No one would call Dominique pretty.

It wasn't that she wasn't just as gorgeous as her mother, or her sister, but she wasn't the same. She wasn't what guys looked for when they said, 'I want a girlfriend.'

She was rugged around the edges, spunky, and wild. When she had left for school the summer of her fourth year, she sort of discovered herself. She chopped off her red locks that had been waist length for years to her ears and died the edges Slytherin green.

That was all it took for her to become every Slytherin boys best friend.

They didn't think she was pretty, or even cute, as much as they found her attractive. She had this oozing confidence that rolled over those around her. She was the seeker for Slytherin that year, but even soaring through the air, she'd occasionally fly by a friend and yell a joke, or pull a prank on the referee. She'd get a foul, but who cared. It was fun, and Dom lived for fun.

Who needed lovey dovey emotions? Not her. She laughed as her cousins got dates, boyfriends, dance partners. She teased them when they asked her for advice on how to act around boys, poked fun at them for having crushes.

Dom didn't have time for that.

She was transient as the wind, bouncing from place to place. No man to hold her down. The occasional crush or kiss, but who needed boys for anything besides jokes? She didn't.

They grew up, becoming the successes that Weasleys were now expected to be. Everyone began to think about serious professions and growing up, but Dominique kept her boy cut and her broom and headed to the Harpies.

She couldn't be held back, pinned down. She was a bird, an eagle, soaring through the wind. No, she was a mockingbird, singing songs and being devilish as she could be. She was a crow, a sign of bad luck and pranks. She was everything, until the Bludger came out of nowhere and knocked her unconscious. Until she fell, over 100 feet, down, down, down, down to the field.

Until the doctors told her she'd never walk again.

Sure she received pity. Her family offered to take care of her, but she declined. Who needed help? Not her. She was rich. She redid her simple home, making it wheelchair accessible, doing things her way, the way she always had. She was the same.

But not really.

She was lonely without her freedom, and too ashamed to admit it. She hung out with the boys, but they were hesitant. Dom was delicate and crippled and 'Do you need help Dom? Let me get the door.'

They became more like baby sitters.

So Dom did what she always did. She did her own thing.

That was until she got swept off her feet.

He was tall and he was not delicate and crippled. He was big and strong and wrapped Dom up at night in those tree branch arms of his. And she remembers the days she picked fun at 'That clumsy huge Hufflepuff oaf Lysander-Scamander.'

She never knew that big oaf could sweep her off her feet and hold her in all the right places, and handle her mood swings and the days when she needed to be treated like a little girl, and hugged and kissed, and the days that she wouldn't even talk to anyone.

And everyone wondered what that big, strong man was doing with that little, delicate girl, even after they got married, and they had the children, and she grew her hair out again and got a teaching job. They'd only have to ask to find out.

He was calling her pretty.