And all the others.
Miscellaneous short fiction.
The
only one he ever feared.
A little boy stood gazing out of the window into the star strewn sky. His nose was pressed up against the glass and his blue eyes scanned every visible inch of the sky. He knew that time was running out, he had to receive his letter by tomorrow night, before it was too late. If he didn't, he would be just like his elder brother. His mother would be so disappointed if that happened, having two children who couldn't so much as wave a magic wand properly. His father, Brian, was a muggle so he hadn't been completely shocked when Aberforth hadn't received a letter. But Albus, on the other hand, needed to get into Hogwarts. He knew that he mustn't turn out like his brother, so bitter and uncaring.
The grandfather clock in the hallway began chiming, marking the hour. Albus began counting under his breath.
"One… two… three… four."
The house was again in silence. Four o'clock in the morning, if that owl didn't arrive today, that would be that. He would be officially a squib, a muggle. As he turned his face towards the inside of his bedroom, the light from a lonely streetlamp outside illuminated his shoulder-length auburn hair, the only thing he would inherit from his mother, for Albus felt that he would not inherit her powerful magical abilities.
Albus flicked his eyes over the contents of his
room. A broomstick was propped in the corner next to the bed and his
snowy owl, Rowena was perched on the headboard, her amber eyes
watching him sadly. The empty birdcage stood on the shelves. He had
not named his owl Rowena; it had been Aberforth who had done that,
for she had once belonged to him. Though it was shut, he knew his
wardrobe housed a number of robes in various colours; as well the
muggle clothing he usually wore. His bookshelf was home to his most
prized possessions; titles like A History of Magic, Edition one and
The Muggle World, a comprehensive guidebook.
Albus turned back to
the window hoping against all hope and fate to see an owl swooping
towards him, a letter tied neatly to its leg. He remembered a time
when Aberforth's bedroom had looked just like his, full of magical
treasures. When it was realised that Aberforth was a squib, anything
magical that he owned was either sold or destroyed, and his owl was
given to Albus. He wondered what would happen to Rowena if he didn't
get into Hogwarts. He didn't want to think about it.
The sky
was beginning to glow faintly red. He had been standing there all
night, staring at the sky, watching and waiting. He knew that it was
likely he would never become a student at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had never, as far as he could recall,
performed any accidental magic.
The clock in the hallway began
chiming again. Six o'clock. Funny, Albus thought as the pendulum
swung for the sixth time, he hadn't heard it chime five. There was
no point staying there, the rest of the house would be up soon and he
would have to go downstairs then, anyway. Silently, as though walking
on air,
Albus padded downstairs, resigned to his fate as a lowly,
worthless muggle.
He did not see the beautiful tawny owl that landed on his window ledge as he left his bedroom, did not know that it was carrying his acceptance letter from the school he most longed to be in. It was not until later that night when he saw the owl, opened his letter and ran joyfully down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning. For that was all he had once been, just a lonely, desperate child.
