Dominique pounded on the gray slate door with all her might. Nothing. She stepped back, waited, then tried again, her right fist beginning to ache with the pressure. The door fell open under her hand a moment later, and she lurched forward.

Lysander stood in the doorway, his normally impeccable hair disheveled. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a white tank-top, revealing his taut biceps and a flat stomach. He took in the sight of her standing there, her dark green dress nipped in at the waist and flowing out over her slim hips, the V-neck cutting down to show off her small chest.

He had never seen her looking that way before. But the expression on her face was frightening, and tears streaked her cheeks. She was shaking.

"Dominique."

The indignity of all of it came rushing back to her at the sound of his voice. She launched herself at him, taking out all of her rage with her fists against his chest. Lysander tried to back up and put up his arms to block her blows, but she persisted, landing a few punches on his chest and a solid slap against his jaw before he managed to grab her wrists in one hand.

"What're you doing?" he roared. "What's the matter? Why're you here?"

She collapsed against him, sobbing, then tried weakly to pull her hands away. But he held her much too tightly. "Do you have any idea—" She stopped, her voice small and pained. "You've hurt me. So much."

"What happened to you? You're crazy drunk." He let go of her wrists and gripped her shoulders firmly before she could lash out again, holding her away from him at arm's length.

"What happened?" Her voice was deadly. "What happened? Where to begin." She struggled against his grip, but he held on tight. "Cuffe kicked me out on my ass," she bit out. "Fired me from the only job I ever wanted, the only thing I ever really had a chance at. You blamed me for us losing the story. You think I've never been good enough. And I was stupid enough to think you valued having me as a partner."

"I did."

Her laugh was bitter. "I suppose that's why you called me second best, isn't it?"

Lysander flinched.

"But that's just it. I shouldn't be surprised," she went on, gaining momentum, shoving aside the sickness inside her. "All you ever did at Hogwarts was belittle me and call me second-rate and mock me and take pleasure in robbing me of being good at my schoolwork, the only thing I could do that Vic couldn't."

"Hogwarts…" His voice faded. "Dominique, what're you talking about?"

She looked up at him in disbelief, still trying to extricate herself from his hold so she could hit him again. "You mean you don't remember? How much you tormented me?"

Lysander stared down at her, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "I remember some. Enough."

"But you still don't understand why I might be upset?" she snarled. "And after all of that, after everything we've been through, just when I thought you might've changed, for you to treat me the way you have." The tears came rushing back then, along with the memory of what she'd done minutes ago in the yard at the Burrow. Her face burned with shame.

"I'm sorry about the other day. I took my anger out on you and it was wrong."

She swayed on her feet, head throbbing, suddenly grateful his arms were holding her up. "Not just that. Were you ever going to acknowledge that you kissed me? Or did that mean nothing to you as well?"

His gaze was solemn, but he didn't reply.

"No. Didn't think so. You were right after all, Lysander. I've only ever been second best." Her voice was still venomous, but the fight was starting to go out of her now, and she slumped against him, feeling the full weight of the alcohol settle in her stomach. "Crazy drunk…yeah, I'm bloody well drunk, Lysander. Because of you."

Lysander's hand shifted from her shoulder, felt for a strand of her hair, loose and curling around her face. He was so tender, a side of him she'd hardly ever seen. "Come inside. We can talk about it."

Her head snapped up again and her blue eyes flashed. "I don't. Want. To talk." She ground out each syllable with purpose. He looked so perfect standing there, so perfectly confused, and he had been so kind to her tonight. She hated herself for attacking him. She hated him for making her feel like she had to attack him to get his attention.

Lysander gave her hands a little tug, trying to pull her over the threshold and into his flat, but instead she wrenched her hand away, reached up and tugged his head down so she could press her lips to his. He stood completely still, letting her wrap both of her arms around his neck, unsure how to respond to this wild creature in front of him.

But in a second, he was returning her kiss, pressing a hand into the small of her back and crushing her to him, tongue exploring her mouth, doing everything he had wanted to do that night on the couch at her flat. Until he forced himself to pull away.

"Dominique, you're so drunk. We can't do this tonight. Please, just come inside and let's talk about it." His thumb ran little circles on the inside of her wrist.

"There's nothing to talk about," she snapped, lips still burning. "I have nothing to say. Let me go."

He shook his head, retaining his hold on her. "I don't want you Apparating out there on your own like this. You're as bad as I've ever seen you. What happened tonight? Please come inside. At least sleep on my couch for a few hours."

Dom's eyes flashed. "I don't trust you, Lysander, and I don't want your help."

"Don't trust me? Merlin, you just kissed me like you're drowning, Dominique. What's going on here?"

She let out a little cry. "I'm trying to understand what happened between us! Why you acted like you cared about me only to crush me again, like always." She couldn't stand to look at his face as she told him the truth about how he had made her feel. "Please, just let go of me. Let me go home."

But he tugged on her arm again. "Don't be stupid."

She set her jaw in a firm line. With a crack, she Apparated away, taking him with her.


He was still holding on tight to her wrist when they materialized in front of the red door of her flat. But they weren't alone.

A solitary figure sat on the step in front of the door, slumped against its frame, the tousled head dropped between hands propped up on his knees. Dominique's stomach began to churn again at the sight of him. She couldn't deal with more of this right now.

Lysander dropped her hand and squinted down at the figure on the stoop. "Lupin?"

Teddy's head jerked up. As soon as he realized who it was, he jumped to his feet, swaying a little and pushing his messy hair out of his eyes, red-rimmed and unfocused. "Dom, you're here. Finally." He took a step towards her and reached out an arm, but Lysander edged in front of her just the slightest bit, an unspoken signal.

"What the bloody hell is going on between you two?" Lysander hissed, looking down at Dominique, who could only bite her lip. He glanced back at Teddy. "Why're you here? Did you get her drunk like this?"

"Dominique, what's he doing here?" Teddy inquired, ignoring Lysander's questions.

She licked her lips. "It's fine, Lysander. It's not his fault. Just go."

But he stayed firmly planted, turning to face her as if Teddy weren't even there. "I'm not going until I'm sure you're okay. You're a mess."

It wasn't the first time he had said that tonight.

"I thought I looked okay," she muttered, staring at the ground. "All things considered."

Lysander laughed suddenly at that — the short, sharp kind of laugh that sounded like it was pulled from him against his wishes. The kind of laugh she had gotten used to hearing, that she had begun to feel proud of herself for eliciting from him. "You know what I think about that," he said, half under his breath, grabbing her hand again.

Dom shook her head and refused to meet his eyes. Could I possibly muck up this evening any more than I already have? she wondered to herself. It was hard to imagine how. "I'm sorry I dragged you into it. Please, leave us alone. I have to talk to him."

Teddy was done waiting. "Look, Scamander, I don't know why the fuck you're here, but you can sod off now. She wants nothing to do with you, obviously. Never did." He kicked at the ground with the tip of his boot.

But still Lysander disregarded him, squeezing Dominique's hand tight. "Are you sure you're alright?" His eyes sought hers in the dim light from the front-door lantern.

She finally forced herself to look up at him, letting his piercing hazel gaze lock on her face, and she nodded. His thumb was stroking her palm softly, words going unspoken between them for so many reasons. It felt like he was saying goodbye.

"No need to worry. I can handle her," Teddy barked.

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Lysander shot back, dropping Dom's hand and glaring at him. "I don't know what's happening here, but you know goddamn well she deserves better than having you fuck around with her like this."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Dominique exclaimed. "I'm standing right here! I don't need you doing this. You lost the right to care about me."

But still he stood, eyeing Teddy warily. A stand-off. Teddy's expression was casual, like he knew he'd be the last one left standing no matter what. Lysander's jaw was set in a harsh line, his arms tense. He was wearing only sweatpants and a tank top, had to be freezing in the winter chill, but he didn't so much as shiver.

"Lysander, please." She heaved a ragged sigh and pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "I need to talk to him, and you need to go."

Finally, his eyes flicked over to her, and he gave a curt nod. "Happy Christmas, Dominique." A half smile. And then he was gone.