Dominique Weasley is R2-D2. (domes) wrote in feinted, @ 2012-04-15 21:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, dominique-weasley, roald-krum |
Who: Roald and Dominique
What: They run into each other at Hogsmeade. Feelings are discussed jadskl;fs.
Also, because this takes place in WWW (Hogsmeade), anybody in the store at that time would have noticed these two. You might have gotten a look if you were caught staring (ugh, mind your own business), but feel free to have noticed them. And spread rumours! And post/gossip about it, idek. /uglylaughter
When: Saturday (4/14)
Where: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade
Rating: PG? I suck at these things.
Status: COMPLETE.
Despite Durmstrang’s win, it hadn’t been the easiest past couple of weeks. That article in Witch Weekly had made the family dinners a little awkward lately-- not only had he and Eirik been featured in it, but their entire team seemed to be sharing the spotlight. Imagine if they had followed that up by not losing. Damn. Roald had sat over his journal, quill verging on dripping, intending on some funny quip or lighthearted comment, but nothing had come to him; the only thing he could think of to say was It’s, uh, not true, but he figured people knew that-- they knew that, right? They did. At least the people that mattered, he told himself, and pushed any remnants of uneasiness out of his mind with a couple of speed flights over the lake. He couldn’t help but notice, however, that Dom had been even more absent in his life than she had for the first half of the post-Christmas term. As much as Roald had tried not to let their fight get him down, and as much as he had almost succeeded, the problem was that what he had imagined his year had Hogwarts to be like had been undeniably intertwined with an image of Dominique Weasley by his side. And lately his Hogwarts life hadn’t quite been living up to expectations. Hogsmeade weekend, and the Durmstrang team as per usual stuck together; with what was practically a break-up between his first-term Dani-Jonah-Dom-Roald friend group, he hardly saw other people recently, where he had once been one of the most outgoing members on the team. But Roald split off from them for a moment after no one wanted to go with him to WWW, despite his best thirty-minute pout and butterbeer bribes. And as he walked around the store, chuckling at the various items and pondering the idea of actually buying something, he saw the back of her head-- he’d have recognized it anywhere. Driven by impulse, and a spike in his pulse, and a sharp tug of longing from his chest, he instantly said, “Dominique!” with a wide smile on his face, and made a beeline in her direction. Suddenly, it was like the events between them from the past few months hadn’t even transpired. Usually, Hogsmeade weekends meant that Dominique was in the company of a friend or five, but ironically, as her very last school year was winding down, the desire to maximize as much time as possible with her school friends had all but petered out. The past few weeks had been relatively antisocial compared to her usual standard and not at all what she had envisioned at the beginning of the year. It was true, she had been excited with the prospect of the Quidditch tournament and even more, finally getting to spend the entire year with one of her best friends, so it was a complete 180 when she found herself in April silently fuming at Roald in her head and cursing her uncle Harry and Viktor Krum and everybody in the Ministry of Magic who thought it was a brilliant idea to organize that stupid tournament. If it weren't for that tournament, she would never have said what she had said to Roald, and they would never have fought, and that rubbish article would never have gotten published, and things would be normal again. Of course. But even Dominique had to be kidding herself. Loathe as she was to admit it, she was far from blameless and she knew it. James knew this too, and despite her rather vehement protests ("Well, he should never have ignored me!"), she wasn't stupid enough to deny that he had a point; maybe it would have been worth it to try and fix things. She didn't even remotely enjoy being mad at him, but that Witch Weekly article was the nail on the coffin that she should have seen coming. Funny how one paragraph could easily pull out the lingering suspicion that had always tugged at the back of her mind and make it all the more real. The realization made sense, and when she replayed the events following the Christmas prank over and over in her head like a film reel, the whole story seemed to come full circle. So that was why he completely ignored her when she said that she didn't want to shag him. Or why he had been sleeping around shortly afterwards. And of course, this realization was a bitter pill to swallow. Her mother and grandmother before her had warned her about the wayward affections of men, and despite the harshness of their warnings, it was the one piece of parental advice that she had actually taken to heart. She was biologically designed to attract boys based on her looks, and while her mother (and later, Victoire) had averred that there were good and honest men out there, Dominique had managed to walk away with the knowledge that most would view her as a glorified one-trick pony. So how could she have been so foolishly optimistic to believe that Roald would have been any different? The thought would often dawdle in her mind at the most inopportune moments, despite her attempts to mentally push it away -- even now, as she was idly perusing through the latest WWW products (the fake wands had briefly caught her eye). So imagine her complete and utter surprise when she heard an all-too-familiar voice call her name. Inopportune was right. What was he doing here?! Why was he here? He shouldn't be here. This was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, not Weasley-and-whoever-the-hell-wanted-to-e "Hi," she snapped back, her voice a brittle version of its usual self. Roald’s smile faded rapidly as he heard her voice-- even he, slow as he could be at times, could instantly tell that they still weren’t okay. And he supposed he should have put two and two together and guessed that, considering that she probably had been avoiding him on purpose since the belt incident. Bugger. There was really no avoiding it. He had put it off for this long because he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, or how he was going to say it without getting her more upset, but with a glance at her face Roald guessed that she couldn’t get that much more upset with him. But... why was she upset with him? Still because of the part where he had ignored her for a while? Had he really been expected to keep hanging out with her regularly immediately after he realized that he-- really, really liked her and she really, really wasn’t interested in him? That-- Roald didn’t know much about feelings, but he thought that sounded pretty cruel. At this point, though, everything seemed like water under the bridge, and Roald was ready to admit to any mistake, and any fault, as long as they could be friends again. “Dom, I really think we need to talk,” Roald tried, floundering a little bit for words, but his voice didn’t waver-- it held the same determination and conviction that it always did. The problem was, despite a serious yet friendly tone, Roald wasn’t familiar with the concept of ‘I language’, so it was possible that his words would come off as rather accusative. “You’re-- avoiding me. And still mad at me. How do I fix it?” There. Straightforward, honest, and earnest. Roald, used to only ever having drama with other boys, easily solved with fistfights and/or alcohol, figured that checked off every box. Dominique forcefully shoved the fake wand that she had been eyeing back onto the display so she could cross her arms in a huff and look at Roald dead in the eye. "Oh? I'm avoiding you now?" Common sense (and a voice that sounded oddly like James') was telling her to calm her tits, but that voice was muffled out by all the resentment that had slowly built up over the past three months. It wasn't fair for her to snap at him when he was trying to extend the olive branch. Why was she being like this? A rant about how upset he had made her feel was forming on her tongue and bristling to escape her in the form of unbridled scathe, but the James-voice in her managed to make itself heard. "And. Yeah. I'm mad. And you're right. We should talk." She tersely nodded her head to each syllable, biting her tongue in case the urge to spew out her feelings won out. Fix it? Buggering shite. Dominique was not good at fixing things, let alone providing instructions on how to fix things. She was rather adept to creating problems, to her credit, but fixing? Totally out of her element. "Gee, I don't know. Do I look an instruction manual to you?" she retorted. "Or better yet, do I look like the missing Hogwarts girl in your grand Four-School Challenge?" She flashed him a wide smile, but this was clearly not one of her usual smiles (relaxed and easy) but rather, one that was as menacing and taunting as she could manage. What was she even doing. Not even a few minutes into this conversation, and she was already veering into the deep end of things, as she was wont to do in normal situations. But this wasn’t any normal situation; they’d never fought before, let alone been forced to confront each other like this. She had hardly thought herself capable of such snippy cruelty (especially not to Roald of all people), but it was the only thing that could possibly mask the hurt that she had been experiencing. Roald had expected some form of hostility, maybe-- but not in the cutting way that she was speaking. He wasn’t a person who was very focused on words or conversation, he generally missed the subtleties in what people were saying and thus was hardly ever hurt by words (“sticks and stones may break my bones”), yet he felt her tone strike him harder than the ground after a bad fall. By now the last traces of his smile were gone; he was blatantly staring at her, eyes searching her face for some sign that she was joking. He had really wanted this to be easy, selfish as it was of him. “Four-School Challenge?” he repeated, and the words tasted bitter on his tongue. She must have been joking. “Dominique,” Roald said, to start, part a plea and part maybe a simple desire to say her name to her again after so long; he searched for a tactful way to put his thoughts into form for a moment and then realized that he was no Eirik and tact was not his strong point, “I really hope you’re joking. I shouldn’t have to tell you that that’s complete bollocks.” For a very brief moment, Dominique's expression softened a bit as Roald said her name (angry or not, it had been a while), only to slip back into a far more hostile one following his outright denial of that rumour. Was he actually refuting that -- ? "Really, Roald? Really? Is it complete bollocks that after I told you outright that I didn't want to --" she paused momentarily for the best word choice here. Oh, screw it, she thought. Diplomacy was for swots. "-- sleep with you, you took your so-called revenge out on me by sleeping around, made sure that I knew all about it, acted like I didn't exist for nearly a month, and believed that I'd actually be remotely okay with all of that to hang out with you again?" Her tone, accusative as it already was, grew sharper and louder with every grievance she listed, and her face was now tinged by a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "I don't know about you, but I definitely remember that happening. So you know what? My sincerest bloody apologies that you somehow came to the stunning conclusion that I'd be stupid enough to put up with that." “That story was in Witch Weekly!” Roald said, a desperate edge to his tone. “I can’t believe-- you accepted it? You think that’s what happened -- ?” Admittedly, Roald knew in the back of his mind, in a way that was what happened. She did technically reject him in terms of sex, although he had taken that as meaning an overall romantic rejection, and then he had ignored her for a while all the while being much more open to sexual opportunities than usual, and then he had assumed she’d want to go back to being friends once he felt like he was ready. Okay, so maybe it looked bad. “I can’t dispute what happened, but for that reason? You know that’s not true.” He paused, running a hand through his already-messy blond hair, glancing around him for a moment in part to avoid her eyes and in part to make sure there was no one eavesdropping, although he caught some curious eyes. Was this it, then? Was this when he was going to have to put into words what he was sure they both knew, what he had assumed they had both always been aware of? He felt like he was going through some sort of maturation ritual, some type of rite of passage, in a way. How To Deal With Your Problems Using Conversation. Or something. “You know it wasn’t at all about sex.” "Accepted it? Like I needed Witch Weekly to know what happened," she scoffed. Dumb gossip article or not, it had only confirmed what Dominique had suspected, and the fact that he wasn't going to dispute what she had said? Sure, she did feel a tiny bit of vindication that she was right, but that feeling was largely dwarfed by the realization that he had meant to incite a reaction from her. "So. It's true then. And you wonder why I had no desire to see you." Her gaze drifted down to the floor. What had she even expected him to say or do? Outright deny it? What was she even supposed to do at this point? By this point, she wanted to physically tear through the barrier of awkward silence between them, because on top of the hurt and frustration, there was now an element of confusion added to the mix. "Fine. If not sex, then why would you even do that? What the hell did I even do to you?" she asked, her voice slightly deflated, now that she had already aired out most of her resentment. "Because I never pegged you as the type to go around spiting me, and I would never have done that to you." She bit her lip as she glanced up at him. Somehow, she had a feeling that she wouldn't like what he had to say. “Spiting you? I didn’t do it to spite you,” Roald instantly replied, unsure whether he ought to feel more indignant or confused, but his voice bordered on the latter, “I just needed some time, alright? I don’t get-- why you don’t seem to understand that. Okay, maybe I was dumb, and maybe I was keeping up hopes that I shouldn’t have been, but,” he sighed a ragged sigh and slumped to lean against the wall that was next to them, “I can’t remember a time when you haven’t been special to me.” (The words tasted different than he thought they would; on paper, the only place where these feelings of his had surfaced, he could still avoid really acknowledging them.) “So yes, maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to ignore you, but I couldn’t do anything else.” It never occurred to him that they might not have been on the same page. "Understand what?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. By this point, Dominique's mind was trying to fill in the gaps, but she couldn't even tell you how they went from yelling at each other (or, to be fair, Dominique yelling at Roald -- by this point, he probably thought she was absolutely mental) to this. To say that she was caught off-guard was an understatement of the century. Why was he telling her this now of all times? Hadn't she just attacked him with a barrage of accusations? Hopes? What? And on top of the flurry of questions floating around in her head, there was now an odd swell in her chest replacing the anger that had once been there. It was a weird, fluttery feeling and much more preferable to the pent-up feelings that she had just experienced, but that didn’t hide the fact that she was confused as all get out. "I --" She had stopped biting her lip, but only because her mouth was hanging open in her state of utter bewilderment, as she tried to complete the sentence. I -- what? Don't know what to say? Think you're special too? Have no clue why you’re saying this? Need to lie down? "--- I, um. I really don't understand," she mumbled, fumbling for words as eloquence was clearly failing her. Even though Roald had been speaking English since he was a kid, words were starting to get jumbled around as they left his mouth-- he wasn’t sure if it was the barrier of a non-native tongue, or perhaps he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say in the first place. “Which part?” he said, and tilted his head until it hit the wall. “I don’t know how else to say that. I’ve always -- “ and this was always a problem, trying to put words to a feeling that weren’t cliched, or dramatic, or overused, but screw it all, Roald figured he was young enough and bold enough and dramatic enough that he could do what he wanted, “ -- loved you in a way I love no one else. You knew that. So did everyone else. I guess it must have been obvious.” He took a moment to reflect on his teammates, on James (James, really, James had known since the beginning of time, since before Roald even realized), and on Hugo. On Dani, with whom he had never even talked about Dom before, but he always knew that she knew from the look in her eyes and the feel of her offered comfort. “I just -- I know it’s your way, brash and kind of facetious and Dominique, and I adore everything about that, but you could’ve -- let me down a little easier.” What. What. What was he saying -- what was he saying. Nooo. No no no no. The people that claimed to be in love with her were boys who were entranced by her Veela charms -- "Roald. You are not in lo --" was her instant kneejerk response, and she mentally smacked herself before she could complete that sentence. Merde. Her mind was telling her to furiously backpedal before she could put her foot in her mouth again, but all she could muster was a pained expression. "Agh -- I, just -- that's not what I -- I really didn't --" "... I didn't know," she offered lamely. Pathetic, but it was the only reason she had. Okay, in her flimsy defense, she really didn't know. She really didn't! It wasn't that she was completely thick to have missed every one of the signals that Roald had sent or the all-knowing looks on the faces of her family whenever they hung out at Potter-Weasley-Krum gatherings, but for Dominique Weasley, suspecting was hardly the same as actually knowing and having that knowledge delivered right in her face. Years of being conditioned to never take any signals from boys at anything more than face value (how else would she know that they weren't in it solely for the Veela charm?) had gotten the better of her, and it wasn't fair to lump Roald in the category of "most boys." Especially since, well, he wasn't like most boys. Overwhelmed with everything that had just transpired in the last hour (actually, the last five minutes alone were a complete doozy), she too leaned against the wall -- she had only expected to be window-shopping in Hogsmeade, not this. This was easily one of the most taxing conversations she had ever had, and if this had been any other person, she could have easily walked away. But this wasn't any other person, and there was a terrific feeling taking root in her chest and threatening to pin her to the wall until she ripped the proverbial plaster off her arm. She took a deep breath in an attempt to restart. “Look, I’m sorry, Roald. I really am.” Dominique was a complete novice in the art of apologizing, and it showed, as the words felt so starchy in her throat as she said them, despite her sincerity. Her eyes were darting everywhere (her fingernails, her shoes, the store displays, the stares of nosy onlookers -- couldn’t they just piss off already?) except Roald. “I never meant it like that. I freaked out over the blindfold, and what I said was absolutely horrible and stupid, I know. I really wasn’t thinking.” She shook her head frantically at her own mistakes. “But it’s not that I meant to reject you or -- or that I never liked you! It’s not. Because that’s not true -- you’ve always been my favourite person.” Now that she had admitted that, she briefly paused and wrung her hands, as if to physically rid herself of the ramble that was itching to escape her. “And okay, it wasn’t fair for me to assume that you only liked me because -- because of my -- my looks. Or sex. Or whatever. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for brushing off slash laughing at all the signals you sent,” she added, her voice only a soft fraction of its usual self. Admitting that out loud made her wince with guilt. “And for the belt. And for snapping at you three months ago. And five minutes ago.” She’d be willing to bet that everybody in the store had their eyes on her now, but even if she were embarrassed and overcome with the desire to run and become a hermit from society forever, she couldn’t, because she felt almost braced to the ground as she waited for Roald’s reaction. What had he even been expecting? The answer was unclear-- but it wasn't this, a nearly-speechless Dominique who for once didn't seem comfortable with her words. That alone stunned him into silence and he refrained from interrupting her as she put herself together, even though he wanted so badly to say something-- she didn't know? She had never known? Really? What did that mean? Did it, could it -- ? But he didn't want to get ahead of himself, for once. Maybe he didn't quite understand the situation as it was at the moment, but he could feel a shift in the atmosphere; the earlier tension had morphed into something not so fraught, but no less anticipatory. While she was decidedly avoiding his eyes he couldn't get enough of examining her face, and her words slowly sank into his head. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing; was he dreaming, would he ruin the flow of their conversation if he asked Dom to pinch him? (Probably.) But suddenly a rush of euphoria was beginning to stir itself in his blood, like the start of an adrenaline rush but so much better, Some people wouldn't, perhaps, be so quick to put these things in the past, but Roald couldn't have cared less about past mistakes, or hurt feelings that were now fixed: in five seconds, it was already water under the bridge. He was only too glad to take the first step into forgetting that the fighting of the past months had ever happened at all. "Apologies accepted," Roald said almost immediately, "All of them, accepted. Definitely. I'm sorry that I ever made you think I didn't care about you. I do -- I mean, I do. A lot. And I'm sorry for ever opening that stupid mystery package. With the belt." He was struggling with himself, trying to keep his growing smile -- large and painfully full of hope -- from surfacing, but the quirk of his lips and the new light in his eyes betrayed him. Putting a hand up to cover part of his mouth, as if that would help, Roald dared to look over at her again, hoping to meet her eyes. "Look," he started, and wasn't even sure how to put into words for a moment the giant, looming question that was hanging over his head, " -- you never meant to reject me?" Her eyes widened as he immediately accepted every one of her apologies -- bam, just like that. After swinging from every corner of the emotional pendulum (anger to guilt to this) in a matter of minutes, it was a strange but ultimately comforting sense of relief to finally find a happy medium. "Really?" she asked incredulously. Maybe a more circumspect person would have questioned the lack of delay for Roald to forgive her, but instinct and ten-plus years of friendship were all the proof she needed to know that things would be okay again. Or -- as Dominique hoped -- far more than okay. "You're kidding, right? I was an idiot," she insisted, pulling a face. "Well, so was the person who sent that package, but -- seriously. I've missed you." There was no mistaking the fondness in Dominique's face as she studied Roald to make sure that he really did forgive her. Okay, that, and the smile he was trying to suppress was unbelievably endearing. "No! Of course not!" she exclaimed in mock indignation. "Besides, it's not like I can technically reject something if you didn't ask in the first place." She quirked an eyebrow at Roald, curious to see if he would pick up on that. Maybe it was a rather brazen way of answering the question, but considering that this was Dominique talking and the possibility (which the two had somehow managed to skirt for so long) was low-hanging fruit by this point, she figured it was the right moment. Roald no longer cared about finding out who the mysterious person who sent the package, or the blindfold, was -- he didn't even respond when she said she had missed him because the corresponding answer only seemed too obvious; of course he had missed her too, he had missed her only all too much. He stared for a moment at her next words, reading what was implied there and scarcely able to believe it -- to think that it could be that simple! Had he really never asked, in all those years? For a moment he looked at her a little uncertainly, before regaining his brash confidence -- "I can fix that," Roald said, and grinned at her. "So. Dominique," once more he enjoyed the feel of her name on his tongue, "do you want to be with me?" If somebody had told Dominique Weasley this morning that she would wind up with a boyfriend by the end of the day, she would have either laughed her head off at the sheer absurdity of it all or scowled at the mere mention of Roald’s name, but here the question was, easy and waiting for an answer. Considering this was Dominique, though, things tended to run on an uncharted course. “Took you long enough!” she laughed delightedly. All jest aside, she was head-to-toe brimming with a light, soaring feeling as she nodded and let the word yes escape from her mouth. “Yes, I’d love to, Roald.” She took another moment to gaze at her boyfriend (the very thought felt both strange and wonderful!), the grin on her face widening to match his, as she moved closer to wrap her arms around him.* *And then they made out in the store until George Weasley kicked them out cackling. lolololol jk. OR AM I. |