I'm a Muggle, otherwise known as a person born without magical powers whose biological parents do not possess magical abilities. It has taken me years (that's right — years) to reconcile that I would never be a witch of Hermione Granger's caliber (or of any caliber) and that I'd never attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I've finally accepted that, like all Muggles, I possess absolutely no magical abilities (unless you count my uncanny ability to make myself feel uncomfortable in the most relaxed of situations, but I doubt Albus Dumbledore would).

For those of you who may still be struggling with this realization, I've created a handy dandy list of the grieving process one must go through before accepting that they never have been and never will be a wizard/witch. So, tuck away your impostor wands, bite back any spiteful dark curses, and much like Harry had to after Order of the Phoenix, let the grieving process begin.

1. Denial

What it sounds like: "Excuse me??? How dare you call me a Muggle. Okay, yes, maybe the wand I bought from Orlando, Florida isn't an authentic Ollivander's wand, and sure, maybe nothing has ever happened when I've stared intently at my cat and muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa," perfect pronunciation and all. But that doesn't mean anything. Honestly, neither does the fact that I never got my Hogwarts acceptance letter. The Wizarding World had to have been a hot mess after the Second Wizarding War, and Hogwarts was in literal shambles after Dumbledore's death and the Battle of Hogwarts. It's understandable that they lost my letter or forgot to send it."

What it means: You refuse to admit that the Wizarding World just isn't the place for you. It's hard; trust me, I know. But you need to look yourself in the mirror (the one in your bathroom, not the Mirror of Erised) and ask yourself this, "Why really haven't I received my Hogwarts letter?" Your heart is telling you the above reasons, but your brain... Your little Muggle brain knows better.

2. Anger

What it sounds like: "I KNOW that I got a mediocre public middle and high school education in America instead of going to a ridiculously cool British wizarding school, okay?! I REALIZE that the closest I'll ever get to receiving a letter from an owl is having one almost attack me while I'm taking out the trash at night, alright??? Stop rubbing it in my face that I'm completely ordinary. I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND."

What it means: Ah, anger — the easiest emotion to process and express. It's easy to lash out at family and friends when they tell you that a Hogwarts education wouldn't be all that exciting anyway, and it's understandable to shout at those who tell you you're about as magical as the burrito bowl they had for lunch. So you keep shouting at innocent, unsuspecting family members, my friend; it just gets you one step closer to where you need to be.

3. Bargaining

What it sounds like: "Dear God (Do people in the rewarding world of wizardry pray to God?) I AM A WIZARD. I can do great things as a wizard. Like, Harry Potter level things as a wizard. All you have to do is make me one, and I will make you proud. I also won't ever pray for concert tickets EVER AGAIN (or for the rest of the year)."

What it means: You fully understand that you aren't a witch or wizard, and you're no longer arguing with your grandmother at the dinner table when she suggests that the wizardry is the work of satan. You're making progress. Bargaining isn't a bad thing and it doesn't make you crazy; it just makes you someone who's extremely passionate about the fictional worlds he or she reads about. Whatever higher power is listening to your delusional prayers will understand. (Also, you probably should stop praying for concert tickets, just sayin'.)

4. Depression

What it sounds like: "What is the point of life if I'm not a wizard? What is life without the ability to ignore everything Filch has ever shouted to me about Hogwarts rules while I run around the corridors late at night? How am I supposed to die happily if I was never officially sorted into Slytherin and was never able to use my place in the House to prove that not all Slytherins are corrupt or creepily enamored with the Dark Arts? How am I supposed to feel like my life is fulfilling when the most magical thing about the Muggle World is microwavable chicken nuggets?"

What it means: I will admit, the Muggle world isn't all that exciting, but it's about time you face that and learn to deal with it. You live in a world that can't compare to the fictional world you've spent your youth reading about in thick books, watching on jumbo-sized screens, and fantasizing about as you drifted to sleep. Being a Muggle just really isn't that thrilling, and it'll never be quite as exciting as a legendary wizarding school in the UK. And you know what? That's okay.

5. Acceptance

What it sounds like: "I'm a Muggle, plain and simple, and Hogwarts wasn't made for ordinary people like me. My life may not be as extraordinary as the Golden Trio's and I may never drink tea with Hagrid in his hut, but such is life. [insert defeated yet understanding sigh]"

What it means: Congratulations, my fellow non-magical friend. You've officially grieved your lack of magical abilities. You've finally reached the end of this long journey and much like your experience finishing the Harry Potter series, it probably ended in lots of tears, used tissues, and feelings shoved down with the aid of junk food. As terrible as it may seem and as useless as your Muggle education might be, it's alright that you didn't attend Hogwarts. As the great JK Rowling told viewers at the premiere of the final film, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two, the series may have ended and we may be forced to keep living our mundane Muggle lives, but "Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home." Whether you choose to visit that home via book or via film, it's just as real and special as it would be if you attended in person. Sure, you're just a regular old Muggle, but you can still access magic through the amazing series JK Rowling created for us. Be thankful for that little, vicarious taste of magic.

I can tell you from experience, the pain stemming from your lack of magical abilities will never fully subside; it will gnaw at your chest each time you see your little high school diploma or each time you yell "accio" at your remote control and it remains three feet away from you, tauntingly out of reach. But at least now it'll hurt just a little bit less. And if it still feels unbearable, well then... Just drown your sorrows in some butterbeer.