Disclaimer:  Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR.  This story came about because of a comment my mother made when we were watching HP1.  Thanks Mom!

Too Much To Ask?

I thought it was over.  I thought that it was the end of all that ridiculous nonsense.  I thought that, since so much time had passed…since he and that infernal letter arrived that, perhaps…

Perhaps he was not going to turn out like her.

I am lying in bed now, beside my husband who is snoring peacefully.  I envy his ability to fall asleep no matter how much disruption there is in our lives.  For my part, I have not been as fortunate.  But, then again, when was I the fortunate one?  The favoured one?

No, it was never me.

I vividly remember when she got her letter.  It came by owl as well…large tawny owl which bit me when I touched its feathers.  She had taken the letter, rather confused and gave the unusual messenger a piece of toast….my toast.  She didn't notice how I glared at her…she was too involved with her letter.

Our parents were ecstatic…a real witch in the family…the first one in five generations on our mother's side…and suddenly there was talk of magic…real magic.  Not the stuff that one sees at the fair.  Real magic…the kind that can change one thing into another, float things, heal people.

And, I discovered much later, kill people as well…people like my sister.

For weeks after she got her invitation to that place, I waited by my window each and every morning.  I hoped, beyond all hope, that I too would receive a letter.  I cried myself to sleep each night when it didn't arrive.  I even took her wand one night when she was sleeping and waved it around outside…hoping for something to happen.  But nothing ever did.  It was useless in my hands and that meant I was useless as well and it made me very angry.

I began to grow apart from her and she noticed it after her first term at that place.  She wanted to spend time with me over the summer holidays but I had my own friends.  I didn't need her and I told her that in no uncertain terms.  Change that pillow into a replica of me and she could talk to her heart's content about eye of newt and drool of bat.  I didn't care…and I came to the undeniable conclusion that she was a freak of nature…a genetic abnormality.  Her magical ability was due to a chromosomal imbalance.  That's the vocabulary they use these days for that sort of thing.  She was the result of some sort of horrible mutation.

She looked sad but I knew it was only pity.  And I despise pity.  After all, there is nothing wrong with me.  Look at me.  I am blissfully normal.  My husband is normal and my adorable son is perfectly normal…well, except for the tail and he did nothing to deserve such humiliation.

Even her wedding was odd…all those strange folks in outlandish clothing.  And she wore such a plain dress...I suppose she could not afford a gown like mine.  I never much liked her husband.  He was very cool to me when we met…although he was very interested in my husband's work.  And their friends…the wildest bunch of rogues I had ever set eyes on…I practically feared for my safety and honour when the one asked me to dance.  Sirius?  Severus?  I don't remember…they all had strange names.  I found out afterwards that the dance had been a dare…and I was not happy about that.  We left as soon as we decently could…although my mother gave me a stern talking to afterwards.

Mother always loved Lily best.

I walk downstairs quietly and pour myself a quick drink.  I need something to steady my nerves.  That blasted giant scared me half to death…and I have no idea where we are going to take Dudley to have that tail removed.  If anyone should find out, I'll never be able to leave the house ever again.

As I walk back upstairs, I realize that I have been on pins and needles until this dratted 11th birthday…to know once and for all.

Well, now I know.  Happy birthday, Harry Potter.  You're a freak of nature just like your dead mother.

He is our responsibility…an unwanted responsibility…and I hate him.  I hate him for living when my sister is dead.  I hate him for having her eyes…eyes that make me feel things I would rather not.  I hate him for having something that I wanted so much for myself.  I hate him for imposing on my nice little life.  He is a burden I would much rather not have.

It's all his fault.  All of it. 

And I'll be glad when he is out of my life…out of our home….forever.

I just want a normal life…that's all.

Is it really too much to ask?