The Squib
Disclaimers: All the usuals… If you recognize it, it's probably not mine. Right now I'm basing the story in JK Rowling's wizarding and Muggle worlds, but the characters are all mine (with the exception of one or two cameos, which will become evident). Enjoy!
The Greys of St. Ives came from a long line of perfectly mundane, absolutely boring, thoroughly unimpressive wizards. Mr. Thomas Harville Grey Jr. had, in 1967, become the first to bring the family any kind of renown, when he shocked everyone by marrying a Muggle (and not just any Muggle, mind you, but an American). Not that the neighbors considered Muggles to be any less than they were, they simply wondered what the children would be like. The wizards of St. Ives had long established a sort of separate-but-equal attitude towards the non-magical people within whose town their own was secretly located. Those people certainly had an interesting lifestyle, and it was occasionally useful to know some of them (just in case you were trapped outside the magical part of town without your wand), but a real wizard would never dream of actually becoming related to them. After all, Muggles were dangerous. Look what happened in the fourteenth century. Eventually the gossip died down, as Emily showed herself to be a gentle and quite civilized young woman. She took an interest in learning some simple charms from a Kwikspell correspondence course, and allowed her sister-in-law to take her shopping for robes. Although she was frequently surprised by things her neighbors considered a part of everyday life, she learned to hide it well and soon could pass for an only slightly inadequate witch. It was not until her son sneezed at the age of two and caused a weed he'd been playing with to turn into a butterfly, however, that the community fully accepted her. Even then a few remained who spoke in whispers of the slim chances for this child's potential, given his mother's blood.
Thomas Grey III disappointed half of the town when he grew up with no visible lack of magical talent. None of them were surprised when he took a job with the Ministry of Magic's Department of Muggle Affairs. He married a witch he met at the Ministry and soon was able to show the suspicious town a bouncing baby girl (Neville Longbottom was not the only child ever dropped as a baby). Mestra would one day become Head Girl at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and a registered animagi, but this is not her story. On his twenty-fourth birthday Tom's young wife announced her pregnancy with his second child. When this daughter was born Cassandra Grey knew immediately that something was wrong, but could not put it into words, so she decided not to worry her husband.
Their first undeniable indication that their second child was unlike their first came when it was time to see Mestra off to her first year at Hogwarts. As much as Alcestis (or Alice, for short) wanted to see Diagon Alley, she was relieved when her father suggested that the two of them spend the day exploring Muggle London while her mother shopped for Mestra's school things. Arriving in London, Tom and Cassandra separated, each taking hold of one of the girls and agreeing to meet at the platform in time to say goodbye to their eldest. Alice somehow felt much more at home in London than she ever had in the wizard community at St. Ives. Though she was ten years old, she had yet to show any kind of magical skill, and she knew that her parents were concerned. Looking around at the people rushing in and out of the Underground stations and driving their automobiles so quickly, she suddenly realized that this was a city full of people like her. They couldn't make things float, or change the color of their mufflers so that they matched their jumpers. They couldn't fly a broomstick, and they had no idea that another world lay so close to their own. Most importantly, they seemed happy. Alice smiled as she pulled her coat more tightly around herself. She did miss the long robes. Her father had planned this trip weeks in advance, talking with Grandma Emily about the latest Muggle fashions (she still kept in touch with some of her non-magical relatives in Virginia, but the family didn't talk about them much). As a result Alice's legs were freezing in their cotton stockings under a green and blue plaid kilt. She supposed she looked just like any of the Muggle students in her Oxford blouse, sweater vest and peacoat, but she could not understand why anyone would layer up so much on top, only to let their bottom half freeze. She wished with every fiber of her ten-year-old body that her mother had let her wear the blue jeans and sweater Grandma Emily had told her about. Closing her eyes, she held her breath and imagined her legs encased in warm trousers. She squeezed her eyes as tightly as she could, thinking only about the blue jeans, concentrating on the blue jeans... tripping over her own two feet.
"Alice! Honey, are you alright?" Her father pulled her up gently.
"Yes! Yes, fine. I'm fine," she told him, clambering back off of her knees and trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt. If he knew that she'd just tried - and failed - another spell, he'd be so disappointed in her. She hated that look in his eyes. The one she seemed to get so often lately that said, "Why can't you be like your sister?" Her wonderful sister, Mestra, who had cast her first spell at the age of eight. Sure, she'd turned the cat purple and had been punished for trying to cast spells before she'd started at Hogwarts, but Alice knew her parents had been proud. That hadn't even been the first of Mestra's magical accidents. When she was a baby her sneeze had made her levitate above her crib. She once cried so hard for her bottle that it had heard her and flown to her room from the kitchen. Alice's childhood had been less exciting. Her cries had only woken the neighbor's dog. She'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to turn the cat purple since her seventh birthday. Last year her mother had caught her trying and reprimanded her for it, but when she'd gone to her room she'd found her grandmother's Kwikspell notes on her pillow. Even with the notes she hadn't had much luck. Now here she was in Muggle London trying again at what she knew was a hopeless case. She rubbed her knee and looked up at her father, who was still leaning over her with that dreaded concern in his eyes. At least this time he could only be worried that she'd skinned her knee. He couldn't know she'd been trying another spell, could he? "I'm fine, Dad, really." She smiled at him and took his hand again. "Let's go. I want to see electricity, and television, and telephones, and -"
Her father laughed, "Alright, then. We'd better get started, hadn't we? What did Grandma tell you about taxicabs?" He hailed a car and Alice soon found herself snugly in the back seat, playing with her seat belt and rolling the window up and down... and up and down...
Two hours later they stepped out of another cab at Kings Cross station. Alice carried two bags of Muggle clothes, a camera, film and enough batteries to run it well into the next century. Somehow the idea of so much power being contained in little metal capsules fascinated her. "Can we go to the cinema before we go home, Dad? Is it true that the Muggles use a camera like this to tape their plays?"
"Actually, Alice, this camera only takes still photographs... the people don't move."
"They don't?"
"No honey, I thought I explained that before you bought it?"
Alice frowned. "I thought you were joking."
"No," he laughed. "Now come on, we need to get to the platform before the train leaves, or your mother will never forgive us. Ah, here we are." He stopped in front of the divider between platforms nine and ten.
Alice looked from the very solid divider to her father. "How do we get through?"
"We talked about this Alice," he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze, but he looked a little nervous too. "All you need to do is take a deep breath-" he took one to demonstrate, "and walk straight through it. I'll go with you. We can even go at a rather brisk pace if you like."
Alice sighed. This was never going to work. There was no magic in her and now everyone would know. She looked back up at her father's pleading face. Well, she'd have to at least try. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she wasn't a.... a... squib. After all, her father's mother had been a Muggle, but after some work with the Kwikspell course she'd been able to get through to see him off. Alice had magical blood, surely that counted for something. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She stared down the divider.
"Ready?" asked her father.
She took another deep breath. "Ready." She took a step toward the barrier. Then another.
"Come along, it'll be fine, not a problem, we're almost there, nothing to worry about..." her father was mumbling as he pulled her toward the barrier, getting faster and less coherent with each step. Soon they were running at the hard cement. Alice closed her eyes, tensed and lowered her head. Another step and they'd be through, another step and there'd be no doubt of her place in the family...
"Owwwch!" Alice opened her eyes and found herself sitting on the ground in front of the barrier with a massive headache.
"Are you ok, sweetheart?" A middle-aged woman was leaning over her, with a very curious expression on her face. "Why did you run into the wall like that? And what happened to-"
"Mom? Mom, where are you?" called a young man's voice from the crowd.
"Oh dear, I'm coming sweetheart!" she called back. "You are all right, aren't you honey?" she asked as she bustled off to her own child.
Alice began to cry. It was true then. She would never fit in with her family. Never go to Hogwarts, or play Quiddich, or learn spells.
"Alice? Honey, are you all right?" Her father had returned. He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. "It'll be ok, love. Just wait. You aren't eleven yet; there's still time."
"No, Dad," she sobbed, "I can't do it... I'm... I'm a... " she almost choked on the word, "squib!"
"Honey, don't say that, you--"
"Oh Alice, you're bleeding!"
Alice looked up at the sound of her mother's voice. Her sister came back through the wall just after her. Great, just what she needed now, to see Mestra in her new robes. Mestra smiled at her, kneeling down and absently brushing Alice's hair out of her face. "Are you ok?"
That was it. She was getting pity from strangers, concerned looks from her parents, but somehow sympathy from perfect Mestra was too much. "I'm fine!" she said, a little more firmly than she meant. She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and crushed it against her forehead. "I just... fell. That's all. You should go. You'll miss the Express."
Her mother sighed and pushed her elder daughter back to the barrier. "She's right, dear. Go on. Your father and I will be right back to see you off." Alice peered past the tissue to watch her sister disappear. It looked so easy. "Now, you." Alice looked up at her mother skeptically. Mrs. Grey had kneeled beside her. "Tell me what happened."
"Gentle, darling, she's quite shaken up," said her father, as he patted her shoulder.
"What Tom? Well, of course she's shaken up. She's bleeding! Did you have an accident on the way here?"
"No."
"Did she fall?"
"No."
"Then what...?"
"I couldn't get through the barrier," Alice mumbled, unable to listen any longer.
"You couldn't...? Oh my. Well, that's something, isn't it, Tom? What should we do?"
"I don't know, Cass, but Mestra's waiting and-"
"Oh, go on!" Alice cried. "I promise not to disappear while you're in there."
"Alice, honey, your mother and I-"
"Dad, she's going to miss the train. You know she'll wait for you."
"Are you sure, sweetheart? We'll only be gone a minute..." her mother asked. Alice waved good-bye with her free hand. Her parents looked at one another for a moment and then walked through the barrier.