A story in 18 fragments. The number beside the date in the parentheses (#) refers to where it falls in the chronological order of the story. A list of date in order will be posted with the last chapter.

If you'd like, there's an 8tracks playlist for this pairing/story that can be found on my profile.

Also, cousincest ahead. If that bothers you, well don't say I didn't warn you.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it does not belong to me.

August 20th, 2037 I (17)

Dominique sits in the sunshine in Diagon Alley. She thinks it's amazing how the Muggle world can evolve and change so dramatically, yet this little street so rich with magical history looks almost the same as it did when she was only a child, so many years ago. She's sitting at a little table on the outside patio of what used to be Fortescue's before the war. It's owned by someone else now, but still feels the same as it always has right down to the old painted sign out front. It's nice, she thinks, that today of all days, she can come back to something that's still the same.

After all, this is the first time she's been in the wizarding world in twelve years. In fact, it's the first time she's even been in the country in twelve years.

Her hair shines rose-gold from the midday sun, and its only as long as her shoulders, but she remembers when she used to let it hang wild down her back. James would run his fingers through it in the quiet moments when they would lay together in darkness, or perhaps steal a bit of peace in the whirling dervish of a family they grew up in. That's why she cut it.

Today of all days, the breeze lifts up the strands, and they tickle her neck, and it gives her shivers when she closes her eyes and remembers. But she's been remembering for twelve years, and it never brings her more than shivers and a leaden weight just beneath her breast bone because James is gone. And the few bits of him she has left are like sand, and the more she tries to hold onto them the faster they slip through her fingers.