Author's Note: Voldemort never existed thus Lily and James let Harry run around Diagon Alley.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.
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Harry Potter hummed in delight as he weaved through the crowds of Diagon Alley. His parents rarely took him to Diagon Alley and let him wander alone. Those two were a pair of mother hens, so when he was given the permission by his parents to wander around, Harry was happy to run around the Alley. The only reason that they let Harry wander alone was because today is his ninth birthday.
Harry grinned as he ran between an old butcher and an old witch, haggling for the piece of meat displayed. This is it. Today is the day. The day he can go to Eeylops Owl Emporium & Magical Menagerie. Alone. He quickened his pace, the pouch of galleons, which he received earlier for his birthday, jiggled inside his pocket.
The crowd was getting thinner and Eeylops Owl Emporium & Magical Menagerie sign entered his line of sight.
'And I'm al-' Harry cheered inwardly but wasn't able to finish when something hit him face. "Ow!" Harry yelped as he was suddenly thrown back, his buttocks landing not so gently on the hard pavement. He hissed in pain. He could feel the wind caressing his new wound.
"Oh my. Oh my. I'm so sorry, child." The one who bumped him apologized and then suddenly a pale white hand was offered to him. "Need help?" Harry looked at the face of his offender, a woman. A tall lovely looking woman, wearing a simple light blue Sunday dress, bumped into him. She had hazelnut brown hair and kind blue eyes; a fair face with a plump lips and small nose.
"Sorry too. 'S 'kay." Harry said, looking away shyly, he took the offered hand and stood up.
"It's not fine, child. You're hurt and- oh my good heavens- you have a wound!" The woman gasped and grasped Harry's right arm where a newly formed wound was bleeding. She crouched down at Harry's level.
"Uhhh…" Harry said dumbly as he let the woman inspect his stinging wound. "I'm fine. I can wash my wound when I get back home."
The woman shook her head. "No, no, no, child. Your wound might get infected." She said. "Will you let me heal your wound? I'm good at healing." The woman beamed. Harry looked at her, uncertainly.
"Are you a good medi-witch?"
The woman chuckled. "I'm not a witch, child."
Harry cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean you're not a witch? We are in Diagon Alley, everybody is a witch or wizard… unless, you're a man dressing as a woman."
The woman laughed. "Rest assured, child. I have the anatomies of a woman."
"Anoto-what?"
"I'm saying that I'm a real lady." She said in between her chuckles, her laughter almost dying out.
"Then, are you a vampire?" Harry asked, hopefully. He heard many tales about vampires from his Uncle Sirius. Vampires visiting the wizarding world was a normal occurrence but most of the time they went to Knockturn Alley, a place where a child should never go.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you but I'm just a plain old squib."
Harry's hope was shattered. "Oh." Was the only word that came out of his lips. Squib. He knew what that word meant. It was person born from a magical family but wasn't magical. How could she heal him if she wasn't magical? Apply some balm to his wound? Harry shivered at that. He didn't want anyone to touch his wound, it would be painful. "I need to go, mom is probably looking for me now."
"I should heal your wounds first." The woman insisted as she seized Harry's arm, earning a yelp from Harry.
"Let go." Harry protested, trying to yank his arm from the woman's grasp. "Lady, if you do-"
"Hush, child. I'm trying to help you." She said and hovered her palm over Harry's wound. Immediately, her palm started to glow, dimly. Harry watched in fascination as he felt warm power envelop his whole arm. Harry never felt like this when his wounds were treated magically; it would usually be a numb itchy feeling. Seconds later, the woman stopped her ministrations and removed her not-anymore-glowing-hand, revealing his smooth ivory skin.
Harry blinked, once. And then twice. "How did you do that?" Harry asked amazed by the sudden disappearance of his wound.
The woman grinned. "Magic."
"But you said that you were a squib!"
The woman smiled, again. And it was starting to creep Harry. How could someone smile all the time? Harry shook the odd thought aside. "Being a Squib doesn't mean that you cannot wield magic." The woman lectured as she stood up, flexing her arms. "Only muggles cannot wield magic. The real meaning of being a squib is to be born with an empty magical core. There is a big difference between those two."
Harry blinked. "I don't get you, lady. Everybody knows that squibs are magicless."
"Well tell everybody that squibs are not magicless." She snorted. "I'm a squib but I can wield magic. Now, how are you feeling? Does any part of your still hurts?"
Harry shook his head.
"That's good." The woman nodded her head, approvingly. "How did you feel when I healed your arm? Was it itchy?"
"Errr… no." Harry looked confused. What's with the sudden interrogation? "It felt warm and nice not itchy."
"Really?" The woman looked taken back by his answer. "Normally, when I heal people, they would feel itchy. Say- when was the last time you did accidental magic?"
"I haven't done accidental magic, yet." Harry whispered. Obviously embarrassed. It was a topic that very sensitive inside the house. Harry was starting to think that he was a -.
"Squib." The woman muttered her blue eyes looking at him with recognition. "You're a squib aren't you? Only squibs can tell that my magic is warm and nice."
Alright this time, Harry snapped at the woman, forgetting manners and politeness. "I'm not a squib." He hissed as he glared at her. "Lady, thank you for healing me but I think that you are out of the line." With that he huffed away from the lady.
X
Two years later, Harry sat glumly on his bed, fighting back the urge to scream and kick. Today is his eleventh birthday. Normally, he would be happy and celebrate the occasion but obviously today wasn't the case.
Today he was supposed to receive his Hogwarts letter. An owl should be knocking on his window.
Green eyes looked at the window, expectantly, hoping that any minute an owl would knock on his glass window. He waited for hours but no owl came. When the sun was about to set, his parents entered his room and looked at him, sadly. His parents hugged him tightly and Harry couldn't help but cry.
The three of them stayed up all night, hoping that the owl was just late.
But when the clock chimed at 12 am and there was still no owl that came from Hogwarts, Harry cried.
No Hogwarts letter. No accidental magic. No magic.
It was obvious, he was a squib.
"Shh…" His mother said, soothingly as she hugged him tightly while his father comfortingly patted his back. "Don't cry, it's not like this will be the end. We still love you." Lily said as she kissed on his wet cheek. James did the same.
"Yeah, son, it's alright."
Harry choked and hugged his mother back. "B-but I'm a s-squib." Harry said while the heavy weight on his chest started to get heavier. "I'm an outcast! A freak!"
Immediately his mother tightened her old on her son. "Don't ever say that, you're not a freak, even if you're a squib, that doesn't mean that you are a freak." Lily whispered as gently laid down her son on the bed. James laid beside his son and hugged him too.
It took an hour to convince Harry to go to sleep and stop crying. Once he lay down on his bed, he dreamt of a lady in a Sunday dress, telling him: "Being a Squib doesn't mean that you cannot wield magic. Only muggles cannot wield magic. The real meaning of being a squib is to be born with an empty magical core. There is a big difference between those two."
Harry hoped that she was right.
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