BOOK ONE

I still remember when the Hogwarts letter came. I say "the" Hogwarts letter, because it wasn't mine. It was my sister's. It was summer, mid-June, maybe five days before her 11th birthday. She and I had been left at home while my parents went out to dinner. While this may seem unusual for most 8 and 10-year-olds, all I can say on the matter is that we were very unusual, independent and disciplined kids. My parents knew, as long as they left us with pizza, we would not burn the house down while they were gone. More likely, we would be in front of the TV all night and be asleep on the couch when they got home. It was not worth it for them to hire a babysitter. Besides, we had nosy Mrs. Jenkins next door, who would peek her head in if she heard so much as a squeal of delight.

So we were quiet, but I cannot say we were perfect kids. In fact, the moment our parents stepped out, my sister had changed the channel from my favorite cartoon to a horror movie I doubt we'd be allowed to watch. But she was the oldest, so she was in charge. She made the rules. And for some strange reason in my childish brain, I opted to stay and watch with her instead of retiring to my room for the night. She watched the screen, utterly intrigued, as I peeked out from behind a pillow. Above the slamming doors and terrified shrieks, it's amazing we heard a knock on the door at all.

The movie we had been watching was about a killer who attacked when people answered the door, so I begged my sister not to answer it. My parents should not have been home for another hour, and they had a house key, so they wouldn't have knocked. My sister assured me it was probably Mrs. Jenkins, who probably heard a scream from our television and thought it was one of us. I repeated what my parents often said, which was that we didn't have to answer the door for her - our lives were none of Mrs. Jenkins business. But my sister had a sharp tongue and a quick wit, even as a child, and opened the door to give her a piece of her mind.

There was no one there. Perhaps we had argued too long and whoever was at the door had given up and left. Maybe the knock on the door had been on TV, or maybe we'd imagined it entirely. My sister was about to close the door when she spotted something on the welcome mat. A single envelope in plain view - not even tucked under a corner, how we were taught to leave something if no one was home to answer the door. My sister snatched it up immediately. It was, after all, going to be her birthday soon. Perhaps this was a birthday card, hopefully with money.

Our parents wouldn't have wanted her to open the card until the day of her actual birthday, and also why would a post man be delivering letters in the middle of the night? As my sister took a closer look, her eyes widened. I caught a quick glance at the curved calligraphy before she danced across the living room, shouting, "I knew it! I knew it!"

"Shh!" I scolded her, gesturing frantically in the directions of Mrs. Jenkins house. My sister calmed a little as she tore the seal from the envelope and pulled the letter from within. Her eyes scanned over the page faster than I could get to her, and the next thing I knew, she had locked herself in her room. I knocked on her door several times. "Taylor? What is it? Who is it from? What did it say?" She never answered me. Quickly, my child brain gave up, and I retreated to the couch, happy to change the channel back to cartoons.

When my parents got home that night, they were shocked to see me still up - and alone. Not wanting my sister to get in trouble for leaving me unattended (in fact, they should leave me unattended more often!) I explained to them that she had gotten a mysterious letter and locked herself in her room. My parents exchanged a look. I'd never seen them so worried, I knew something was going on, but they sent me to bed anyways. I could hear them knocking on Taylor's door, asking if they could be let in, and finally using the spare key when she wouldn't answer them.

Later, I learned what had happened that night. Taylor had gotten a rejection letter. "Although your records are in the Hogwarts database, we cannot offer you admission at this time." My parents dismissed it as a cruel prank. Everyone knew about Taylor's obsession with Harry Potter. She had been fascinated since she had been gifted the first three books on her 8th birthday. In retrospect, it was funny how our parents had tried to keep us from the series. When the books first came out, we were told "the church didn't recommend it because it was about witchcraft." We had moved to a small town with one family-owned bookshop and no movie theater. Even when a movie theater was built, they did not take us to see the movie (although they couldn't stop us from seeing it with friends, using our own money).

But they couldn't stop Taylor from reading the books when they were given to her as a gift. In fact, she abandoned her own birthday party to start reading them. Of course my parents made her stop and return to the party, but by the time they caught her, the damage was already done. She had already read the first two chapters and was hooked. They couldn't return or exchange the gift, and they weren't about to make a scene in front of the other kids and parents. They could, however, keep me from reading the books. I was "too young." The content was "too scary." I believed them and I followed their rules. I never read the books. But my sister read them all, multiple times. She read the third book so many times, the spine broke.

And she told me all about the wonderful things she had learned. Soon, I knew so much, I could hold a conversation with other fans, even though I had no idea what I was talking about. I had opinions of characters without knowing who they were. I had opinions of events without knowing their significance. I even had a favorite character and a Hogwarts house (my sister assigned to me, saying, "You would like her. You would fit in there.") And I kept her opinions until seeing the movie myself. And after seeing the movie, I agreed with her opinions even more. I still never read the books, and I wasn't as passionate about Harry Potter as, say, Geronimo Stilton. I guess you could call me a fan by proxy. And throughout all this, my parents insisted it wasn't real.

Harry Potter was a story. A work of fiction. A child's novel. And that's why Taylor's rejection letter didn't matter. Even if it were an acceptance letter, it would have been fake. It was all just make believe.