That's what all the poems and sayings claimed anyway. But the sisters, one with brown hair, the other with red, never really, truly got along. No matter what they liked to say or believe. Sure they wanted to be close and both knew that they ought to be. But something held them back. Their differences.
The elder with the brown hair was plain, simple and mean spirited. She was the oldest after all. The test run. First siblings around the world feel the same way at one point. She felt it every day. At first she had been the gifted princess, the only child. And she had loved. She had loved the idea of a little brother or sister. But it soon went south when she got no attention and so she became a… bitch. To get attention.
The youngest with the red hair was beautiful, beyond smart, caring and kind. She was the youngest and so adored her big sister. Like all little sisters do. She followed her sister around and tried to be like her. But she wasn't. She was a witch and her sister wasn't. But she loved being a witch and hated the attention she got as the little sister. She tried, almost desperately, to push attention to the elder knowing how much pain she was in at being ignored.
That was were the problems started. The younger being a witch and all important. The elder one was miffed to say the least. It just meant she got more attention and more love and more of everything. The only good thing was that for close to nine months the elder was an only child again. And she relished in it. Often suggesting that the younger not come back at all.
The younger never listened to the suggestions. She simply wished that they got along like all other sisters. They should have and would've if they'd had anything in common. But somehow they'd ended up being polar opposites. One outgoing and popular, the other bookish and mostly shy (except when it came to a certain raven haired boy). She loved her sister dearly, and always would, but there was no way that they could get along.
The elder hadn't gone to the younger ones wedding. Out of spite and nothing else. She didn't even give a reason, simply sent the invitation back on the same day that it arrived at the Dursely household. She never regretted it. Not even when the younger ones friends had turned up on her doorstep demanding that she go. She'd refused point blank. She never thought about it after that.
It had almost killed her when the invitation was sent back to their small London flat. No reason, no apology, nothing. He had told her not to worry. And she'd tried. But when the day of the wedding dawned she refused to get up until her sister was there to celebrate with her. His friends, the canines, had come and forcibly pulled her to her feet and made her get ready. They were sympathetic, but they knew better. They'd gone to see the elder one. Her husband held her while she sobbed that night.
When the baby arrived on her doorstep, she'd truly wanted to hurl it into the ocean or down the storm drain. It would be like her. She knew it. Its eyes were the same colour. The letter explained that her sister was dead. She received a notification about the funeral but she didn't go. They weren't sisters, they had never been sisters.
She watched from Heaven as her sister destroyed her baby by feeding it lies and forcing it to live in the cupboard under the stairs. Her sister hurt her boy and for the first time she actually hated her big sister. She hadn't even hated her when she didn't go to her wedding but mistreating her son was different. It was fatal and heart wrenching. She was glad that she wasn't alive otherwise she would have killed her sister.
Sister's share everything… sometimes…