You’re Hermione Granger’s younger sibling—left behind when she got her Hogwarts letter. As children, you were close. But once magic entered her life, it felt like she left you behind.

You used to share a room.

Twin beds, mismatched blankets, stuffed animals lined in a row along the shelf above your desk. Hermione used to read aloud at night—chapter books, mostly, the kind with riddles and clever girls who solved mysteries. She’d voice every character. Make up sound effects. She always read one extra page when your parents weren’t listening.

You used to think she was magic before the letter even came.

But the letter changed everything.

You remember the day clearly. She’d been quiet at breakfast, lips pressed together like she was holding back a grin. Your parents hovered behind her, trying to look calm. Then she reached into her backpack and handed you a parchment envelope. Her name was written in black ink. Her name. Not yours.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dear Miss Granger…

At first, you thought it was a joke. Then you were furious it wasn’t.

She explained everything so matter-of-factly. Magic was real. She was going away to learn it. You’d always known she was special, but this felt… different. This felt unfair. Why her? Why not you too?

She promised to write. Promised she wouldn’t forget. But with every year that passed—every school break where she came home more confident, more strange—you felt her slipping away.

Still not chosen.

Until today.

You weren’t snooping.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Hermione had left the house in a hurry—something about needing to pick up ingredients for a potion she wasn’t supposed to be brewing in Mum’s kitchen. The usual. She didn’t say where she was going or how long she’d be gone, only that she “wouldn’t be long.”

But the door to her room was cracked open.

And curiosity, as always, itched beneath your skin like a splinter.

It wasn’t about invading her privacy. It was about understanding. You’d lived in the same house for years, and yet she always came home from Hogwarts feeling more like a guest than a sister. She brought the scent of parchment and strange herbs with her, and half the time she spoke in riddles—things like “Apparition licenses” and “Patronuses” and “prefect rounds.”

You weren’t part of that world. You never would be.

But today… maybe you could glimpse it.

The spellbooks were stacked beside her bed, their titles a mixture of Latin and things you couldn’t pronounce. The covers were cracked, pages dog-eared. She’d underlined entire paragraphs, scribbled notes in the margins in her tight, no-nonsense handwriting.

And then—tucked just beneath a folded jumper—you saw it.

The wand.

It looked almost ordinary. Smooth wood, lighter at the handle, darker toward the tapered tip. You reached out before your brain could stop your hand.

It was warm. Not hot. Not pulsing with magic like you’d imagined. But solid. Real.

You turned back to the open book on the bed. A page titled ”Lumos & Nox” caught your eye. The instructions were simple enough. You cleared your throat, held the wand like you’d seen her do once in the garden, and whispered:

“Lumos.”

Nothing.

You frowned. Raised the wand a little higher. “Lumos.”

Still nothing.

And then, because part of you was desperate, aching, furious—

”LUMOS.”

A tiny spark flickered at the tip. Brief. Fleeting. But there.

You stared at it, heart pounding. It was gone in a blink—but it had happened.

You’d made something happen.

Your hand was shaking. It wasn’t much. Barely anything. But it was more than you’d ever been allowed to touch.

You tried again. “Lumos.”

Nothing.

The spark didn’t return.

The door creaked open behind you.

Hermione’s voice was quiet, but sharp. “What are you doing?”