Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.

Dear Mama and Papa,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I don't know exactly where I'm going, maybe to a muggle university in Japan, or visiting museums in America, or maybe even mountain climbing in Chile. I just want to escape from this place.

Mama would be asking herself, why is my little daughter going mountain climbing, and tugging on the ends of her hair. Papa would be pacing around the room, thinking, what if she gets hurt or (more likely) where would she find the money to survive? Well, my dear parents, I'll explain.

All my life I've lived in Victoire's shadow. I suppose you would assume that it's my fault in the first place, for having the same strawberry blonde hair and the same blue eyes, for always hiding away into the shadows with a book, for being good at the things she is good at as well, although she is, and probably always will be, better than me at those things (no matter how hard I try).

Do you know how fucking hard it is, with me looking almost exactly like Vic? People come up to me, thinking I am she, only to be disappointed that it's the sister, the one who always has her nose in a book, the one who shies away from people, the Victoire copycat. Contrary to popular belief, I am not deaf. I hear what people say as I walk past them in the halls.

The girls whisper, "She's so pretty but her sister is much lovelier. I heard she has no friends aside from her books and studies!" (They giggle together, and it pains me that I want to join their giggling. I want to be part of a group of friends and share secrets and laugh.) The boys mutter, "She wears her skirts so short, the slut, as if she'd want someone other than the professors shagging her. She's such a tease. At least her sister doesn't show that much skin." (I hate it. I hate that they think I would want to sleep with them, that they think they're entitled to tell me how much skin to show, as if showing skin immediately labels me as a whore.) The professors are usually much kinder to me, but still, they mumble, "Victoire always got an O in every subject. She only gets E's and barely raises a hand in class. Such a shame."

I am sick of always being compared to my sister. I work hard for my grades; I stay in the library reading and memorizing and sometimes not even eating until Madam Pince has to forcibly pry the books from my hands. I do that every single day of my life. Have I ever gotten appreciated for my grades? Mama, have you ever kissed my cheek and told me "Good job, Dominique! I'm so proud of you!" like you say to Vic? Papa, have you ever hugged me close and said "That's my little genius baby doll," like you do with Vic? I'm not a natural genius like her. I need to persevere, just to get the tiniest bit of attention from the both of you.

At least Louis knows how tough it is. That's why he tries to be good at things Vic isn't capable. He's the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. He'll be alright. He doesn't quite care as much as I do about grades and friends and the opposite sex.

It's because of Vic that I must be competitive, I must be better, I must be… someone else. From the moment I was born, I already had to battle for my own parents' attention. As a baby, I remember you telling me, I was quiet. You guys had been focusing on Vic, at the time (and even now) because she had just started showing traces of magic. At the mere age of 3, she could make the cat fly around the house. I know this because you always tell it when speaking of Victoire's accomplishments.

What have I accomplished, Mama, Papa? Do you know? Do you even care?

Do both of you know that my essay on Goblin Wars for History of Magic was chosen to be published in the history magazine Eras of Magic? Did you hear when I told you that an article of mine I submitted for a contest won first place? Do you know that someone from the Daily Prophet even offered me a part-time job editing trashy pieces?

Don't try to even deny the fact that none of this information rings a bell. I told you all of this and more, but the best reply I got was a glance up from sipping tea and a monotone "That's great, Dom." I know I might not be as spectacular as Vic, or as laidback as Lou, but I think I deserve at least a "We're so proud of our baby!" thrown my way instead of at my siblings.

Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with me.

What did I ever do to make both of you hate me? I thought parents were never ever ever allowed to hate their child, even if the child is boring and uninteresting. I thought that maybe if I work real hard at my grades, maybe then you would love me. But no. You pay a speck of dust more attention than me. Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, because nobody in the world even remotely likes me? Because I have no friends, and practically no family. When people see me, they see Vic, they see Mama and Papa, they see Louis, but they don't see me.

Why can't I ever be my own person, instead of being Vic's shadow?

And it's not that I even hate Vic. Nobody in this universe could hate sweet little Victoire Weasley. I love Vic with all my heart, just like I love you, Mama and Papa. What I hate is being compared to Vic, being the not-as-good version of Vic.

This letter is not a cry for attention, not really. This letter is just words of regret.

I regret staying as long as I have with my so-called family. I am seventeen years old; I am a fully competent young and beautiful witch. I will go far in life. (At least, that's what I keep telling myself.)

I hope both of you regret not knowing Dominique, not asking me how my day went, not pulling me in for an embrace, not loving me.

By now you would probably try to reason out that, "The truth of the thing is that Dom's lumos just doesn't shine as bright as Vic's. It's special in its own right, but it can't be noticed when Dom's next to her. That's probably why she left." No. That is wrong.

I'm leaving so I can experience life for myself. Not everything about me has to do with competing with Vic. I want to see the sights the world has to offer me.

I want to live.

Maybe I'll come back in, say, 5 years. Maybe everyone'll have changed by then.

Yours sincerely,

Dominique

PS: Tell everyone I love them and not to worry.