A/N: This is my second leave-it-to-your-imagination fic. Probably because I'm too lazy to make a whole plot out of them.
Disclaimer: -insert some witty comment about J.K. Rowling, not owning Harry Potter, and all that jazz here-
June. For Professor McGonagall, that meant it was time to open the book again. The elderly witch got up from her chair and murmured, "Apparen scriptur," pointing her wand at the bookcase across her office. Where there had been two thin, worn books, there was now a very thick one between them. She pulled the thick book out, handling it carefully. Though it was enforced with spells monthly so as not to fall apart, it was, after all, centuries and centuries old.
McGonagall settled back into her chair again, and placed the book on her desk. As she felt the leathery, reddish brown cover, she felt a sense of wonder about the book that contained the names of future Hogwarts students, a feeling that never ceased over the years.
"Accio envelopes!" the professor called, a large pile of enevelopes zooming out from a box near the bookcase. After making sure she had enough ink, McGonagall opened the book and flipped to the first page.
The first name, as McGonagall had guessed, was 'Abbot, Hannah'. She quickly copied down the name and address onto the first envelope, then placing it on the other side of the desk. Then came 'Bones, Susan', another the professor had expected.
McGonagall continued copying down the names and addresses onto the envelopes. She copied down 'Boot, Terry,' 'Finch-Fletchley, Justin', 'Granger, Hermione', 'Nott, Theodore', and many others.
Finally Professor McGonagall came to the 'P' section. Just as soon as she saw the elaborately drawn P on the parchment, her hand shook a bit, the quill almost slipping from her fingers. Like many others, she was excited at the thought of Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts. She had thought about it every year after the Boy Who Lived had been sent to live at those horrible Dursleys.
After writing down the name and address of 'Perks, Sally-Anne', her eyes looked to the next name on the page. The words 'Potter, Harry' in that fancy script, were already pictured vividly in her mind. McGonagall was still seeing 'Potter, Harry' written on the page, when it finally registered in her mind.
Pithshire, Henry.
It didn't say Potter, Harry, it said Pithshire, Henry.
McGonagall then blushed and remembered everything was in alphabetical order, and Pithshire would come before Potter, obviously. She grinned, copied Henry Pithshire's name and address down, and moved onto the next student.
Prafter, Rebecca.
McGonagall paled, and stared at the name for a whole minute looking frozen, lips just barely moving, but soundlessly. Professor McGonagall most certainly knew Prafter came after Potter alphabetically. A weak and raspy giggle came out of her mouth. Of course the book had just made a mistake. After all, it was ancient, extremely ancient, and a magical object that old was bound to make at least one mistake, right?
Right?
Producing another forced laugh, the professor got up from her chair, shaking. Scooping up the book with quivering hands, she just managed not to run wildly over to Professor Dumbledore's office, instead walking calmly over there and acting like nothing was wrong.
"Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans," McGonagall whispered, her voice breathless. With a creak, the gargoyle moved aside, and she swung the door open, still barely behaving normally.
Sitting at his desk, as if he had been waiting for the Transfiguration teacher's arrival, Dumbledore folded his hands, and asked, "Yes, Minerva?"
Though McGonagall's hands had stopped shaking, they looked on the verge of about to let go of the book, and the veins in them were standing out quite sharply.
McGonagall placed the book in front of Dumbledore.
"Why have you given me the book of new Hogwarts students, Minerva?"
"Turn to the P section," McGonagall said simply, breath just the slightest bit ragged; after years of teaching, she had enough self control to keep herself seemingly calm.
Dumbledore gazed at her over his half moon glasses; observing something was wrong, he flipped the pages over to P.
"Perks, Sally-Anne…" he murmured, "Pithshire, Henry, Prafter, Rebecca…" Dumbledore looked at McGonagall. "What's wrong with this, Minerva?" But before the professor had a chance to respond, he repeated the last two names over to himself, then blanched, something no one had seen him do for years. "No," he stammered, "no-no Potter, Harry…"
"It's-it's a mistake, right?" McGonagall said, her voice low.
Dumbledore didn't respond, but stood up and went into the room that was behind the door at the back of his office. Moments later he came back with a sheet of crisp parchment in his hands.
"What's that?" McGonagall asked, bending over Dumbledore's desk.
"A creation of mine," the headmaster responded, sounding embarrassed. "It can show all of Britain, and who is muggle, magical, or squib."
McGonagall raised her eyebrows and leaned closer, scanning the parchment with interest.
"Number four, Privet Drive, Surrey," Dumbledore muttered. The map, which had previously been covered with dots and bright colors, now zoomed in on one house, magnified to cover the whole parchment.
"Green is magical," Dumbledore told her. "Yellow is muggle, and blue is squib."
The professor nodded, and peered at the parchment. There were two yellow dots further down in the parchment, apparently on the ground floor of the house, labeled 'Petunia Dursley' and 'Vernon Dursley'. On the upper floor two dots were very near each other, and it appeared as if one was chasing the other. Professor McGonagall could just make out the chaser to be labeled 'Dudley Dursley', and the other one 'Harry Potter'. The professor sucked in her breath, muscles taut.
After a few seconds, the dots slowed down, and they were now able to be distinguishable. The chaser, Dudley Dursley, was a dull yellow. That was expected. Both Dumbledore's and McGonagall's eyes moved over to the other dot, Harry Potter.
The color of the dot was a brilliant, bright blue.
-----
A week later, and McGonagall was still thinking about it, still in shock. Harry Potter was a squib. The Boy Who Lived was a squib. The words rang throughout her mind every day. Dumbledore thought You-Know-Who wasn't really dead, and if he wasn't, how would Harry Potter save the wizarding world without any magic of his own?
How would he, indeed?
-----
Summer came and passed. So did September first. New students were sorted. None of these students went by the name of Harry Potter.
Harry Potter? He was just a kid with a mean family who went to Stonewall Secondary.
A/N: As I said, it's one to leave to your imagination. It will not be continued. It's just a oneshot for the readers to wonder about. Maybe, I might continue it, but it's extremely unlikely.