May was passing slowly and lazily. The days had mostly been sunny with very few sun showers and while it was certainly no British summer it was a warmer spring than many people expected. At least it was not the usual dreary British weather. Hopefully though summer would be nice and they would not have horrible weather then to make up for the nice spring weather. At least they weren’t still having cold fronts in Britain which was a welcome thing.

The day had been a cool one, thanks to the light showers that had brought down the day’s temperature to a much more bearable level. The showers had, however, not been as good for the businesses that lined Diagon and Knockturn. People had been running whatever errands they had and then leaving it at that, no time to peruse smaller shops or look at luxury items. No one wanted to meander around the Alleys doing any form of window shopping, necessities only had seemed to be the goal of the day.

What small bustle there was had certainly died down even further as the grey night started to descend on Wizarding London. The showers had stopped, but the humid earthy smell that rain left behind was not gone. It continued to cling in it’s last dregs to every building that it had come into contact with. That was simply the nature of rain, however. If one was going to enjoy it, they had to enjoy everything that went along with it.

The rain was at least refreshing and rejuvenating, a beautiful part of spring. This was especially true after a long winter, a string of sunny days while lovely often became too overbearing and what would spring be without the occasional rain? The rains of April and May were always a welcome sight for everyone. Flowers began to bloom and in spring it was said that love was in the air. Now, that second part might not necessarily be true, but it was a nice thing to think of for the foolish romantics of the world.

Even on Knockturn rain could be appreciated. It was a place where even the wind often dared not to venture and the rain at least cleaned some of the grime that tended to accumulate in the dingier part of the Wizarding World, where the dark underbelly of society lived and thrived in their own ways playing dirty games, sitting and waiting until the day that they might once more be victorious and in charge of the world. Though these were simply minor dreams.

Fortunately, Adair sat right at the crossroads between the two Allies and as such generally had a somewhat fresh breeze that blew in anyhow. It really was prime property. Not too far into Knockturn Alley so that people were scared to come in and far enough to keep Rocio abreast of the goings on in the darker part of the world, the part of the world that she preferred. After all, down there, it might have been a lot of scratching and biting but the people were real.

This was true, in Knockturn Alley no one had pretensions of pretending to be someone they were not. A conartist was a conartist and people knew it. The bad and the ugly were all exposed and no one cared about it at all. In fact, it was the good ones in Knockturn that you had to watch out for. The criminals you could always trust to be criminals. The ones that came in new and fresh expecting that the rest of Knocktun had to accept them with open arms, they were the ones to watch out for.

Rocio Adair sat behind the counter at her boutique, her chin propped in her hand and her legs crossed primly. Hortadelia - the girl normally in charge of sales and sitting behind the counter all day - had taken the day off. Lord knew why, but Rocio was all alone at the boutique all day, not even a snake to keep her company. She sighed softly and looked at the clock that sat on the counter, it was nearly eight and at eight she would close. She could close earlier, but where would she go and what would she do? She was in no mood to go home yet.

She slid off the stool behind the counter and began to move around, readying to leave the boutique. She supposed that she would simply go visit Cináed at the Chimaera. At least that way she would have something to do with herself for the evening. The company was usually lacking, but Cin was quite the charmer when he wanted to be and Rocio was growing accustomed to his gruff ways. There were so few refined pureblood men in their little circle that she really had no choice.

She wandered into the back room, taking up her large black handbag and gathering all of her belongings. A quick hand up took her hair out of the bun it had been in all day and a quick shake of her long black locks left them flowing freely and a bit haphazardly. She ran a hand through it, looking in the mirror and fixing it a little before touching up her makeup with a quick wave of her wand. She wondered briefly if a change of outfit might be in order before deciding against it. There really was nothing wrong with her pencil skirt and button down blouse with the small black corset laced over it.

A smirk at herself in the mirror and she moved out of the back room, staring longingly at the cage that sat in the corner, wishing she had Sasha for company at least. However, he was shedding his skin and so she could not very well move him. She shook her head and continued towards the storefront, turning off the lights with a quick flick of the wrist and moving out the door. Once the locks and enchantments were put in place she began to make her way down Knockturn Alley doing her best to avoid the puddles.

The Alley was wet and as dark as ever. Not a star appeared to shine in the inky black sky which had slowly covered the world like a blanket. The grey clouds that floated against it certainly did not help matters either. Tonight was, if anything, the perfect night for mischief to occur in the Alley and it was fortunate for Rocio that no one dared touch her for fear of feeling her mighty wrath. She may have been small but her temper was certainly bigger than her body.

In truth there were few people in the Alley, so no one to really bother her anyhow. Just the odd stray cat, a corner hag every now and again and the vagrants that usually called the filthy streets of Knockturn their home. This was where all the drifters and vagabonds invariably ended, they were not accepted on Diagon and so they soon got taken into the dangerous world of Knockturn, and how could they be expected not to turn to crime when they were living in such conditions?

She carefully avoided all of the mess and rabble in the Alley, pausing now and again to carefully maneuver around a puddle or animal. She was not in the mood to be sullied tonight and walking carefully on her tiptoes made it especially necessary to apply caution. There was no way one of her heels was going to get caught in the space between two cobblestones and she was going to topple over. Not a chance this side of Hades in so far as she was concerned.

She arrived quickly at the Chimaera and paused a moment before the large door, straightening herself a bit before pushing the door open to receive access to the pub. The atmosphere change was practically palpable. While the outside world was dreary, a slight chill descending on the world, the inside of the Chimaera was much more lively. It was fight night again, and Rocio really did have nothing better to do so she supposed that she would be keeping true to her word, and giving the bone fight a chance.

Upon entering her eyes swept the Chimaera for the proprietor, and a smooth smile and nod were given in his direction. He nodded back, before going back to the customer that he was busy with at the moment. She could only hope that he was becoming involved in some form of dirty underhanded dealings. That was always the most fun and she knew that he needed to keep himself busy. She knew very well what it was like to try and keep oneself busy.

The air inside the pub was musty, a very manly place to be for sure and a quick glance around the room showed that she was one of only two or three woman that were gracing the pub with their presence that evening. Well, alright, only she was gracing, the other two made the local corner hag look like a pleasant prospect. Pity that Dazmond had not made her way in this direction. Though the night was still very young and she was really about to see the thing she had called a barbarity just the week before.

The usuals sat in the corner where the bones were to fight within a while preparing for the betting and the actions. Snippets of their conversation carried over to her as she paused to observe everything else. The pub was actually much more raucous tonight than it had been on her venture there precisely one week prior. Perhaps it was due to one particularly loud crowd of men sitting in the corner. Some of them seemed familiar, though others she could not place.

She arched an eyebrow and shook her head before moving forward to the bar. She leaned against it casually, both forearms placed firmly on the bar before her, her right ankle crossing itself casually behind her right leg as she ordered a drink. A vodka on the rocks with a twist. She rarely ever changed her selection and loved the feel of the alcohol burning down her throat. At least when she felt that she knew that she was feeling something - anything at all was welcome.

Her vodka was served up quickly and she set down payment on the counter before moving over towards one that she believed she had heard Cináed call Chris. She looked over the men more closely now, observing them and their ragtag outfits seemingly put together from bobs and bits of what they could find and salvaging clothes over the years, rarely buying new ones. Why were some men so distinctly uncaring about these things? Not that any of this lot was quite the looker.

"Ten galleons!"  Dominik served his mate with a laugh.  It was fighting night and he was on the high-end of the game -- he could feel the rush of indefatigable luck in his veins, he had it under his skin, in his muscles, coursing, churning, warming his bones or . . . maybe that was the firewhiskey sinking in but.  It was all the same to him tonight.  The rain had just started again; he could hear it as the door swung open and shut, starting to come down hard outside, pounding the alley's cobblestone street and no doubt putting pockmarks in the puddles so the drops jumped back up again; it made the roar of the pub climb three notches and subsequently Dominik dropped into being.  

Ahh the noise, the voices that itched with the anticipation of violence -- surely there was no better night to come to the Black Chimeara as when the clientele took it upon themselves to take back the night in some horrific game in the name of underground entertainment.  Gambling.  Raucus.  Mallarkey.  It was pure goblin's gold, that.

"You'll see, mate," Dom was saying, his voice loud over the din.  "You'll right shit yerself and I'll be a rich man by night's end."  He made a playful but dodgy face and clapped Sanders on the back before finishing his whiskey off.  He felt as if he'd just ate a mouthful of hot peppers; when he resurfaced the steam escaped from every orifice in his face and he coughed a laugh of agony, turning red much to his drinking buddies' good pleasure.  To his credit (or maybe not so much), it was his third glass of the evening.

"Buggers," he said, turning with his empty glass to the bar.  It was a special occasion, and by that he meant a work night.  He had some gig in the morning and was thus set on getting so banjaxed he'd have no chance of making it.  He could deal with the complaints he'd get; that he was used to.  It was the cameras and the fans and the anti-fans he didn't want to face -- that and those awful interviews in which more often than not he was hounded about his "dark past" and reminded over and over what a failure he was.  Somehow the whole "cleaned up wizard" look they tried to fix him with had made the situation all the more unbearable.

Seeking to fill his drink, Dom surveyed the busy bar for a free hand, not wishing to stand round or leave his warm roost near the corner.  He was already caught up in the whimsical and bear-faced aroma of the evening, guy's night out and all that.  It was good to not think and just be loud and roudy, arsing about. . . .  But as he was considering the dingy barside, his eyes stammered -- laid on heels, ankles crossed, crisp clothes, curves, hair like black silk -- leaning.  His heart dropped into his stomach and his jaw slacked as he stared.  This gorgeous and faceless woman, sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd of unbathed scruffs, had captivated him entirely within the space of an instant.  Dominik was true to form in falling in love on the spot; he hadn't even seen her face and was already planning the poetry in his subconscious.

He was pulled out of his reverie by his chums, who had followed his gaze and were now making offensive comments about the woman's beauty, begging like sick dogs for some trouser action.  

"Shut it ye barmy yobs," he said bitterly, turning back into the booth.  "Jes' let her be."  Then.  " -- Jesus!"  He turned round for another quick look.  

She was a gem, he could tell that.  The only real woman he knew that came to places like this was Dazmond, and that was only because she was a firey thing.  Her presence here quite clearly meant that this figure was none other than a scarlette woman -- the dark and mysterious type, he was sure.  And that was romantic as hell.  That much he could tell from her wardrobe; she looked like she was propped up by good money, had power 'hind her name.  She was probably the wife of some dark Wizard.  Or else he'd make her his.

On the second look back a minute later, he had a glimpse of her face, turning -- she held her head high and Dom had stars in his eyes.  Her face -- it struck a chord and he found himself quite suddenly in the halls of Hogwarts again, horrified as he'd rounded a corner and come up against . . . Rocio . . . It'd been years since he'd seen her, the shy and quiet girl dressed in only the best robes, the pureblooded daughter of a diplomat . . . she was so subdued and pretty then, and now?  He'd heard her story, backwards and forwards from Dazmond's busy maw.  That Adair had died.  That she raised serpents and owned a boutique now (he'd passed it just once and had learned to take the long way round after that).  Daz was close with her, he knew that much.  She was a gem.  Jesus.  If he'd just asked her.

His chums started at him again, registering his current dismay and prodding about Miss'um legs over there.  "Girl of my dreams, mate.  Jesus," he said, attempting to hide his face from the bar.  He needed a drink, bad, but he wasn't about to go and get it with her over there.  After all these years she still made him all funny inside, like a right baffoon.  

A while went past of this till Dom was nearly pushed out of his booth by his mates -- goaded toward the bar to approach her, and if it wasn't for the booze and the fight and the press meeting looming round the corner of morning, he would have booked it right then and there to bury himself in the darkness of his flat.  But instead, with a sensation of dread consuming him from the inside out, he came up behind -- Rocio -- faultered, nearly turned back round, and finally letting himself rest against the bar beside her, setting his empty glass down with a clunk and chancing a look at her from the corner of his eye.

"Nother one, mate," he called as he caught the bar-hand's eye.  He looked at her again, then back to staring straight ahead.  He cleared his throat, and looked back, catching her eye.  He had absobloodylutely nothing good to say.  If she didn't remember him, she'd at least have seen all the bad press he got fed.  He felt a little sick.

"D'you remember me?" he said, his voice a bit gentle.  He gruffed it up a smidge.  "Daz's brother," he said, accepting his refilled firewhiskey and taking a carefully calculated swig (lest he should light afire right here).  "You are Rocio?  I don't think I could forget you."  He extended a hand to remeet her with, as casually as he could though he was scared to death.  He should have probably kissed the back of hers, it was probably soft as satin . . . but that could have been lethal.  He thought he'd die if he even looked at her too long.  

Dominik wondered (and quite possibly fretted over) just what she would have remembered about him.  They had been in the same year and house in school, and had even coincidentally dropped out during the same Summer and for... similar reasons.  Dom, for his part, was a sociable kid and could coax money and favors out of his peers with great ease -- using the products of his sister's brilliance as bate.  And of course even in school he was a notoriously aggressive Beater.  But Rocio had been so quiet, such the image of perfection that he felt trying his luck with her too soon would only dull his chances of making her his wife.  He used to have a fantasy about their home back then; it was so infantile as he never really knew her well, but she was such the image of perfection to him then.  Adair got to her first, obviously, and Dominik gave up the dream just as easily as he'd taken it up... which was quite characteristic in fact.  

It was so strange to be standing beside her now.  She'd changed so much he thought he'd drop dead when she spoke to him.  He imagined her voice would be much less timid now; everything about her seemed less timid.  And although that had appealed greatly to him at the time, imagining that he'd settle down and carry on the family name with an intelligent and soft-spoken pureblooded girl like Rocio (he was in for quite the surprise then), -- the fact that she was a full-bodied woman now, bold it seemed, was doing a number on his senses.  She was untouchable.  A scarlette woman.  Goddess of the hunt.  Dominik's imagination was on the loose, and his insides turned out and his whiskey his friend for he wasn't shaking.  At least he wasn't shaking.  

In his sleek and spotless black robes he leaned 'gainst the bar, already inside of the vortex where the craziness outside of their small bubble hardly seemed to exist, despite the noise.

The din in the bar would only get worse and Rocio knew it. After all, they were men and it was fight night. She had certainly called it barbaric for a reason. Her prior thought of moving towards Chris was forgotten and she stayed put at the bar, twirling a piece of her long hair around a slim figure. She wondered if it was cruel of her to do so. Stupid would never be the right word for any man who dared to upset her would surely not live long enough to rue the day. She was tiny, yes and a weakling, but that did not mean her powers were in any way diminished. Nor did she think Cináed would allow anything to happen to her, even if she was cutting quite a figure in the middle of his place of business.

She took a sip of her vodka, a soft ahh escaping her lips as though it had refreshed her greatly rather than burned all the way down her throat. There was something about vodka that she could not quite explain. The alcohol content was not even that high, she certainly could have gone for a wizarding drink, something that packed much more punch. Though it may simply have been that like the daughter of any diplomat she had grown sneaking a drink now and then and vodka was the easiest to pass off as water, even if one acted foolishly after several cups of the clear liquid. Regardless of her actions afterwards, for the moment she loved it.

It was such an interesting night for her to be back at the bar and she recalled the last time she had been there, when the plans had been set forth for little miss muggleborn to meet her match in the form of Cináed Tawse. A grim smirk settled on her face as she twirled her vodka glass around on the countertop of the bar, bareful to put it on an area where there was simply smooth lacquer left, no rough edges like the majority of the bar had. The idea was very pleasant to her and she could not wait to see how things would result. After all, Cináed would be likely to come up with some imaginative and amusing way to torture her - or so Rocio could hope.

Warmth suddenly emanated from her side and a smooth and somewhat familiar voice came from right next to her along with the unceremonious putting down of a glass, pulling her from her reverie. He was asking for another drink and she worked to try and place the familiar tones. Had she truly heard them before in real life? Was she simply imagining or remembering something from some interview or other? Maybe it was even just a regular from the bar, someone whose voice she would recognize but never the face. That was certainly possible, but he was standing awfully close. Perhaps he had suddenly gained some nerve after seeing her there so often. A smirk graced her face as she turned to look at him.

Her eyes opened wide, like a doe in the headlights and a blush crossed her cheeks at the sight of the man next to her. She turned away for a moment to compose herself before answering his soft-spoken question. There was a certain foolishness to her actions as she returned to the past, acting once more like the child who was afraid of her own shadow. “Dominik.” The word came out more softly than she usually spoke anymore and her head cocked to the side, wanting to move but being unable to. There was a magnetic pull it seemed just on that spot and no matter how much she wished to stop and look him over it seemed that she would be unable to. Not that she did not know exactly what he looked like, even these days.

She was an avid Quidditch fan for all of her other darker pursuits and femininity. She had been quick to buy season-holder tickets for the Falmouth Falcons once she heard Dominik was on the team and she certainly never so much as missed one game. She was a fan, yes, though she left quickly after the matches were over - just in case. She was afraid she might let something slip and, well, he was likely happy. He seemed to love what he did at any rate and from what she knew there was always some pretty girl or other hanging off his arm. That was certainly the life that Dominik was made for. He was so glamorous and had such star and sex appeal, Rocio could not imagine him any other way.

She took a long sip of her vodka, suddenly wishing it was a firewhiskey. “Of course I remember you,” she said with a smile, the first genuine one she had given in quite a while without being smashingly drunk. “How could anyone forget a mug like yours?” She fumbled in her bag for her cigarette case, hoping that he would not notice how nervous she was, not in her words and not in her actions. She paused for a moment and stopped herself, it was bad enough that he was seeing her in this place full of men. Smoking as well? That might give her too manly of an appearance, no? She patted her hair a bit instead, itching for a cigarette but determined to wait. There was no need for him to know just now unfeminine she had become. Even if in reality it was just barely.

She laughed throatily as he asked her if she was Rocio. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest as he spoke to her, his mere voice doing a number on her senses and it took everything in her not to throw herself at him. She had not forgotten the lesson learned all those years ago. Rushing into love was always a problem and things with Zachary had failed miserably - through no faults of their own, but they had. If only Dominik had asked her to that fateful ball their fourth year. That might have changed everything. He had not though and, well, she went with Zachary. He had never been interested in her, and she knew that, so that was also a reason not to throw herself at him.

She extended a hand to meet his and nearly jumped when their skin touched, wondering if he had felt the electric current she had. Oh how silly she was being! She was not that little girl that had once held a torch for him. Not anymore, that girl was gone and always would be. Or would she? “I suppose it is fortunate that I am, in fact, Rocio.” Her smile stayed on her face, though she assumed that all the vodka was going to be gone soon at the rate that she was going. She could only hope that Dom wasn’t noticing that either. How embarrassing to be seen as a smoking alcoholic who spent her time with bone bare and frazzled men. What an image to present to this man.

She wondered what more could she say? Did he know anything about her life? She knew plenty about his, at least what the newspapers said anyhow. A small smile always creeping onto her face when he skipped some interview or other, or when he got kicked off the pitch. It was how Dominik had always been. Certainly not much had changed there. He was always a show off and had the strength of ten beaters in Rocio’s opinion. The Falcon’s had truly lucked out, though she supposed that there really was no other team where Dominik would fit in as well. He was so rugged, handsome and well, vicious. Her head cocked to one side as she looked at him. He was even more handsome up close and in person now than he had ever been.

He had always been handsome, a great catch for any woman and for a brief period she had fancied the idea that maybe she might be the one. In her childish fantasies they would marry and be perfectly content. She would be his trophy wife and he would come home to her and their multiple children every night. Her every dream had featured more than one, and here she was, twenty-eight years old and childless. Fate had been cruel to her, though perhaps it was changing and she did not know it. After all, she had not seen Dominik in nearly eleven years. They had left Hogwarts and each become consumed in their own lives and while she remained close to Dazmond, eagerly eating up any information she might randomly give about him she had never again made contact.

They had been so different at Hogwarts, however, and she wondered if he knew everything and if he thought what she presumed on bad nights laying awake what everyone else though if he did know. Perhaps he simply remembered her as the quiet and shy thing she had once been, before everything in her life had gone so wrong. Hopefully that was the Rocio he knew about, the well bred and educated daughter of a Spanish diplomat. That was who she was at heart, no matter what she had become over the years and how they had hardened her to the realities of the world. In that instant she was almost that girl again, staring into the eyes of her first crush and the man she might have ended up with had he ever wanted to. Though that was foolish, she had loved Zach, certainly she had. Otherwise she would not have followed him out of Hogwarts and she would not be Adair.

Did he know about her Boutique? About her snakes - her babies? She could only guess at how much Dazmond had told him about the direction Rocio’s life had gone. Did he think her a failure? She sighed softly and put down her vodka, absentmindedly twirling her wedding band around her finger as she contemplated what could be said to fill this somewhat awkward silence that had enveloped them. The noise in the bar dissipated and they could have been doing anything that Rocio would not have noticed. All she could hear was the silence that stood between them. As soon as she would open her mouth to seemingly say something it was quickly closed again, as though the words would not be good enough.

What could she possibly talk about? There were so few options at the end of the day. Was she to tell him that she had followed the trial? That she had sat there in her black mourning clothes, hoping fervently that he might be granted a pardon and relived when he had been or would that be awkward? After all, it seemed that the press loved to feed on the tidbit that he had been a Death Eater. To Rocio it only made him all the more attractive and she was almost eager to grab his left forearm and run her delicate fingers over the area where the mark would have been had they succeeded. Though then Zachary would have lived and they would not be together.

She cleared her throat before speaking quietly, though crisply, anxious to at least fill the silence with her own voice. “You have certainly been keeping yourself busy.” What she finally decided on was probably the stupidest thing she had ever said in her entire life. Why was it that she could speak to other men, but this one man caused her to lose all ability to speak? She felt like her brain had suddenly been wiped of all reason and discernment. Was that really the best that she could do. “Do you do much other than Quidditch and keeping yourself in trouble?” Apparently it was... She could only hope that he would not find her questions so silly that he would turn and walk away. She was just so nervous.

Dominik had hardly known what he was getting himself into; he was doomed for sure.  To think that he stood any chance in hell of not making a complete arse of himself after three whiskeys was asking for trouble, and with such a she-cat, too.  He could sense the heat drifting off of her -- it could have been the packed pub as well, all these bodies were making the air warm with sweat -- but he was standing awfully close, to the point that their sides actually touched.  He couldn't very well help it; the bar was the place to be at any given moment.  But now that he was there he didn't dare move. 

When she spoke it was like he'd had a sword plunged into his heart.  She was very different but the sweetness was still there, and the change was all very well.  All very well.  A small half-smile came to him and he let his eyes drink her in a moment.  It was all a bit overwhelming as she was still the image of perfection.  The image had matured along with the both of them but it was still very poignantly present.

He'd been startled to see her turn away; instantly he thought he'd gone about it all wrong and that she was seeking escape.  She did seem to avoid him in school; maybe she thought he was barbaric.  Maybe she wasn't so fond of his public image, her family was afterall rather prestigious; it could have been that she didn't want to be seen with him.  Although who -- of any real importance -- was going to see them here was quite the mystery.  She started fidgeting in her purse and Dom was sure this was the body language that screamed go away.  The moment he'd gone and done it he wished he hadn't looked back at his mates.  They were all watching and laughing relentlessly.  Bother.  He tried to fix it.

"I --"

She took his hand and swallowed him with her easy charms just about then.  It was unbelievable the power this woman held over him instantly.  He figured if she'd shake his hand that she'd talk to him for a little while as well.  Dominik could only imagine that if she found him truly horrendous, she would say so.  A smile of relief showed on his face as she resorted to humor.  Maybe he was doing alright.  Or else she was toying with him, but it didn't come out quite like Snarkasm would. 

"I'm quite glad you are," he said with the touch of a laugh.  From her skin his hand went directly for his drink to still his driving heart.  He feared it might be audible to her, even inside the clattering pub.  Anytime Dominik met a pretty girl, his senses went reeling and poetry flooded his body.  Every single time a relationship was sparked he was convinced that it was the One; he'd spend all of his energy trapped up inside of it -- love.  To be in love.  The fact that this woman had ties to his heart going way back, well.  It was dangerous.  Dominik's sister Dazmond often gave him the pet name of Othello since he was rather good at smothering his girlfriends to the point of no return.

A silence settled in as Dom's fourth glass of firewhiskey quickly diminished.  He was at a loss for what to say and the more he thought about it the smarter it sounded to just stay quiet.  He didn't want to ruin the moment with some crude sentence, or anything too flowery for that matter.  With the amount of spirits he had inside of him he was afraid any attempt at conversation might find him on his knees wailing out a love sonnet.  He cringed inwardly at the prospect, praying he could keep his wits about him.  That was really the last thing he needed.  They'd probably get it captured on film and it'd be tomorrow's headliner:  Foul-Mouthed Falcon Beater Dominik Wiedman Misses Press Conf in Favor of Drunken Foolery.  Dominik took a deep breath and another swig of whiskey anyway.  To hell with the Prophet.  They didn't necessarily sing his praises either.

Dominik pulled a golden cigarette case out of his robe pocket and extracted two fags, handing one to Rocio with an upturned brow.  "You smoke?" he asked, his voice soft against their space of silence.  He offered a light as well before igniting his own.  It was a welcome relief -- the smoke went down like ready medicine, calming him almost instantly. 

When she offered some strings of words to break the silence further, Dominik paid her rapt attention.  But what she'd said led him to believe she'd been keeping up on the Prophet's bad news about him -- a jarring thought.  His expression reflected his disappointment, though it was more an expression of shock, as if his next words were to be diffusing reassurances that he was in fact not a bad man.  His mouth in a dropped "o" and his eyebrows heightened, he ran through in his mind what he could possibly say in response to her question.  He wished for an instant that he did have automatic responses to typical reporter questions stored away for future use; but it simply wasn't his style.

"I try and stay out of it, if I can," he responded, stealing looks at her frequently and doing his very best not to stare.   "Seems to find me though --"  (He allowed the warmth of the whiskey and the fact that she was actually humoring him with conversation to let him slip back into a bit of his usual comfort.)  Dom turned round and stole a stool from a wizard who was making his way to the bathroom.  He slid it over toward Rocio and leaned back again, resting his elbows on the bartop.  He thought about saying he hadn't changed a bit but, even with this not being completely true, he held back because he didn't much think she fancied him before.

"Wouldn't believe it but the papers really don't get at my whole life; mostly they forget to mention all the good deeds -- saving puppies, assisting the elderly... all the necessary allignments of a misguided youth running from his dark past."  All this was said with great sarcasm, though it was playful as opposed to mocking.  It was his liquor that saved him or doomed him, he couldn't discern which yet.  Either which way the conversation was en route, and he might as well have been himself to see whether or not she liked what she saw.  If she was like the rest it was only another heartbreak awaiting anyway.  But so the whiskey said.

He tried to look back at his mates to rub it in their faces that he hadn't quite failed yet, but they were otherwise occupied.  It seemed the fight was starting and most of the energy in the pub was diffused to the region of the skeletal beasts.  He looked again to Rocio, suddenly curious beyond all belief.

"And you," he asked.  "I can't imagine you came for the fine company of this lot."  He rather wondered if she wasn't here for the fight, or maybe it was simply a way of unwinding after a day at the shop.  It was the best pub in Knockturn, however, and to him a great deal more favorable than any joint in Diagon, but still -- it was a bit odd to see such a beautiful woman here on such a strange night.  It kept coming back to this:  she was so out of place, and yet perfectly in place for his pleasure.  It was starting to get surreal, he thought.  But no, it had surpassed that.  It had started out as surreal and was now becoming real -- he was really standing right here in the Black Chimeara with Rocio Andreas.  And that, perhaps, was more mind-blowing than a dream could ever be.

She was glad she was too, though all she could manage was a blush and a smile. She was doing more blushing than a school girl and she could only hope that he was not noticing her nerves, and that nobody else was either. She was known for her icy cool composure and to see her turn to mush by the man’s gaze was more than she would honestly bear but at the same time she could not help herself. It was such an automatic reaction for her that there was nothing to be done for it anyhow. Not this late in the game.

Her fingers brushed her lips lightly as she gazed at his cigarette case when he pulled it out. She was so tempted, but should she let him see her smoking? She turned crimson when he offered to her, wondering if he had seen the need, the longing in her eyes. “Yes, actually.” She said with a smile, caring little now for what he might think of that. She reached for the cigarette brazenly, leaning into the flame which he offered readily. It was like he knew her despite all the years that had passed between them. It was as though little time had passed at all and they were sitting in the Slytherin Common Room again, though the cigarettes would be gone and ugly uniforms would be in.

She took a long drag of her cigarette, relief washing over her body as she did so. The first drag was always the best, especially in a stressful situation. With almost a sigh of relief she exhaled the smoke up into the atmosphere. Her eyes closed in bliss for a brief instant before she opened them again, a dazzling smile offered for Dominik, a smile like none she had given in recent years. It was as though all the past ten years were simply melting away and she could be herself again with no consequences. She did not need to protect herself from Dominik, there was no danger there and if she did sense any, she would be back to the woman she had become in an instant.

She cringed to see the look of disappointment on his face when she said those few words that she knew were stupid coming out of her mouth. She had upset him, obviously. Now she simply wished she could take it back, fighting the urge to reach out and pick his chin up with her finger and close that mouth of his. The idea played for a moment that as long as it was open she might as well kiss it and get the urge out of her system. She paused for a moment to reason with herself. Was she really thinking like a seventeen year old girl? Thinking of kissing those wonderfully soft looking lips.

She tossed her head back in a soft lilting laugh before shaking her hand. “I can tell you do an excellent job of staying out of trouble and on the pitch.” Should she tell him that she went to all of his matches? That might come off as awkward and strange. After all, they had not actually spoken in the past ten years. Would he find it strange that she had never even stayed afterwards to try and say hello? After all, they might never have been anything else but they had been friendly, and she was friends with Dazmond. It would have been perfectly logical for her to have stopped and said hello to him. Perhaps later she would tell him but not now, certainly not now.

A small smirk played on her lips and she wondered if Dominik would consider her trouble. The Daily Prophet might if they saw them now, or some witchy tabloid. Dominik Wiedman finds new love interest at seedy pub. She could imagine it now, well, she would have been able to had she not known Cináed better than that. Press were not allowed inside the Black Chimaera, and they likely never would be. After all, too many dark deeds went on there every night, the press would have a field day and Cin would end up back in Azkaban, his pub revoked and the WBA exposed, that would be a bad bad thing.

“Thank you.” She said softly, sitting on the stool that he slid towards her and crossing her legs primly before smoothing her skirt. This new position reminded her so much of the old days. Dominik in all his glory, leaning back against the bar and displaying himself at his best and Rocio looking up at him, too shy to ever tell him her real feelings. She took another drag of her cigarette before raising her vodka to him. “To your... Illustrious... Quidditch career, Mr. Wiedman.” She looked at him coyly before quickly knocking back the rest of her drink, letting out a soft hiss after the smooth liquid had all gone down.

She put the glass back on the counter looking at the barkeep, her eyes flashing with the need for more and it was not long before she had a full glass again. After all, conversation like certain parts of the anatomy moved much better when lubricated. She was planning on getting spectacularly drunk to excuse her behavior. That way if anyone said anything about it, she could claim not to remember - although she would remember every moment, every move of Dominik’s, his facial expression and his words, everything. She wanted to remember it all, even if it meant buying a pensieve and storing the memory.

“I would love to hear more about these little old ladies and the puppies. Though I do not think this lot would take kindly to stories of good deeds.” She laughed a bit at her comment and nervously drank more vodka. It had been so long since she had made flirtatious small talk that she was unable to make heads nor tails of what the right things to say were. Though she had no doubt that the papers would forget to mention any good things he did. They always seemed to look for the bad, for things that would embarrass a celebrity and drag them down - though this usually only succeeded in making the celebrity that much more famous. “I’m sure the Falcons all go out and do their community service, neh? Big softies, the lot of you.”

She looked over to where the bone fight was starting, the idea of watching it no longer present in her mind. It did not really matter anymore if she did or she did not. She had found a much better form of entertainment in the form of Dominik Wiedman and she was certainly not complaining. She turned back to him and smirked as she followed the line of his vision and waved at the men who were elbowing each other and jeering in their general direction. “Such charming company you seem to be keeping this evening.” His friends might have been implied but truly she meant herself. She was obviously an improvement on them and that was an undeniable fact. Though she did recognize the odd team mate here and there.

If only he knew what company she kept, he might not be so quick to assume that the company was not what she was there for. Her company might even have been darker than his. He may have been tougher, yes and much more rugged but delicate little Rocio could certainly hold her own. “None of them bother me,” she said with a small smirk. “The Adair name still holds some sway among this lot, not to mention that Tawse would not allow anything to happen to me. Besides, I promised I would give this bone fighting a chance.” She laughed airily at her reasoning and shook her head. She could not believe that she was actually admitting that out loud to Dominik Wiedman. Wonderful, now he was going to fancy her a classless brute of a woman.

“What brings you to the Chimaera tonight?” Surely not the thought of running into Rocio. Though she did wonder, she had never seen him in the pub before and well, there was always a reason for everything, right? There had to be something that had dragged him there tonight. Perhaps it was simply serendipity, fate throwing them together.

The transformation he'd undergone these last twelve years seemed nearly nullified; Dominik was brought back to his youth through his recognition of Rocio Andreas behind the veil of Adair real estate and keepsakes.  Still she had those rosy cheeks, and was -- almost bashful in a sense.  He'd always known her to have rosy cheeks.  He found it endearing.

Thoughts of failure were released from his mind; it was all he could do to be present.  The alcohol didn't allow for much in the realm of boundaries.  Dominik was astute at building up boundaries.  He encountered myriad mischiefs in his life as a 'Celebrity' and didn't particularly give a Hippogriff's hiney about getting close to anyone.  He'd gotten enough grief from fans and well-to-do-Wizards cooking up some spunk about him to not.  No, it was definitely better to just live your life, hide away and spend as much time as possible in the company of Wizards who never cared to ask much beyond the price of ale. 

She seemed grateful for the cigarette and smoked her first drags lavishly.  Her exhalations mesmerized him, maybe too much; he suddenly felt he was losing touch with reality -- a quick, focused look at Rocio proceeded his almost ducking down into his hip flask.  He took a prolonged swig of something that wasn't alcohol and exhaled a dark grey cloud of smoke.  It was what he liked to call his antidote to alcohol.  It brought him into clearer senses without killing his buzz.  The benefit of being brother to, in his eyes, the world's most talented potions mistress.  He tucked the flask back into his holster on his posh but simple silver robe-belt. 

Dominik clicked the case shut so its emerald push-button popped back into position, slipped it back into his robe pocket and slapped two galleons on the bar front; the solid goblin's gold coins were soon whisked away by a bartend with an eager thanks.  Dominik ashed in the tray between them and eyed the door rather than the fight as he grabbed the next empty stool and turned to fully face her -- a much better view in his opinion.  He could watch her for hours since she did make everything hold such indefatiguable beauty.  She gave him a dazzling smile and he felt their eyes lock; he had to stare at the floor a moment afterward, just to collect himself.

When she toasted to his "...illustrious" career, Dominik lifted his glass but his heart just wasn't in it.  He cocked his head anyway, in a what-can-I-say stance with its fair bit of modesty, and he downed a good sip of his own.  He laughed half-heartedly at her comments on the matter to be polite and took another sip of his drink before setting it aside awhile.  "Between the two of us, we're all secretly terrified of Gilderoy Lockhart," he said in his own illustrious, down-tempo sort of way.  "Buncha softies."

Rocio explained her position while Dom nodded silently along.  The picture was coming together now, the woman his little heart-throb had become.  She was everything he was trained to want before, but things had changed for him and – he was perplexed to find himself considering that it wasn't that far out of his reach still.  Was it the same, or different?  But another moment and he was sure once again:  that could only be the air she had about her.  Really she was unattainable; she'd been alone ten years and with her sort of looks it was obvious she could hold her own around barmy men.  But that didn't mean he couldn't try and steal as much of her night as possible. 

“Us guys,” he said.  “Easily entertained by mindless acts of violence, but violently withdrawn from the morning's threat of mindless entertainment for the masses.”  He shrugged, then looked at her with a bit of doubt in his eyes. 

“But there are other solutions,” said Dominik.  “– Take a walk with me?  I think the rain's died down some.”   

Was she honestly acting the way she was? Get a hold of yourself! Her thoughts were screaming for her to return to the impenetrable ice fortress that she had always been. Men lied! They would never be around forever, though the exact words had really been ‘Til death do us part’ and well, fate had taken care of that one right quick. Death indeed. Could they not have allowed them at least a bit more time together? Though his death had helped her in a sense. It had taken her weak little self and molded her into the woman she was today, someone that no man in his right mind would bother even to simply ask the weather. They feared her for some reason and whether it was her last name or all of the trappings that came with its acquisition mattered little to her. She was respected and for the most part unbothered.

She shook her head as though aiming to clear her mind, though it was already crowded and clouded with thoughts and reminiscences. In her mind the clear picture she usually had of Zachary was fading at the edges as she stood in front of Dominik and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was considered some form of betrayal. Even if death had parted them, was it alright for her to feel anything for any man again? That was part of the battle that raged within her and likely something that had aided in keeping her single for the past ten years. Ten years was an awfully long time to be single. Yet she had been patient about it. She had been loved once, did she really need to be loved again? Before seeing Dominik up close again she would have said no, certainly not. Yet, now that he was here in front of her, she just wanted for him to someday love her. That would be enough to make her happy again.

She doubted she had ever needed to feel nicotine coursing through her as much as she did at that exact moment. She would worry about what he thought of her smoking habit later on down the line. Tonight she was nervous and skittish around him and if it took copious amounts of alcohol and cigarettes to keep her calmed down, then she would take that remedy and accept whatever he thought of it with a grain of salt - for the moment anyway. In the morning she would likely be worried about what sort of impression she had made on him, but only in the morning. Now she was set on enjoying herself, and enjoy herself she would.

She watched him intently, either full on or through her eyelashes when the idea of staring into the sun was no longer plausible. She could have watched him all day and all night for the rest of her life, she was sure of it. He was such a beautiful creature, even if he lacked that genteel male refinement that most purebloods had. She was tired of gentlemen and sick of their ways to try to attract her. There was a reason she was single still after ten years, and it was not because she was a Black Widow either. She may chew men up and spit them out for fun, but always before anything had occurred between them. This brand of weak pureblooded men who had nothing to fight for and believed in less, they made her sick to her stomach.

She wanted a strong man, someone who would fight for her if the time came, someone who was rough and tumble and up for anything. She had already experienced a refined pureblood, one who was strong in mind, but weak enough in body to die. True, he had died for what he believed in which must have been more solace than being forced to live under the oppressing rule of those who had won. Well, oppressing for those who did not go around hugging muggleborns and who believed that having blood that went several generations back was a sign of pride and not something to be pushed aside and forgotten. Regardless, she was not going for that type of man again any time soon.

She raised an eyebrow as he slapped two galleons on the counter. Clearly that must have been more than one person could drink all by themselves. Was he covering her as well? She could not be absolutely certain and began to reach for her own pocketbook to pay for whatever her total came to. After all, what people Cin had that did pay should pay for what they were drinking. He certainly gave away enough alcohol to keep the Alley happy though a small part of Rocio wondered if he could actually afford to keep all of these men boozed up. Was it just to keep their allegiance? She would never be entirely positive that it was not, but there was nothing she could really say. After all, it was not her place and since she was not vying to be in charge, how could she know what that was like?

She continued to smoke her cigarette, attempting to make it look nonchalant but wishing she could devour the entire little thing as quickly as possible and start another one. Was tonight a night for chain-smoking? Apparently in her mind it was, but she would need to refrain she reminded herself. One cigarette could be seen as a social thing, more than one would certainly be seen as an addiction. She was not sure that Dominik would judge her over such a silly thing, but she could never be sure, so she was deliberate in going slowly and enjoying the nicotine and savoring the smoke as it entered her mouth and into her lungs before she would let it out, almost sighing with relief as she did. Right, because that did not show any form of addiction.

She ashed in the tray gently, keeping an eye on Dominik out of the corner of her eye as she turned her face away from him momentarily when he moved to grab the next available stool. She took a deep breath before turning back to face the man who was now sitting in front of her. She smiled at him and they locked eyes, an occurrence which nearly succeeded in knocking all of the breath out of her. She was captured now and would live forever caught in his eyes. The Black Widow that she had become was now becoming a meek little spider, unwilling to blink for fear of losing that connection that was now occurring between them. It was magical, far more magical than anything that she could ever produce from her wand. When he finally broke the lock and looked down at the floor her cheeks flushed again and she took a deep breath once more, willing herself to calm down.

With a lift of his glass and the downing of alcohol the toast was over, seeing to want in something. Perhaps she should have made more of a roar and been less hesitant to say reluctant. Again the look on his face made her wish she had not said a word. If only she had a time turner, then she would go back and stop herself from saying anything. It didn’t even bother her if she went crazy later on from seeing herself standing in front of her and there not being a mirror there. She would not say a single thing to make Dominik uncomfortable and then spend the rest of her life in St. Mungo’s - though she was sure that there were more than a few people willing to commit her to St. Mungo’s without any reason other than the way she was now.

“If I’m reading what you say correctly, either the Falcon’s are afraid of beauty, full-of-themselves gits or crazy people.” She shook her head and smirked at him. How cute that they would be afraid of anything other than the wrath of Augustus Snark - not that she thought they truly feared that since they often were getting into more messes than the poor man could clean up quickly and easily. Not to mention all of the missed appearances and press conferences. Though she supposed that he understood that his team was not made up of men who were pleased to sit and appease crowds and reporters, wagging their tales and doing tricks to please people. The Falcons were simply not a nice group of men. If they wanted to jump through hoops in order to gain fans and approval, well, they would be on other Quidditch teams. No one joined the Falcon’s because they were particularly good with people. No, they were tough men who needed to get their anger out and the Falcon’s were a beacon.

She was itching with curiosity to know what exactly the Falcon’s finest was doing in the Chimaera on a night like tonight, and to ask him why it was that she had never seen him there before. Her brow furrowed for a moment as she wondered if Dazmond was meddling in their lives. Was there less coincidence to this than there seemed to be? She made a mental note to owl Dazmond about it later, asking if she had pushed Dominik and Rocio together for some purpose of her own. After all, it was not as though Dazmond did not know the majority of the thoughts that ran through Rocio’s mind, she was exceptionally anxious to learn true news of Dominik, not those little tidbits that the Prophet might throw at her of his public life. She was interested in the deep down nit and grit that made up day to day matters with him.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his assertion that they were easily entertained by mindless acts of violence. “Perhaps it is this love of mindless acts of violence that makes the lot of you Falcons rather than Quafflpepunchers, hmm?” She tried to picture Dominik and the rest of the Falcon’s in shocking pink robes and the idea was more than she could bear. It was simply too funny! The majority of the falcons were so brutish - which boded well with the team’s reputation for rough play - that to even try and imagine them wearing pink was enough to set Rocio giggling at the thought. Oh she could only hope that Dominik would not try and ask her what was so funny and that he would picture it himself before she even had to tell him.

She truly did not blame them. “Interviews and guest appearances should best be left to the models and players of our world, not to our athletes. You are all abused enough.” They were, it was true what she said. No one could deny that Quidditch players were generally used and abused by everyone in the Wizarding World. Hatred by fans of other teams, injuries stemming from “accidents” while in play, their reputations being dragged through the mud. The poor dears should have just been left alone. They would have liked that much better she was sure. Though she supposed that there were other teams - like the Magpies - that loved being in the news and always showed up to the press conferences and did all of the show. The Falcons were, well, different.

“If only your coach would understand that none of you are really meant to be dolled up and paraded around.” She murmured softly and took another big gulp of her vodka, following it with a drag of the cigarette in her other hand. Oh her stupid nerves! Were she drunk enough she would probably admit to Dominik that he was the first man to make her nervous in the past ten years. Her emotions, which had seemed to dull over the years and descend into a place deep within her that she rarely found were now resting at the base of her throat and ready to come pouring out of her, no matter how much she tried to swallow them down with her vodka. Vodka and cigarettes were emotion killers last time she checked. She only wished she would have known that she would run into him tonight, then Dazmond could have prescribed some potion or other to calm her down and keep her nerves in check.

She was jarred slightly by the question though touched by the insinuation that she might be another solution in terms of entertainment. A walk would be welcome, she would need the fresh air, and getting out of this room full of sweaty men would certainly raise her spirits. Besides, for the first time in a very long time she would have Dominik Wiedman all to herself. This was a good prospect, the idea of having any man all to herself pleased her, true, but to have it be Dominik, well that was simply extraordinary. She almost wished she was wearing different shoes so that she could ahve walked to the end of the world and back. Not that she wasn’t used to teetering on very tall high heels, they simply were not the best for walking incredibly long distances, even if her calves did look wonderful with them on.

“A walk sounds lovely.” She smiled at him and moved off the stool quickly and fluidly as though if she were to move too slowly all of this would dissipate before her very eyes. “Even if the rain has not died down, I’m positive we will not melt.” She laughed slightly at the thought as she straightened herself out, adjusting her bag and wondering if she should hook her arm through his or what proper etiquette would allow. Going ten years without a man seemed to make one forget all about proper social graces where flirtatiousness was involved. Perhaps the real problem was that Dominik was not just any man, he was special to her, a part of a past that she wished to go back to now, only for him.

Yes, there were some things Dominik simply could not help:  Whether it was knocking bigshots off their tight-ropes or inviting his muse of the moment out for a more romantic occasion, he had a bit of the Wiedman impulse in him -- his uncle's fault, he was sure.  He beamed, in his dimmed way, at her readiness to follow him out, suspecting that she was less than attached to the bone fight.  He made no move to look at his chums before they left.  It was time for a novel atmosphere and he was right ready for it.

If Rocio was looking for the proper etiquette, she wasn't going to find it with Dominik.  He was intense in his romanticism, yes, but in no way chivalrous.  He led the way out into the soggy alley and took one last, long drag from his cigarette before tossing it in the street.  He was almost skip-walking, paying little mind to the puddles. 

Dominik grabbed Rocio's hand and turned to face her.  "I know a great way to go from here," he said.  "-- If you fancy London?"  It was lightly misting, but rather warm for a dewey night.  The street lamps in Knockturn were dreadful and the light was low.  Dim orange mixed with blue shone in the ink black puddles beneath their feet; disturbed by their passing they hosted brilliant mirages.

They were headed toward Diagon Alley now, passing the infrequent gnarled face clinging to a shop's side, stray dogs whose tails withered between their legs, and stumbling drunks getting the gypsy's kiss in between buildings.  Strangely for Dominik this was romance.  He tried not to walk too fast, so they could instead savor their time, draw out the hours like fine silk out of brick. 

Dominik knew that in the morning this would all feel like it had been a dream -- that it would haunt him all week and make him reckless as hell in the up and coming game against the Kestrals.  He was predictable enough, to himself.  But what could be predicted was only his emotional response... to an unpredicted circumstance.  His energy just intensified.  His appetite for energy, violent most ways, could not be satiated.  Not until he was sure Rocio was his alone.  Yet for the night he was floating on the breeze, experiencing the night in a blur of colors and absolute ecstasy -- to have her and London alone for an evening.  What he wouldn't have done for this fifteen years ago, he couldn't very well imagine.

"Are you cold?" he asked.  Dominik may not have been the perfect image of gentle Wizard, but he did know how to take care of his best.

She followed Dominik out of the pub and onto the oddly quiet street of Knockturn Alley. Stray cats moved this way and that and the odd vagrant blended into the shadows, peeking out momentarily to wonder at the two wizards who stepped out into the grey evening. Smirks showed vaguely on their otherwise featureless faces, likely wondering if the two were looking to find a side street, a smaller place off the main alley to find a deeper connection with each other. There would be no hooting or howling or hollering, however, none of them wanted to find themselves on the wrong end of Rocio’s wand.

When he took her hand goosebumps rapidly began to spread along her body. The touch was so unexpected but so welcome at the same time. It was like an electric jolt had coursed through her body and when he turned to face her she wondered what exactly was going to happen next, tying hard not to let her imagination run away from her. Matters would move at their own pace and everything would fall into place as it would. There was no reason for anything to be rushed or for her to jump on him as though she was a starving dog and he was the biggest bone in the room. She was to keep calm and collected. That was how it should be.

“Yes,” she said softly, hoping it was enough of an answer for the man before her. She did not mind the weather, the slight and silvery fog that seemed to be descending over the Alley, to her it would be better if it spread, let it wrap them in their own cocoon where all that mattered was that the other was there. The puddles below and the clouds above, ominously floating along and hiding the moon every now and again were of no matter to her. Rain could start to pour right then and Rocio would be okay with it, she would remain blissfully oblivious to all that was not part of her perfect world tonight.

She followed his pace carefully, her own hand still in his as she allowed him to lead the way. This was all too much and the strange weather that enveloped them and left them almost exclusively with each other was adding to the dreamlike state that the pair appeared to be in. If the mist were to lift and the Alley to be seen in its normal condition, then the spell would be broken and reality would likely settle in again. Were that to happen who knew if they would actually be brave enough to speak to each other the way they were doing today. Even if they had been friends all those years ago, ten years was a terribly long time.

Cold? The question struck her as odd. How could she possibly be cold when she was in the presence of the sun? She shook her head, the word no just barely escaping her mouth as she continued to follow him. She was grateful that she was as comfortable in high heels as others were in gym shoes. It was likely an effect of being shorter than the average adult. She spent the majority of her life teetering at their level rather than wearing flat shoes and living at her own. Even in heels she often had to look up at people which could be frustrating when she was trying to get the upper hand.

Although he had dosed himself with clarifying potion, Dominik's senses still reeled with drunken revelry.  Every sight and sound celebrated his inwardly ecstatic state by raining upon him grandiose visions, surreal and infused with a renewed perception of existence that had no measure against dross reality.  The evening mirrored their tastes with sudden perfection, as if the heavens had consciously conspired -- and the planets had delightedly worked their will -- specifically, on this night, for Rocio Andreas and Dominik Wiedman.  He wanted her all to himself.  Even this was not enough.  He wanted it all.   

Perhaps she would have resented the title of Andreas, he thought, it having preceded her trials.  It bore little in the way of show for what she had gone through.  But he wondered, as they passed a dark Wizard's skull in the window of Bourgin & Burks,  if he couldn't be a mirror to her as the heavens were a mirror to them tonight.  They showed a similarity in their lives which seemed to him predestined.  They had always been on the same wavelength, the same current, and the ebbing waters of life found them again together today – as much as he had avoided this moment out of fear, it had arrived.  Against his will and by his will it had arrived.  He was ravenous for it and felt like running for the hills all at once.  But nothing he could fear could ever loosen his grip on her hand, or make him turn away.  Now that it was here, Dominik was sure he couldn't possibly go on existing without it.

For the moment he was enamored with life; he loved when it so recalled a dream, an adventure, a world all his own where the voices of others didn't continuously nag at his every thought like parasitic ghosts.  They rode his back day in and out, instilling in him pessimism and fear.  To be rid of all the clamorous noise was his constant pursuit.  Be it a dream or a thorough distraction, he didn't much care.  He wanted to believe it could be something better, something less heart-breaking than life.  And with all of it there but made ambrosiaic, his heart was light and his path ensured correct; never mind the morning nor the morrow, for there was nothing better than a Now that felt so sure.

They were about to round the corner into Diagon when he slowed their pace so he could again face her.  Rocio's eyes were dark as onyx in the night and her cheeks were flushed pink -- he paused with a look as if he'd just understood from her features alone who she was.  This Dominik struggled to believe; that sight alone could show who she was, how he could love her, how her deepest self was endearingly mapped all over her exterior.  To believe he could pick that out was an aspiration he'd sought from the very onset of his life.  He took her other hand in his as well and smiled, bashfully, with the flirting eyes of a shy little boy.

“Not to alarm you, but what I'd like is to get a little closer,” he said.  His words were soft-spoken through a smile.  He pressed his lips together in an act of hesitation or in an attempt to gather his words.  It seemed he was shy to ask, light laughter almost merging with his words.  “To apparate,” he said.  “But -- I'd like if it could be a surprise.  If you don't mind – ” His voice became more direct as he offered his arms open.  “Hold onto me and I'll get us closer.”

He knew exactly where he was taking his Rocio tonight.  There was a bit of the morbid in it, an effect which most women cringed from, but it was the ultimate test of compatibility in his mind.  And side-along apparition required a bit of the trust which he needed to know – to be sure or at least ensured she wouldn't break his heart like the rest.   

There was an unfortunate occurrence of course, it would only ever happen around this one man and perhaps that was why she hadn’t chewed his head off and spit it out. Rather she simply reverted back to an earlier time, a simpler time, but the change could never be permanent, not this late in the game. She wasn’t quite the same girl even if she had gone back to a time where a man’s compliments could make her blush as opposed to laugh in his face cruelly. There was something about Dominik, he reminded her of simpler times, back when things were decided for them. Or were they?

Rocio’s life had been settled, or so her parents had thought. She would move back to Spain, marry Rodrigo and give them good Spanish pureblood babies. They had never expected her to be as spirited as she eventually became. Hogwarts had changed her enough they believed, it was a good thing she did not let them in on her activities of the moment. She had completely derailed her life and gone her own way, marched to the beat of her own drummer and had ended up where she was thanks to that. Though she supposed that had she not, she would not have been standing in the Alley at that moment, holding Dominik Wiedman’s hand and forgetting all about... What’s-his-face. Zachary who?

His grip was tight and Rocio only wished to squeeze back with all her might. Let them traipse around the Alleys together all night long, their grips tight and their hearts light. Heavy spirits were never in fashion and it was always good to spice up one’s life every now and again. Her routine was becoming a bore and without the boutique she would go crazy, especially if she didn’t allow herself the occasional silly fling. There was no point there, really, they would only leave her empty and aching the next morning wondering why she had done that. There was still that genteel femininity she was bred with that would not allow her to act so much like a man.

She watched the back of his head with a warm smile on her face as they bounced forward through the Alley. He was so energetic and so perfect, everything she could ever expect. Not rough around the edges or anything like that at all. Every article about him she had ever read, every account of his brutality and womanizing ways, none of that could be true. He was simply popular and in high-demand. That was why they wrote about him all those nasty things. Then again, the Prophet was never to be trusted, far too often they had proved themselves to be buffoons. Lies and tripe was what they published.

She was surprised by his slowing down of their rapid pace and she almost stumbled before catching herself as Dominik turned to face her. She yearned to examine every single inch of his face and memorize it. It should all be inscribed away to pull out at a later date in case she never saw him again. His own eyes were dark pools, deep and mysterious with bottoms that only receded as one approached them. She could get lost in those dark pools and never worry about anything else in the world other than making sure they always sparkled as they did tonight. The slightly rose tint of his cheeks, everything was perfect.

He took her other hand in his and she wondered where this was going. Her heart started pounding in her chest, there was too much emotion for her little body. She blushed even and wondered what exactly she could say when he said that he wanted to get closer. Did he mean to her or to where they were going? Her head was spinning and she hadn’t even had that much to drink. Dominik’s prompt approach had ensured that much. She was drunk off the atmosphere, the aroma, the timing, the place, the day, everything. There was nothing more intoxicating than this moment and there never would be anything to rival it again in her life.

He released her hands and opened his arms to hear, leaving it at her discretion how close she chose to get. She closed her eyes as she moved closer to him, taking the liberty of wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. She fit like a puzzle piece that had found its spot. “I’m ready when you are.” The words were soft and slow. She was okay with staying in this position all night, even if it turned out that Dominik was never ready. Oh how she could only hope that it might take him longer than he thought to actually be ready to apparate.