There's a boy who's so much a part of a girl, that she can't imagine life without him. He's her battery, he's a promise. There's another girl, sweet and smart with auburn hair that swings neatly around her shoulders. The sweet and smart girl, Molly, and the battery boy, Lysander, are different, too different. Dominique can't see how she can cope with the two of them. They're polite to each other, but Molly is a bright spark, whilst 'Sander is a shining star.

And Dominique is outshone by both of them.

She stands in front of a mirror, in a fit of thoughtfulness, and sees the girl before her. She has to scream to be heard, hurt to feel, and all of a sudden it catches her. She's not like Molly, practically perfect, or 'Sander, beautifully crazy. She's bog standard Dom, with her strawberry blonde hair hanging without style down past her shoulder blades. She's an eighth veela, but she only got the eyes, whilst her sister has the figure (Dom refers to herself as 'comfortable') the hair, the everything. Dom pulls a thick knitted jumper over her disappointing body and starts to cry. She wants to be more exciting and exotic, live up to the concept of a Delacour-Weasley. So she does.

Day by day she gets worse, she gets skinny, wears low cut tops. She parties all night, even with the Slytherins, whose parties are deadly to an outsider. Molly worries, 'Sander worries, but neither of them say a thing. Dominique hides from mirrors nowadays, unless surveying her rapidly disappearing body, clawed at by the boys she used to make fun of. Molly doesn't say anything, not even when she hears her crying for Lysander, or vomiting in the bathroom. She wants Dominique to be her again, but truth be told, she's scared of her.

Lysander doesn't know how bad it is until he hears hysterical sobbing from the corner of the girl's room, which he has long since discovered a way into. He makes his way over to the hunched form. He sees the glinting mirror and the sparkling bottle, and the shaking, shivering wreck of a girl he used to know. He didn't know she could still cry. New Dominique with her ice cold laugh and her bleached hair, straight as a match stick, doesn't seem capable of human emotion.

"I'm so stupid! Dull, dull, dull. I've got to be bright! Shine little Domi!" She's muttering, utterly hysterical. Then quieter, softly and brokenly.

"I change change change and I'm still not as bright as they are, not good enough for Molly, not beautiful enough for 'Sander." And all of a sudden, Lysander can't move. This is too much. He's not strong enough to pull her out of this. And it's such a shame.

Mirrors breaking people is more than seven years bad luck.