Just Like Your Sister
"You look just like your sister!" Molly Weasley cooed at her five-year-old granddaughter, Dominique. Bending down, she took hold of one of her pink, plump cheeks and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
Dominique beamed up at her grandmother, revealing a set of neat, white teeth save for one, gaping hole in the bottom row. "Not exactly the same," Dominique pointed out cheerily. "See, this tooth has fallen out, but Victoire's got all of hers."
Molly straightened up, chuckling gently. "You're absolutely right, dear, but don't worry, another'll come through soon, and then you'll have all your pearly whites back."
Dominique continued to beam, grateful for the attention. She had a lot of cousins, a beautiful older sister, and a toddling brother—it wasn't too often she drew the attention in their family.
Molly patted her on the head. "You're lucky you got your mother's looks and not your father's. Such beautiful blonde hair," she said wistfully." Eyes as blue as an ocean, and each golden freckle like a little kiss from the sun."
"Mummy doesn't have freckles," Dominique piped up.
"No," Molly agreed, "but your sister does. You do look so remarkably similar…" She frowned suddenly, looking deep in thought. "I know she's only two years older than you, but really, had you and her both been the same age, I'd swear you were identical."
Molly withdrew her hand with a sad little gulp, as though somehow the thought of people looking identical pained her. Dominique didn't ask, just continued beaming.
The older woman smiled again. "You're going to break hearts, Dominique, trust me."
As Molly offered a parting smile and returned to the house, Dominique was left alone in the Burrow's garden, with a grin so wide her gap was on full display, as were her dimples.
It was an honour to be compared to Victoire.
"You look just like your sister," Roxanne Weasley snorted.
A seven-year-old Dominique wrapped her arms around herself protectively. It was a beautiful summer's day, and the Potter-Weasley family had taken a trip to the beach. Fleur had bought Victoire and Dominique identical swimsuits—shell pink with ruffles and bows.
"So?" Dominique retaliated.
"I don't know," Roxanne, only a year younger than her cousin, shrugged. "It's just weird."
Dominque looked over to her elder sister, squealing with laughter as Teddy Lupin carried her across the beach on his back. She looked back to Roxanne, now hopping down into a rockpool and swirling her hand around in the water as she looked for hermit crabs.
It was hard to have a unique physical identity in the Potter-Weasley clan. Almost all of them had the trademark Weasley red hair and freckles. James and Albus took after their father, and Victoire, Dominque, and Louis, their mother. Roxanne, however, was the only one to have such beautiful coffee-coloured skin. Her hair was wild and untamed, like chocolate-coloured springs.
Looking at her, you'd never assume she was a Weasley. There was nobody quite like Roxanne.
"We're not exactly the same," Dominique announced stubbornly, although Roxanne had lost interest.
Dominique unwound her arms to point out a mole on her shoulder. "See, I have this mole right here, but Victoire doesn't have one." She angled her shoulder downwards to show her cousin, but the other girl just looked up in boredom.
"Alright."
Dominique straightened up and broke out into a small, contented smile. What was wrong with Roxanne?
It was an honour to be compared to Victoire.
"Just like your sister," Mr Ollivander said in awe, as he took back the wand an eleven-year-old Dominique had just brandished with clear affinity. The son of the man who had sold her parents' generation their wands, Ollivander seemed overly friendly to young Dominique. "How curious."
Dominique's absolute thrill and delight at having been taken to Diagon Alley to buy her wand in preparation for her first year at Hogwarts had all but diminished. Her heart sank with an almost audible 'thunk.'
"Not quite the same," Dominique frowned. "I mean, Victoire's wand is eleven and a half inches, whereas that one's only eleven."
"Well," Ollivander agreed thoughtfully, "you're right, of course, it's half an inch smaller, but really, it's extraordinary that both you and your sister would end up with maple wood wands with unicorn hair cores." He ran the wand through his fingers in awe before carefully placing it back in its box.
"Are you sure that's the wand for me?" Dominique asked. "That hawthorn dragon heartstring one felt almost just as good—maybe even better."
"Don't argue with Mr Ollivander, sweetie," Fleur said to her daughter, offering a now offended-looking Ollivander an apologetic smile.
"Miss Weasley, I can assure you, you'll find no finer wand than this to suit yourself. The wand chooses the wizard, after all, and just as a near-identical wand chose your sister two years ago, this one has most certainly chosen you. Did you not feel it?"
Dominique did not appreciate the sudden hostility and pressure she felt Ollivander exuded. "Yes," she replied in a sulky manner.
"Thank Mr Ollivander for his assistance," Fleur prompted, "and then we can go and meet Victoire, Louis, and your father for ice cream as Fortescue's. I bet you can't wait to show them your wand!"
"Thank you," Dominique said to Ollivander, her voice monotonous.
Ollivander surveyed her with deep intrigue. "You know, you look awfully like her as well."
"My hair has a slight curl to it," Dominque retorted. "Victoire's is almost perfectly straight."
"Of course," Ollivander replied in amusement, "though that's hardly a defining difference."
Dominique forced a smile.
It was an honour to be compared to Victoire.
"Just like your sister," the Sorting Hat declared to Dominique before placing her in Gryffindor House.
"Just like your sister," Professor Longbottom said fondly as Dominique was awarded the very first house points of the year.
"Just like your sister," the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain snorted in amusement as he offered Dominique the vacant Chaser position in her third year.
"Just like your sister," Bill beamed as Dominique's prefect badge fell out of the envelope into her hand.
"Just like your sister—"
"Just like your sister—"
"Just like your sister—"
"Is that your sister's?" Maisie Jones asked a sixteen-year-old Dominique with raised eyebrows.
Dominique smoothed down the little black number, admiring herself from all angles in the full-length mirror that resided in her and her roommates' dorm room. "No," she answered impulsively, not even bothering to glare at her friend. "I bought it myself—from Hogsmeade, actually."
"Well, it looks exactly like the dress Victoire was wearing the other day when she—"
"Victoire's dress had a crew neck," Dominque snapped at her. "This one has a V-neck, see? Victoire would never show off her cleavage like this," she muttered under her breath, almost smugly.
"Yeah, well, Victoire's Head Girl—she also wouldn't have hitched the waist up so high that you could see her arse."
"What?" Dominique asked innocently, finally turning away from the mirror. "So maybe it's a little short—what's the big deal?"
Maisie sighed, setting the magazine she'd been reading to one side. "So, the ultimate rule in fashion, especially when wearing the classic 'Little Black Dress' is bum or boobs, but not—never—both at the same time. Otherwise, you just look cheap," she said matter-of-factly.
Dominique rolled her eyes, turned back to the mirror, and rather reluctantly began yanking the hem of the dress back down to just above her knees. She supposed it did make her look more sophisticated. "Like this?"
"Perfect. Now, what about your hair?"
"I'm leaving it loose."
"Really? You're not going to straighten it?"
"No," Dominique replied through pursed lips. "I like it natural."
"Yeah, but it's not even curly, it's just sort of wavy—and not in a good way. Now, Victoire's hair is dead straight, and I'm telling you, she looks drop-dead-gorgeous almost all of the time. Like, seriously flawless—"
"I'm not straightening it," Dominique practically growled.
Maisie raised her hands in defence, mumbled a sarcastic apology, and carried on reading her magazine. "Don't think I don't know why you're doing this," she said after a while. Dominique didn't reply. "You want Hunter Dayes to notice you."
"Everybody wants Hunter Dayes to notice them," Dominique mumbled in response. "Don't act like you don't too."
"Yeah, well, don't waste your time. He's obsessed with your sister—everyone knows that."
"She's dating Teddy Lupin," Dominique reminded her coolly.
"You think he cares about that, Dom? Teddy doesn't even go to Hogwarts anymore, and this Quidditch party thing is the biggest event of the year. I guarantee he'll try something on her." She paused to turn the page before emitting a long, heartfelt sigh. "You're so lucky you get to go."
"That's what I get for playing Quidditch," Dominique pointed out. "Members only, same as every year—you know that, Mais. You wanna go to the annual Quidditch party, you get off your butt and join the Quidditch team."
Maisie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Too much effort." Her eyes suddenly widened. "That's not the only reason you tried out, is it?" she accused.
"What?"
"To get to go to the parties!"
"Don't be stupid, Mais," Dominique sighed. "I love Quidditch, regardless of the parties. Besides, nearly everybody in my family plays Quidditch."
"Yeah, but it's kinda weird that you follow in your sister's footsteps so much."
Dominique tensed. "I didn't just mean Victoire."
"Well, yeah, I know, but in general."
Dominique looked herself up and down in the mirror, scrutinising every detail. She had to be perfect in every single way possible for tonight. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting the gentle wave of it run through her fingers.
"I bet Hunter Dayes would look at you if you straightened your hair," Maisie mumbled.
"So what're you reading?" Dominique asked loudly, turning away from the mirror to survey Maisie sprawled out on her bed, magazine in her lap.
"Quidditch article, actually—your Aunt Ginny gave an interview about her life in the Holyhead Harpies, and her—hey!" she suddenly snapped.
Dominique feigned innocence. "What?"
"Don't try and change the subject!"
Dominique turned away again, picked up a tube of blood red lipstick from her bedside table, and began wordlessly applying it whilst Maisie glared at her.
"Red lipstick, really?"
"What's wrong with red lipstick?" Dominique asked exasperatedly, close to throwing it across the room at her supposed friend.
"Well, the black dress, blonde hair, red lipstick look is all a bit, well… tarty. When Victoire was wearing the black dress, she had this subtle sort of pale pink lipgloss which was just so elegant and…"
Dominique zoned out as she steadily continued her lipstick application. Once satisfied, she straightened up, puckered her lips, placed one hand on her hip, and imagined the look Hunter Dayes would give her when she strode into that party.
"You look real pretty, Dom," Maisie said affectionately. "But listen, here's the thing—Hunter Dayes is in Seventh Year and you're only in Fifth. Don't get discouraged if he doesn't notice you. He's got a huge thing for Victoire, and I'm not being funny, but he's Captain of the Slytherin team—he probably doesn't care about some fifth-year Chaser."
Dominique did not turn away from the mirror but held her head high. "My grandmother told me I'd break hearts," she said quietly.
"You think you're going to break Hunter Dayes' heart?" Maisie asked in disbelief.
"Not necessarily…"
"Dom, the only heart you're going to break is your own!"
"We'll see."
Maisie emitted another long sigh at her roommate's total lack of reasoning. "Just don't stay out too late," she said after a while in a defeated manner. "We've got that huge Potions essay deadline tomorrow, and I know for a fact you've barely written five words of yours."
"Tonight's a night to forget about deadlines," Dominique said recklessly. "Who even cares?"
Maisie sat up sharply. "You've never missed a deadline," she reminded her. "You're top of, like, all your classes, just like your sister. I bet Victoire's done all her homework," Maisie said spitefully. "I bet Victoire's not obsessing over some guy who's way out of her league. I bet Victoire's—"
"I am not Victoire," Dominique hissed in a low voice, still glaring at her own reflection. Maisie didn't hear, and she didn't see as Dominique contorted her face into a scowl of utmost loathing.
It was an insult to be compared to Victoire.
"Victoire!" Hunter Dayes exclaimed, his face lighting up with animalistic delight. "You look incredible."
"I'm Dominique, actually," Dominique replied shyly, too flattered by the attention to even feel offended. "Victoire's younger sister."
The Keeper and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team was at least six feet tall, Dominique thought breathlessly. And he was built like a machine—rippling muscles concealed beneath that shirt, with broad shoulders, and eyes of the softest, most entrancing chocolate colour.
"Oh, right," he backtracked, looking deeply confused. "You play Quidditch?"
"Yeah," Dominique breathed, "I'm a chaser."
"Oh, just like your sister!"
Dominique swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "But, err, you," she said, trying to change the subject. "You're, like, incredible at Quidditch—like, seriously good. Are you considering playing professionally?"
Hunter broke into a wide, charming grin, clearly flattered. "You know, I'm considering it, actually. My uncle plays for the Wasps, and I—"
"My aunt used to play for the Harpies!" Dominique interrupted excitedly.
Hunter looked briefly taken aback by the interruption. "Yeah, I think Victoire mentioned that one time."
Dominique pursed her lips, hating herself for having interrupted him. He'd seemed so interested in her up until then. She racked her brain, desperately thinking of a way to salvage the situation.
"So is your sister around?" Hunter asked before Dominique had a chance to say anything more.
"No," Dominique said quickly. "She, err she's not coming." She scanned the room, searching the crowds, but her sister didn't stand out anywhere. Dominique breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Victoire really wasn't coming.
"Oh." Hunter's face had fallen. "Well, do you want a drink or something?"
Dominique nodded, too awestruck to speak.
"And then maybe we could dance?" he suggested, a wickedly flirtatious look on his face that left Dominique questioning how Victoire had the power to reject such charming advances.
Ten minutes later, more Firewhisky in her veins than Victoire had probably ever consumed in her entire life, Dominique found herself dancing with the muscled Quidditch god that every girl in Hogwarts wanted to be with, in a way so shamefully ungraceful that Victoire would never be caught doing it.
Dominique could not help but smile. Oh, how wrong Maisie had been. In that moment, Hunter Dayes couldn't have cared less about Victoire Weasley. It was Dominique he was holding closely, Dominique he was running his hands over, Dominique he was leaning into, grabbing her waist, biting her lip.
Dominique was surprised by the urgency with which Hunter kissed—the animalistic, almost violent way in which he crushed his mouth to hers—while his hands roamed her body in a way she suddenly did not feel comfortable with at all.
She pushed him away in a panic, after colliding with him for what could only have been five seconds.
"What the hell was that for?" Hunter demanded, looking outraged.
Dominique's lip trembled, but she didn't reply.
"Are you a prude or something?" he asked aggressively. "A prissy little good girl?"
Dominique felt close to tears.
"You know what? You're just like your sister," Hunters said in disgust.
Dominique did not hesitate. Filled with a sense of anger, of pure outrage, not for Hunter Dayes but for her prissy, perfect sister, she seized Hunter's face with both hands, bringing his mouth to hers and snogging him in a way so shameful her parents would never approve, shedding her good girl image for all she was worth.
She was not a prude. She was not a good girl.
She was not Victoire.
"What have you done?" Fleur breathed in horror, her dainty face morphing into an expression of complete and total shock. "Dominique, your hair—your beautiful hair!" she sobbed.
Bill was too dazed to say a single word.
Dominique sat, tight-lipped, in front of her parents as she patiently waited for them to take in the debut of her new cobalt blue pixie cut.
"What did you do?" Fleur repeated, so distraught Dominique thought she might cry.
"I got a haircut."
"But why?"
"I like it this way."
"Dominique, this is absurd! Your grades are slipping, you're getting detentions, and now this! Oh, Dominique, you're breaking my heart," Fleur declared.
A small smile began to form on Dominique's lips.
"This just isn't like you." Fleur had turned suddenly angry, scowling at a now seventeen-year-old Dominique with bright blue hair and a bad reputation. "You know, we'd never, ever, get this from your sister!"
Dominique's smile broke out into an uncontainable grin, so wide that all her teeth were on full display, as were her dimples.
It was an honour to be contrasted to Victoire.
Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Round 8
Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Captain
Task: Write about one of the Next-Gen kids (Dominique Weasley)