Author's Note: I originally only posted it on HPFF, but then I thought, "hey, why not here also? Couldn't hurt." So I hope you enjoy and please don't hesitate to send me feed back.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do profit off the Harry Potter universe that rightfully belong to and created by the amazing J.K. Rowling.
Constantly Constance
Constantly Ordinary
I was always a curious girl from the day I was born. Dad said I'd even explore the inside of dryer just because I wanted to see what the insides were like because I was always so intrigued by my surroundings. Until my twin sister slammed the door shut and pressed the green button. I made sure to steer clear of the dryer from then on.
Although we were twins, we looked nothing like each other. Meaning we were fraternal twins, non identical. It was rather annoying explaining that to the other kids at school why we didn't look alike. We kind of disappointed them, since apparently they were excited to meet twins. But we still got the occasional questions like, "can you read each other's minds?" Or, "if one of you are in pain, can the other feel it?" And my personal favorite, "which ones the evil one?"
No, no, we were nothing alike. She was blessed with golden curls that bounced in the right places, to match the glassy sapphire eyes she inherited off dad. I however, inherited the flat brown hair and poor eye sight from mum. The difference between mum and I, was that she could made it look elegant. I made it look like a green bug eyed freak drowning in it's own hair.
My sister, Petunia, was born one hour before me and made sure that I'd never forget it. And because she was bestowed the name of our grand mother, she was a bit of her favorite. I got stuck with the name Constance because I'm "constantly annoying" according to Petunia. It's not that I didn't like my name, it's just that 'Petunia' is the name of bright purple and pink flowers, whereas mine meant steadfast - which I thought made me sound like a horse.
It seemed that I got the short end of the stick throughout both of our lives. She got named after nan, she got the bouncy hair, she EVEN got the better bedroom. My room was placed right next to the neighbors fitness studio and trust me, a large man like Mr. Fisher on a treadmill belting out the lyrics to "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor isn't my ideal scenery. So I'd suffocate in my bed room on a summer's night with the window shut to block out the noise and my face squashed into a pillow.
And because my curtains blocked the gleaming moonlight my room was pitch black, so when I'd get up to turn the fan on, I'd collapse onto the floor taking the fan down with me. Sometimes it was so hard to find my bed from then on, I'd just fall asleep on the floor, which is why I keep a pillow down there in case. One time dad found me in the morning asleep on the floor hugging the fan. Who exercises two o'clock in the morning anyway?
Petunia got dad's old bedroom from when he was a child. Not only was it in the better position of being far away from Mr Fisher's fitness studio as possible, but it was also bigger. But she needed the space for all her tennis tournament trophies.
I'm not saying my parents picked favorites, but mum would prefer if I was the athletic type like my sister. Back in her day mum was a tennis professional player at our age and Petunia was gifted. While the two would be in the back yard training, I much preferred sitting in front of the telly with dad, reading my books while he flicked through the paper.
As immature as it sounded, I absolutely adored fairy tales and still read classics such as 'Snow White' and 'Beauty and the Beast'. However, Pop seemed to despise the stories. One time when he was reading me the bed time story 'Cinderella' when I was five, he was up to the scene where the fairy godmother turned the pumpkin into a carriage, I asked, "Wow, it's just like magic."
His face had darkened into a grim look I had never seen before, turning into an anxious heat like a boiling kettle.
"THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC!" He bellowed.
Babbling on about the non-existance of anything magic until dad found him and dragged him out of the room. From then on, Pop only read the newspaper to me. The rising prices of petrol wasn't all that interesting to a five year old. If I'd ask him to read me a book, he'd ask, "What's that got to do with the price of fish in Japan?"
Pop became so bounded by the idea of the non-existence of magic, dad told me to hide my fairy tale books before pop could burn, them in the fire place. He wasn't a completely barmy old man, but he was close to it. He simply felt very strong about his beliefs.
Nan wasn't as extreme as pop was. She was a quiet lady who would subtly sit on the couch with her knitting, but occasionally like to peek through the curtains to see what the neighbors were up to. She justified it as being aware, I called it being nosy. Mum didn't mind, as long as she didn't get caught. I told her she could have my room if she ever felt the need to spy on Mr Fisher, but by the look on nan's face when I said it meant she too knew the positioning of my room.
Despite all our odds, we were still considered the 'norm' in the neighborhood. It wasn't until mum sent me outside to fetch the post that everything changed for the Dursleys at Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging.