Sarah, a thoroughbred witch who knew nothing of Muggle customs, even after living amongst them for ten years, always over-compensated in social situations—such as with her baking. She didn’t actually bake anything; she used magic, which is why everything was always so perfect. Whenever any of the neighbors would ask her questions, she would always give the most bland and ordinary answer that she could fathom. This made it difficult for the family to make friends because everyone just assumed they were such an ordinary family.

As Robby grew up, he didn’t change, at least not for the better. He became more physically attractive over time, and as he grew into his nose, he was finally able to make friends at school. He never brought them home, however.  Everyone who met Taylor was automatically enthralled with him. Robby wouldn’t risk it.

He deplored his family for their fascination with Taylor. The only family member he had a soft spot for was Susan, and that was simply because she was robbed of just as much attention as Robby was.  Well, that was a lie—Sarah loved Susan well, too, because she displayed magical prowess at an even younger age than Taylor had. Taylor still received the most attention, however…

Susan, herself, grew up fond of her elder brother Taylor. She loved Robby, too, but, naturally, she formed a stronger bond with Taylor in adolescence. He had more in common with her: his ability to perform magic. Underage witches and wizards weren’t permitted to do magic outside of school, and magical education didn’t begin until the age of eleven, but the Ministry wasn’t too strict on children who were too young to control their powers. 

Christopher didn’t know a ton about the wizarding world, and in all honesty, he didn’t want to. This was one of those situations where ignorance was bliss. He knew that magic existed, and that his wife was part of the body that governed that world.  That was enough for him. He knew that Robby possessed no magical ability, and, strangely, this didn’t make him feel relieved. In all honesty, the feeling that came up was disappointment. Was there something wrong with Christopher’s blood? Did witches have to marry wizards to birth them? He didn’t know. When Taylor was born—and then Susan—the questions resolved themselves. There was nothing wrong with Christopher; there was something wrong with Robert.

Taylor loved Robby, and he tried to win his brother’s affection on every possible occasion. To no avail, though… Robby felt not but contempt and disdain for his younger brother.  Robby’s eleventh birthday was especially tough. He had heard the stories Sarah told Taylor. Susan was too young to understand at this point in time, but she would hear them eventually, too.  This was the day the letter should come.  Robby had held out hope all this time that maybe he wasn’t different.  Maybe he was just a late bloomer, and the letter would come and set everything right.

  No letter came. And then he knew for sure.  That was the first day Robby ran away from home.  He was gone for two days. Sarah mourned the whole time. When Robby found his way back, he was in tattered clothes and carried himself differently—too rigid and stiff for an eleven-year-old.  He refused to talk about where he went or what happened to him.

  After that, Sarah treated Robby with too much affection. It wasn’t what he wanted. Everyone treaded differently around him. He couldn’t stand Sarah doting upon him in her every spare moment.  He couldn’t stand Christopher bringing him home sweets after a long day at the firm. He couldn’t stand little Susan asking him if he wanted anything every second of the day.  But above all, he couldn’t stand the way that Taylor looked at him. It was a look of pity that said more than any amount of words ever could.  It said he was sorry; it said he understood; it said he wished he were the normal one instead of Robby.

  But no. This was Robby’s lot in life.

  Taylor was genuinely a good brother.  He was a good person, and he would become a great wizard, eventually. Robert Paxton knew that. So when Robby jumped off of the Lowery River Bridge in Greater Manchester in the autumn of 2018 at age sixteen, he held no grudge against his brother. Or his sister. Or his father. Or his mother.

  The only grudge he held was one against cruel fate for making him so ordinary in a family that was so beyond.  He simply could not continue living. So he ran away from home for the last time, and he meandered halfway across the bridge before making the one-hundred-and-forty foot plunge into the ice-cold water. He didn’t have to freeze to death.  The impact against the rushing water smashed his body like concrete.

  At the funeral, which so few attended, because the Paxtons had so few friends—Robby had so few friends—many tears were shed from the Paxton clan. And Sarah fell into a traumatic depression.