A/N! Heya, this is my first one-shot, sorry its short, but I'M STILL HONING MY SKILLS! Review with praise criticism, anything at all!!

Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K! sniff (but technically it doesn't anymore!)

A/N: Spelling reviewed as of 20/07/08

I stirred the tea bag whilst pouring the water. I was getting used to being home, aware that we were safe again. I placed my mug on the table and sat beside it. My fingers sought the warm ceramic as a coldness washed over me. My body shook as a lone tear wrangled its way from my lids.

I never hated my sister, didn't understand her but didn't hate her. I simply resented everything she was. Her and that slime ball of a boy, practicing what was taboo among normal people;

-Magic-

Yet, even though I had those feelings, I still wanted what she had. That's what spurred me to write that damn letter, the one that haunted my memories to this day. My hand shook as I put the pen to paper, trying to decide what to say. In the end what I wrote was the truth.

"Dear Professor Dumbledore,

My name is Petunia Evans and I am what your kind call a muggle. But I want to be a witch. Like my little sister, I would like to attend hogwarts school next September.

It is my wish to learn Magic, to understand it and to be able to do it. Please, please, please, if you have a heart, let me come to your school, its all I want and need. Please Sir,

Yours Truely,

Petunia"

I could remember each individual letter I scrawled untidily onto the cold parchment, emptying my heart and soul into those few words. Short and to the point.

The rejection letter had been polite, gentle mannered but crystal clear. I was not like my sister, I was the plain Jane, not talented in anyway. She was beautiful, and she had the Magic. Literally.

More wet droplets slipped through as the thought of it all dug into my heart. I pretended I didn't like her when she came back, made snide remarks, became cold. Eventually, she began to retaliate and that made it easier. But she never knew how many times in the dead of night, I'd slip from my bed and take her wand to see if it would work for me. One night sparks came out as I muttered one of the incantations Lily had in her book. That night I kissed her forehead before going back to bed.

When she died, I pretended I didn't care, and truth be told, I'd grown so used to pretending, I almost didn't.

Then he son, so like his tosspot father came to my home. I thought I had finally broken all contacts with the world I'd grown to hate, and suddenly here was another seventeen years pain. I treated him like a slave, worked him to the bone, and never felt any guilt. It was my way of getting back at Lily, my way of hurting her, just as much as she had me. But in some ways, I suppose I did love him and in the end, he repaid any debt by saving our lives. It didn't mean I had to like him though.

"Tunia? We're home!" My husbands gruff voice came from the front door followed by a shout from my son. My beautiful son. I stood quickly, emptying the now cold un-drunk tea. I wiped a damp cloth across my cheeks, then dried them. A flitting though crossed my mind as I placed the cup in the dishwasher.

I didn't hate my sister, I hated that I couldn’t be like her.