I do not own Harry Potter. JKR does.
Sir, I am made
Of the self same metal that my sister is,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart,
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short, that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses,
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
- Regan, King Lear
Once upon a time are my favorite beginnings to every fairy tale. Those four words tell you that something happened a long time ago before you, me or anyone else was born. Once upon a times are magical, amazing and so far out of my grasp of understanding.
It's the world that my older sister was born in that makes me think of once upon a time. A beautiful story that ensnares me, captivates me and makes me wish that I too could be in her world of broomsticks, cauldrons and pointy hat witches.
A world out of my reach, a world I could never possibly hope to comprehend. A once upon a time that will never happen to me.
I remember the day the witch arrived at our doorstep. My mum and father were nearly shell-shocked being told that my older sister was a witch. The witch with pointy spectacles sat my parents down and magically conjured up a steaming hot kettle of tea out of the air. I was eight at the time, peering around the corner with my dolly as I saw my older sister sit at the edge of her seat, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity.
Mine were too.
"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I'm pleased to inform you that your daughter Hermione Jean Granger is a witch."
No mention of my name. I stood by the doorway to the living room as the witch saw me, as I quickly retreated back behind the wall.
"Is that your other daughter?"
My mum and father nodded. Even though I was only eight, I could see a flicker of disappointment in the witch's old eyes as she turned her attention back to my mum, my father and my sister. I lingered for a moment before heading up the stairs with my dolly back to the bedroom I shared with my sister.
I wasn't special any more. Mum and father said they loved me no matter if I was a witch or not, but as years passed by, my sister would come home during the winter holidays and talk about her achievements, touching upon details of the magical world that I could hardly believe.
She showed up less and less over the years. Something about spending her holidays with the Wheezleys and her friend Henry Porter. She eventually stopped talking about her magical school, and she would only give me a passing glance of acknowledgement when she was at home.
Then she stopped showing up altogether, and in a faint dream, I could hear her enter the house and leave just as quick. The next moment, mum and father announced we were leaving for Australia and called me Celia, even though I said no, I'm not Celia, why are you calling me that name?
Once upon a time, there was a witch named Hermione who had a human sister named Regan.