Wishing

My sister did not want magic.

When she got the letter, she refused to believe it. She would not believe it.

A woman came, and told her it was true. She did not believe it, and told the woman as much.

The woman told her it was true. She showed her it was true. She used magic. My sister had to believe it.

She hated magic.

She said she was not going. She said she did not want to leave.

I wanted to go.

I wanted magic.

I do not have it.

My sister had it.

She did not want it.

The woman told her she had to go. She told her she could not stay, that she had to go to Hogwarts. She had to go.

She refused.

The woman explained everything to her. She told her of Hogwarts, a huge castle. She told her of magic, and power, and everything my sister had always been afraid of.

I listened, out of sight.

I wanted to go. I wanted to see Hogwarts. I wanted magic, and power. I was never afraid of it.

I could not go.

The woman persuaded her, convinced her to come and see Diagon Alley. I watched.

I could not go.

I still cannot.

I cannot see what was described to my sister, while I sat out of sight, watching. I cannot go.

She wrote home. She wrote of Hogwarts, of magic. She wrote of the classes. She wrote of the way she had to deliver letters, giving them to the owls, the birds she hates and I love.

I read them all, over and over.

She wrote of James Potter. She wrote of his friends, who used the magic she hated to play pranks on her and other students.

She wrote of how she hated them.

She wrote of how she hated James.

She wrote of "pureblooded" families, of how people from such families called her names, laughed at her. Mudblood.

Seven years later, she wrote of how she loved James.

She wrote of darkness taking over the wizarding world. She wrote of evil.

She wrote of James. She loved him.

She wrote of how she hated that world, with evil and prejudice, and she wrote of how she loved James.

She always hated that world.

I did not.

I would live in a world with evil if I could only have magic. I would ignore prejudice if I could only have magic.

I could not.

My sister, who hated magic, had it. I, who loved magic, did not.

I met Vernon.

He hated magic as much as Lily did. But he did not have it.

We married.

Lily did not come to our wedding.

A year later, Lily and James married.

I wanted to go to the wedding.

I was not invited.

I did not know why.

I wrote to Lily. I asked her to continue to tell me of magic.

She did not. She wrote that she did not have time. She wrote that she still hated magic, but now she had to live with it. She wrote that she did not want to tell anything of magic.

I wrote that I wanted to know about it.

She would not write.

So I tried not to think of her.

I put her out of my life.

I did not think of magic anymore.

I had a child. Lily had a child. She wrote me only a small note telling me. I wrote a small note back, telling her.

Then she died.

She was killed.

Murdered.

Vernon and I had to take care of Harry.

Her son.

He had magic. I knew it. I knew it could not be destroyed but wishing. My sister had wished. Hers had not been lost. Our wishing would not destroy Harry's.

Harry wanted magic. He wanted escape.

I hated him.

My sister had hated magic and had it. And now her child wished for magic, and he would have it too - he had it. He used it, without knowing, for we would never tell him.

And I - I, who had always believed in and wanted magic - I do not have it. I never will have it.

Wishing will not destroy anything.

Wishing will not create anything.

And some things cannot be created at all.

I did not have magic. I will never have magic.

My sister thought I was lucky.