Hogwarts Forum (Challenges and Assignments)
Assignment #10 - Thaumatology: Wish Upon A Star
Task #3: Blowing Out The Candles On A Birthday Cake: Write about a child making a wish on their birthday (child: under 11)
Ten years, and not a hint of magic. Not a single upturned desk or exploding vase. Not a whisper of mysterious music or unfamiliar warmth. Not even the barest tingle in his fingers during strange, unexplainable circumstances.
Albus sits stiffly at the head of the table. It's his birthday, and he's supposed to be excited. He should be bouncing in his seat, eager to stuff his face with cake and crisps and play with his new potions set. But as the years creep closer and closer to eleven, each birthday since his eighth brings with it a rush of anxiety, and a bone-seated dread. It lives in him like a snake now, this fear that he won't ever say out loud, coiling around his bones and squeezing him tightly when he least expects it.
He really doesn't want to be a Squib.
The round of singing starts up, and mum brings the cake over, floating it aloft with her wand. He eyes the wand, rather than the cake. He didn't go with James to see him get his wand, gently but firmly shooed into Flourish and Blotts by Gran, so he has no idea what it looks like when a wand chooses a wizard. And he might not ever get to see it if his magic doesn't show up soon.
He's already so different. Moody and sulky and angry inside when nobody else seems to be. Not evil, not like the big bad wizards that James teases him about. But definitely not the same as his loud, rambunctious family. He doesn't think he can handle one more difference. It might tip things too far, and sometimes things like that don't tip back.
The cake lands in front of him. It's a big chocolate cake, full of mousse, even though Albus secretly wanted a lemon cake. But his mum already had the ingredients out when Albus went to ask, and he didn't want to make her go all the way to the shop for different ones.
It doesn't matter. Chocolate is Lily's favourite, not his, but that doesn't mean he hates it. And there's always next year.
He still has one more year.
Mum's face is illuminated by the soft glow of ten candles. She looks at him fondly, brushing her hand through his messy black hair. The light glints off his father's spectacles, somewhere at the other end of the table, where he's no doubt taking mountains of pictures that will come out grainy and blurred. He will still put them in the photo album. He will still point them out proudly whenever anyone drops by for a cuppa and a chat.
But he might not take any more photos if Albus is a Squib. And mum might not look at him fondly or ruffle his hair, not when there are more important things to do, wizard-related things, Hogwarts-related things, better-kid-related things.
And they might not be quite as proud, even if they don't say it to his face.
"What're you waiting for?" Uncle George says, grinning, head tucked on top of Auntie Angelina's head, even though she's taller and always will be. She rolls her eyes and slaps ineffectually at his arm.
"Don't be impatient," she says. "It's not even your birthday!"
"Trying to think of a wish, huh?" Uncle Ron pipes up. "That's easy. Wish for more cake, or something really expensive. Or a really long holiday."
"It isn't your birthday either," Aunt Hermione hisses, stepping on his toe. Dad takes a picture of Uncle Ron's wounded face, and laughs.
Albus sits up on his knees on the edge of the chair and leans close to the cake, puffing up his cheeks. He's ten now; this shouldn't be a big deal. It should be fun and exciting, and maybe a little boring. It shouldn't make his tummy twist and churn and wrap itself up in little knots.
"C'mon, Al!" James shouts, wriggling with impatience. "Hurry up and make a wish! I want to go try out the Quaffle."
Albus never asked for a Quaffle, but Uncle Ron ruffles James's hair, grinning widely. Lily, balanced on her grandfather's knee, giggles in agreement.
Albus closes his eyes. Please, please let me be a wizard, and not a Squib. Please give me my Hogwarts letter next year. He scowls, briefly, remembering all the other wishes that didn't come true. He's made the same one since he was seven; you'd think the idea would come across by now. I'm wishing for magic, in case you didn't get it, stupid candle-gods. He opens his eyes again and tips forward. The candles flicker under his breath, popping out of existence all at once.
There's a raucous, booming cheer. Weasleys and Potters don't like to miss an occasion for making noise, and birthdays are no exception, even when they center around shy little boys. The ruckus sends him back into his seat, cheeks flooding with heat. He smiles as the knife appears, sliding into the chocolate frosting. Thick wedges of cake make their way to each greedy family member. Albus takes his with both hands and tucks in, the anxiety fading.
"What'd you wish for?" James asks, chocolate smeared around his mouth. "Something stupid, I bet."
Albus shrugs.
"Fine, don't tell me!" James pushes his empty plate away. "Wishes are boring and silly anyway. Why'd you want to wish on candles when you can just make it happen with magic?"
Albus ignores him, taking another bite of his cake. Lily puts her sticky fingers in James's hair, and he yelps, leaping back in horror. The adults laugh. Dad takes another picture, and mum scoops up an extra bit of cake to take home for Grandma. Albus takes in, not minding the taste of chocolate on his tongue.
Maybe it is silly to believe in the magic of wishes. But in a world full of magic, it seems sillier not to try.
And if this one doesn't work, there's still one more wish left before he turns eleven.
[Word Count: 1002]