If I were a butterfly, where would I go?
This was what 9-year-old Violet Potter was pondering as she sat near the window of her room. She supposed that she shouldn't have been thinking such carefree thoughts while Voldemort was on the loose, but she couldn't help it.
Besides, it was her older brother Jackson who had put the thought in her mind. He was known for being reclusive, but the family still loved him. He was kind and gentle, and had the ability to get people thinking about the simplest things so… deeply. It made her wonder… why wasn't their oldest brother Harry like that? Harry was a Quidditch fanatic, who wasn't very good with girls. Dad always said that he was almost a mini-Prongs. Violet sighed in wonder as a butterfly flew near her window. She loved watching the sky. It was all she ever thought about. She was thrilled at the mere thought of flying with wings. However, she didn't like to get on a broom if she could help it. She found it uncomfortable to sit on, and firmly believed that it ruined the whole experience.
If she had wings, on the other hand, then she could fly all over the world if she wanted to. She'd be free to go wherever she pleased, and she could visit places all over the world without muggles looking at her strangely. Violet had always loved to travel and learn new things about new places. It was her dream, one day to become a painter and travel all over the world, painting the beautiful wildlife that grew everywhere. She wasn't very good at drawing, however. Harry had once commented that when she made a portrait, the face always looked like that of a pig's.
But she didn't mind. All she had to do was put her mind to it and keep trying, like her mother said to do.
"Violet! Dinner!" her mother shouted from downstairs.
"Coming, mum!" she shouted back.
Yes, she thought as she sat down to dinner with her family. I suppose it would be nice to be a butterfly.