A/N at the end of the work.
A great big thank you to my wonderful beta reader, nottheonlyfanaround.
The sky was blue and I couldn't help wondering if it was mocking me. Everything seemed to be mocking me, in fact, and I tried to keep my head down as I wandered the streets of London. Cars and bicycles moved through the city with the same carved-out routines they'd dug for themselves long before I'd arrived on the scene and I wondered at the idea that they would continue long after I'd gone. I was nothing and as the sun shone on me that September 1st, I knew it.
The Hogwarts Express was leaving and I imagined that I could hear it. I imagined that the bustle of taxis and other vehicles was the cherry red steam engine I'd hoped to board for so long. The funny thing, which really wasn't funny at all, was that I hadn't even had a chance to be disappointed yet.
At eleven years old, it wasn't like I'd had very many years to contemplate my status in the magical world, let alone my lack of permission into it. I knew I was odd, but lots of people are odd. My cat never thought I was odd, and I didn't really need any other friends.
It never bothered me until my mum caught me with a broken branch in the backyard trying to enchant a pair of shoes. I wasn't really too worried about the magic, I just wanted to fix up the hole in my shoe. My mum was worried though. She'd seen all the signs- or lack thereof- and I was just along for the ride. Or wasn't.
I would never ride the Hogwarts Express, or a broomstick, or one of the horseless carriages to the school. Only the coattails of more successful wizards and witches like my parents and cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles and that sunny day in London, I didn't even know what to do.
Professor Dumbledore was a new headmaster and I couldn't help wondering if he had made some kind of mistake. Perhaps my letter to Hogwarts had been sent to the wrong address, or perhaps it had been forgotten. Some people didn't believe me when I said my name was Argus. What kind of a name is Argus? Maybe Professor Dumbledore thought it was a prank.
With this in mind, and a solid lump of dread in my chest, I made the decision to become a wizard. The sun was climbing and that mocking sky suddenly seemed less awful as I marched along the Thames and saw how blue the water was. Perhaps I could find a little bit of light reflecting in me, too.
I didn't have anywhere particular in mind when I set off, but I thought I remembered what my mum had said about finding Diagon Alley, and I was confident I could do the same. I wandered around for a while where I was sure the Leaky Cauldron should be but didn't see it. Confused, I strolled up and down the street.
London is a lovely place to spend time and now that I was on a mission, I was starting to enjoy the weather and the clash of voices as others around me went about their business. I'd never liked people much but they were growing on me in that moment.
In the sea of faces, I recognized a man my parents had known. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere, which was hardly difficult in such a city as London, but I had to do a double take before I realized he was standing there.
"Hey!" I shouted, raising a hand to get his attention.
He turned towards me and smiled awkwardly. "Hello, Argus," he replied warmly. "What are you doing here?"
I was surprised my mum hadn't told him that I wasn't going to Hogwarts, but I was convinced it was a mistake and didn't want to explain that my parents were worried I wasn't magical.
"I'm just getting the last few things I need for school," I said. It was true enough. "But I can't find my way into Diagon Alley. Can you point me in the way of the Leaky Cauldron?"
A cat, brown and striped like a log, wound its way between my legs. I supposed it must be a stray and wondered at the sudden attention.
The man stared at me with round eyes and a round mouth. He looked like I'd punched him in the stomach. Without a word, he pointed over his shoulder at...nothing.
There was no pub behind him, no white column to hide a magical entryway behind. No bartender or wizards or witches. And no way that I was getting into Diagon Alley. The spell that kept muggles from seeing the Leaky Cauldron was keeping me from seeing it, and there was no doubt anymore: I was a Squib.
I'm not sure when the man walked away but he must've gotten my mum. She found me there, sitting cross-legged on the cobblestone ground amidst the London crowds, staring at nothing. She moved slowly at first, approaching me like a wild animal.
"Argus," she whispered. I wondered if she knew how much I hate my name. Or how much I didn't want to talk about what I now knew was true. "Argus," she said again.
I don't remember turning my head but I must've because suddenly my mum's soft eyes were in front of me and she was looking at me with a small smile. I was surprised because she didn't look disappointed and she didn't look like she pitied me. She didn't look like she hated me either, which was the most surprising because I hated myself.
"Argus," she murmured. "Would you like to keep the cat?"
I looked down and realized the feline was sitting in my lap. Nodding as my mum pulled me to my feet, I followed her home and the cat followed me.
I know it can't be magic that's kept Mrs. Norris alive since then because I don't have any. I know that now. But growing up, I couldn't help wondering if my sweet friend maybe had a little magic herself. She certainly made it easier to discover I didn't have any at least.
A/N: Ravenclaw House, Year 2 student, writing an additional story for "Discovering you/your child is a squib." W/C: 1041.