whisper
dominique&lorcan
...
He was never anything more than a whisper.
i. signals
The sky is stormy and dark gray; the water icy cold and freezing. Laughter echoes; cheerful shouts; playful smacks; girly screams.
They've always been a bit backwards.
Especially Lucy, who orchestrated this winter visit to the beach. But it's a chance to all be together, so they go and have fun and act like it's normal.
Victoire bundles up in three turquoise blue fleece jackets that match her boyfriend's hair, Molly wears a cream-colored sweater and nestles against Lysander. They manage to keep warm somehow (each other's body heat).
Dominique sits on the grainy, damp sand and shivers, putting her head between her knees. Lily's sitting beside her, chattering on about something or another when she notices her cousin about to die of hypothermia beside her.
"Here," she says immediately, handing Dominique one of her huge yellow jackets.
"Thanks," Dom replies gratefully, pulling it on and savoring the warmth it brings.
A flash of blonde and blue appears—Lorcan Scamander.
"Come on, Lils," he shouts, pointing to the volleyball net someone had put up. "Let's play. You, too, Dominique," he adds, looking at the girl still shivering beside his girlfriend.
"Okay!" Lily is up in an instant, pulling her cousin up by her elbow. When she manages to get Dominique standing, Lorcan puts an arm around both of them, steering them towards where James, Fred, and Louis are waiting with a ball in hand.
Lorcan kisses both of them on the cheek sloppily. Lily laughs and hits him on the chest. Dominique giggles and tries not to make it clear that she wants more.
Thunder rumbles in the sky; a signal, an omen.
The beginning of an attraction that should never have started.
ii. worse things
Tears stream down her face, water shaking as sobs wrack her body.
He can't be gone, he can't have left her for her cousin. He can't have.
Those fiery red heads get everything. Scorpius included.
All of a sudden, she jerks up as the door to the basement opens. "Dominique?" comes a distinctly male and recognizable voice.
Wiping her face quickly with her sleeve and trying to remove traces of snot, she stands up. "What is it, Lorcan?"
"Your mum sent me to get you. Dinner's ready—" he takes a closer look at her, stepping closer. "Dominique—are you crying?"
"No," she says, but her voice cracks and she knows it's over, so she sinks to the ground as more tears leak out.
He sits beside her, patting her back awkwardly. "Dom, what happened?"
She shakes her head. It's too embarrassing to talk about, and he'll find out eventually, but this is Lorcan Scamander, so she has to say something. "Just—just Scorpius."
His name only creates more sobs. Lorcan moans sympathetically. "Oh, Dominique," he whispers. "There are—there are worse things than heartbreak, you know."
Taking a breath, she sighs. "Yeah," she agrees softly as the tears slowly run down her face. "Sorry."
"For crying?" he asks incredulously. "You have every right to cry, Dom."
"Okay," she says, smiling in spite of herself. "Thanks, Lorcan."
There are worse things than heartbreak, but there's nothing better than falling in love.
iii. trap
Lorcan Scamander is a Ravenclaw—his intelligence is of no question. He knows she's trouble. He knows that this can't be his destiny—surely falling in love with Dominique Weasley isn't what fate intended, it can't be.
He knows he's supposed to ride off in the sunset with Lily.
But he finds that he doesn't care.
She's light and beautiful and she glimmers. She's perfect, with her auburn curls and fair skin and ocean blue-green eyes that make him feel like she sees straight through him.
(She probably does.)
Lorcan knows that she's a trap, that it would be wiser to avoid the storm and walk away, but he can't.
If she's a trap, then he's going to fall in, because he loves her.
They're falling, but there's nothing to catch them.
iv. mangled
"Please, Dom," Scorpius says, his gray eyes trying to make her cave. But she won't. Because it's too late for him.
She shakes her head, and the message is clear. "No," she says. "I'm sorry, Scorpius. I'm not going to do this again—but don't worry, Rose has been pining for you."
He sighs. Scorpius isn't her type—she knows that now—but he's a good guy, and he deserves a girl that'll love him. "I don't need Rose," he admits softly. "I need you, Dom."
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and there are tears in her eyes, though she doesn't want them there. "I'm sorry, Scorp."
And then she kisses his cheek and, ignoring the hand that reaches for her, she walks out the door.
She is sorry, but not for her, for him. Her and Lorcan are meant to be—it's obvious he feels the same for her she does him. Everyone can see it in the looks he sends her way when he thinks she isn't looking.
Her heart is as mangled as Roxanne's chewed-up nails, but a fresh start is what she needs.
And it's a fresh start she'll get.
Determination is never good in hopeless situations.
v. tropic storm
The sun shines red-orange in the sky as it slowly falls, the water is warm and striking in the light, the sand soft and slightly moist.
Not a sound can be heard other than occasional whispers and Fred's hand-held video game as he defeats aliens and ignores the beautiful scenery.
They've always been a bit backwards.
Dominique sits in the water, at the very edge. All the other girls are lounging, the sea breeze rippling their hair. But Dom has always been the strangest.
There's a shuffle of feet as a boy sits down beside her. "Hey."
"Hey," she answers, looking up at Lorcan's face. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you," he answers, and it's true.
She'd looked like a tropical beauty from where he was standing with Lysander and Lucy. Now she looks like a tropical storm—still beautiful, but deadly, and only he is brave enough to approach the waves.
"That's sweet."
"Yeah." He reaches out and—hesitantly—takes her hand. She smiles softly.
"Lorcan, I—"
He turns his dark navy eyes on her, and she pauses, thinking, I've never seen that shade of blue in eyes, and then suddenly she can't think, she can't see, she can only feel because he's kissing her.
He tastes the storm behind her lips. She tastes the sun behind his.
"I love you," she says when he pulls away.
"I need you," he replies simply, and they hold hands and look at the water, waiting peacefully for the hurricane (tropic storm) that is sure to come any moment.
She'll always want more; he'll always need less.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Word Count: 1,208
Written For:
- Thursday, February 28th on Prompts, oh Prompts (whisper, worse things, trap, mangled) on NGF.
- Day 12 on isn't-she-lovelyy's 400 Fragrant Prompts (sea breeze, lounging, tropical, beauty) on HPFC.
Please don't favorite/follow without reviewing.