"Why are boys so stupid?" Dominique asked, leaning back into the deck chair that she'd been occupying for most of the evening. Her eyes were on her twin brother, Louis, their friends, and various other male school mates that were currently acting like complete idiots in Flynn Taggart's back garden. It was late—or possibly early—and most of them had been drinking for hours. The boys were off their heads drunk by now and it showed, given they had set up a makeshift boxing ring and were taking turns to fake punch and smack each other. Someone was bound to eventually get an actual fist to face, which they all deserved. It looked awful, but the group was having a loud laugh. Idiots.
In the chair beside her, her friend, Sarah Kirke, sighed loudly as her expression grew concerned. Louis—her boyfriend—was currently at the center of this nonsense, as he often was. He couldn't help it; he had a relentless need to always be in the thick of things. Perhaps Sarah was worried that the eventual fist to the face would meet him, thus roughing up his handsome features for a week or so. Dominique would honestly laugh if it did. Serves him right.
It was mid-August, on a particularly warm summer night in Godric's Hollow—a neighborhood where a large community of witches and wizards lived together. Sarah lived here, about four houses down from Flynn, as well as many of the others that they went to school with. It seemed very much the place to be lately, with every friend of a friend finding their way here eventually. Nights like tonight, where it was originally Dominique and her usual group, quickly turned into at least five more people turning up out of the blue. It was becoming so frequent that it was now normal.
Her brother and their friends seemed to be lapping up every second of freedom. They were seventeen now, adults by wizarding standards. It was their last proper summer as students, seeing as they soon would be entering their seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After that, who could say where things would take them. Some would opt for a gap year; others could easily slip right into a career. It would be different next summer.
While she would have loved to be carefree and a little dumb right now, she couldn't turn her mind off enough lately to achieve it. She instead would find herself preoccupied by the sullen mood that continued to creep up on her lately. It was proving to be hard to shake.
"If Jack hits Art, he's going to break him in half," Sarah muttered, finally looking away from the boys across the garden. "He's got at least three stone on him."
"I would have said four," Dominique mumbled, watching her friend, Jack Ians—an athletic bloke with a nice, proper Beater's build—push away a rail thin fifth-year by the name of Art. He looked as if he was trying to do the kid a favor by stepping back repeatedly, but Art kept coming at him like an aggressive wasp. "I feel if this actually turned into a proper brawl, Jack could take the lot."
"I wouldn't bet against it," Sarah said, yawning as she checked her watch.
"What time is it?"
"Half past midnight."
Dominique stretched her arms over her head. It was time for her to leave. She'd already had enough to drink; any more and she'd probably reach actual drunkenness. As it was, she was buzzed in a lovely sort of way. She didn't feel like herself—which lately was her ultimate goal—but she wasn't out of her mind like the boys were. It was a happy in between, despite the fact that she didn't feel entirely happy. She didn't feel completely miserable either though, so that was a plus.
"How much have you had tonight?" Sarah asked, gesturing to Dominique's now empty can.
"Less than I've had in the last couple of nights. Suppose I'm being good."
"I noticed you were taking it slow."
Of course she'd noticed; she'd always been exceptionally observant to the point of being nosy. Nothing got past her, which was sometimes extremely annoying. Especially when she said things like—
"Have you finally realized you can't just drink Davies away?"
She sighed. Even hearing his name made her jaw clench. She didn't want anyone—for any reason— thinking that he had any influence on her decisions. She didn't want it assumed that she was thinking about him at all. "I wasn't trying to."
"We could talk about it. It's been nearly a month and you've barely—"
"Nope. Don't want to do that."
Now it was Sarah's turn to sigh. "You know, keeping it bottled up never helps." She wasn't particularly drunk either—they were probably on equal footing—but even with a bit of alcohol in her system, Sarah tended to get very engrossed in everyone's business. She always wanted to use the opportunity to have meaningful conversations or get people to delve into the deepest parts of their souls to share their thoughts. She was a perfect friend to have around if someone truly wanted to talk things out. Problem was, Dominique never wanted to do that.
"I prefer bottled up."
"See, you do this," Sarah gestured to Dominique's body language, "to try to scare people off. Close yourself up, make snide comments, give nasty looks. Everyone leaves you alone. I see through the whole act."
"I'd expect nothing less."
"And that too," she continued. "You give these shit answers. I know you better than that. Do you want to know how I know this breakup is still bothering you?"
"Not really."
"If it really didn't bother you, you'd have been yelling it from the rooftops and you know it."
Dominique said nothing. Her gaze was now on Art, who had fallen to the ground and was drunkenly stumbling to get back up with the help of Flynn's younger brother, Flyer. Louis was standing there telling him to give it a rest. Behind him, Jack was pulling off a sweaty looking, long-sleeved shirt that he'd had layered over a regular t-shirt. Dominique found herself far more interested in watching him do that than anything Sarah had to say.
"When you actually don't care," Sarah continued, "you let people have it. You yell, you curse, you make their lives shit. You call them out and tell anyone who will listen about what an arsehole they are. You are ruthless and unforgiving."
"If that's all it takes," Dominique said with a shrug. "Fine. Henry is an arsehole. There. I've said it."
"If you mean it, yell it."
"Sorry?"
She pointed over to where the group had abandoned Art in his drunken stupor on the ground and now seemed bored of their game. Perhaps someone finally got hit in the face; maybe it had been Art. "Yell it so even they can hear you. Tell everyone."
"I'm not going to yell it."
"Because you're not over him. You cared about Davies—"
"No, I didn't."
"—and you're still processing the—"
"Oi!" Dominique yelled in the general direction of the boys, only two of whom even stopped what they were doing to turn and look. "Henry Davies is a fucking arsehole!"
Someone in the group made a "whoo!" sound, while another voice repeated, "fucking arsehole!" for reasons that probably had nothing to do with Henry. There was a brief laughter, but after a moment or so, they'd all returned to talking in their circle.
She smiled smugly. "See? Over it."
"You're so full of shit," Sarah said, settling back into her chair.
She laughed, feeling victorious as her eyes looked up the sparsely starry night. The truth was that Sarah wasn't entirely wrong, but she was not the type to wear her heart on her sleeve—or her trousers or even her shoes. She didn't wear it anywhere, and instead made sure it was buried deep, deep inside where no one could ever have a look. It was safer that way—she knew that now.
People wanted more information about what had happened with Henry; she knew that. She'd barely told anyone anything, other than the fact that he'd been the one to end things and they were now over. She'd called him a few choice names, but people wanted to know the details; ones that she wasn't comfortable giving up. The questions had come from all directions—from Sarah, from Louis, from Jack, from her sister, from her mother. Even fucking Flynn—who despite the two having known each other for the past six years, she had no real relationship with. But she'd given no real answers. She'd brushed everyone off. She'd said nothing. She didn't want anyone to think she cared.
"What time are you leaving to catch your Portkey tomorrow?" Sarah asked after long silence. Thankfully, it seemed that she was changing the subject.
"It's at eight-something," she said, letting her gaze fall back onto her friend. "I cannot wait to get out of here."
"I'd imagine so," she said, stifling a yawn. "You've only talked about being able to attend that Quidditch Training thing since the day I met you."
That was the absolute truth. Since the day her Aunt Ginny had told her all about the annual Quidditch Training Trials as a child, she'd been obsessed with the idea of going. It was a once a year, immersive Quidditch experience where hundreds and hundreds of wizards from across the continent showed up to learn, play, train, and, for some—if they were lucky—gain a spot on a professional Quidditch team. Those numbers were small though, and the truth was that the IQA—the International Quidditch Association, which was a collection of high-ranking Quidditch representatives from various countries—already had their eyes on those people well before they'd even turned up at camp. Those players were always personally invited by the IQA, and training at the camp was more of a formality than a tryout.
Non-invited witches and wizards could still attend. They had to register and pay fees; for them the Trials were treated more as an experience or even a holiday. The only requirements to attend were that you had to have played Quidditch in some organized capacity at some point in your life and that you had to be of legal age.
It seemed that many people simply loved the idea of being able to relive their glory days on a broom since the event always had a large turnout. Despite invited players usually being the only ones that were picked for anything greater, it didn't mean that on occasion, a random new person couldn't be discovered. They'd be lucky if they made it as an alternate somewhere, but it wasn't unheard of. Dominique suspected that for a lot of the people who came year after year, the hope of it maybe finally being their time was what drove them.
For her, this was the first year she was eligible to attend, having turned seventeen the previous March. Her experience would be a bit different, considering she was still a student—and thus considered a student athlete. Her trip was organized through Hogwarts and the Ministry, along with any of the other of-age classmates she had who wished to attend. None of them were eligible to be plucked up by a team until the following year, though having a good performance would certainly gain them the attention of the right people. It was essential to show them every bit of potential in the hopes of earning an invitation for the following year. In some ways, this was the most important trip of them all. She had been ready for this for years.
"And the timing couldn't be better," Sarah continued.
"Yeah, I need the break. I need to just play Quidditch."
"You need to be surrounded by cute Quidditch boys," she said. "Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And since you've clearly got a thing for Quidditch players…" She trailed off before adding. "And I've heard the stories out of that place."
She again wasn't wrong. Along with all the hard-work and training, it was also well known that the Quidditch Training Trials was a bit of a breeding ground for partying and sex. While everyone had dreams of Quidditch stardom, most of them knew it wouldn't actually happen. The best players had something to strive for, but for everyone else it was just a good time. She'd heard that, once there, people found themselves surrounded by others who were generally fit and athletic; many of whom were ready to let loose. She'd heard many of the stories as well, and every one of them involved some drunken adventure or random sex act.
"Here's hoping I can find some good looking ones," Dominique said, fighting off a yawn and wondering whether she should leave for home now or wait a few more minutes. "I could use the change of scenery. Everyone here looks like a potato."
Sarah snorted a laugh at that, but then just as quickly said, "Not everyone. Louis definitely doesn't."
"He might as well for all I care."
"Ok, well, Jack doesn't either," she said in a matter-of-fact way. Her tone had been very direct, as if she was making a point. When Dominique turned to look at her, she was smirking. How on earth did she…? Bloody hell, she really did notice absolutely everything.
She turned away and said nothing in response to that. Jack was Jack. One of her closest friends, her brother's best friend, her Quidditch teammate. Those were the boxes she put him in and didn't give it much more thought. But she'd be lying if she couldn't admit that he'd been looking really good lately. After a break up of his own at the start of the year, he'd been working out quite a bit. On top of that he was a Beater, and they generally had really great arms from all that bat swinging. She had a thing for arms and, well, his were perfect. Everything had come together for him quite nicely over the last few months. She could admit that. It definitely made for a nice change of pace given all of these potatoes.
"Whenever you drink," Sarah said, "you don't exactly hide the fact that you shamelessly watch him. Don't worry, I'm not sure anyone but me has noticed."
"Is that your way of saying you haven't said anything to my brother?"
"I don't tell your brother everything."
She wasn't sure she entirely believed that, but she didn't bother arguing. Instead, she sat up straighter in her chair, ready to own these accusations. "Alright, fine. I enjoy watching him. Guilty as charged." She gestured over toward him. "His arms alone—"
Sarah snorted a laugh. "What is with you and arms? But yes, I have eyes. He looks great. But I'm not checking him out like you are. Why would I when I have my own very cute boyfriend to check out?"
"Your boyfriend has chicken legs."
Sarah gaped.
"But, I mean, If you're into that..."
She bit her tongue, always having to tread a very delicate line between defending her man and dealing with his twin sister who would never not take the piss out of him. As far as Dominique was concerned, Sarah brought it upon herself the day she fell in love with him. It was her cross to bear now. Not that Sarah didn't have her own ways of getting back at her.
"Alright, so, back to your crush on Jack.."
"For fuck's sake," Dominique said, letting her head fall back in chair so that she was gazing up at the sky. "Five minutes ago I'm not over Henry and now I fancy Jack. Which is it? I can't keep up."
"I'm only wondering if I have to worry about you two heading off to this Quidditch thing and then...you know."
"What!?" Her head shot up and her face twisted into complete disbelief. Was she being serious? "No. He's nice to look at. I don't want to actually fuck him. Do you know how weird that would be?"
"Weirder than you fucking someone that you absolutely hated for years?"
Ok, that was a fair point. She could acknowledge that. She didn't have a particularly good track record for ignoring potentially weird pairings, but this was different. "You don't have anything to worry about. I only even have a look when I've been drinking. Sober me knows better."
"Yeah, because as we said earlier, this Quidditch thing is super chaste, dry, and boring where no one has any sex or fun and everyone just sits around reading."
Again, another fair point. She was on a roll. "Look, if I decided to fuck anyone, it's got to be someone I'll never see again. That's my one rule. I'm looking for something easy and mindless. Something I don't have to deal with once it's over."
"Good rule," Sarah said. "Here's hoping you stick to it."
"Also," Dominique said, now feeling the buzz of alcohol really surging through her body. "With this Jack thing, you're neglecting a key detail."
"Which is?"
"Even if I did decide to say, 'Fuck it, let's have sex with Jack today because why not complicate and fuck things up in my life even more than I already have!" you have to remember that he's also got a say in things. He'd have to agree." She leaned across the table toward her. "But this is me we're talking about. I'm not a regular girl. I'm his friend. Even better, I'm his best friend's sister. He wouldn't dare. He's a man of honor."
Sarah laughed loudly at that. "Like a knight?"
"Sure," she said. "He knows better than to break the bonds of friendship by fucking your best friend's sibling."
Sarah blinked at the very specific choice of words that she knew were meant for her. Dominique had already sent her and Louis through the ringer back when she'd first found out about the two of them hooking up behind her back. It had been a big secret that they were fucking and apparently now madly in love with each other. Had she not accidentally found out on Christmas Eve last year, who knew how long they would have kept that secret in the dark. She'd felt betrayed, angry, and fairly abandoned for awhile after that.
And while she would verbally forgive the pair of them, that was well before she actually had. It had taken her months to actually come to terms with her brother dating her best friend, but she ultimately did accept it. They'd all made peace with the fact since, but that didn't stop her from attempting to poke the bear from time to time.
"I guess that makes Jack a better person than me," Sarah said coldly.
When Dominique looked over at her, she seemed put off. Shit, she'd poked too hard. She could be a real bitch on a normal day, but when she'd been drinking, she legitimately had no filter. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," she said, sipping her drink and watching something across the garden. When Dominique turned to look, she saw the pack of boys starting to disperse and head in their direction. Flynn was leading the charge, with the other boys trailing behind him and talking about something having to do with the mechanics of dragon sex. As they passed toward the house, there was a general murmur of quick good nights and goodbyes; Louis and Jack lagged at the end of the group and both stopped as soon as they reached them.
"Heyyyy," Louis said, clearly drunk as he pulled the last deck chair over and placed it directly next to Sarah's. "What are you two talking about?"
"Nothing," Sarah said, not looking exactly thrilled to see him at the moment. The smell of Firewhiskey was palpable.
"Chicken legs," Dominique offered.
Louis squinted at his sister despite the fact that there were no bright lights around. "What?"
"Nevermind." Over the summer, Louis had proven he liked to drink, but to get this drunk was even much for him. It was probably the reason Sarah didn't look particularly amused. She usually kept up with him when it came to drinking, so it was clear she didn't see this side of him very often. "I give you about ten minutes until you're black out cold on Flynn's kitchen floor."
"I hope that is where you plan on sleeping," Sarah said, "because you're not coming back to my place like this."
Louis, even in this state, managed to somehow turn on his limitless charm as he reached over and gave Sarah's shoulder a squeeze. He leaned in close—his eyes took on an almost puppy—like sweetness—and he said something to her that no one could hear, but it made her laugh. It was only a matter of time now. He always won in the end.
"Bleh," Dominique muttered, turning away from the both of them. Her eyes settled on Jack, who was lying face down in a nearby patch of grass. He didn't look quite as attractive as she usually found him when he was like this.
"You're going to regret this tomorrow," she said, reaching out the tip of her trainer to nudge his leg.
"I shouldn't have had that much," he mumbled. "The room is spinning."
"We're outside."
"The outside is spinning."
"You remember that you're supposed to be up early tomorrow to meet me before we catch our Portkey, right?"
"Yes," he said as he rolled onto his back, "But that's future me's problem."
"Future you is going to think present you is an arsehole."
"He wouldn't be wrong," he mumbled, raising his arms above his head to shield his eyes. The action caused his shirt to rise at the bottom, exposing some of his bare stomach. She was back to finding him attractive again.
At the same time, the sound of the back door opening and shutting caught Dominique's attention. From the house, Flynn's younger sister, Fiona—who was due to start her second—year at school soon and thus, had to make her about twelve—had walked outside. Her eyes immediately settled on the four of them.
"Is my brother out here?"
Sarah turned to face her, immediately looking concerned at having heard her voice. Having grown up down the street, Sarah had always been close with Flynn's family. Sarah often referred to Fiona as a little sister of sorts, especially considering Sarah's own home life was unconventional—being the only child of a second marriage. Her half-brothers were all in their thirties and she'd essentially grown up on her own.
"I think he's out front saying goodnight to some people. Did you need something?"
She shrugged, stepping forward toward the group of them. "I was trying to sleep and I wanted him to keep it down. Everyone's being so loud.".
"Everyone's left now, so it'll get quieter," Sarah said with a smile. Fiona had approached them entirely now and wasn't even hiding her curious intentions. She reached out to inspect a Firewhiskey bottle that one of the boys had brought over and left on the table. Sarah plucked it from her hands without a word.
Fiona let her eyes traveling over to where Jack was still lying in the grass. Her expression turned to one of panic. "Is Jack OK?"
"He's just had a little too much," Dominique said, reaching her trainer out again to tap—or rather, gently kick him. "You alive down there?"
He groaned a little.
"See? He's fine."
Louis suddenly sat up straight, almost looking as if he'd dozed off for a moment. He blinked several times before his eyes focused on Fiona. "Where'd she come from? Has she been here all night?"
"Go home, Louis," Dominique said, rolling her eyes. "Actually, don't go home because that's where I'm going and I don't feel like listening to the lecture you'd get from mum and dad." She stood up and gave the group a once over. "With that, I'm getting out of here."
"Have fun at the Trials," Sarah said, throwing her a lazy smile. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Dominique smiled. She wanted to say that that meant there was very little off limits then, but with Fiona still standing there, she refrained. Plus, it just wasn't nearly as fun anymore to take the piss on her sex life when her brother was the one on the receiving end of things; it just made things weird.
She tapped Jack once more in the leg, warning him he'd better not miss the Portkey in the morning before she walked over to where her brother was rubbing his eyes. She flicked him in the side of the head, which made him recoil but not react much otherwise. He'd be passed out in minutes.
"Go to bed," she said to him before wishing everyone else quick goodbyes. In the next moment, she Apparated to right beyond her house, where she was hit by a gust of wind off the ocean that forced her hair to splay all over her face. It seemed particularly blustery that evening, which made her wonder if a storm was on its way. If it was, she hoped it hit sooner rather than later. She loved falling asleep to the sound of the rain.
As she turned and began walking toward her childhood home, she noticed the lights were still on in the sitting room. It was after midnight, and her parents had given up waiting up for her and Louis—Louis particularly—ages ago. They'd never sleep if they did. Not to mention, the pair of them—again, Louis particularly—were likely to spend the night out at Sarah's than come home, so it made for an even more curious reason as to why the lights would be on at this hour.
She reached the front door, and opened it with a flick of her wand knowing it wasn't unlocked. Her mother refused to have unlocked doors at the house—residual paranoia from the war decades before. As she entered, she braced herself for an inevitable lecture about being out late. It wouldn't be a scolding or an argument, but her parents would still have to throw in a chat about how sneaking around the house late at night in an attempt to keep quiet was something that unsettled them immensely—again, due to residual paranoia from the war. When that lecture didn't immediately come, she slowly poked her head around the corner. Sitting on the sofa, the radio playing low, was her older sister, Victoire, and her boyfriend, Ted.
"It's you," Dominique said, now entering the room fully. "Why are you here?"
"I live here," Victoire said, her strawberry blonde hair pulled effortlessly up in a messy, but still perfect looking bun. She was dressed down, as if she'd been cleaning or exercising. She'd apparently worked up a sweat at some point, though instead of looking gross and in need of a shower, she looked dewy and fresh faced. Victoire's definition of sloppy still always managed to somehow look immaculately put together.
"You live here for now," Dominique corrected, now noticing a stack of boxes that had been placed by the stairs. "By week's end, that's a different story."
"Already ready to be rid of me," Victoire said to no one in particular, though she glanced over at Ted after she said it. He smirked, but said nothing and returned to reading a copy of the Daily Prophet that was sprawled across his lap. Dominique noticed he was actually dressed in robes, as if he'd come from somewhere, and his hair was a boring brown shade instead of one of the usual fun colors he generally morphed it into due to being a Metamorphmagus. He most likely had come from his job at the hospital where they made him fit into a boring, proper mold. The bags under his eyes were another dead giveaway since he worked long hours and spent whatever leftover time he had with Victoire. It explained why they were both sitting around being boring in the living room.
"Have you finished packing yet?" Dominique asked her sister, walking over to sit on the sofa opposite the pair of them.
"Almost," she said, not looking up from a piece of parchment she'd been reading over moments earlier. "Checking my to-do list as we speak. Whit's coming over in the morning and helping me move some boxes."
"And why aren't you helping?" Dominique asked Ted, half kidding. Truth was that she already knew his answer before he said it.
Victoire answered first, "He has to work," just as Ted—sounding as tired as he looked—managed a lame sounding, "Have to work."
"They're short-handed this week," Victoire added. "Two people took a holiday, and somehow that got approved. So Ted will be dead on his feet." She reached over and gave his back an affectionate rub.
"I get a few days off next month," he said, mustering a weak smile. Dominique assumed that was an attempt at a joke; it seemed sad given how tired he looked.
"It's fine," Victoire said. "Dad and Mum are helping. As is Whit. I'm going to try and get Louis to help as well."
"That's not happening."
"Why?"
"If he survives the night and doesn't succumb to alcohol poisoning, he's not getting out of bed before sometime next week."
Victoire's expression tightened up. She looked back over at the door, as if realizing he hasn't returned with her. "Wait, where is he? Wasn't he with you?"
"He was, but he went and drink his body weight in Firewhiskey tonight," she said. "He's Sarah's problem now. And last I saw she was annoyed and told him he was sleeping at Flynn's, but you know he'll lay the charm on thick and before you know it, he'll be right back in it again."
"'Back at it again?'" Victoire corrected.
"The it I was referring to was his Sarah's fanny," she said. "Sorry if that wasn't clear."
Victoire wrinkled her nose and groaned, though Ted laughed a little and said, "Sounds like he's enjoying his last summer before he graduates. You only get one. It's supposed to be a good time."
Victoire pulled a face, "I spent mine bring driven mental over whether or not you fancied me back. It wasn't particularly fun playing the 'will they/won't they' game."
"Being driven mental?" Ted repeated. "What did I do? Last I checked, you left me high and dry and went to France—"
"I'm just saying emotions were high that summer."
"Can we not relive the adventures of Victoire and Teddy tonight?" Dominique asked. "I'd like that story to stay on the shelf where it belongs. We've all already heard it a thousand times."
They both stared at her for a long moment before Victoire glanced back at him and muttered, "I'm not even going to miss her when I'm gone. I'm not."
He laughed as he started folding up his newspaper. "And why aren't you out getting drunk with Louis?"
"I have to leave tomorrow for the Quidditch Trials," she said as she used one shoe to kick her other shoe off. "Bright and early. Can't miss my Portkey."
"That's where Durrin's going," Ted said, tossing the paper to the opposite side of the sofa. "He's leaving tomorrow as well."
"Oh, is he?" Dominique asked, remembering her old Quidditch captain and Keeper, Durrin Adams. He was two years older than her and had been the team's captain the year both she and Jack had made the team; he'd been the one who'd selected them. She'd often argued with him and he'd made her fly probably hundreds of laps over the three years they'd played together, but he was ultimately an alright bloke. These days, Durrin worked in the same department Ted did at St. Mungo's. They'd apparently become really good friends since Victoire had often mentioned how she and Ted spent a lot of time with him.
"Yeah," he continued. "It's why he took the week off. He lives for this week. Missed it last year when he had to start working at the hospital, but was ready for it this year. Says it's madness in the best possible way."
"Everyone's always saying that, but what does that mean?" Victoire asked. "What is so wild about a bunch of people playing Quidditch?"
"From what I hear," Ted began, "it's that during the day it's all Quidditch, but at night, you've got all these adrenaline filled Quidditch players looking to burn off some steam, mix in some alcohol, some sex, and..." He trailed off.
Victoire now look of concern was almost a perfect match for the one their mother often gave them.
"I'm just going to play Quidditch," Dominique said innocently, though she couldn't hide her smile as she said it. Watching Victoire squirm at her idea of unapproved debauchery was hilarious.
"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Victoire said, her face growing more concerned. "Just...please make good choices."
"I will," Dominique said with a shrug. "I won't shag anyone ugly."
Ted laughed at that, though it made Victoire groan loudly. "I'm serious, Nic."
"I am as well," Dominique said. "I'm on the rebound. What's the harm in making some new friends?"
"You don't make friends with your vagina."
"Fine, I'll just make enemies with it," Dominique countered. "When you're naked in the dark, what's the difference anyway?"
Victoire's expression, which was currently a mixture of shock and annoyance, was worth every minute of this exchange. It was too easy to rile her up. She would genuinely miss this when she moved out.
"To be fair," Ted began, "I could see how one could…"
"Do not encourage her."
"I'm not encouraging her," Ted said. "This is Nicki. She'd going to do what she wants, when she wants, how she wants, and nothing I say is going to stop her."
"He seems to know me better than my own sister," Dominique said. "And if we're being honest, I'm genuinely going for the Quidditch. I mean, who knows what kind of people are going to turn up there. Watch it be a whole bunch of goons like Durrin."
"Don't have sex with Durrin," Victoire said immediately.
"What's wrong with Durrin?" Ted asked. "You were talking about setting him up with Whit not that long ago."
"Until I realized he's not over Annabelle," Victoire said. "And never will be."
Dominique's ears perked up at that. She knew an Annabelle. Annabelle Paige was Durrin's ex and had been a Seeker for Hufflepuff a few years prior. She'd been an average Seeker—better than anyone else in her house apparently was—but Dominique had caught the Snitch against her every time they'd met. Then again, she caught the Snitch against most people. "Is Annabelle going?"
"I'm fairly certain she's the entire reason Durrin goes," Victoire said, and Ted's expression only confirmed that comment.
"I always liked her," Dominique said. "She was always really cool."
"She's too much for me," Victoire said, picking her to-do list back up. "People like her are exhausting with their constant need to go out and be around everyone and makes friends with everyone."
"Yeah, but she'll show you a good time while you're out there," Ted said, giving Dominique a look. "That girl always knows where to go and what to do."
"Wonder if she knows who to do, too?" Dominique asked, now smirking at her sister. "Then, she can help me find the best one night stands."
"Please don't," Victoire said. "Go play Quidditch and ignore all the distractions like Annabelle—or Durrin when he's with Annabelle—because then he's just as bad."
"I say go have fun," Ted offered. "Remember that seventh-year is non-stop. You spend almost the entire year studying for N.E.W.T.s, so live it up now. After that you get a job, you work endless hours, you wish for the days when it was easy to drop everything and go be dumb."
"For the record, I'm not saying she shouldn't go and have a good time. Just be responsible. I don't want you making any dumb mistakes that you can't take back."
Dominique shrugged. "If you haven't noticed by now, that's my specialty."