Dominique Weasley

Next is Dominique, sitting on the floor at her cousin's feet as Rose puts a tiny braid in her straight red hair. She is the tallest girl, willowy like her sister and supple as if she might bend with the wind, but never ever break. She sways with the trials the world buffets her with, full of her mother's grace and her father's determination. And as her sister, the silver-gilt princess of the magical world, born and named for the greatest victory, grows taller and more beautiful and more pregnant every day, Dominique seems to retreat, shrink, hide her pretty pixie face for fear that someone else might hurt her again.

She fell in love with Teddy at fifteen, and kissed him the same night. They had a whirlwind year of secrets and subtle touches and fizzing excitement that made her feel truly brilliant, shining, starry. But then there was that night; the bonfire, the soft sound on the shoreline and her sister, her perfect sister, radiant and piercing Teddy with her blue eyes like he was the only one there.

And he left, drawn like a moth to the dancing, vibrant, destructive flame as if he couldn't even see Dominique, his hand slipping from hers like sand through her fingers.

For months he just looked through her, always towards her sister. As if he couldn't, wouldn't remember her.

So she changed, thinking that if Teddy, the boy who loved her above all else, more than anyone else in the world, could do this, then so could everyone she met. She withdrew, growing her hair long around her small shoulders and spending more and more time alone during the holidays. When she sits with her cousins she is always quiet, answering questions briefly but with a sweet, hesitant smile as half an apology.

They notice, of course, when her arms get too frail to carry her books and her ankles look as if the might snap at the end of her long, coltish legs. And they try, pushing food on her, bringing her presents from Honeydukes, anything to get her to eat. They even try to slip a potion into her pumpkin juice, but it doesn't work, she just pushes it away.

So they do the only thing they know how to do, and they surround her with the warm, patchworky love that only the Weasleys know. They hold her hand and hug her in hallways and make sure she knows just how much they all care, because they know she'll need them when she realises.

But for now, she is in limbo. Wafting through life on ever-shrinking limbs, cheeks hollow and eyes unfocused and dreamy. She folds herself up at the foot of their chairs, as if she doesn't merit a seat, and waits. Waits for them all for them all to leave so she can finally have peace in her solitude, alone with her dreams of that shining prince who will come one day, who values her above her sister.

And she doesn't realise that she is beautiful (at least when she's eating) and that her soft glow is far preferable to her sister's exhausting energy, but everyone else does, her wistful, hopeful eyes far more entrancing than the calculated gaze of the icy blonde.

And she looks like magic.