Half a loaf of bread. The dregs of a milk carton. A couple of slightly bruised apples. And a stick of butter in the top drawer. The pitiful assortment hardly represented the makings of a great dinner.

Dom narrowed her eyes in irritation as she scanned the contents of her refrigerator. Right on cue, her stomach let out a reverberating growl. "I'd better buy some ham tomorrow," she muttered to herself. "Or else buck up and go back home for dinner one of these days."

With a sarcastic chuckle, she immediately dismissed that thought. The thought of Teddy bent over Vic on the street in Diagon Alley came rushing back, uninvited. Her heart picked up its old habit of uncontrollable thumping at the thought of her former best friend, her sister's boyfriend, the boy she had always hoped would notice her as more than his kid sister. There had been a few times when she thought there might have been a chance, when a flicker in his eyes or a sudden smile would make her heart flutter.

Dom took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door to her and Victoire's room, eyes catching on the pale green dress laid across her small, twin bed. Her mother must've set it there when she had been out in the yard running around with her cousins, enjoying the early summer sunshine and the first few days of freedom after finishing her sixth year.

She hesitated for a moment before picking it up, feeling a quick twinge of doubt. Sometimes it felt like wearing beautiful clothes and fixing her hair was never worth it. No one would ever notice her with Victoire around. And why should they? Her sister was the beauty, the one with the Veela charm.

Dominique had the Weasley freckles and red hair, her uncle's green eyes and pointed nose. But, as she had grown so accustomed to doing, she shook her head and cleared the thoughts away, shutting the door and slipping on the dress quickly.

She eyed herself in the mirror, sharp shoulders poking out from under the thin straps, hips too narrow to fill out the flare of the skirt. Even in a dress that should make her look like a dream, she didn't fit right.

A rap sounded at the door. Dreading Victoire's condescending scan of her new dress, she called out, "Wait a minute!" and moved to unzip the back. But the door creaked open anyway, and a tousled, sandy-blonde head poked through the resulting crack.

"Time for your birthday dinner!" Teddy exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. The grin fell a moment later as he took in the sight of her, strawberry-blonde curls falling across thin, tan shoulders, chest rising and falling softly beneath the v-neck of the light green dress.

"Damn," he breathed.

Dom blushed viciously, sure her face matched her hair. The way he was looking at her made goosebumps break out across her arms and she suddenly felt more self-conscious than she would've even with Vic's judgmental stare. "I'm about to take it off, if you'd get outta here," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Take it off? No, Dom, leave it."

She glanced up then, gaze meeting his. The look in his eyes was so startling, so different from anything she had seen there before.

"You're beautiful."

The sudden, sharp alarm of the telephone broke into her thoughts, banishing the knot in the pit of her stomach. Dom slammed the fridge shut and grabbed her cellphone from the counter. "Hey, I'm off the clock," she barked into it.

"Easy there, you sound like a Hungarian Horntail," returned Lysander's easy drawl. "Nice to talk to you, too."

"Yeah, yeah, all the pleasantries, whatever. Do you need me in the office now?" Please say no, please say no, she thought, as her stomach emitted another low-pitched grumble.

"No, actually. I know you're supposed to come in around 11 tonight to work on that Quidditch research for me."

"Yep." Dom paused, patiently waiting for him to explain what he needed.

"I assume you're waiting for an explanation?"

No answer.

"That's what I thought. Look I know the past week has tough on both of us. I can't say I've gotten more than ten total hours of sleep, and I can't imagine you've done much better. You've been working almost, but not quite, as hard as me."

She could picture the irritating smirk that accompanied this last remark, but rather than feeling the usual sting, she smiled at his teasing.

"Hm, still nothing to add," he observed, as her silence stretched on. "Well, I suppose I'll cut to the chase. Our follow-up story is due in two days. Starting tomorrow morning, neither of us are going to leave the office. I propose we take tonight off."

"So you don't need me to come in tonight at all?" She felt somewhat relieved, but the thought of sitting at her flat alone all night was less appealing than it would have been at one point.

"No, actually, I was thinking I could come there." His tone was uncertain, almost hopeful.

"Here...you mean to my flat?" Her brow furrowed.

He backtracked quickly. "If you'd rather rest up tonight for the next two days, that's fine. I thought a diversion, getting our minds off of the facts and the mysteries and just the whole story might do us some good."

Dom glanced around her shabby kitchen, peered into the dim living room, and imagined what it would be like for Lysander's tall frame to fill the front door's broad outline. "Sure, I think it would be fun."


There he was, standing in the tiny entryway, wiping his shoes on the small red mat. "So this is it," he declared with a glance around the flat.

She pulled a hand quickly through her hair, catching on a knot. "Come in, come in," she gestured, trying feverishly to disentangle her fingers.

"The place that consumes all of your non-work hours." He grinned.

"Hey! I do things other than sit at home," Dom protested, tossing his jacket over a peg on the back of the door.

"Oh, of course. Like run to the market for more coffee?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking almost ill at ease.

"Maybe. Can I, uh, do you want something to drink? I keep a little tea for you more civilized folk," she offered.

"I nearly forgot!" From his pocket he pulled a small flask of Firewhiskey. "Think this will be enough for you?"

Dom's eyes flashed. "Are you calling me a drunkard? You know that night was your fault. And I don't want your mocking gift."

Lysander shrugged. "Suit yourself. More for me." He twisted the top off of the bottle and took a swig.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, until Dom seemed to remember her manners. "Oh! Please, come in. We don't have to just stand here."

He let out an easy chuckle and capped the bottle of Firewhiskey. "I was kind of enjoying myself, actually."

She led him out of the dark anteway and into the tiny living room, where a fire crackled quietly. "It's not much, but I at least threw some firewood together here for you. It's starting to get pretty cold out these days."

Lysander settled into the armchair as she took one end of the couch, tucking her legs up beneath her. Not letting his eyes leave her face, he pulled the Firewhiskey from his pocket again and, slowly, set it down on the coffee table. "In case we need it," he explained. His gaze lighted on a scrapbook tucked under a vase of wilted flowers. "This looks promising!" Lysander made a grab for it just as Dom went to snatch it away, but his long arms were there first, fingertips brushing hers as he tugged the book out of her grasp.

"My brother made it for me when I moved out," she explained in a quiet, almost embarrassed tone, leaning back against the couch in resignation.

He flipped it open, and a smile immediately lit up his face. "Not a girly-girl I guess." He pointed at a picture of Dom, hair in messy braids, dirty feet dangling as she sat on a branch up high in a maple tree. Suddenly, he let out a sharp guffaw.

"What?" Dom exclaimed, unable to tell what was amusing him from an upside-down glance at the book.

Without a moment's hesitation, he picked himself up from the chair and settled beside her on the couch, arm brushing hers as he gestured at the picture. It was her third birthday, and she sat at the kitchen table in Shell Cottage wearing a long blue smock, chocolate cake smeared across her face, which was split by a wide grin.

But Dom didn't feel like laughing. Her chest was tight with his sudden proximity, his clean scent, the soft look in his eye as he smiled down at her baby picture.

He had been for so long her tormentor, the boy who kept her from earning the only thing she had a shot at, who mocked her and hurt her just for fun. Yet somehow he was sitting beside her now, and not only was he asking to look at the intimate moments of her childhood, but she found herself jumpy, jittery, wanting his arm to move an inch to the right and press against hers.

Stop it. Stop this right now, she insisted to herself. Dom forced a small smile onto her face, determined to focus on the pictures and not the sharp line of his jaw or the evening stubble sprouting there.

She let herself joke with him, enjoying the easy camaraderie that had blossomed between them since the start of the Bomsnox story. But as they neared the end of the book, they came across something that made her breath go fluttery all over again.

There she was, on her 17th birthday, standing by the maple tree in her front yard. But there was no dirt this time, and her hair fell in curls rather than being tied back in tight braids. She was wearing the pale green dress, and Teddy was beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her close to his side. And seventeen-year-old Dom was staring up at Teddy's face, the look on her face so admiring, so happy, that anyone could see she was in love.

Dom chanced a look up at Lysander, silently waiting for him to say something harsh, to mock her for the emotion so clear in the picture.

But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Lysander just shook his head and slowly, a small smile crept across his face. "God. How old were you there?"

"It was my 17th birthday," she managed in a quiet voice.

"You're—Dom, you look so beautiful."

He glanced at her. Their eyes met. The look in his eyes felt so similar to the way Teddy had looked at her that day just a few years earlier. His gaze went back to the photo. "You'd give him the moon if he wanted it, wouldn't you," he said softly. It wasn't a question.

But Dom shook her head. "Not anymore. I realized he doesn't deserve it."

Lysander slapped the book shut abruptly and set it back on the table, in one fluid motion grabbing the flask of Firewhiskey and handing it to her. "Let's drink to that."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but hesitantly took the bottle from his outstretched hand. "You're trying to get me drunk again."

"Ah, so you admit you were drunk." The fire's glimmer flickered in his hazel eyes.

"Tipsy," she countered.

"Drunk," he shot back, arching a brow.

"Drunk," Dom replied, pulling open the bottle and taking a big gulp.

He stretched leisurely, arms over his head, coming down to rest on the back of the couch, his hand perilously close to her right shoulder.

Dom let out a cough, the harsh whiskey burning her throat as his fingers brushed her arm. "Too much," she croaked, setting the bottle down on the table again.

Lysander gave a hearty laugh, patting her back gently. "It's okay, I'll teach you how to drink like a man someday. When you're ready." He winked at her as she continued to splutter.

When she had caught her breath, she looked up at him and tried to put a little distance between their bodies, so close on the couch. "When do I get to see your baby pictures?" she inquired.

"How about...never?" he proposed. "There's really not much to see there. Lorcan was a lot cuter than me as a kid,"

"And what about now?"

Lysander shrugged. "Still cuter than me. If you'll remember, I wasn't exactly a ladies' man in school."

"The way I remember it," she responded, "you had the best grades in our class and were dating a pretty girl."

"Well, Lorcan dates a lot of pretty girls. The 'cute' boys get all the girls," he said, putting air quotes around 'cute.' "Boys like Teddy, I guess."

Dominique watched him stare into the fireplace, watched his hazel eyes follow the flames, watched his long eyelashes gently hit his cheekbone when he blinked. Those sharp angles of his face, the strong jaw and nose. His features were anything but cute. He was harsh and overwhelming. But he was handsome, there was no way around it.

She wanted to tell him that, yet she couldn't bring herself to. Anything she said would sound hollow to her own ears after his sincere appraisal of her in the green dress. But she didn't need to say anything. He caught her eye again, and she was sure that he could see everything she was thinking just by the mesmerized look on her face.

"The cute boys never liked me much anyway," she whispered. His gaze didn't leave hers.

He was so close to her, and her thoughts were flooded with the many moments like this one that had piled up between them. Pressed against him in the cupboard at the mansion, the times his fingers brushed hers as they worked together in his office, his strong hand on the small of her back in Diagon Alley, the way he had gazed at her in the dim light of his flat as he pushed her against the door.

Lysander's gaze dropped to her mouth. He bit his lip, looked back up. "Dom," he breathed, voice whisper soft.

In the next moment his lips were pressed to hers, forcefully, but sweet. She hadn't realize how badly she had wanted, needed him to kiss her until he did it. He pulled back, looked at her, face unreadable.

She couldn't form a single thought other than Come back! but she couldn't say that and so she couldn't say anything. She moved forward, tried to lean back in to kiss him again.

"I—Look, I'm sorry," he blurted.

"No, Lysander," she reached out a hand for his arm but he was already up, off the couch, hand in his hair, finger running a ring around his stiff collar.

"I've gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Be there early, we've got a lot of work ahead of us." Without meeting her eyes, he pulled his jacket from the back of the door and was gone.

Dom fell back against the couch, pulled the Firewhiskey to her, and stared miserably into the fireplace, thinking that all the whiskey in the world would never be enough to ease the aching in her heart.