The nine year old girl was absolutely enchanted with the world that she had just read about. One with a boy named Harry Potter and a school called Hogwarts where real magic was taught. Not taking rabbits out of hats, but levitating things, turning rats into cups, brewing potions that could make you the luckiest person alive. This was the greatest gift ever. What could be better than finally knowing her dream world existed? After all, people don’t just come up with this wonderful news in their imagination. There has to be a grain of truth in it. So, the girl learned all that she could. She read Harry Potter’s biography. It was a very entertaining series. But she didn’t know why it was in the Fiction section of her school library. It really didn’t bother her that much, so she kept her question to herself. She read the other books that came with it, Tales of Beedle the Bard, Quidditch Through the Ages and finally Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. She couldn’t wait for her letter from Hogwarts. She knew more about this world than the other kids in her class. They were more concerned with stupid rubber bands in the shape of animals. She even watched the movies, though they were obviously imitations of the real thing. She tried so hard to learn everything that she even bought a few other books that had no relation to Harry Potter, but claimed that they were spell books. She could not do the spells. She figured that it was just that they were fake spells made up by muggles, the dreadful, non-magical folks in Harry Potter’s world. She thought that she was a muggle-born witch. After all, her family didn’t have wizard robes, they didn’t wave wands to get the chores done, but she knew that she might be able to, given the chance. So she waited and read books for two whole years. Her letter never came. No owl came down the chimney, no strange wizard showed up at her door. The only thing she got was a welcome packet from her local middle school that had a map of the school, her schedule and important dates. She thought that Hogwarts was just a bit busy. After all, school was different in Britain. But by the time September first had come and gone, her school year was in full swing. She didn’t give up hope though. She reasoned that the Harry Potter books had been written many years ago and maybe the age of entrance had moved up to twelve. And this was the excuse until, on a dark and stormy night, the now fourteen year old girl knew why the books were in the Fiction section. She knew why she didn’t get a letter. She knew that the seemingly magical things that happened to her were just coincidences. So that night, she cried. She cried for what was taken from her, for what had never been and what was never to be. She cried for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and the other characters in her favorite books that she loved but didn’t exist. The last thing she cried about was the lie that had been told to her. “You can be anything you want to be.” But not a witch. The only thing she wanted to be. Because she was only a muggle.