—Mum, Victoire… they all said I was a 'Claw! Now, sort me back in! I don't care just because I'm a Weasley—Don't sort me because of my family!"

The Sorting Hat said nothing. I wanted to cry. I glanced over at the Ravenclaw table, who looked a bit sympathetic, though a few were sniggering.

McGonagall yanked it off, a bit furiously, glaring at me. I slowly sloped to the Gryffindor table. They were clapping, glad to have another Weasley on board.

But I wasn't.

"No, Miss Weasley!" McGonagall snapped feverishly as I pleaded for her to jam the Sorting Hat for me.

"Minnie—"

"I'm Professor McGonagall to you."

"—It's made a wrong decision—"

"The Hat never lies!"

"—It sorts too early—"

"It's a magical binding, the Hat called it, you're in it—"

"It's Sorting me by my blood, honestly—"

"Oh, another Weasley," a sneer said. I glanced up, only to find Professor Snape's portrait staring down at me.

"Since when did you have a portrait?" I asked, though warming up.

"Every Headmaster or Headmistress is bound to have one. Once they are announced Headmaster or Headmistress, they are to be painted. It is, rather unfortunate that I'm next Dumbledore. He keeps on going on about Lemon Drops and how he longs to taste them."

I smiled at him, wanting to inform him that Uncle Harry has named a child after him, but decided against it—he'll see when Al attends Hogwarts.

"I advise that you go back to your dormitories. It's a bright, Saturday morning."

I sighed, defeated. I glared at the Hat, trying not to chuck it out a window or in the Black Lake, and walked sorrowfully back to the girls' dorms. I collapsed on the bed, trying not to sob; if only the Hat saw that I was smart. Hell, I'm a Slytherin, too—why can't I be anywhere but Gryffindor?

Victoire was, luckily, a Gryffindor. She was the only sibling I had that was there. Teddy, I suppose, was our family, too.

Teddy was a Hufflepuff, so we didn't get to see him much. I usually was trying to bury myself in food, despite everyone trying to talk to me. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a Weasley, or because I had Veela blood in me—or both.

I tried to hang around Victoire, but she was a second year—she already made her group of friends. With her impossibly silky silver hair, freckles splashed across her nose, naturally rosy lips, and beautiful blue eyes. It was obvious who got the most of the Veela blood.

I stared longingly at my beautiful sister, the scent of thick jasmine coiling around her. Her blonde hair was scooped into a gorgeous ponytail, not a strand out.

I ferociously loaded sausages, sunny-side eggs, and hot, fluffy bread onto my plate, and angrily piled ketchup on my sausages.

"Whoa, there," A soft voice said. I whipped around, as if daring for someone to make me angry, but softened when I was staring into the face of a rather handsome boy. I know, I know, I'm merely eleven. But I got a hand of Aunt Hermione's Muggle books, When Will I Go Through Puberty? and I was the approximate age—for hormones and puberty.

"Hi," I squeaked. See? The Hat was a definite mistake. If I were Victoire, I'd confidently flip my hair, plump out my chest to show my pricks of boobs, and give him a smirk—"I see you're allured by the Weasley genes."

But I didn't have beautiful, silky, thick blonde hair. I don't have gorgeous, clear blue eyes and long legs. I bet I don't even have Veela blood in me.

"I see you're… mad." The handsome boy sat down, smiling at me. "Tell me why."

I licked my lips as I poured pumpkin juice into my goblet.

"W—Well… I'm not a Gryffindor. I always wanted to be a Ravenclaw. All of my family were, or are in Gryffindor. My uncle Ron, Victoire—"

"—Victoire's your sister?" The boy asked as he moved his plate, popping a piece of kippers into his mouth.

"Y-Yeah," I said. "The beautiful, o' great Victoire." I sighed. It felt good to sort of mock her. Instantly, I felt bad.

"I… admit, I get jealous of her sometimes. It's bad—she's my sister. I love her. But I can't help but dislike her sometimes."

I glanced at his tie.

"You're a Hufflepuff," I muttered, burying my head in my arms, miserable. "Everyone's in a great house—and what am I? A stinking Gry—"

"Oi, it's not that bad," The boy said. "And I didn't want to be a Puff. I swore I was a Gryffindor."

I looked up.

"Switch?" I offered. He chuckled as he thrust his hand.

"Alexander Wood," He said, smiling. I pranced up. "Wood? As in, Oliver Wood?" I whispered excitedly.

He gave me a grin, but didn't answer.

"You're an ickle firstie, right?" He asked, cocking his head.

"Yeah. You?" I asked, slicing a piece of sausage-soaked-in-ketchup, and dropped it in my mouth. The House Elves are wonderful cooks.

"Second. Same as your sister."

I slumped in my chair. So, he's older than me. Wonderful.

I shook my head. How stupid am I? Teddy's parents had a huge age gap. Aunt Gin and Uncle Harry were a year apart.

I was about to ask him if he knew her—if he liked her—when a voice rang out.

"Alex!" A voice rang out. Alexander whipped around—as did I—and a Hufflepuff boy was making his way over to him.

"Oh, hello, Dom," Teddy said, ruffling my hair playfully. I scowled at him, trying to smooth it, but it was no use.

"Alex, we're going to study with the Ravenclaws. You coming?"

Alexander glanced at me.

"Sure," He said.

"C-Can I come?" I asked timidly.

Teddy shot me a sympathetic look, ruffling my hair again.

"Sorry, kiddo. But it's for second years only."

Teddy ran his hands through his light blue hair—did I mention he had an awesome power, Metamorphmagus—which turned his original shade, a sandy brown.

"Oh," I said softly.

"Sorry," He said again. "You're just a kid. Come on, Alex." He beckoned him over. Teddy smiled at Victoire, before leading Alex out the Great Hall. Before he did, however, Alex smiled at me. "I'll see you later!" He called as he slipped out.

I sighed. Two things I realised: I made a handsome friend—I one up'd Victoire. Two? I'm just a kid.