In Flagrante Delicto
Another month slipped by and no more was said about Rimbaud, his time-turner or his chateau. Time stopped and started in that jarring way Dominique had become so accustom to until, seemingly out of nowhere, it was March 13th; her fifteenth birthday.
Dawn broke early that morning and she sat, perched by the dormitory window, to watch the sky wake in violet swirls as the meaning of the day, and the reality that her true age and her birthday were from thereon unaligned, sunk in. It was a disturbing thought, one that reinforced the gravity of her situation and one that she would truthfully rather not think about.
Dominique supposed it was a small mercy then that the day coincided with a Hogsmeade weekend, one that was spent with Katie and Leanne wandering the village in an effort to distract herself with Honeydukes sweets and novelty whoopee cushions from Zonko's. But it was something else altogether that proved the most memorable diversion - a truly sickening sight that the trio stumbled upon as they ventured back up to the castle, bathed in bright afternoon sunlight.
The scene was framed by the lacy storefront windows of Madam Puddifoot's. A familiar couple positioned in the far, floral wall-papered corner atop a peach coloured platform caught the girl's attention, spurring Leanne to pull the other two along to press their nose practically against the rose-tinted glass. Inside, Cho leant across the table, flushed pinker than her surroundings, and plucked out a piece of curly confetti that had gotten caught in Cedric's hair. Outside, Katie swooned, Leanne commented what an adorable match they made with a syrupy sweet sigh and Dominique swallowed some vomit.
Puddifoot's teashop was reserved for lonely elderly witches, gossipy middle aged debutants, lovesick teenage girls and the unwitting boyfriends they dragged in there who were too enamoured to register the tea-cosied atrocity that enclosed them.
Cedric had obviously gone mad.
Lip curled back in disgust, Dominique tugged her friends away and sought out something that would banish the horrific image of Cho and Cedric that now stained her memory. Such a distraction came a few days later in the form of an announcement that blared through every channel of the Wizarding Wireless and splattered the front pages of the Daily Prophet in such colossal font that no space was spared to lament a certain Azkaban escapee's continued freedom. Britain would be hosting the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, and whilst Dominique was obviously aware of this in advance she was naïve to the fervour it would stir.
Half the castle was vying for tickets; everybody from Cedric, to the Weasleys, to Madame Hooch to Wood – who Dominique didn't doubt would most likely pledge his soul to Wizard Satan to secure a spot in the stands.
There were some – mostly those who didn't have to worry about such material things as cost – who had already secured tickets, a fact which they tended to make known. Draco Malfoy boasted loudly and often about his seats in the towering Minister's Box and Dominique was among the many who hoped that he would meet with an unfortunate climbing accident on his way up and splat against the turf below like a squashed fruit. Thankfully, others handled their good fortune with more grace. Luna Lovegood, as a member of the Quibbler's imperturbable 'press team,' was already promised a spot and had told Dominique about her father's editorial plans whilst rescuing her from the trick staircase she had stumbled into after another fruitless search for the Room of Requirement.
It would be a lie to say that Dominique wasn't marginally bitter about the fact that - all things according to plan - she would leave the past mere weeks before one of the greatest Quidditch tournaments of all time. She smothered another sigh as Luna cheerfully explained the many Nargle catching opportunities such a diverse crowd would create and, whilst shaking the nerves in her leg back awake from the knee down, prayed that at the very least her friend would remember to actually attend a match or two whilst she was there.
At the same time, hype for the World Cup seemed to have a domino affect on Hogwarts' own tournament, with anticipation of the school's Quidditch final spreading like wildfire. Dominique had been personally resigned to the Hufflepuff team's imminent doom ever since Cedric had shunned her suggestion of breaking into the Nimbus 2001 wielding Slytherin team's broom shed and committing light arson, and so the thrashing they received in their last match wasn't exactly a shocker.
Instead it was arch rivals Gryffindor and Slytherin who would be facing off in the grand finale - the showdown of the century. As an immediate consequence, Hogwarts transformed into a sort of battleground as brawl after brawl erupted in the halls so frequently and violently that the teachers alone couldn't manage and the Prefects were relied upon to keep the peace. Percy Weasley was in his element, handing out detentions with more ardour than judges at the Wizengamot and Dominique made sure to avoid his twitchy, surprisingly far-seeing scrutiny as game-day approached.
Privately, she was finally coming to appreciate the neutrality of her yellow Hufflepuff robes; this, however, didn't mean that she didn't spend a considerable amount time acting as Katie Bell's personal body guard. Not only was she the target of multiple sabotage attempts but the kill-or-be-killed atmosphere surging through the castle brought out a strange and frankly frightening penchant for violence in the wiry Gryffindor chaser that had Dominique and Leanne dragging her out of more than one duel per day.
It was for this reason that on the morning of the Quidditch final as she pushed her way through the amassed crowd swarming the Entrance Hall, Dominique hoped she wouldn't find Katie covered in blood, with yet another black eye or her arm in a sling. Firstly, however, she had to track her down in the bustling room, rippling with nervous energy and crammed wall to wall with supporters draped in Gryffindor garb. After perching on her tiptoes failed to provide an obvious heading, Dominique started towards the base of a vast, flashing lion banner that hung suspended above the horde. Under it Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were painting the faces of a willing assembly line of supporters with a pyramid of paint pots amassed nearby. Their own grinning features were split into matching blocks of scarlet and gold and they clearly didn't mind the metallic, varnished scent that clung to them.
For her own peace of mind Dominique picked up a stray paint pot and inspected the label to double check that the pair weren't accidentally giving anyone lead poisoning. She doubted that Pomfrey would be pleased if the Gryffindor victory party had to be moved up to the Hospital Wing.
"Hope you're not planning any sabotage, James."
Although her gaze didn't stray from the label she was reading, the smile Dominique was holding back broke forth at the sound of his voice. "You caught me, Wood. I'm here to steal all your face paint. However will you survive?" At this she looked up to see him leaning against the wall opposite with controlled ease, smirking. "And more importantly what do you plan on doing about it?"
"I'll have kill you," he avowed gravely, pushing off the wall and coming to stand by her. Dominique perceived that his movements were stiff and, like his stance, inflexible. He was wearing an invisible armour of calm; an illusion that would have held if not for the iron tense set of his shoulders or the way his hair stood ruffled from repeatedly running a hand through it.
In any case, she placed a hand on her hip and laughed. "You couldn't if you wanted to. You don't know where Katie is, do you? I wanted to wish her luck."
"She's back with the rest of the team," Wood nodded over his shoulder where, despite the circus raging around them, the Gryffindor team stood huddled together, wired and insular and…Captainless.
"And you're not with them because…?"
Wood shrugged uninterestedly, but as a knowing smile spread across Dominique's lips he exhaled and dropped his voice an octave so that only she could hear it. "I'm the Captain - I'm not supposed to get nervous, I'm supposed to keep everyone steady. I just…need a moment to distract myself…and I guess you just happen to be a very distracting person."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," she teased, earning a pointed, if somewhat exasperated, look from Wood that clearly said he wasn't about to disagree. Clapping a hand to her chest, she pouted dramatically. "Straight to the heart."
Dominique's playful demeanour faltered, however, when a chuckling Wood suddenly leant in close. The air she had sucked in was only released when he re-emerged, paint pot in hand, and the realisation that he had simply reached around her to grab it settled in. Shaking herself back to her senses as subtly as possible, Dominique was mildly annoyed by Wood acting as though he hadn't just invaded her person bubble as he unclasped the paint lid with a click.
"Well, James, for once I'm grateful for your maddening ability to side-track me at every opportunity," he said. Not bothering to ask for permission, he dipped the tip of a stray paintbrush into the paint and sent a small current waving across the thick, crimson surface.
"You'll want to watch where you put that, Wood," Dominique wrinkled her nose. "You're not going to draw a prick on me are you?" Wood's smirk grew to a full-fledged grin and he ordered her to hold still.
Dominique's retort was lost on her tongue the second the cool, wet bristles met her cheek to drag in a line down the smooth skin. At this, the most inopportune instant possible, it suddenly occurred to her that she had never been so close to Oliver Wood. Face mere inches from his, she could virtually count the dark lashes that boarded his dancing eyes, alight with supressed adrenaline. Actually, he had sort of interesting eyes now that she really looked...
"Stop staring at me, James. You're ruining my concentration."
Dominique scoffed. "Wood, I do not stare," she said petulantly. "And if I did, rest assured, it wouldn't be at y-"
"Hey, Oliver! We'd better get down there!"
Over Wood's shoulder, the Gryffindor team was collecting their brooms and disappearing through the castle doors, out onto the sun bleached grounds. Alicia, who had just called her Captain over, was waiting expectantly. Dominique watched as Wood visibly defaulted into Quidditch mode; the cockiness drained from his face and was replaced with resolute determination, his jaw clenched and he nodded. Paler than she thought possible, he swallowed thickly before striding away without another word.
It wasn't until he met up with his team that Dominique spotted the petite figure bobbing by his elbow. "Katie!" She turned, catching sight of Dominique and grinned around an obviously split lip and bruised chin. Although Dominique managed to supress a groan, Leanne, who had just appeared beside her, could not. "Good luck!"
Together they travelled to the pitch amidst the roar of the crowd and in a mere blink, the whistles blew, the players shot into the air and Dominique's wandering fingertips strayed to her face, where they spent the match unconsciously brushing over the drying strips of crimson paint coating her skin.
Five hours and many makeup wipes later, Dominique found herself climbing the stairs to the Seventh Floor. She could already hear the music from the party she was about to crash pounding through the walls like a pulse. The Fat Lady, who was dutifully guarding the entry to the Gryffindor Common Room, glowered at Dominique, who nervously brushed some imaginary flint off her jeans as she approached.
The request hadn't left her mouth before the portrait, who was covering her ears with her pudgy hands, started to rant. "No! No more! Sirius Black is in and out of the castle like he owns the place and you lot have me letting in whoever you please! No, I'm through! If you aren't Gryffindor, you aren't coming in!"
"Do I look like Sirius Black to you?" Dominique asked, spreading her arms wide.
"Do I look like a bouncer?" The portrait countered. Dominique opened her mouth to reply 'sort of' but the Fat Lady cut her off, hooded eyes narrowed. "Don't push it, Hufflepuff."
It seemed that she was the only person who didn't bunk in the Slytherin Common Room who was not out celebrating their long-coming defeat. Well, maybe not the only person, Dominique reasoned as her mind wandered back to minutes earlier when she'd run into Cedric on his way to the library. It didn't take an auror to see that he was exhausted, his movements sluggish and arms weighed down by a mountain of textbooks, but he still performed a small double take at Dominique's dressed up appearance. She was relieved to see those famous dimples form around his worn smile as he told her that she looked like she was off to start trouble.
Naturally, in response she had curtsied and promised not to cause too much. Now it didn't look like she would be causing any at all.
Internally, Dominique listed alternative ways she could infiltrate the Gryffindor Common Room, concluding that abseiling down from the roof was probably the way to go until somebody stumbled out of the portrait hole and cut the Fat Lady's tirade off with a bang. "Sammy, I was just about to come looking for you!" Katie cried before skipping over to seize Dominique's wrist.
As they hopped through the entrance, Dominique jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the grumbling portrait. "Cheerful over there wouldn't let me in."
Regardless, Katie's muttered advice that she be thankful it wasn't Sir Cadogan fell on deaf ears, for at that moment Dominique came face to face with the Gryffindor Common Room – her home away from home – for the first time in almost a year. A strange homesickness flooded her at the sight of the burgundy wallpaper and high beamed ceilings, around which the winning snitch from the day's match was zooming. Dean Thomas' lion banner also waved from the stairwell landing and shiny streamers covered almost every surface.
Linking their arms together, Katie unknowingly ended Dominique's nostalgia trip and led her towards the cushioned, window-side chairs where Angelina and Alicia sat gossiping. "Hey where's Leanne?" she asked, realising that a part of their trio was missing.
"You know Gabriel Truman?"
"The Hufflepuff Prefect?" she frowned.
Dominique nodded and smiled at Angelina, who handed her a cup filled to the brim with frothy, ochre Butterbeer. She had had to shout to be heard over the thumping music, a bouncing track from the Weird Sister's latest album. "Thanks, Angelina. Yeah, well he cornered us on the way up to ask Leanne if she wouldn't mind helping his sister study for a History of Magic exam, since he's busy with NEWTs and all."
"And she said yes? To babysitting a Second Year rather than going to a party?"
At that, Dominique flashed her a conspiratorial grin. "I hear he has a fair amount of influence over who the teachers pick as his replacement Prefect next year."
"Subtle, Leanne," Katie laughed, shaking her head before the pair slipped into Angelina and Alicia's conversation about some pre-exam duelling demonstration Professor Lupin wanted to organise.
Soon though, Dominique's attention drifted to the Common Room and she sat, sipping her warm Butterbeer, taking it all in. In an almost dead corner her aunt Hermione sat alone, buried under parchment and thick books, looking on the verge of tears as she snapped one shut and hurried up the dormitory steps. Further back, her uncle Percy was running around like a headless chicken yelling at people to use coasters, largely going ignored by everybody else who were busy chatting, some dancing and others grabbing food from a spread that had probably been supplied by the school house-elves.
Closer, by the barren fireplace, a group of boys were playing less than sober exploding snap, having managed to procure some Firewhiskey. Cormac McLaggen was among them, complaining obnoxiously about his superior skills as a Keeper and describing to anyone in earshot how he could have won Gryffindor today's game with a much more decisive margin. According to McLaggen, now that Wood was graduating, his spot on the team was practically guaranteed.
About to lose her battle against hexing him, Dominique was beat to it by Kenneth Towler, who cast a stealthy tongue tying charm from a spot by the broom closet and winked upon catching Dominique's eye. I knew there was a reason I liked Ced's friends, she thought and smiled back at him.
Whilst McLaggen floundered on the couch, she bobbed as the weight of her chair suddenly shifted and Katie jumped up to squeal that the track that had just come on was her favourite song. Dominique wasn't given much of a choice before she was being pulled towards the makeshift dancefloor that suddenly formed in the centre of the room by Katie, Angelina and Alicia. Somewhere, amidst the twirling, shimmying and head-banging, she made a risky escape attempt to the refreshment table, a safe distance away from where the girls were now spinning around with the Weasley twins.
Dominique's shoulders shook with laughter as one of her uncles started slut dropping and, spurred by her nose, she distractedly reached for a jelly roll on a plate behind her. When her hand collided with somebody else's she spun around to see her uncle Ron reaching for the same roll, blushing as red as his hair. "Sorry," she said, drawing her hand away swiftly.
Ron simply gawked at her like she was from another planet and it was her uncle Harry next to him who finally broke the silence. He was apparently unaware that his Common Room had been infiltrated by Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "No offence…but aren't you in Hufflepuff?"
"If I say 'yes' will you kick me out?" she joked. When neither reacted Dominique laughed uncomfortably and pointed at Katie who was in the process of sashaying around Angelina. "I'm a friend of Katie's."
"I'm Harry and this is Ron. You're Sam James, right?" Harry asked, trying to be polite. From the corner of her eye Dominique saw Ron subtly swipe the jelly roll and suppressed a smile.
"The one and only," she confirmed.
On the opposite side of the table somebody snorted and Dominique turned to see Wood pouring some Butterbeer into a plastic cup already half filled with another clear, amber liquid. "You got that right," he chuckled.
Dominique's greeting was half smile, half groan. "Wood."
"James." Manoeuvring around the table, his eyes lingered on hers longer than they usually would, prompting her to notice that the jubilant, tearful red rims that had encircled them earlier had been replaced by heavy lids, probably brought about by whatever it was he was drinking. As though he could read her thoughts, a crooked smile lit his face and he offered her his cup. "Thirsty?"
"The one and only time I've ever been drunk was a disaster," she told him, pushing away the cup and the medicinal scent stemming from it. "I swear I was hung over for a week. I legitimately thought I was going to die." That was the time James had used the invisibility cloak to break into the Burrow's liquor cabinet and, coincidentally, the first time Dominique and most of her cousins had ever tasted Firewhiskey. Teddy had tracked them down in the Burrow shed hours later, passed out or throwing up or both, and after a lecture that lasted till sunrise he forced enough nausea potions down their throats to nearly drown them. Dominique shuddered at the memory. "Never again..."
"Wise choice then," Wood hummed. He poured her a cup of frothy Butterbeer instead and as he did Dominique realised that at some point Harry and Ron had retreated, off to meddle somewhere else no doubt.
Grabbing the drink, her fingers brushed over Wood's. "So now that you've realised your life's dream of winning the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, what's the plan?"
"Wait to hear from Quidditch scouts I guess. Try and get through NEWTs in the meantime," he said around the lip of his cup. Pulling a face at the thought of their upcoming exams, Dominique took a hearty swig of Butterbeer and tried to forget the assignments waiting for her when she returned to her dormitory. Again, as though he had spontaneously acquired the ability to read thoughts, Wood seemed attuned to Dominique's apprehension and closed some of the distance between them. "You'll do fine, Sam, trust me…I've barely had to extinguish any transfiguration fires for weeks."
"Hey, it's harder than it looks," she retorted defensively.
Wood's smirking lips parted to reply but he was interrupted by a Seventh Year Dominique didn't recognise who had come to inform the Gryffindor Captain that Percy was looking for him. "Something about 'coasters' and 'tomfoolery'," the Seventh Year drawled before disappearing.
"I'll see you later, Sam," Wood said exasperatedly and although he did leave, she caught his eyes flickering back to her more than once as he weaved through the party.
Unluckily for Dominique, her conversation with Wood had not gone unnoticed and when she finally tracked the girls down again she was met with three pairs of suggestive, waggling eyebrows. "He asked me earlier if you were coming, you know," Alicia divulged. Katie, who Dominique wasn't convinced hadn't gotten into the Firewhiskey, doubled over cackling whilst Angelina and Alicia's broke into a spontaneous chorus of 'Sammy and Wood Sitting in a Tree.' Trying and failing to clasp her hands over three separate mouths, Dominique's suggestion that they all kindly "piss off" was offset by her laughter.
The rest of the night elapsed in darting bursts. The purple clouds outside morphed into an inky black sky and after hours of gossiping with the girls, watching the Weasley twins tango around the room and consuming insane amounts of sugar, Dominique was knackered. Curfew had fallen and the party had passed its prime by the time she readied to leave, and she was annoyed with herself at having turned down Katie's offer to duck down to the kitchens with Fred and George earlier.
Whilst the idea of Filch catching them after hours was laughable, without the cloak or the map Dominique doubted she would have as much luck. Casting a rueful scowl in the direction of the boy's dormitories where she knew they were both stashed with her uncle, she prepared to leave and hoped that the Fat Lady wouldn't pitch a fit when she climbed through the portrait hole.
The house-elves are going to have one hell of clean up job, she thought to herself as stepped over one of the many plastic cups strewn across the carpet.
A split second later, a yelp caught in Dominique's throat as she was yanked backwards and whirled around to face Cormac McLaggen, who had his fingers clasped around her forearm like iron bars. The motion pulled her off balance, sloshing Butterbeer over the brim of her cup and onto her shirt to stain the dusty pink fabric an off brown. "McLaggen," she hissed. "If you are going to ruin my clothes I might just have to ruin your face! Get off me, would you!
McLaggen for his part was either oblivious to the mess he had just made or simply didn't care; perhaps he didn't trust Dominique to follow through on her threats. "Calm down, James. I just want to chat - you've been avoiding me all evening!"
"Gee, I wonder why! Being around you is always such a pleasant experience!"
Although McLaggen's response was too slurred to untangle, the second grab he made for her arm was clear enough. However, before Dominique's fingers could so much as twitch to her wand somebody was blocking the path that the curse – or fist – she was planning to launch at him would travel. Wood had appeared out of thin air in front of her.
And although she appreciated the sentiment, Dominique really did just want to punch McLaggen in the face.
She very nearly ordered Wood to stand aside, until she glimpsed the expression he wore, more daunting that even those he used to reserve exclusively for her. "Go to bed, McLaggen, before you do something you'll really regret," Wood warned. Whilst McLaggen appeared to be aggressively swallowing the words he wanted to hurl at Wood, the Gryffindor Captain spoke again. "If you ever want to get on this team you'll listen to its Captain."
A tense silence followed until, with a final acidic glare tossed their way, McLaggen shoved past Wood and stormed out of the portrait hole to Merlin knew where. His words trailed after him, an ominous promise. "Not for much longer."
Dominique's fantasies of him getting caught so that Filch could finally bust out those ankle chains he was always raving about were disrupted when Wood turned to her, sounding concerned. "You alright, Sam?"
"Peachy," she answered, surprised to see that their altercation hadn't caused a scene. Turning back to Wood, her hand resumed its place on her hip. "But I can take care of myself, Oliver. Especially when it comes to morons like McLaggen."
"You know a 'thank you' won't hurt you," Wood said smugly, brushing off her statement.
Dominique scoffed, about to protest once more when she became abruptly aware of the uncomfortable stickiness on her chest where Butterbeer had soaked through the thin fabric of her shirt, which was now clinging to her skin where the drink had stained it. Her bra underneath was painfully visible and thanks to McLaggen it looked like she had just participated in a wet t-shirt contest.
Wood seemed to have come to a similar realisation. "Hey, eyes up here, Wood!" Dominique snapped, hastily folding her arms across her chest and giving him a pointed look.
To his credit Wood looked guilty, concentrating on a spot somewhere above her head and clearing his throat. "I, er, have a shirt you can borrow," he proffered by way of an apology and conscious that she would have to walk back through the castle in this state, Dominique waved a conceding hand.
The waning noise of the party hushed as she followed him up the familiar dormitory stairs, discovering with a bittersweet pang that Wood's dormitory was the same one James and Lysander would share in the future. The world outside muted completely when the door closed shut and whilst he rummaged through his trunk Dominique scrutinised the room, almost identical to the one from her memories; the Keeper's gear and Puddlemere United posters surrounding the bed closest to the door immediately exposed it as Wood's.
"Here," he said, emerging with a navy blue t-shirt that was sure to dwarf Dominique and tossing it at her with a smile.
He then turned away and made a playful display of protecting her modesty by slapping his hands across his eyes and Dominique giggled in spite of herself. "Thanks." Hesitating as her fingers collected around the flowy material of her shirt, she added softly, "And thanks for stepping in with McLaggen too."
"Anytime," he promised. "Confrontation is one of my strong suits."
"Yeah, I know." She pulled the hem of her shirt upwards and over her now dishevelled hair, dropping it by a collection of loose Gobstones on the floor. "Trust me, I know."
The frown was audible in Wood's tone as he spoke again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well…when we first met," she clarified. "You didn't do much to hide the fact that you hated me, Oliver. I still don't know why, but I know you did."
"Sam..." Wood's hand dropped from his brow as Dominique picked up the t-shirt he had given her. It smelt like a mixture of spiced deodorant and the Quidditch turf. "Listen, I didn't hate you." At the sound of her disbelieving exhale, he instinctively turned. "Seriously – I didn't. There was just something about you that got under my skin, and I didn't want to tutor you and you were cutting into Quidditch practise when it was my last chance to…chance to…"
It took him a few seconds to realise that Dominique was standing there, unmoving, in nothing but a grey bra, jeans and a pair of battered converse. The only motion in the room was the rising and falling of her chest. Wood took a tentative step closer and somewhere a voice told Dominique that this was not a good idea. Her heart skipped multiple beats as he neared and she spoke partially to convince herself that she wasn't having an out of body experience. "And now?"
"Now I like you." Wood closed the space further, voice low and throaty. "A lot."
"I think that's because I'm only partially dressed," she whispered. Suddenly there was no space between them and Wood's fingertips where brushing across Dominique's bare shoulder, raising goose bumps where they trailed. An alarm sounded in the back of her mind but it was weak and unfocused. "Oliver-"
Wood's lips crashed into hers and Dominique's words were silenced. For a split second she froze until, like somebody had flicked a switch, her body responded of its own, traitorous accord. Her mouth parted and one hand snaked upwards to get lost in the cropped curls at the nape of his neck whilst the other grabbed his shirt to pull him closer still. Both of their lips were slightly chapped and Wood's kiss tasted like the mix of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey he'd been drinking. A shudder rippled through Dominique's spine as his calloused fingers travelled down her bare side, gently pushing her back against the wall where rough stone pressed between her shoulder-blades.
Mouthing moving against his, she wondered if it was possible to get drunk on a kiss. In that private, fleeting instant she was utterly invulnerable. But then the dormitory door creaked ajar and Dominique's lids snapped open to make direct eye-contact with…her uncle.
"Shit," she hissed. Her arms seemed to spasm as they fiercely shoved Wood off of her.
"Sam-?" he asked bewilderedly, following her gaze towards Percy whereupon his expression morphed from confused to irritated. "Honestly, Weasley, don't you knock?"
"This is my dormitory!" Percy cried. "The audacity – bringing a Fourth Year up here! Not even from our house! Have you no shame, Oliver!"
Dominique's brain blocked out their rising argument and instead focused on yanking her shirt back over her head as harsh, unforgiving reality crashed back down around her. Biting her now swollen bottom lip, she hastily pushed past the two boys with the single objective of escaping in mind. Though she heard Wood shout after her, Dominique payed him no attention and picked up the pace at the sound of following footsteps. Hurrying down the stairs and slipping a few times on the way down, she thanked Merlin that the Common Room was now practically deserted, with no one around to question the odd scene.
The blast of fresh, unspoiled air that hit her as she lurched out of the portrait hole further sobered Dominique of her stupidity and woke her to the complete shit-show she had just created. As far as she was aware, snogging people was not something that worked well with her 'don't get involved, let the future unwind' strategy. She had majorly fucked up. And it was Wood's fault.
He kissed me! That complete idiot! Doesn't he realise that he could've just ruined everything!
Of course, rationally, she knew that her reasons for blaming him were flimsy at best, but still, a shot of wrath laced the mortification racing through Dominique's veins as she mentally piled the fault upon him further. Just when she had it all figured out, he had to go and snog her.
I'm going to kill him, she fumed. Once I work up to courage to face him again I'll hex him into next week!
Because right now, with everything going on, the last thing she needed to be worrying about was her fucking love life...
But Dominique's homicidal scheming was suddenly interrupted by the awareness that she was storming through the castle, looking rather indecent, in the dead of night without any protection – a realisation brought about by the re-emergence of someone's heavy foot tread that was drawing increasingly closer. Stomach plummeting at the sound, Dominique was unwilling to wait around and see if they were the same pair from the Common Room and belonged to either Percy or Wood or, in an even worse scenario, they were those of a patrolling teacher or Prefect.
Throwing stealth to the wind, she chose to sprint away from them with wild, reckless abandon. The flaws in this plan became instantly apparent when not only did the first pair of footsteps hasten after her in response, but a second joined them from the opposite side, causing Dominique to screech to a halt and contemplate jumping out of a nearby window. Amidst the sound of her strained breathing, her head spun around the corridor, eyes roaming over the black shadows on either side of her and the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the wall opposite. Quickly abandoning the idea of hiding behind it, she started pacing as her pursuers closed in, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess.
I need to get away.
I need to escape.
I need to hide.
It was the sound of shifting stone that caused Dominique's head to snap up. She thought she might've been hallucinating as the wall across from her began to twist and morph like putty and the thick stone mutated into polished wood, sinking in to form a grand, gold-handled door as tangible and real as the tapestry across from it. As she reached out towards it, Dominique was half afraid that her fingers would pass through it like smoke. It wasn't until the footsteps abruptly sped up that she remembered that she was in the process of running away. With a sharp intake of breath, she threw herself through the door and let it slam shut with a calamitous bang behind her.
Inside was a metropolis of lost, broken things.
Dominique didn't dare blink as she took in the immense cathedral-like room and, taking a hesitant step forward, her pupils expanded as light flooded it, revealing spires of damaged furniture towering in every direction with countless narrow paths winding through them. She was staring at generations upon generations of Hogwarts secrets, all concealed in the Room of Hidden Things. Which meant…
"No fucking way…"
Dominique had finally found the Room of Requirement.
Wringing her hands together, she checked the double doors over her shoulder, worried that they would vanish. Something about the room was coaxing her to explore it, mingling with her own untempered curiosity. Plus, Merlin knew who – or what – was waiting for her in the corridor outside.
There's no harm in just looking around, Dominique reassured herself.
The room seemed to rouse itself from its stupor with her initial steps, as though it were waking from a long sleep. With each metre she walked one of the sunburnt paper lanterns floating untethered overhead like crinkled, airborne tangerines flickered to life and cast the room deeper in an odd orange glow. At the same time, the closer she got to the room's centre the stronger the odd, musky perfumed smell became, but no sound accompanied it save that of Dominique's own making.
Soon the stillness of the place grew unnerving and the hairs along her neck rose with the impression that the many telescopes and spyglasses she swept past were watching her. There were books everywhere, some stained with blood and other suspicious blotches, piled in a way that they only complicated the room's maze and as Dominique passed a cornucopia of rusted, exploded cauldrons it occurred to her that she was standing smack bang in the middle of a boggart's playground.
All of a sudden scouting it alone didn't seem like such a bright idea.
Grip tightening around the wand she had drawn out of her pocket, she turned to cut through a path that appeared to take a shorter route to the exit, gulping as she passed a guillotine, a gag inducing stuffed troll and a claw-footed mirror with strange, foreign runes engraved within its gold frame. It was in this mirrors reflection that the room's first spark of life whizzed past. Circling around in such haste that she nearly lost balanced, Dominique's face scrunched up at the buzz of insect wings. When her eyes finally zeroed in on the crumpled, translucent things she saw that they were attached not to a bird, but a key, which was heading in the same direction she was.
For near a minute she reluctantly trailed after it, all the while coming to the conclusion that the Room of Hidden Things was probably the freakiest place on earth. Dominique wrapped her arms around herself as a chill rushed over her and barely noticed when the key started to struggle in the air, its wings faltering, and then dropped to the floor where it lay unmoving.
What she did notice was the wailing. It was rising from a grimy silver tiara, perched atop a rickety crate across from her. Faint and indistinct, the howl sounded as though it came from the bottom of a well; a raw, bottled up cry that threatened to rip through the air if its dust seal was broken. The tiara itself was made of ornate metal with a great sapphire wedged in the middle of two spread wings that formed the crown, along which delicate lettering too coated in filth to read was inscribed.
It was clearly beautiful, but as Dominique stared at it she was drowned in a hollow sort of numbness that only served to terrify her. The tiara was twisted and warped by dark magic; the kind that tainted those who came into contact with it. In her mind's eye she could see the black magic pooling from the metal and reaching forward in grasping, strangling tendrils. Dominique took an automatic step backwards and redrew her wand with the single desire of creating as much distance between herself and the tiara as physically possible. As she fled she checked over her shoulder more than once to make sure the darkness wasn't following.
By the time she reached the double doors leading to the castle outside and locking the Room of Hidden Things away on the other, Dominique was starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, it was hidden for a reason.
