A smile broke out on her face, illuminated by the moonlight, as she looked at her image in her childhood mirror. The dress was perfect, he was perfect, everything would be perfect.
She’d come a long way since her days at Shell Cottage. Being back in her childhood home brought back many memories: of their first kiss, the day they graduated, the day he asked her to move in with him. There were other memories too, but they were insignificant, pale and lifeless without his presence.
She didn’t deserve someone like Liam. He was everything she’d always wanted. He was loyal, loving, passionate, smart and dedicated. She was none of those. He’d been Head Boy, a Ravenclaw, he’d received seven Outstanding OWLs. She, on the other hand, had spent a lot of time covered in mud, out on the Quidditch Pitch with James, Fred and her fellow members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
She wasn’t ladylike in the slightest, completely the opposite of both her sister and her mother. Victoire was perfect; she’d married her best friend, her Hogwarts sweetheart. It was the perfect romance. They’d had the perfect wedding, now they had the perfect daughter. Her mother, well, Fleur Weasley nee Delacour was the image of perfection. Dominique Weasley, on the other hand, didn’t have the blonde hair, didn’t have the willowy figure, and didn’t have the natural elegance that her close female relatives possessed. She resembled the Weasley side of the family much more. In fact, she’d been mistaken for Rose on more than one occasion.
Tonight, however, wearing her wedding dress, with her hair twisted up in a pale imitation of the elaborate up-do it would receive tomorrow, Dominique felt like a Delacour. She felt beautiful. Tomorrow, when she walked down the aisle and Liam saw her in this dress, he’d see it too. He’d smile, his eyes gleaming, perhaps even the hint of a tear glistening in the corner of his eye. She’d smile back, and they’d begin the next phase of their lives.
Tomorrow would be her day. Finally, finally, she would marry him. They’d waited so long, waited for him to finish Auror training, waited for her to realise that yes, he really was the one. She chastised herself for that now, but she supposed that every woman was allowed a moment of doubt. At twenty-one, she’d been frightened by the commitment he’d wanted. Barely a year later, here she was, about to be married.
She slipped quietly out of the dress, the white material falling softly to the ground. She waved her wand and it returned to the safety of her wardrobe, waiting for its moment of glory tomorrow. Her childhood bed beckoned, the same old purple pillows still in place. On the wall, photos of her friends from their Hogwarts days still remained, waving and laughing.
Her room here hadn’t changed. She, however, had. It was odd, being back here. It reminded her of how much had changed. Tomorrow, she’d have a different name. She’d no longer be Dominique Weasley.
Dominique was still standing, staring at her bed when a loud crack sounded, just outside her bedroom window. She walked over, barefoot, pulling the curtains back and letting the moonlight flood her room. It wasn’t quite a full moon yet, but it soon would be.
She scanned the grass visible from her room, the sounds of waves not too far in the distance coming to her attention. Seeing no obvious source of the noise, she withdrew, retreating into her room.
She stared at her bed once again, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She found herself reverting to an old ritual of hers, something she’d done as a teenager, whenever she’d been here in summer and couldn’t sleep.
She went for a walk on the beach. Barefoot, her hair half in the makeshift up-do, dressed in only her nightclothes. She didn’t care; no one would be out at this time of night. It was just her, the beach, the waves and the moon.
She stood with her feet on the edge of the waves, letting the water caress her toes. It was summer, and the water was almost as hot as it had been earlier in the day. She’d watched as her younger cousins had frolicked in the water, as she had once done. Today, however, she’d been preoccupied with wedding jitters, bridesmaid dilemmas, and last minute catering changes.
She turned around, intending on heading to the cluster of rocks further down the beach. She stopped, however, staring at the shadowy figure of a man emerging out of the darkness. It was he, she realised, who had made the sound earlier. Apparition.
“He doesn’t deserve you," the man said, his words chilling her.
His voice sounded familiar, but Dominique could not see his face. She stepped closer, stopping when she realised his wand was raised. Pointing at her, right at her heart.
“No one does.”
There was a flash of green light, unnaturally bright, an unearthly occurrence for a summer’s night on a deserted beach. Dominique crumpled, her last thought that of the man she was going to marry, the man she loved. The perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect day.
“Dance with me.”
She extended her hand, her eyes twinkling in amusement at the look of confusion on his face.
“We’re in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, Dom,” he replied, sceptical as always.
Dom only laughed, grasping his hand with hers and twirling around. The light spring rain fell around them, soaking the green grass as they danced.
“You’re insane, you know that, right?” he said when they stopped for a moment to take a breath.
“No. I’m just spontaneous,” Dominique replied, before she collapsed on her back on the damp grass, her arms spread wide on either side of her body.
“Dom, it’s raining. We should be studying inside, not out here getting soaked,” he said, always the reasonable Ravenclaw.
“Oh, live a little, Liam.” She used her foot to kick his legs out from under him, catching him unaware.
He landed on the ground with a thud, blinking at her with a surprised look on his face. Dominique laughed again, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his lips before collapsing back on the grass, letting the rain caress her skin.
They’d lain in silence, each contemplating their own thoughts. He was concerned with NEWTs, whilst Dominique thought of the future. She often imagined herself suddenly transforming, becoming more like her sister. She wanted a little of the perfection that radiated from her, just a little bit.
Maybe, Dominique hoped, maybe she would one day succeed.
She never would have expected that her perfect romance, her long-time dream, would become the perfect tragedy.