Chapter 1: Where There Is No Magic

They had come up with every excuse in the world.

That I was just a late bloomer. Nothing more and nothing less. It was nothing to worry about.

That I was just so calm, my magic simply never got out of control. I was just unlike the rest of my cousins, with their fiery tempers and magical accidents.

But no matter what they said, or how chipper they appeared to be about the whole situation, mum and dad were both collectively dreading my eleventh birthday. Of course, they would never admit it to anyone, not even to each other. Denial was something quite familiar to them and they clung to it like a pricker-weed clings to a piece of clothing.

I was a Weasley, and although I hadn't inherited the typical red mop, it seemed impossible that somehow the genes for magic would skip me.

Yet on June 11th, the day in which the whole Weasley clan celebrated my golden birthday, there was more than one heavy heart at the party.

Mum could hardly look at me. Of course, she seemed to think that it was her fault. She was muggleborn, and thought she was thereby responsible for all of my short-comings. I'm sure she tried not to be bitter as she watched me blow-out my candles, but I don't think it worked. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger-Weasley had failed. I'm sure that then she would've given anything to fix it, to fix me, but that sadly wasn't even an option.

Dad saw nothing in the failure of genetics, put no blame in mum's lineage. Instead he saw his own failure to protect me, to relate to me. Dad only knew magic. And it was something that I would never experience. I think that even then he knew there would be a time in our lives where we would be complete strangers to each other.

That summer seemed to drag on forever, the whole family waiting, desperately hoping to be proven wrong. I prayed every night and searched for an owl every morning.
But all of that went to waste.

The cousins and Rosie all received their letters. September 1st came and went.

Suddenly, there were no more excuses.

All mum and dad were left with was me, a broken-hearted eleven year old. And all I was left with was a sense of complete injustice.

It didn't take long for me to discover what I was. Squib. It's an ugly word, eh? It sort of reminds me of squid, to be honest. Although I have never eaten squid, I have seen pictures, and I must say they are quite possibly one of the most hideous creatures I've ever had the misfortune of seeing.

I don't think it's much of a coincidence that the word squib is so close to the word squid. You see, to the wizarding world, I may as well be a squid. I'm completely worthless to them.

It was quite huge when the outside world found out I had no magical abilities. The reporters had a field day. To think Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasely, two of the most powerful and admired figures in the whole wizarding world, gave birth to a child who didn't have a speck of magic… it was downright tragic.

I soon became the subject of pity. I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me. It did.
People whispered about me behind my back, my parents could hardly look me in the eye, and I didn't really belong anywhere. Magic and all that came with it (Hogwarts, quidditch, O.W.L.s) was completely out of my grasp. I couldn't relate to my family at all. Mum and Granddad Weasley tried, but it seemed like magic always got in the way.

I was sent to school, encouraged to live life just like any other muggle. It wasn't all bad. I quickly made a lot of friends at the private muggle academy that I attended. Yet they couldn't completely understand me either. I couldn't exactly bring them home, where dinner cooked itself and there was a special room filled with quidditch trophies and collectibles. There was no one who truly understood me, Hugo Weasley.

But don't get me wrong. I don't want your pity.

Instead, this is a little story about how I, a simple squib, saved the day and in the process of doing so, learned to accept just who I was.

It all started fifteen years ago, four years after James Potter graduated Hogwarts. He was my cousin, just one of eighty. And that's hardly an exaggeration. I was seventeen, living in a world where not a single soul knew the absolute truth about me. I was an adolescent boy, with raging hormones and a lot of pent up anger… most of which I directed at my father. I couldn't wait to graduate and turn eighteen so that I could move and leave it all behind me.

And that was exactly what I did, but earlier than I had planned. I can remember the exact day when it all began; Friday, September 18th...

September 18th, 2027

"Hey Weasel," I heard a whisper from behind me.

I knew who it was but I didn't react. I just continued with my algebra homework. It was easily my favorite subject. I found numbers comforting. Mum got it. Dad… not so much. Yet that was hardly surprising. Dad didn't really understand anything about my life.

"Weasel!"

I felt a crumpled ball of paper hit my back.

Mr. Mantra cleared his throat importantly. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. As if the slimy git needed any reason to go on a power trip. Algebra may have indeed been my favorite subject, but Mr. Mantra was definitely my least favorite teacher. In fact, no one liked him much. He was a right creep, to both boys and girls alike.

"Something you'd like to say, Miss Dion?" he asked then.

"No, not at all."

"Good."

I just continued with my homework as though nothing happened, although I could feel eyes burning into my back.

After ten more minutes of silent work, the bell finally rang releasing us from the torment that was Mr. Mantra's eighth period. Several people gave a whoop of delight and almost everyone immediately started talking as they got up to go to their last class of the day. I slung my book bag over my shoulder, and before I could so much as take another step, Dianne Dion stepped right in front of me.

Dianne was your average girl; she was about 5'5 with brown hair, not terribly smart, cared more about make-up than politics, and came from a very wealthy family. Okay so maybe average isn't the right word. However, at St. Luke's Academy, the private school that I, Hugo Weasley, attended, she wasn't by any means abnormal. There were only a few things about Dianne that were unique… her wicked sense of humor and her cynical nature, both of which I loved in a completely platonic way.

"Weasel, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were ignoring me," Dianne said as she chomped away on some gum. Yet another thing that made her stand out from the crowd of uniformed prisoners at St. Luke's; she was always chomping away on gum. I ignored the use of the nickname. Di was the only one that used it, hoping that it would catch on. It never did, but she was never one to give up.

I laughed as we walked out of Mr. Mantra's classroom and into the hall. We both had ninth hour free and neither of us were in any rush to get to study hall. The teacher, Mrs. Baum, rarely paid attention and never minded tardy students. Our study hall was an absolute zoo; it was right at the end of the day, and no one ever had an ounce of concentration left.

"So," Dianne began as we made our way casually to my locker. "Are you going to Elizabeth's tonight? I thought I heard you and John talking about it."

John and Elizabeth were both mutual friends of ours. In fact, John was easily my best mate in St. Luke's. I shrugged. Even though I really wanted to go to Elizabeth's party, I knew there was no way in hell it'd get by my parents. Just one more reason why I couldn't wait until I was old enough to live on my own.

"Still grounded then?" Dianne asked, blatantly. There wasn't any sympathy in her voice. That just wasn't Dianne.

"Yep," I said caustically as I toyed with the lock on my locker.

"God, you've been grounded for like ever," Dianne commented, again without a hint of compassion. It was more like a statement of fact. And it was true.

"It's been about two months," I agreed bitterly, swinging my locker open.

"What did you do? Kill a baby?"

I snorted. And I couldn't help but feel a little bit frustrated at that moment. Even though I liked St. Luke's well enough despite its uniforms and ridiculous rules, I didn't really fit in there. Firstly, the whole concept of being grounded was as foreign to these kids as Chinese. They just didn't really understand it. Secondly, most came from incredibly wealthy families with parents who were either negligent or way too indulgent. They had brand name clothes, the best of everything, and little concept of how precious wealth actually was. Not all of them were spoiled, but a good majority definitely was. My parents were well off, but in a completely different way. In the wizarding world, the Weasleys were the shit. Not so much in my own little private muggle school world.

And thirdly, not a single one of these kinds had any connection to the magical world. They didn't know anything about my family, or why my dad completely stayed out of my life. They didn't really know me.

"Seriously," Di continued, as I threw a few books in my bag. "What the hell did you do?"

I shrugged.

"Fight with your dad?"

I gave her a look that I hoped was intimidating. Di and I had been friends long enough for her to know that my dad was officially off-limits in conversation.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I continued moodily stuffing books in my bag. I always had a shit ton of homework.

"No one likes their dad," Di shrugged. "Except Elizabeth. But she's just a freak of nature."

I smiled and silently agreed; Elizabeth was a freak of nature. She drank like a fish, smoked a carton a day, had the best body I had ever seen, and still managed to convince everyone (adults and other authority figures) that she was as innocent as the fresh driven snow. Her parents were especially taken with her and believed that their daughter was flawless. I liked her in spite of her flaws. Who was I to judge anyway? I had had enough of that, thanks.

"Could you sneak out?" Di asked.

I almost laughed. If only Di knew what she was saying. My parents had magic on their side, meaning alarms would go off as soon as I stepped off of the property due to the wards around our house. "Not a chance," I said, closing my locker with a resolute snap.

"Sorry, then Weasel. I at least hope whatever you did was worth it."

And I smiled back. Because even though I missed hanging out with my friends, punching my dad square in the face had been completely worth it.

I was starving when I arrived home promptly after rugby practice. We lived in a quiet, nice neighborhood with well kept lawns and children playing in the street. It was only a ten minute walk from St. Luke's Academy, which was why I went there in the first place. Our house was an upper-middle class home, made of light colored bricks and had two stories. I never liked it; it was just a poser. It looked like a completely normal home, even though on the inside, there wasn't anything normal about it at all.
Dinner was cooking itself when I walked in. I resented it, the fact that magic was always thrown in my face, as if to rub it in even more. In my defense, you probably would've hated it too.

I slammed the door, as my own special way of announcing I was home. I knew mum was home, and I could hear her prattling to someone upstairs, probably through Floo. I helped myself to a glass of milk. Although our house had certain magical touches, we also had every single muggle accommodation available – there was a large screen TV in the living room, a computer in the study, a dishwasher in the kitchen and a telephone in the entry way. My mum always said that it was the best of both worlds. I would just reply by snorting.

My dad only knew how to run the simple appliances. The phone was completely beyond him. My mum, on the other hand, had grown up in a muggle household and thereby knew how to use it all. She was the peacemaker in our house. I don't even want to imagine what it all would've been like without her.

It was then that it happened. I was just sitting at the table, snacking on some food, waiting for mum to come downstairs to ask me about my day, when the doorbell rang.
I had no idea who it could be. It certainly wasn't going to be anyone for me, but I stood up to answer it regardless. And when I opened the door, the desperate and tear-stained face of James Potter greeted me.

AN: Just an idea and I would love to get some feedback. And just to clear in confusion, the present day of this story is 2042... Hugo is older and is simply looking back and remembering an event that changed his life forever, which happened in 2027. I hope that makes sense. In the story that Hugo is telling us, he is eighteen and James is twenty-two. As always, thanks for taking the time to read.