Dominique Weasley would never claim to be beautiful, not because she wasn't aware of the fact, but because she found herself far more fascinated with those that looked interesting and unique than those that were typically good-looking.

Take her father: people claimed that he was so attractive in his youth yet lost his looks due to the scarring that a malevolent werewolf had given him, but Dominique thought that the silvery scars that provided such contrast to his brown freckled skin merely made his face more interesting to look upon. She could remember as a child tracing the damaged tissue with chubby little fingers and wondering why Dad didn't like it when the lightning patterns within were so delicately beautiful.

Then there was her aunt, Audrey, who stood so short that she didn't even reach five feet tall, with darker patches that blotched over her pale skin like giant freckles, as if she were a distorted map of so many worlds. Dominique had seen annoying little children point at her aunt when they went out, but they simply weren't used to seeing the woman's unique beauty.

She could see her own reflection in the window of the train, trees patterning her skin as they rushed past outside. Her face was perfectly formed, features evenly spaced and teeth making a straight line, but there was nothing memorable in there. She was the poster child for generic beauty, but when she turned away from the window all she could call up in her mind about her own appearance was the slight crinkling in her hair that still smelt of salt and seaweed. Once she washed that out her hair would dry dead straight, and just like everything else about her it would become forgettable.

The exact opposite of the girl that sat in front of her now, whose compartment it had turned out to be. Everything about her was striking as she leaned her head back against the seat, from the contrast of her white teeth in her dark face to the cheekbones that stood as high as the girl that kept such a straight back and poise at all times. It was strange to see her dwarfed by the seat of the compartment, as had she been standing the way she occupied space would have lent her a height that she didn't actually possess, but that she took anyway.

The eyes of students in the corridor followed Dominique because she was part Veela, but they followed Keire Nott-Zabini because the way she held herself demanded it. Forget beauty, Keire had strength. People were no more able to look away from her than they were from Dominique, but the difference lay with even when Keire was absent people still thought of her with admiration, where Dominique faded from their minds the second they couldn't see her.

The dark eyes that lit with so much intelligence, the hair that was kept cropped brutally short for convenience, the lips that seemed to hold a curl of bored amusement at all times, all of it was remembered with a flush of envy by those who passed her in the corridor, at least such was the case for Dominique. Especially the confidence possessed within such a small body, unafraid to meet the eyes of all who passed by where Dominique would just look away.

There was a terrifying sharpness to Keire, and yet still those in their year and others would seek her advice in the Ravenclaw common room about any matter they held concern over, strangely holding their trust to her in spite of -- or maybe because of -- the brutal honesty with which she would reply. Ravenclaws after all valued fact and truth more than the other houses that viewed the world with tinted glasses of their making. Her house was one that prided itself on all matters of trying to analyse scenarios in an unbiased light. Even the creative ones among them to contrast the bookish brilliance of the majority sought for honest judgement of their work.

It was well known that the girl was bright, in spite of her lack of interest in classes and books she could often be found in an empty classroom scribbling notes about spells that didn't yet exist.

And there was the famous incident when one evening after dinner almost every student had found themselves unable to answer the question posed by that door knocker: "What is the end to all things?"

Beginning to get desperate, the crowd had been beginning to put forward increasingly ridiculous answers, until finally Keire stalked up the stairs after curfew with her makeup smudged and rolled her dark eyes.

"S," was the answer she had given with a crack of her tongue, without acknowledging the numerous students milling around. The knocker had found the answer to satisfy the terms of the question enough for the door to open.

The other Ravenclaws had been in enough shock over the incident that they had almost let the door close again, somebody only just managing to grab it before it slammed behind her.

"Ohhhh," a first year had voiced in the silence. "S like the letter that ends the word. I think I had too much pumpkin juice not to get that."

It seemed that everyone must have had too much pumpkin juice that day, as they filed into the common room feeling quite ashamed.

Dominique actually shared a dormitory along with seven other girls, but it was strange to say that she had never actually seen Keire there. The girl must enter the room after she had drawn the curtains around he bed, and leave first every morning. There were traces of her left behind, toiletries in the bathroom, an open trunk, on rare occasions an unmade bed, but for the most part she was merely a ghost that breezed through without disturbing the other residents.

But now for the first time ever Dominique found herself alone with the living legend that was of an age with her, and all the girl did was lay back her head on the seat behind her and shut those dark, intelligent eyes.

When she had first pushed open the door to the compartment there had been a glint of annoyance on her face to see another person sitting there, but as Dominique made to leave she merely offered her to stay with a tired look.

It was strange to see someone looking so weary when they hadn't even started the school year yet, and Dominique went back and forth in her mind over whether to ask the girl if she was alright, but in the end Keire brought it up herself.

"Do you ever wonder," she asked without opening her eyes, head still tilted back to meet the padded back of the seat, "if you aren't as much like your family as you want to be."

Dominique's heart skipped a beat, then dropped. How could somebody have seen that, guessed it? She wasn't much like her family in the sense of appearance, true, but where it counted she held the same traits, right?

She pushed down the little voice inside saying that none of her cousins would have had trouble requesting to sit in a compartment with a stranger and asked in a voice that she hated for being so small, "How do you know that?"

Keire's eyes flicked open. "Oh? So you do?"

Dominique winced, deciding that to keep her mouth firmly shut might be a wiser move.

"Well go on then," Keire snapped, "tell me all your problems and ask for a neat little solution as to how you should fix them."

Dominique shook her head, lips pressing together and fingers flexing against her legs as she turned to watch the landscape flickering past with such speed outside. If only she could rush past her own insecurities as quickly as the train passed the trees that stood along the tracks.

"Well then," Keire continued. "I suppose I'll lay out mine for you then, we have to pass the time somehow."

Dominique glanced back towards her with deepening confusion, but the girl continued on almost conversationally.

"It transpires I'm adopted, not really a surprise if I'm honest, however the problem lies with that apparently my grandmother on the Zabini side was not aware of my existence until over the summer, strange, considering Father meets up with her for tea on the first and third Tuesday of every month. Now that she holds the knowledge that her son has a daughter, she wants to train me up to be just like her, an honour to be sure, she's a powerful person, but quite frankly I'd rather get by on my own merit than by seducing and murdering wealthy older men -- that's what she does for a living by the way, and to think that I wondered why Dad and Father made the decision not to introduce us. Unfortunately my dear Grandmother won't take no for an answer: apparently the lack of female company has negatively affected me and that's why I struggle to initiate conversations with girls my age. Unacceptable of course, as I am required to be capable of manipulating anyone that comes into my path. Of course she's comparing me to Father in the sense that 'Blaise could turn the head of any woman and his inclinations didn't even turn that way'. And I dislike being compared to my Father. So, do you have any advice?"  All this was delivered in a casual, if not monotone, manner, leaving Dominique in a state of confusion.

Her eyes flitted back and forth as if to look for someone else who the speech could have been directed to, even though she knew fully well that there was no one else in the compartment, before she shook her head.

Keire smiled weakly. "No, I don't suppose you do. It's harder to give than people think."

Dominique couldn't help but frown. "You mean you don't like helping all those people that want your advice?"

Something pained flashed over Keire's face, before her features schooled themselves into her usual sharp expression, jaw raised and lips parted just slightly as though ready at any moment to give an observation that probably wouldn't be received well. "Of course I do. It's just..."

Dominique looked at her expectantly, and Keire's eyes flickered down for a heartbeat.

"It's sometimes a bit draining is all," the admission came out curtly, dismissive, but Dominique nodded.

"Well that makes sense, only focusing on the issues of others can't be completely healthy, not without making time for yourself as well."

Keire's lips tilted upwards slightly and she rested her head back against the seat, her eyes blinking shut again.

Dominique returned to looking out of window, feeling incredibly proud of herself. An emotional conversation -- well an emotional topic even if the delivery had been clinical -- surely this was a step in the direction of friendship?

Perhaps she simply had been in the right place at the right time, however she had made the effort to interact when she could have merely ignored the other girl or left the compartment.

She found herself desperately hoping that she had said the right thing.