Prologue: Welcome to My Life
Do you know what the most embarrassing feeling in the world is?
It's not getting rejected by your crush, nor is it getting pranked in front of a large group of people. It's not knowing your family's showing your new boyfriend pictures of you as a cute little baby or hearing your parents say "I love you" in front of your friends.
It's knowing that you're broken in some way and that nothing you do will ever fix it. It's seeing how little you really matter to others because you simply can't do something you were supposedly born to do. It's the looks of pity and poorly-hidden scorn and disappointment when you try to be something everyone knows you're not.
That was what I had to deal with ever since I found my parents were a witch and a wizard. Logically, I should've been a witch as well, just like my twin brother Harry was a wizard, but for some reason, I'd never shown any inclination for magic. Weird things never happened to me; I never mysteriously ended up on the school roof or turned my teacher's wig blue or made things disappear. That all happened to Harry, not me.
During Harry's second year at Hogwarts, he found out the name for people like me – Squibs. Apparently, sometimes a magical family will give birth to a child that didn't have any magic. It was considered a great embarrassment for a family to produce a Squib; after Squibs reach a certain age and show no signs of magic, the Ministry stop recording anything concerning them, as if they aren't worth the Ministry's time and attention. I cried myself to sleep the night Harry sent me that letter, knowing the world that had accepted him with open arms would never see me as anything of worth.
While Harry was at Hogwarts, I spent my time at Stonewall High, being teased for my quietness, my red hair, my freckles, and especially my hearing aids. St. Grogory's Primary School had mandated that Aunt Petunia get me hearing aids after the school nurse became aware that I had a very hard time hearing what the teacher was saying. She'd been forced to get me a new pair every year by school mandate, but she always insisted on getting me the cheapest ones she could find so they always looked clunky and often had problems with feedback and other volume issues.
The only friend I had at Stonewall High was a boy named Sean Harris, who had hearing problems like me. The main difference between us was the fact that his hearing was completely gone in both ears, while mine was only gone in my left ear and partially gone in my right ear. Despite the fact that I was only mostly deaf, he continued to give me the support and love that he knew I desperately needed. He taught me sign language and introduced me to other deaf people, including an Art teacher who noticed my talent for drawing. Through his lessons, I soon began to love the nuances of drawing, knowing that my deafness had no affect on how good I was at it. My favourite subjects were people, especially students from Stonewall High during social recess hours. They all looked so happy and carefree, which was something I never was before; I felt I had to save those precious, light-hearted moments that no one seems to care about anymore.
While I was living my life in the Muggle world, Harry's letters kept me up-to-date on the magical world. Harry made sure I had an eagle's-eye view of Hogwarts and his adventures, letting me know that he was still alive and I wasn't all alone. Often, Harry's letters were the only thing keeping me sane; my home-life was even more hellish than before now that I was the only twin left. Knowing someone still loved me made me feel better than any healing salve.
Outside of my relationship with Harry, I did have a little contact with the magical world. I spent every summer with the Weasleys, learning to love them as my own magical family. They were absolutely fantastic to me - letting me eat as much as I wanted, helping me with chores, teaching me to fly, and helping me understand the world I'd been born into. They even took me to my first Quidditch game: the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, which featured Ireland vs. Bulgaria. I have to admit that I was utterly blown away by the game and fell in love with it from the first whistle.
I went to Hogwarts for the first time on the day Lord Voldemort returned from the grave. While I was mystified by the whole magical experience of the Triwizard Tournament, the atmosphere was destroyed by the death of Cedric Diggory, a kind, charming boy I'd only said a handful of words to at the Quidditch World Cup, and the discovery that the man Harry had thought was his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was actually a follower of Voldemort in disguise. Thanks to that chameleon Barty Crouch, Jr., Harry and I had been horribly traumatized and almost killed; the look in Professor Dumbledore's eyes when he came into Crouch's office had been positively murderous. I'd refused to leave Harry's side that night, saying I wouldn't be likely to let him out of my sight again.
I went to Grimmauld Place that summer and Christmas, getting to know the two men who had been chosen as godfathers to Harry and me. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, was brave, loyal, and full of a brilliant sense of humour, but he was also impulsive, brooding, and refused to think of Harry as a child; he likely saw Harry more as our dad than as a fifteen-year-old boy suffering from too much responsibility and, possibly, PTSD. Remus Lupin, my godfather, was kind, warm, and good-natured, but he was also self-destructive, unwilling to fight for self-respect, and too forgiving for his own good; whenever someone abused him based off of the fact that he was a werewolf, he just shrugged it off as an unfortunate fact of life, forgave whoever hurt him, and walked away instead of insisting that he be treated fairly as a human being. Despite my initial misgivings about them, I knew Harry respected, loved, and trusted them with his life, so I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt and the respect they deserved as friends of my late father.
The second time I went to Hogwarts was for Albus Dumbledore's funeral, which was absolutely horrible for me. I'd barely known Professor Dumbledore, but I knew Harry greatly respected him and even thought of him as a grandfather-figure. While Harry and his friends made plans to finish Professor Dumbledore's work the next school year, I went up to Professor Dumbledore's newly-finished sepulchre and placed a bouquet of marigolds and Black-eyed Susans on top, silently expressing my grief and promising justice for his murder. Remus came up to me with a pretty, pink-haired woman at his side; he introduced her as Nymphadora Tonks, and the two of them stood with me in the crowd, making sure I was left alone by the press, which hung around the event like flies around rotten meat.
The third and last time I went to Hogwarts was the darkest and most triumphant day of my life. I lost so many members of my family but finally gained my own place in the magical world. This is the story of how I got there, where I had to go, and what I lost and gained along the way.
My name is Iris Eileen Potter, and this is my adventure.