Dominique
It was the month after her thirteenth birthday that Dominique Weasley was sitting on her back porch at Shell Cottage, staring at the setting sun. She was wishing, like always, that she didn't have to compete with her sister, when her father found her.
Dominique didn't have to look up to know that it was him. His slightly loping gait was as familiar to her as her own. She waited, not saying a thing, until he came and sat down beside her.
"Knut for your thoughts, Trouble?" he murmured.
Dominique tried not to smile at the nickname. Her dad had called her that for as long as she could remember. Each of his children had their own special term of endearment, and each term suited them well. Victoire, obviously, was 'Princess'. Louis, with his absurd insistence on wrestling with James and Fred, even though they were bigger and stronger, was 'Champ'. And Dominique was 'Trouble', because she had always been a rule-breaker and a hell-raiser. Secretly, she liked the name.
"It's fine, Dad." She refused to call her father 'Daddy' the way that her sister sometimes did – even at fifteen years old. "I'm okay."
"You aren't." His tone was quiet and indisputable. "I know my own daughter, Nica, and I know when there's something bothering you. You barely touched your dinner tonight."
Dominique shrugged – a sharp jerk of her skinny shoulders. "I wasn't hungry."
Bill nudged her shoulder gently with his own, blue eyes twinkling. "Once more, with feeling."
"You wouldn't get it."
"Try me."
Dominique twisted to look at him properly. Her father was, she'd always thought, a very handsome man even with his scars. There was an alertness and intelligence to his every expression that made him seem trustworthy and brave. Vicky had never seen that, not until recently, but she, Dominique, had. She remembered the days when her sister used to cringe away from Bill's scars. In a way, she almost missed those times. Back when Louis had been too little, and Victoire too vain, to seek out their father's company. That was when Dominique and her dad had spent every weekend together. When they'd gone rock climbing, or exploring the caves, or played pranks on her uncles at The Burrow. That's when they'd been at their closest.
She'd even harboured a secret suspicion, back in those days, that she was his favourite child.
Not now, she thought miserably. Not with Vicky's perfect end of year exam results, and her getting her stupid prefect's badge this summer. No, all anyone could talk about over dinner was how proud they were of Victoire, how clever Victoire had been this year, how her boyfriend was such a nice young man. It was just like school – a constant ode to Vicky. Dominique was sick of it.
"Nica?" Bill prompted.
"It's just… I don't know, Dad."
"Are you feeling a bit sidelined, kiddo?" he guessed, with the scary accuracy that only her father could manage. Sometimes, Dominique swore that he must've been using legilimency. "I know that everyone was talking about Vicky a lot this evening."
Dominique shrugged. "It was her dinner, after all."
"Just because we're proud of your sister doesn't mean that we aren't proud of you, too."
Dominique was quiet for a long moment. "Well, I haven't exactly done anything. I'm not a prefect. Doubt I'll ever be. I'm not as good at things as she is."
"You're only thirteen, Nica. You've got a couple of years until you have to worry about that. And even if you aren't a prefect, so what? I don't need to see you get a badge to know that you're special."
She stared down at her shoes, fighting the telltale burn in her eyes that told her tears were threatening to fall. "You're just saying that because you're my dad and you have to."
"No," Bill said gently. "I'm saying it because it's true. Vicky might be a prefect, but I've seen her fly, and there's no way she could even hold a candle to you at Quidditch. You've got an amazing talent. You're even better than your Aunt Ginny was at your age. Better than your Uncle Charlie. Hell, don't tell him this, but I reckon you're better than your Uncle Harry, too."
Dominique lifted her head, strawberry blonde hair whipping across her face with the movement. She turned her gaze back to her father's, noticing for the umpteenth time that his earnest eyes were the precise same blue as her own. She liked that she was the only one of her siblings to inherit their father's eyes. "You mean it?"
"Of course I do. I genuinely believe that, before I'm old, I'm going to be able to claim that my daughter plays Quidditch for England."
Dominique grinned, cheered by the thought. She knew she was good at Quidditch – all of Gryffindor house had told her that on more than one occasion. She was a hero in the common room during Quidditch season. Still, it was heart-warming to see that her father had noticed, too. "You're already old, Dad."
"Well, that's not very nice." Her dad adopted a wounded expression, clapping one hand over his heart. "But seriously, Nica, I mean it. You need to stop trying to measure up to your sister and realise that your mother and I are proud of you for being you. We don't want you to be like your sister. We already have a Victoire. We need a Dominique, too."
"Even if I get detention and make a mess of things and don't get as many OWLs as Vicky?"
"Even then. And OWLs and NEWTs aren't the be all and end all. Qualifications don't necessarily equal success. Look at your Uncle George."
That was true, she thought. Her uncle had been a worse troublemaker than even she was. And she had a feeling that when her cousins and her little brother started Hogwarts next month, they'd be worse still. She smiled.
"Dad…"
"Yeah?"
"Who do you love more, me or Vicky?"
Her father's eyes twinkled with good humour. "That's not a fair question."
She folded her arms and stared him down. "And that's not a real answer."
"I'm never going to pick," Bill said firmly. "I love you both. End of story." He reached over to ruffle her hair, but with a seeker's reflexes, Dominique ducked out from under his hand. Bill laughed.
"You really think that I could play Quidditch for England one day?" she asked. She'd never dared to tell her mother, but it had always been Dominique's secret dream. And maybe, just maybe, she thought that she might have the skill to pull it off.
"I do. And do you know what?"
"What?"
"I think that's really cool. Don't tell your mother, though."
Dominique laughed. "Dad…"
"Yeah?"
"Want to come and run some chaser drills in the garden?"
Bill smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was a smile that Dominique recognised, a smile that he always reserved just for her, in the rare moments that they got alone together. She loved that smile, even if it did sometimes make her feel like she was six years old again.
"I thought you'd never ask. Okay, Trouble, I'll go and get our brooms out of the shed, shall I?"
A/N: - Dominique is the overshadowed sister. I like to think, though, that as she spent her childhood as a tomboy who was very close to her father, particularly when her sister pulled away for a bit, that Nica is Bill's favourite. Maybe because she reminds him a little of Fred, as well.
