AN: Can I just say I love Bill in the role of father, trying to balance between friend, protector and authority? He fits perfectly, in my opinion!

Even if she had assured him no one had pressured her into her new way of thinking, Bill kept a close eye on Dominique the following days, analysing their conversation in his free time and wondering if it really did matter.

Yes, it mattered, if not to her or anyone else, it mattered to him. Being raised by Arthur Weasley, Bill did have a soft spot for Muggles and their ability to look past what was right in front of them, especially concerning magic. He also saw Muggle-borns as a tricky riddle, concerning how they could come to be magical when no one in their family seemed to possess the trait.

That his own daughter should not only be in Slytherin, but have so many thoughts lining up with the stereotype of the house hurt his pride a little. That didn't mean he loved her any less for it, he was just concerned about what path it may lead her on later in life. Having been around for both Wizard Wars, although he had been just a child the first time, he knew the extremes some people would go to in their hate for Muggle-borns. And the extremes needed to protect; he saw it in the mirror each day.

Coming at last to a conclusion, he invited her for a walk along the beach. She probably knew what he had in mind, but came willingly. It was a quiet, but cloudy day and they walked in silence for a while before he thought they were both in a relaxed state of mind.

"Dom, what we talked about a couple of days ago," he opened with, seeing her hunch her shoulders a bit beside him. "I'm not angry at you, if that's what you think."

"I know you're not," she answered, but knowing he wasn't exactly happy about what she had told him.

"But I have some questions," he admitted, and she gave a sharp nod, eyes on the sand before them. "How much of Slytherin's ideas do you... Agree with?" he settled on, in lack of a better word.

"Agree with?" she repeated, then fell silent for a moment, glancing up at him. "Do you mean, if I think there shouldn't be any Muggle-borns at Hogwarts?" He was slightly uncomfortable and dug his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"Do you?" he asked quietly, staring helplessly at her for the answer that could ruin their relationship.

"No," she answered, shaking her head and tucking her hair behind her ear. "Not now. They can't help it, after all." He took a deep breath, frowning slightly at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked in the end, realising they had stopped walking and now stood facing each other. She looked so small in the too-big jacket and her thick hair dancing around her face, it made him want to pick her up and cradle her against his chest, at the same time as he was faced with how much she had grown in under a year.

"They can't help their born into a Muggle family, just like we can't help we're born into a magical one. They can't help how Muggles looked at magic five hundred years ago, and we can't help how the Dark Lord looked at Muggles," she concluded, then began walking again. His long strides quickly caught up with her again, but he hadn't missed her attempt at getting away. Relieved of what she had just told him, he ignored it.

"You're right," he said, moving closer and putting an arm around her shoulders. "And that's good to hear."

"I told you last time, hate is a waste of time and energy," she retorted, breathing in the fresh sea air in gulps.

"So is war," he mused quietly.

"If you think I'll start killing off Muggles, I'm afraid you've lost your marbles," she said dryly and felt him hug her closer.

"No, I'm not," he told her as they kept strolling slowly away from the house, the wind tugging at their hair and sending small sprays of salty needles over their cheeks. "But it's only human to make mistakes."

"Yeah, but I'm... You've lost the whole point, haven't you?" She stopped, turning towards his slightly puzzled expression.

"Have I?" he asked mildly, even if his daughter had a mind exceeding her years, she could still be manipulated in the hands of the right – or wrong – person.

"Yes, you have!" She couldn't keep herself from yelling and it was a near thing she stormed away, but she controlled the urge, she needed to be face to face with her father to tell him. "I'm not anti-Muggle, I'm not anti-Muggle-born, I'm simply saying that in their situation, like society was then, Salazar Slytherin was at least as much right as any of the other Founders!" Stomping her foot, she turned away from him, leaving him to stare blankly after her.

"Maybe I did lose the point," Bill muttered to himself before trotting after her, cursing himself for having such a smart daughter and not being smart enough himself to dampen his ego. Just because he was older, and her father too, did not mean he was right, and he should have learned this a long time ago.

"Go away," she said when hearing his footsteps behind her again, her voice shrill on the wind.

"No." He was close enough to reach out and stop her with a hand on her shoulder, holding her still as he faced her. She kept her eyes down, refusing to look at him. "Because you're right and I didn't see it before. As society was then, Slytherin wasn't wrong in his choice, maybe, he was just afraid," he told her softly. She picked up his slight hesitation, but looked him in the face.

"And no wonder," she said quietly, then feebly tried to tug out of the grip he still had on her shoulder, knowing it was of little use.

"You told me other things, too," he continued with, loosening his hold. "You said we're sneered at by the pure-bloods –"

"No, I said you are sneered at," she objected hotly.

"Fine," he agreed, fighting to keep his calm. "Have you... I mean, have anyone given you any trouble about being my daughter?" He felt a small twist in his gut of anger and hurt pride if anyone should have done such a thing, but didn't let it show on his face.

"No," she answered shortly, looking down at her shoes again. "Not directly, at least," she admitted in a murmur.

"Meaning?" He sat down on the patch of grass next to them and she followed his example, hugging her knees as she stared out on the rolling waves.

"Well, they don't say anything, but at once they hear I'm a Weasley, they just... Look weirdly at me, as if I'm trying to pull some kind of stupid prank," she said. "Since I don't have the red hair they don't shun me at sight, but, well..." Her voice died out and she cast a look over at her father, seeing a small line between his smooth eyebrows.

"Dom," he said softly, reaching out a hand to her, "are you lonely at Hogwarts?"

"No," she said quietly, her eyes stinging as the tears build up. "No, I have some study buddies, but –" Her voice broke and she didn't object to being pulled close to his side and let the tears run, feeling his cheek against her head as he murmured nonsense down in her hair. "Sometimes I wonder if they just hang out with me because of my grades," she whispered, feeling his hold around her tighten.

"No," he whispered back. "No, baby, they hang out with you for you, not anything else." But deep down he knew his daughter wasn't an easy person to get close to and accept her with all the surprises she held. He did because he was her father, it was the law of nature, but from an outside perspective he saw how kids her age could find her strange. She was no doubt more mature than her classmates, maybe more manipulating towards strangers, but definitively not evil, she had a big heart and lots of empathy towards her close relations.

"Why can't I just be like everyone else?" she burst out suddenly and pushed herself upright to look at him. She had her mother's eyes and Bill couldn't keep himself from wiping away some of the tears with his thumb. "Why can't my biggest concerns be finishing the Charms essay before it's due and worrying if I'll get a seat next to my crush at lunch? Why can't I be happily entertained by the gossip about the sixth years, which is no doubt much more colourful by the time it's passed down to us than the real story?" She heard him sigh as she was pulled into a hug again, feeling the prickling of his slightly stubbled cheek against her neck.

"I don't know," he admitted at last as he released her again. "But you wanna hear a secret?" She nodded and he beckoned for her to lean in so he could whisper in her ear.

"We're the only ones here," she pointed out dryly and crossed her arms over her chest. He smiled slightly and beckoned her again, at which point she gave in with a loud sigh and leaned closer.

"Everyone's insecure," he whispered softly, stroking his hand over the back of her head as he let her pull back slowly. She didn't reply, but her downcast eyes betraying how much went through her mind at the moment.

"Even you?" she asked after a minute.

"Even me," he admitted with a chuckle. "Merlin, I'm not even going to tell you how many stupid things I did when I was twelve because of that! Later too, for that matter," he added, seeing her eyes light up again.

"Fine, then I'll just ask Uncle Charlie, he should know," she said, sounding more than a bit devious. He couldn't help but laugh, at the same time praying his brother had some filter as to what was appropriate to let his daughter know.

"But Dom..." He cast an uneasy glance at her before seeming to be absorbed in looking at his own hand. She snorted impatiently and he raised his eyes to meet hers again. "What concerns do you have, as essays and crushes and gossip don't seem to be any of them?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug. "It's just, all the others are just absorbed about such petty things –"

"Essays are 'petty things'?" he blurted, not really meaning to cut her off.

"No, but you know I don't have any problems with them," she said, sounding slightly annoyed. "And if Peter and Susan were caught snogging in a corridor by Filch, guess what, I don't care!"

"Peter and Susan who?" he asked, ducking fast as Dominique made an attempt at swatting him for his mock-interested tone. "Sorry," he said as she turned back to stare at the water.

"I just feel like a freak, okay?" Her voice was even more aggravated now.

"Oh, you're not a freak," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders again. "You're a twelve year old, they come in more styles than Bertie Bott's and are meant to go on each other's nerves."

"Thanks, Dad," she replied coldly, not intending to hurt him, but did it anyway.

"Dominique," he said slowly, "I've known you since before you were born and it isn't like you to be this moody. What's going on?"

"Dunno, nothing, maybe my time of the month coming up," she muttered, hugging her knees again.

"What?" he said dumbfounded. "You mean – you've got your period?" He couldn't help but stare at the young woman he realised his daughter had become.

"Yes, yes I have!" she exploded. "And I'm not having any conversations about it with you, I had one with Mum last summer, and with Vicky and Madam Pomfrey when it happened, that was awkward enough."

"Okay," he agreed, but wasn't able to keep himself from asking, "it don't hurt awfully much, I hope? I just know Ginny was bothered with some heavy cramps –"

"Dad!" She began hitting him with her loose fists, causing him to incline backwards to try to avoid them, but they were both grinning and she didn't object when he put his arms around her, rocking slightly from side to side where they were laying, laughing as they had a thousand times before in a tight embrace.

AN: So, that's that for now, unless I get an urge to throw Dominique into more trouble. A review might spark my imagination...