It's not that Dominique Weasley didn't have feelings, because she did.

In fact, she was a very sensitive girl. However, no one knew that. No one knew that secretly it killed her to be the only Weasley Slytherin, despite the fact she loved the House ohso much. It killed her that Rose was dating Scorpius Malfoy, even though her crush had ended Third Year. And it killed her that Victoire - lovely, lovely Victoire - had Teddy Lupin, had her parents, had the entire Wizarding World, wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger, and Dominique didn't.

But always being second best and just plain different had caused her to build a wall up, a wall no one had the capability of breaking.

Dominique should've known her wall was bound to crack at some point. But by who?

.::.

The Potter-Weasley family always had a Christmas party at 12 Grimmauld Place. It wasn't anything fancy, no; Harry didn't want such a thing. He wanted nice, simple - just being together was enough. The kids, however, always spent the night, and the adults went back to their houses. Normally they played board games until midnight, but this year, everyone was asleep about eleven.

Everyone but Dominique Weasley, who had escaped up to the attic space, where she was analyzing her face in a cracked floor-length mirror. Average brown hair, average blue eyes, average skin tone. She tried all her life to be perfect. It was hard being perfect. "Darling," Victoire had said, "you don't want perfection. I've tried all my life to run from it. It's catching up with you, Dom; run like the wind!" Dominique hadn't believed her older sister - Victoire wasn't running from perfection, she was basking in it.

"Can't I just be perfect?"

"Why in the hell would you want that?"

Dominique whipped around fast as lightning. Standing there was a boy - a boy who knew about perfection himself, since he was living it - in shorts and a Gryffindor quidditch t-shirt. His hair was shaggy, beautiful, brown, and his eyes were a gift from his grandfather: Hazel.

James Sirius Potter repeated himself. "Why in the hell would you want that?"

"Don't preach to me about how hard, how tough, how awful it is."

"I was just going to say that you don't need to search for it; you're as perfect as they come, I'd reckon," James stated.

Dominique just stared at him. No one had been so blunt with her before. "Victoire's perfection. You're perfection. Me? Not a fucking chance."

James merely rolled his eyes. "What's not perfect about you?"

And so she repeated everything she saw in the mirror - stringy hair, too big eyes, oily nose, crooked tooth, fat stomach.

"Dark brown, wavy hair. Shimmery pools of ice pool. Ski-slope nose - the kind people pay for. Teeth as white as snow. Slim, beautiful body." And James said this, over and over, until Dominique finally broke down into tears, falling to the floor.

"Go," Dominique whispered, although she wanted him to stay, but he obeyed and left.

.::.

James Sirius Potter was a carbon-copy of his namesakes. He was cool and popular and a player like Sirius. He was noble and arrogant and a brilliant Chaser like James. He was smart and funny and charming - a real prankster - like them both. Anyone around in the Marauders era fawned over James Sirius, for he was practically a birth child of everyone's favorite two people.

Contrary to what should be the case, none of it was an act. Everything James Sirius appeared to be, he was. But of course, that didn't mean he was all ohso brilliant smiles and reckless attitude. He was James Sirius Potter - an individual - and in some ways, he wasn't like James Potter or Sirius Black at all. For instance, motorcycles scared the hell out of him, and he wasn't hopelessly in love at all. James Sirius Potter was himself, and he loved that.

After all, his biggest pet peeve was people hating themselves.

.::.

Staring out the door of his bedroom (which was occupied tonight by some cousins, also), he noticed a slim figure running, running, running. James stood and tiptoed, watching the girl as she climbed up a small staircase into the attic space, a space no one ever ventured to. Up there were things left over from the Second Wizarding War, and that was a time most tried to forget on a daily basis.

He just stood there in the entryway, watching the girl - his beautiful cousin, Dominique. She was a mystery to him, as well as most everyone else. As far as he knew, the only Slytherin Weasley didn't open herself up to anyone.

"Can't I just be perfect?" he heard her whisper to her cracked reflection.

"Why in the hell would you want that?" James stepped into the room.

Dominique turned to face him, quick. She was wearing skimpy shorts and a too large t-shirt, but she was still gorgeous as ever, despite the fact her face was puffy from sobbing.

James decided to say it again. "Why in the hell would you want that?"

"Don't preach to me about how hard, how tough, how awful it is." Dominique was giving him a funny look, like he belonged in St. Mungo's or something.

"I was just going to say that you don't need to search for it; you're as perfect as they come, I'd reckon," James told her, meaning every word.

Dominique just stood there, saying nothing. "Victoire's perfection. You're perfection. Me? Not a fucking chance."

James wanted to laugh, but he settled on rolling his hazel eyes. "What's not perfect about you?"

"Stringy hair, too big eyes, oily nose, crooked tooth, fat stomach."

"Dark brown, wavy hair. Shimmery pools of ice pool. Ski-slope nose - the kind people pay for. Teeth as white as snow. Slim, beautiful body." James knew she didn't want to hear this, but he said it over and over and over anyway; Dominique finally broke down, crying, collapsing to the floor.

"Go," Dominique whispered.

James knew he should probably stay, but he left, vowing to fix Dominique Weasley.

Everyone deserves to love themselves - even her.