Disclaimer: Consider them disclaimed.

This story is a twoshot written for our Write-Off competition, with one pair writing each chapter. Both had the same prompts, and after the second chapter is posted, there will be a poll on our profile page asking which chapter you liked better, and that will be the winning story.

Pair: Erin (whatabeautifulmess) + Vicky (incandescent dreams)
Couple: DominiqueLysander
Prompts: hufflepuff!Dominique, peach sorbet, a lonely man

Her eyes twinkle with unrecognised mischief, a spark so bright held within those jewel-like shapes that it's almost impossible to miss them; their vivid blue colour shines– not like a mere cloudless sky, no, more like the deep, comforting shade of blue that the sky turns to it approaches the end of the day. It's the blue that submerges the dregs of the day and releases those shining beacons of hope – stars – and it's impossible to deny how Dominique's eyes capture those who look into them.

(Not that anyone does, of course; she's just Hufflepuff Dominique, not the shining, brave Gryffindor Dominique, so why would anyone care?)

Dominique reaches out for the butter to spread over her toast. Physically, she's sat with her fellow Hufflepuffs, yet she feels utterly isolated at the same time: she's only completely accepted when she's with her family, people with whom she shares certain personality traits, because it's always been the opinion of the other Hufflepuffs that she doesn't belong with them. Their personalities, in comparison to the bold, stated ones of the other three houses, seem to take on the same colour and complexion as peach sorbet – entirely forgettable, able to be moulded to whatever is needed…but she's brighter than that; to her fellows, she's vibrant and stands out from the rest.

(They don't care that she feels as if she's only at home with them because they're the same, something she's sure is because of her surname.)

"Drat," she mutters as she knocks the beaker of pumpkin juice over, the ornate cup falling onto its side to allow the contents to spread hastily across the table. Trust this to be the one day there's a table cloth, she thinks in despair, watching as the crisp white cover becomes indelibly coloured a murky brown.

Her attention, however, is captured by the fleet of owls flying in through the far east window, her eyes, as per usual, searching to see if she's been granted any mail. If her parents' owl, or her grandparents', appears, she's usually assured that it's never got anything to bring to her, that darling Victoire is required to be given yet another piece of information about what she could do when she leave Hogwarts in June; or it's Louis needing to be chastised about the latest owl home. No, Dominique is usually left out, the only Hufflepuff being the only child who rarely receives outright attention just for her.

The grey feathers of Pilon, the owl her parents bought so that they would have contact with their children when they went to Hogwarts, capture her attention, the way that they shine with a brightness unable to be constituted to the atmosphere around them, as usual, making her wonder how beautiful he would be if he were human. The distinct way they separated themselves, so each silky smooth feather could be distinguished, yet merged together in such a complete way at the same time continues to amaze her…as does the plopping of a letter down in front of her.

Addressed merely to her, she rips open the parchment envelope to reveal a letter written in her Mother's hand, the script, as usual, sweeping across the page in such a flowing manner that it continues to leave Dominique wistful that she couldn't have at least inherited the ability to write in a neat manner.

...

To my darling daughter,

Your grandmother asked me to remind you that you promised to visit at Easter, along with the rest of the family – apparently, she worries that you will not turn up, having forgotten that you were supposed to be attending!

I believe there was a threat about withholding Easter eggs unless all arrive safely!

We shall see you soon, Dominique; we miss you dearly.

All our love,

Mum and Dad

As she looks up, Dominique catches sight of all the other Weasley and Potter children in the Great Hall, all of whom are reading letters – it cannot be a coincidence, they have all be reminded to attend.

Apparently the threat of no Easter eggs must apply to the parents as well, otherwise there wouldn't be this mad rush to ensure they all attend!

Pushing the slight feeling of hurt beneath the surface that she hadn't just been written to because her mum wanted to, Dominique's gaze is captured by the Slytherin in the centre of his table, someone who makes her cheeks flare a brilliant scarlet every time she even looks at him. Lysander Scamander: fellow fifth-year, someone she was too shy to get to know as a child and well known arrogant toe-rag of the school.

(Well, she thinks there's a side to him that is nicer…or so she hopes.)

And, to her intense dismay at times, she's hopelessly in love with him.

She's not sure how, or even why, as they've barely spoken two words in their five years together, all his comments she's heard having been entirely obnoxious or derogatory to anyone other than a Slytherin (and often both). He's not rude to the Weasleys, partially because they spend every holiday together, and, from afar, Dominique sees his walls begin to fall, watches as his personality softens to what she recollects from their childhood.

Not that that makes any difference now, as his hair shines a brilliant gold, equivalent to the sun shining on a glorious summer's day, his frame tall and broad –all things she can notice instantly, from barely a second's glance. She barely knows him, has a limited knowledge of what he likes, and yet she's fallen hopelessly for him.

She'll never tell him this, of course. He's a Slytherin and she's a lowly Hufflepuff; they're complete opposites in personality…and why would he want her, when he could probably date any girl in this school? Well, other than Victoire.

"Dom!" As she rises to leave the table, no longer hungry for some unfathomable reason, her younger brother calls her name, running after her. "Did you get the letter?" he asks and she nods.

"Yep…looks like we're heading to The Burrow for another fortnight of fun, festivities and pure mayhem," she smiles, realising just how much she's looking forward to this.

"Well at least you didn't get canary creams shoved down your pants when you fell asleep at five am," Louis grumbles as they walk out of the Hall together, heading to do their own thing.

Yet, just as the door closes, Dominique turns back and catches a glimpse of Lysander. For the first time in so many years, she sees him relaxed, not talking, not boasting, not being admired – just staring.

Staring almost where she had just been sat.

The holidays arrive – finally – and the extended Weasley-Potter clan descends on the Burrow as planned, just like they do every year – the threat of no Easter eggs is far too serious to risk, obviously. Old Mrs Weasley clucks her tongue as she looks them over, and promises to fatten them all up before the go back to school.

"You're all so thin," she cries. "The food must have gotten a lot worse since my day." No one likes to correct to her, to say that they just don't have that big an appetite – it'll only hurt her feelings, so they make the best of it, slipping the food they can't eat into their pockets or a napkin and feeding it to the gnomes later on.

During the second week, the Scamander twins join them, as is their tradition – Luna and Rolf know that the boys want a chance to see their friends outside of school, as well as Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest who make up their extended family; and so they take the opportunity to go on another trip around the world, searching for more creatures previously unknown to wizard kind.

The first week is always fun, but it's never a patch on the second week. At the Burrow, all the kids can be a group, a unit, like they never can at Hogwarts. It lets them pretend that they're five years old again, back in a time before everything changed and got complicated.

At least, it does until Thursday night, when James suggests a game of Truth or Dare.

They're all sitting around in the old garage, which Nanna Weasley has finally persuaded her husband to clear of all the "Muggle rubbish" he's been keeping in there. It's been carpeted and painted a light, cheerful blue; and the children like to pile in there when there isn't enough room for them all in the house, which is most of the time. They sit around, eat far too much, and swap stories and secrets.

And play Truth or Dare, apparently. Or, at least, that's what James wants.

"Come on," he says, "it'll be fun. Victoire?"

Victoire takes a bite out of her peach and chews it thoughtfully. Everyone else turns to look at her, waiting for her answer. As the oldest, she is considered the leader of the group, and everyone will follow her lead.

"…Okay. We'll try it."

"Yes!" James punches the air. "Okay, okay, I'll go first…Louis," he says, turning to his cousin, "truth or dare?"

Louis pauses, considering. "Truth."

"Have you…have you ever kissed someone?" James asks after a short pause. Louis flushes a faint pink but answers calmly enough.

"Yes, I have."

Everyone else immediately pounces on this revelation.

"Really? Who?"

"When?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Louis ignores them all. "One question only," he says with dignity. "I'm not telling you."

"Oh, you're no fair," Dominique moans, throwing a handful of grapes at her brother. No one notices Lorcan's flushed cheeks and suspiciously bright eyes.

"Get on with it!" Albus calls from the corner of the room.

"All right…Rose, truth or dare?" Louis asks, glad the attention of the group has turned away from him.

"Truth," Rose says promptly. She doesn't hesitate, and all her cousins roll their eyes. How predictable – Rose always plays it safe.

"Do you, or do you not, have a crush on one Scorpius Malfoy?" Louis says, just as promptly and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Rose's eyes widen. "What? N-no, of course I – I don't know what you mean. What are you talking about?" she splutters.

"You picked truth, Rosie," Roxanne says mildly, examining her nails. "Try telling it."

"Or at least be a good enough liar that we can't tell," Lucy adds, speaking for the first time this evening, a twinkle in her eyes about little Rose's crush. Having made her point, she returns to her book and falls silent.

"I don't like Scorpius, though!" Rose protests, her voice rising shrilly.

Everyone rolls their eyes again. "Sure, Rose…just get on with it, we're getting bored."

"Fine," Rose huffs, looking put out. "Dom, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Dominique says, and the atmosphere in the room electrifies. Truths are all well and good, but it's rare that you learn anything you didn't already know. Now dares, dares are interesting. Dares have…potential.

"I dare you…to kiss Lysander."

There is a sharp intake of breath from the room at large and Dominique freezes. Of all the people Rose could have picked…

Lysander stares at her, confident. "Come on Dom, you can't turn down a dare."

Oh, bloody hell. Dominique glares at him, knowing he's trying to bait her – it's what he always does. He seems to think that just because he's the only Slytherin in the group, he has to be mean, has to try and live up to his house's reputation. Dominique knows he only does it because he's lonely, though.

"Fine," Dominique says tersely, shuffling closer to Lysander. She leans forwards, looks him directly in the eye, and presses her lips against his.

All those people who say that a true kiss feels like fireworks? They're lying. This feels more like a lightning bolt, making every inch of her skin tingle. Dominique leans closer at the same moment that Lysander deepens the kiss, and it's like there's nothing else in the world. They forget that they're in a room full of their friends and family, that this is just Truth or Dare, that they're not supposed to be enjoying this.

And then there's a wolf-whistle from the back of the room – probably James or Fred – and Dominique breaks away, eyes wide and horrified. Lysander stares back, a confident smirk still sketched across his face, and the traces of something unidentifiable lingering in his eyes; and Dominique realises that this is all just a game to him. On the other hand, she was never playing. So she jumps up, tears stinging her eyes, and runs out into the garden without looking back.

Louis stands up and closes the door behind his sister. "Rose," he asks, "was there any particular reason why you picked that dare for Dom?" She shakes her head, lips pursed, yet there's a strange glint in her eyes that almost contradicts her denial. Her eyes flicker to Lysander along with Louis', but Lysander doesn't notice. He's too busy staring at the solid wooden door, now closed. His gaze doesn't waver.

Tears glitter in Dominique's eyes as she runs away from her family, runs away from the complex situation that is her own fault, really; if she hadn't shown how she felt when she did a stupid dare – if she hadn't chosen to take a damned dare just to be 'different' – if she hadn't chosen to kiss Lysander, then she wouldn't be running away. They would still be laughing and joking, most likely whilst Molly and James made eyes at one another and hoped nobody would notice.

Unfortunately, she's destroyed that. Somehow, she let her feelings for Lysander be shown to the entire fucking Weasley/Potter/Scamander clan and now there's no way that she can go back without someone sniggering about it. After all, when would this happen? She's a Hufflepuff – and a shy one at that – whereas he's almost the boss of the Slytherins, sort of like the mafia her Grandad Weasley seems obsessed with analysing.

Her feet slip slightly as she runs across the sodden grass to reach her childhood retreat, the place within the acres of land around The Burrow that is hers. The giant sycamore tree with its knotted and gnarled braches offers her a secluded hideaway, somewhere to fade into the background in.

The silhouette of the tree is stark in the moonlight, a stark contrast between the glow emitted from the moon to the density of the ebony shape that is her tree, her safe haven where she could just be Dominique and not worry about families or friends or anything other than what she wanted to do. Her gaze is fixed upon the point midway up the tree, somewhere she's adored for years; it's the place where she sits, located above the pain of the real world yet close enough for her never to have lost her grip on reality.

Somewhere behind her, she can hear calls for her to go back, hear what she presumes is the pursuit of one of her siblings, yet she doesn't falter, her hair whipping over her shoulder as she turns in the direction of the place upon the tree she desires. The tree's circumference is most likely greater than the width of her bedroom at home, she randomly thinks as one foot bounces off the large root at the foot of the tree to give her the momentum to rise up onto the branch.

Her back rests against the main trunk of the tree as the tears begin to slide down her face at a faster rate, the tracks hot on her cool face as she moves to place her face within her hands. It's more than just the embarrassment of what happened, it's that Lysander Scamander, the big, bad Slytherin, knows how she feels about him now – and that's more than she can bear.

She shifts slightly to try and get more comfortable, but all that happens is that the material of her jeans causes her to slip into a position that almost results in her falling from the branch. Her safe haven is no longer hers anymore; like the ignorant bliss of her love for Lysander being hidden, she no longer has the comfort of being able to fall back upon it. 'Dominique's safe haven' is just a tree now, she thinks bitterly as she jumps down to the ground; she's no longer anywhere that is just for her, because there's nothing here any longer.

Nothing other than a rotting tree and heartache that seems more destructive than anything else she's ever faced.

A wave of fierce determination washes over her, causing the shedding of tears to cease as her eyes snap up to note a figure running towards her in the distance. Part of her dares to dream that it could be Lysander coming to tell her he loves her; the rest of her quashes this hope because, let's face it, he's someone who has never shown her any interest so why would he now? No, it will just be Victoire or Lily…or if she's really unlucky, it'll be Louis or James coming to rub in how stupid she's been – because Lysander could never love her, could he?

She's just little Hufflepuff Dominique, someone pushed to the side because she's not outgoing like Victoire, or ohsosweet like little Lily; she's just Dominique, someone who is solidly always there, someone with no issues other than loving someone who doesn't love her back.

Almost turning away, Dominique forces herself to stand and watch to see who is approaching her, see which member of her family is running out to her side, for reasons unknown.

She almost faints when she sees who it is.

Lysander.

Dominique grabs a branch to keep herself upright, and manages to retain just enough composure to jump down from her tree and wait for Lysander on the ground. She knows what's coming, and figures she might as well face rejection and humiliation with as much dignity as she can muster. She won't give Lysander the satisfaction of seeing her crumpled and broken; she may only be a Hufflepuff, but she can be strong too.

"Dom...hi," Lysander says softly when he reaches her. She automatically stands a little straighter, raising her chin and tensing every muscle.

"Hello."

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, of course I am," she replies, her voice containing a bite of sarcasm. Her earlier despair and embarrassment has mostly been replaced by self-righteous anger. How dare he assume he can make everything better by simply faking a little concern? "Why wouldn't I be?"

Lysander, damn him, doesn't seem to notice the sarcasm. "It's just," he says, in the kindest voice Dominique thinks she's ever heard him use, "you ran out so quickly after...after..."

"After I k-kissed you," Dominique chokes out. He voice cracks, but she ignores it.

"Yeah. You looked...upset. Why?"

Dominique can't believe what she's hearing. Not only is Lysander still here, talking to her like a proper person, not just another girl he can snog and forget, but he's showing...concern. She frowns, confused.

"Why?" she repeats. "Why? Why d'you think?"

"I don't know," Lysander says, seeming genuinely confused. "That's why I'm asking!"

Dominique's steely determination falters a little. It sounds like he's telling the truth; that he doesn't know why she ran, and he really was worried about her. She marshals what remains of her anger as she replies, though: she hasn't forgotten that Lysander's a good actor.

"I ran away because I've been in love with you for months, years, without you even so much as looking at me, and I just as good as admitted it in front of my entire family. That's why I ran, Lysander. Do you understand it now?" She spits the words out quickly, not giving herself time to regret them, but she feels her cheeks flame scarlet as she speaks.

Lysander nods his head, but he still looks puzzled. "You...you love me?" he asks gently, and again Dominique is struck by how kind he sounds. This isn't at all what she expected.

"Yes," Dominique replies, her voice harsh enough to hide her confusion. "Go on, laugh like I know you want to. Get it over and done with so I can go to bed, get away from-from all of you."

"But why would I laugh at you?"

It's this question, spoken in tones of such genuine bewilderment, that break through the tatters of Dominique's hard shell. She glances up at him with a wealth of questions in her eyes; they still glisten with the remnants of her earlier tears.

"Why would I laugh, Dom? I've been waiting to hear you say that for, oh, for months. Years. Longer than I can remember."

Dominique can't process this. "You mean..."

"I mean I love you, too. Of course I do; why wouldn't I?"

"But...I'm just...just Dominique," she protests. This doesn't make any sense at all.

"You're not 'just' anything. You're Dominique Weasley, and that's precisely why I love you. Now come here."

"Why?"

"So I can kiss you properly," Lysander says. "I didn't really get a chance before."

Dominique bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely and leans forward to kiss Lysander for the second time that evening. But this time it's different; this time, she knows the truth. This time, she can think, this is how it feels to be me, and like the sensation. She hasn't been able to do that in a long time.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and please review if you read this! It's much appreciated! (NGF members, you do get points in the Forum Competition for reviewing!)

And please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thank you.