How did this happen? Dominique Weasley: best friend, part veela and my crush since first year is sitting with me on my bed. She’s never even been in my house before! Well I suppose technically speaking if you ask my mum she’d say that she stayed the night once, but that’s a different story and definitely not what it sounds like.
“Look, Tom, I know we’ve been friends for like, how long is it now? Seven years?” she asks me in a soft, gentle voice, which is very rare for her. Whilst maths is certainly not her strong point, she is right - we have been friends now for seven years, not without a few hiccups of course.
“You’re forgetting the two weeks you ignored me last summer. Oh, and the two weeks you ignored me over the Ellie thing” I remind her in a somewhat bitter voice. She laughs a little. I like making her laugh. The writers in the muggle magazines my mum reads always say things like women love a man who can make her laugh, or how attractive it is if you can make a woman laugh. I don’t think me making Dom laugh has the same effect, although I can always hope.
“Oh shh, you know how stubborn I can be” she says in an innocent, almost flirty voice before giggling a little.
Of course I bloody know that. That’s one of her many so called ‘qualities’ that also include terrible mood-swings, occasional bratty outbursts, always having to get her own way, a new habit of smoking and of course the best of all, never having the feelings for me that I have for her. I suppose that’s not her fault though.
“Bitch” I reply sarcastically.
She giggles a little before smiling at me. She rarely smiles at me like this. It makes me feel awkward. She only does this if she wants me to do something, or if she wants to get her own way. Of course she usually does as I fall for her cute innocent little Dominique act every time.
“So I was thinking. It’s Tom’s birthday, what do I get him? I mean, you gave me that voucher for the muggle clothes shop I like and made me that cake. I had work this weekend so didn’t have time to make you a cake, I don’t get paid until next week so I’m skint until then so couldn’t get you any vouchers or anything either” she says sounding somewhat sad.
“It’s okay Dom, you didn’t have to get me anything” I say. In truth I wasn’t really expecting her to get me anything. I knew she wouldn’t go to the trouble of making me a cake like I did for her, I didn’t expect her to spend any of her money on me either really. It would have been nice though.
“But I thought I had to get you something, I hope you’ll like it” she says in a voice that makes me assume it’s something shit. Oh god, I hate having to put on a grateful face and voice when I get something I don’t want. I wish people didn’t waste money on presents, why can’t they just buy vouchers or just give the person the money instead to save the trouble of the receiver having to do their best thankful impression. It’s almost as bad as opening a birthday card and then realising there’s no money in it.
“Don’t be silly, it’s the thought that counts Dom” I assure her. Of course this wasn’t said with as much sincerity as it sounded, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Okay then. Close your eyes” she says excitedly. I don’t share the same excitement.
I roll my eyes. She’s probably going to slap me or something. I hope she doesn’t, she’s good at slapping faces. She has a mysterious look on her face. I don’t like it. Reluctantly I close my eyes.
“No peaking!” she says as she notices that my eyes aren’t fully closed. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.
I wait a few seconds expecting her to pull something out from her bag. It can’t be anything that big if it’s in her bag. It must be vouchers or money. Maybe it’s some chocolate or perhaps it’s a bottle of vodka. It probably is vodka, she knows I like that and she can get served now she’s 17.
Suddenly I feel her soft fingers stroke my chin. It must have been by accident. I can smell her warm breathe grow closer to me and then her small soft lips press against mine. They’ve been this close before, it didn’t end too well that time. I don’t open my lips in-case this is an accident. But then she kisses me on my shut lips, then prizes them open with her tongue. She runs her fingers through my hair and starts kissing me, I reluctantly kiss her back as her hands move around the back of my neck and she starts kissing me more passionately.
In my head a thousand thoughts come to mind at the same time. What the hell is going on? How is this happening? Why is she kissing me? Does this mean she likes me? Am I going to get more than a kiss? Holy shit she’s actually kissing me!
Her arms wrap around my stomach, she straddles me whilst still kissing me and the force of her leaning forward on me causes me to fall onto back. I lay on my back feeling weightless and powerless as our tongues collide. I’ve waited so ridiculously long for this moment. Listened in envy as she’s told me about other guys she’s kissed, even watched on jealously whilst witnessing her kissing another guy. But it was all worth it for this. It seems good things do come to those who wait, unless you’re waiting for your drinks after ordering a Guinness. What am I going on about? I should be enjoying the moment!
She smells so good and is showing no signs of pulling away from this kiss. This is definitely real, it’s definitely happening. It feels so weird. It doesn’t feel like any kiss that I’ve had before.
I can hear her saying my name in my mind, it’s like we’re connected to each other in this moment. I knew we were always meant to be together. Perhaps we’ll finally get together now. That would be so weird. All of the jokey remarks and sarcastic comments about it, but now it might actually happen.
That one didn’t even sound like her! It’s like her kissing me has made me feel like I’m on drugs or something. Or at least how the muggle TV shows make taking some drugs to seem like. I’ve never understood that really, why are muggle TV shows allowed to make illegal drugs seem like fun, surely that makes no sense. I’m doing it again, why am I having strange drunk-like philosophical conversations with myself in my mind? I need to savour this moment. I don’t remember being this philosophical when I kissed any of the other girls I’ve kissed.
“Tom! Open your eyes!”
But she told me to close my eyes. And why would I open my eyes whilst kissing her, that’s just weird. I tried opening my eyes once when kissing Kimberly Davies, it wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be so haven’t tried it since. Why am I thinking about Kimberly Davies? I never really liked her that much in the first place. God this feels so weird, to Dom this is just a kiss, but it’s making me feel like I’m in dreamland. She’s only doing this to be nice to me, possibly out of pity, oh I hope it’s not that would make me feel like such a loser.
Wake up? But I’m not really in dreamland. That was just a simile! I can’t feel her as much now. Oh I hope I’m not passing out or something. That would be so embarrassing. Please don’t pass out, not now, any time but not now. I’ve passed out on her once before and that was so embarrassing, I don’t want to go through that again. She’ll never want to kiss me again!
“Come on, wake up Tom!”
That doesn’t sound like Dominique’s voice at all. That sounds like. Oh no, please no. My mind seems to get a lot less clear, I can’t feel Dom’s arms around me or her lips touching mine at all anymore. My eyes slowly and very reluctantly open. My arms still feel pressed against the mattress. My eyes adjust and I see someone standing over me. It’s not Dom. She wasn’t in my room. She wasn’t on my bed. She didn’t kiss me.
“Happy birthday Tom! You’re seventeen now! It’s so weird, it seems like only yesterday you were a little baby!”
Thanks for waking me up from that dream Mum. Thanks a lot.
Happy Birthday! Love you so much Tom! Hope you have a lovely day and that my letter is the first you get! If it’s not I will screw at Katie for not delivering it quickly enough! Bffl!
Katie’s staring at me trying to do her best impression of Dom’s cute innocent ‘look at me I’m so cute give me what I want’ face. She didn’t disappoint Dom and her letter was the first that I received this morning. She’s expecting some kind of treat from me before she returns back to Dom’s house with the short reply I wrote back, thanking Dom and congratulating her on sending the first letter to me. It’s not a surprise really; I’m sure Dom spoils her rotten and besides, if Dom was an owl she’d definitely do the same thing. I give her a bit of leftover toast from earlier that I’m not going to finish, she turns her nose up at my offering, yet takes a bit anyway before flying off in a Dom-style huff.
I look down at the pile of other letters on the desk on my window ledge. There’s one from my good friend Mikey MacDonald, he’d hoped that his would be the first letter I got but his owl Jess isn’t as fast as Katie, mainly due to her being a bit fat. She has lost quite a bit of weight since the beginning of the summer thanks to Mikey putting her on a diet, but she’s still a bit podgy so I didn’t feed her anything.
Next to his is the one I received from another good friend of mine Jonah Scrivens. The Scrivens family owl is by far the cleanest and neatest owl I’ve ever seen. This is no doubt due to Jonah’s mum being an incredibly neat and tidy woman, my mum thought they had a house elf after going round their house one time, but Jonah’s mum denies such claims. I doubt she’d lie; she’s a lovely woman, probably my favourite out of all of my friend’s parents.
Jonah’s girlfriend Erica’s letter lies next to his. I’m not a massive fan of her, she’s one of Dominique’s best friends but I think she’s going off her a bit. I don’t find her particularly attractive but she’s very good looking when compared to Jonah’s past girlfriends, a short list which includes a hippogriff and a troll. I miss winding Jonah up about the hippogriff and the troll, he loved the banter we gave him for dating those two.
There’s a few other letters from close friends in a short little pile that I haven’t really sorted through yet, including one from Dom’s on and off best friend who’s in our year, her cousin Lucy Weasley. Lucy has pretty strict parents compared to the rest of us, and her mum often makes sure she is home by eleven when we’re home for summer and Christmas. Dom likes to make it out that Lucy gets around a lot, but in reality I think Dom’s seen quite a few more guys than Lucy has. I’ve always wondered if Dom is jealous of Lucy, whilst Dom inherited her petite figure from her mother, she’s never had the eye catching cleavage that Lucy has, which gets her a lot of male attention that I’m sure Dom would love to have herself. I do think Lucy is quite attractive but I’ve always preferred Dom, although I’m sure my opinion isn’t that important to either of them.
Wayne Towler’s short but sweet letter is next to that. I’ve been friends with Wayne since third year, like with Dom we’ve had our fallings out; especially in the past year but after an eventful holiday earlier this month we’ve put our differences behind us. I didn’t give his owl any food either, she gets fed far too much already by one of his elderly muggle neighbour who finds it fascinating that his family have an owl as a pet, and visits and babysits at every possible opportunity.
The only real close friends I didn’t receive a letter from were Drake Michaels and Tristan Norman, but neither of them ever sends birthday letters to anyone, lazy bastards. Of course there was my yearly letter from my birthday buddy who’s two years older than me, Norina Romano who is lovely girl that I’ve always seen as the older sister I never had. There’s also my short friend Henry Riley as well as Connor Weeky who whilst not a particularly close friend, throws a good party once every few months or so.
I’ve also got a few other letters from people who probably wouldn’t have known it was my birthday unless they’d seen it on the mailing list of Parchment Pals. This list included numerous attractive girls from lower years including Doria Southgate who I think Wayne likes, Violet Night who is a ridiculously attractive yet modest girl in the year below who I haven’t really spoken to in a while as I never know what to say to her, Summer Foster who I don’t recall ever speaking to and Lauren Shephard who is a cute girl that I’ve been talking to for about a year now, although she’s quite shy so doesn’t really talk to me at school and only really talks to me through letters or Parchment Pals. That might come across like all of those girls are interested in me, but that’s of course not true, with only Lauren out of all of them ever expressing any attraction to me. But anyway let me tell you about Parchment Pals.
Parchment Pals, that is often shortened to just ‘Parchment’, is a recent invention that’s basically a wizarding equivalent to muggle internet social networks. In order to sign up to it you send your name, date of birth, chosen password and proof of your identity to their headquarters. They then send you back a piece of blank parchment, in order to get it to work you write in your name and then say your password. It’s quite confusing to explain, but basically you can chat to other people on it who have it that confirm you as a ‘pal’, it was invented as part of a scheme for the wizarding world to be more environmentally friendly and to save paper.
In reality it’s just quicker than sending mail by owl and waiting for it back, as you write in your messages to the pal you want to chat with, the ink then dissolves into the parchment and is sent to them, and they reply back and it temporarily keeps the ink of your conversations with people in-case you forget what’s been said. It’s relatively simple at the moment, although it has features like the mailing list that tells you when the ‘pals’ who you have on there are having birthdays so you can send them a letter with your owl. That’s how you end up with letters from people that would otherwise never have known your address.
I’d say it’s been a good birthday really. I don’t really get anything in terms of presents from mum anymore; she wouldn’t really know what to get me and just gives me the money instead. I got around 40 galleons this year which should last me ages; the majority of it will go on alcohol and nights out when we’re not at school. Mum did give me this one weird present though. It’s a tatty old chest that I swear I’ve seen in the attic once or twice whenever I’ve had to go up there to help mum put back or take down the Christmas decorations. I don’t know how you open it and mum said she didn’t either, so it seems like a kind of pointless thing to give me. I’ll probably just put it back up the attic in a few weeks, there’s not really any point in having a dusty old chest just sitting in my room making it look messier than it already is.
“I’m just popping to the shops Tom. I’ll be about half an hour. Do you want anything?” Mum asks as she pops her head around the corner of my bedroom door.
“Nah I’m good thanks Mum” I reply with a smile. She smiles back at me; I catch her taking a quick look at the chest, presumably to see if I’ve opened it yet.
“Okay then, see you later” she says warmly and walks back down the hallway, down the stairs and inevitably out of the house, shutting the door behind her. I can hear our owl, Scarlett, tweeting and generally making a lot of unnecessarily and annoying noises. She’s one of the most annoying owls I have ever known, I think Drake’s owl is up there, but I don’t have to live with his owl so Scarlett wins the competition.
I’m going to have to go and have a go at her if I want her to shut up and give me some peace and quiet. I stand up, but on my way from my bed to the door I manage to stub my toe on the bloody chest.
“Shit” I exclaim out loud. It didn’t hurt that much but I swear out of instinct when things like that happen, it’s probably not the best of habits, but I’m seventeen so it’s to be expected I guess. It feels good to be able to finally say I’m seventeen. I look down at the chest, staring at it.
“Now, how do you open?” I ask the chest rhetorically. It’s not going to respond to me of course, what with it being an inanimate object and all. Although that does look like. It can’t be. Where there was a little plaque with an old fashioned sounding name, there’s now what looks like writing appearing as if someone is actually writing. It reads:
“If you are reading this, then you have just spoken to the chest at an age equivalent to or older than 17. Only your eyes can see this writing, as I put a spell on it to make sure of such secrecy. I do not know your name, as I will not find out your mother’s choice until I present her with this very chest you are reading this write from. I request that you open this in private, and do not reveal that you have opened it, or any of its contents, to absolutely anyone. It’s very important for your own safety, and if that last condition is breached, could result in your death. If you are alone and wish to open the chest, then please say out loud the following password – Reveal your secrets.”
“Reveal your secrets” I say breathlessly, not once taking my eyes off the chest, or the writing that’s still glistening as if freshly written by a professional quill in silver ink. Almost instantly, the chest unlocks itself and the lid flings itself backwards slowly, making a pretty loud creaking noise in the process. All that’s in the chest is a black covered leather book, there’s no writing on the front cover except the initials ‘A.D’. Who’s A.D and why did he cast a spell on that chest to only respond to me once I turned seventeen. I don’t like this, it’s weird. It must be a jokey present that you can buy for people to scare them. Mum loves that kind of stuff. She probably thought it would be funny to freak me out; I’m not falling for this rubbish. I open the book and read the first of what looks like a hell of a lot of thin pages.
Hello, my son. It is I, your father. You will have wondered for many years who I am and why I was never in your life, and rightly so. The teachers at your school as well as other important magical people believe that your father was a muggle policeman that was killed in an accident. However that is not the case, I made sure you’d never find out about that lie because I didn’t want you to spend your life thinking that your father was a great muggle man or some kind of hero. I don’t know what you will already know about me but I’m sure it won’t be particularly pleasing news for you to discover that I’m your father. What does A.D stand for you wonder? It stands for Antonin Dolohov. Yes, I, Antonin Dolohov, mass murderer and infamous Death-Eater, am your father.