"Family life is too intimate to be preserved by the spirit of justice. It can be sustained by a spirit of love which goes beyond justice."

-Reinhold Niebuhr

My whole life I have been fascinated with Harry Potter, that enigmatic hero of the wizarding world. Our house was no stranger to the rumors that surrounded the child who single-handedly brought down the Dark Lord whose name is still avoided by witch and wizard alike. I have read many books about him, written by wizards who could only theorize what happened and perhaps why. It was a confusing study as many books contradicted each other . Some even contradicted themselves in their lines of thought. None could really be deemed any more valid then the last, and yet, each in turn piqued my curiosity.

My desire to find out more about Harry Potter was certainly a draw to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry though it was not the sole reason I was attending there. Hogwarts was the school where my sister was currently attending as well as where my parents attended. Our family had been going to Hogwarts for many generations. I was delighted to be going to Hogwarts with my sister. I had idolized her for a long time though she never seemed too terribly fond of me.

I was sorted into Hufflepuff, the same house as my sister. It was little surprise to me. Both my parents had been Hufflepuffs. My father had been the only Hufflepuff in his family, however my mother could trace her lineage all the way back to Helga Hufflepuff, the house's founder. Because of this, I loved my house and it filled me with the greatest sense of pride.

I was absolutely thrilled to share the same common room and dormitories with my sister. Unsurprisingly, she failed to share that sentiment. The most attention I got from her was a stern reprimand my first night at Hogwarts that I was never ever to touch her trunk. If I ever did, a severe curse would be sure to follow, she told me. She had been like that for as long as I could remember- very protective of her stuff. Her friends were somewhat kinder and, at least, acknowledged me as her kin with a flippant wave or pat on the head when they would see me.

Now, don't get me wrong, my sister was never outright mean to me. She just, sort of, ignored me most of the time. She was only harsh when I would intrude upon that which she held dear, that which she felt the need to guard... It never seemed quite fair though. Some things she did, in fact, hold inside herself, granting none the privilege to see or hear or know, but it seemed as if, not only did she seek to bar me from those secrets, but from her life completely.

Still, I idolized her. She was quite beautiful with sandy hair that fell in long languid curls about her shoulders. She was tall and thin and her face was graced with beautiful hazel eyes of lightest gold . She had long legs and a lithe graceful frame. Everything about her resembled our mother. I was less blessed it seemed with the darker more generic features of our father. My hair was a chestnut brown and lay flat and straight against my head. As such I always kept it in a tight plait. Few souls had ever seen it down. My eyes were a deep, dark brown with little other color to them. To me, my sister was the epitome of beauty, everything I wasn't.

She was my epitome of smarts at the time, as well. Her marks in class were always exemplary, and my parents never wavered in their praise of her. There was also this mysterious enigmatic quality about my sister. It drew me to her like it drew me to Harry Potter. It left my mind to speculate and theorize as it would. no thought, no theory was too absurd because nothing was known. Nothing definitive. Between my sister and Harry Potter, I knew my time at Hogwarts would be the best time of my life.