Disclaimers: You've heard it all before. J.K. Rowling and whatever publishing house own Harry Potter and all things in the series. I'm just a fan inspired enough to write something about it… Obviously, no copyright infringement is intended.

Full Summary: The start of the first Great War from various viewpoints. The Adhlar family isn't paticularly noteworthy in any one way, and they've never been overly fanatical about bloodlines and lineage. (Although too many of them are enough of the proper wizarding sort to be ashamed of a Squib in the family.) But terrible happenings in dark days don't tend to discriminate much. Sure, they'll never be well-known heroes of their times, or die martyrs' deaths… And as with any other family in the confusing days of the War, some of them will fight – on both sides, some of them will live on to see the first victory, and some of them might die but whose going to remember?

Dreaming in Color

By Cynthia Chen

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Prelude

Fateful Days and Musings

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  "I think you know it well, Mr. Adhlar, there simply is nothing we can do. You're absolutely right in thinking that it's certainly not normal for a future wizard or witch to not be showing conclusive signs of magic by now – she's almost eight years old isn't she? I'm very sorry, it just seems as if your daughter is… well… a Squib." At seven (and a half) Julianne Adhlar didn't really know what was being said, but she knew she didn't paticularly like the way that strange man looked just now when he said that word 'squib'. "She didn't set off even the most sensitive of our testing devices."

  She thought that look on his face most resembled the expression her older brother used when he mockingly called her or any of their younger cousins and playmates 'stupid' or a 'dunghead' or even 'mudblood' though with the long and rather loud 'talking-to' mother had given him after he first used that specific word, he'd never said it again. A bit sheepish, but mostly a look that suggested it was a 'bad word' that they were usually expected not to use. But older people like mother and father simply didn't use words like that, she'd thought. Well, 'Squib' sounded rather like one of those impolite words, she thought.

  Julianne also didn't like what happened after he'd said that word. Father clenched his teeth, and the faint lines on his forehead deepened, while mother burst into tears. Nolan looked sad, she thought, something that never happened except that one time when they'd gone to the train station the past summer, and he'd had to leave for school (or when it used to rain on the day he and his friend had planned on playing mock-Quidditch with their toy broomsticks).

  "How?" Her father was asking then, "I know she hasn't done anything too flashy yet but she does do… things. She does things that Muggles obviously can't, she knows what people are thinking sometimes, that has to be a sign –" The strange man abruptly started talking again, seeming a bit exasperated, like mother was when she had to tell them to do something more than three times in a row.

  "Those are not signs of actual magical ability though. I'll admit, small talents like that are more usual among those with wizarding ability, but it's not the same as magic. It's not even unheard of for Muggles to show abilities like that once in a while, researchers of our sort have theorized that it's a side affect of living in environments where there is true magic about, that some of the less definite senses present in anyone might be heightened." He looked ready to ramble on for a bit, but father cut him off with a decisive wave of the hand.

  "We're going, there's nothing more to be said. We'll be going to a better Healer about this, that's for sure." And that was that, as he went for the door and gestured for the rest of the family to follow.

  Julianne was curious though, why father could seem so angry. It had all started after the man behind the desk had said 'Squib' and whether it was one of those 'bad' words or not, father never got angry over such small things. She made a mental note to ask mother what it meant later, when they were home.

  In truth, she was curious about everything that had happened today. She hadn't been feeling unwell or anything, but mother had announced they were going to a sort of doctor, though they hadn't gone to St. Mungo's where they had went last time someone in the family needed a doctor. It was also rather strange that they hadn't examined her, specifically, though the man had asked her to hold a stick that resembled a wand with a clear stone in it, he'd said it was an 'indicator'. When they'd waited almost five minutes, and nothing had happened, he'd seemed a bit disappointed. He'd made a note in his book and then gave her another one, though nothing happened then, either. It certainly wasn't a normal visit to a healer or doctor, she had decided before long. Then they'd gone into that office with the desk and the bookshelves, where the man had talked to father before he'd gotten angry.

  "Mama, are they sure?" Nolan was asking now as they hurried down a green-carpeted hallway, "Does that mean Julianne can't ever go to Hogwarts with me?"

  But she was still crying, and couldn't answer him. Father just looked angrier, those creases on his face becoming even more defined, and he wouldn't answer Nolan either. Julianne was just getting more and more confused, but at least it seemed as if something at least could be clarified just now.

  "Nolan, what happened?" She asked her older brother.

  He was silent for a time, as they stopped in front of the door to the elevator, and father pressed the button with the arrow pointing down. For a moment he seemed curiously intent on one of the moving paintings in a gold frame on the wall (a duck poking his head into some rushes at the edge of a lake). Then he looked up at father, who shook his head.

  Then he put on a smile that couldn't quite fool her, "Nothing 'Lia." He patted her on the head, something he hadn't done since they were smaller, "It's nothing."

  It would be a long time before Julianne would really get to know what the word 'Squib' meant and the full impact of that fateful day with the doctor who sort-of wasn't. That it would mean she'd never get to leave on that train, that letter by owl would never come, and that mother would always seem sort of sad when they went to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade together, and they saw older children in black robes and striped ties walking around, usually laughing. It would be years before she started to really wonder all that she would never get to know or do, when she'd start looking wistfully at the moving pictures in the spellbooks father always bought for her anyway, and no longer felt anything when her cousins whispered when they thought she couldn't hear.

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Dear Nolan,

  Don't worry about those Gryffindor boys who do mean things to you and everybody. (I think it'd be great to be a Ravenclaw, they're just arrogant because people say in the books that Godric Gryffindor was the most brave of the 'Hogwarts Four' but you've told me yourself that your teacher, Professor Binns, says that it might not be completely true.) When I go to school with you someday, I want to be a Ravenclaw  too, and then we'll show those dumb boys whose better, whether they're fourth-years or not. But you'll be a fourth-year too, next year. Mama says that, since I'm almost ten, maybe I'll be able to go with you then…

  Did I tell you I did it again? I knew where Daren had hid Lilya's bear, even though he wouldn't tell me and I didn't see him doing it. (I had to spend a week at Aunt Morgan's because mother got sick again and father was busy.) They're older now than the last time I saw them – and Daren's almost older than me, but they still act like babies. No one else can just 'know' things, I think, that's what mother keeps on telling me. She says it means I'll definitely be magical someday, even if I can't do definite things like other wizarding kids can. (I tried to fly the way Lilya can, I jumped out of the tree in the garden, but it just hurt.)

  Mother was sick enough to go to St. Mungo's then, but she came back quickly, and she's fine now. We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow so I can get some more books. (She's always saying I have to learn a lot, so I can be smart like you.) We baked cookies yesterday, has she sent them to you? (But she never listens when I say Ollie will just eat them, since owls like cookies too.) Anyway, I miss you, and I want you to write to me more. Soon it'll be almost Christmas, right? And then you'll be able to come home again? I hope so, but dress warm because it's going to get cold soon, and it sounds like your 'Care of Magical Creatures' class is outside ALL the time."

  I love you. (And don't say that's icky.)

-Julianne Adhlar

P.S. Get me something from Honeydukes next time the third-years go to Hogsmeade, mother and I are always sending you sweets, so you should return the favor.

  Nolan smiled as he folded the parchment and put it away, in the box he kept under his bed in the dormitory. He would write back soon, but not until the weekend when he didn't have pages and pages of Arithmancy work to do. (But he knew there was very little chance he'd ever send his little sister any Honeydukes sweets – he always planned on it, but ended up eating it all before he got a letter ready to send back.)

  But they both knew she was never going to come to school with him, not next year, not any year. It's been a while before their parents had finally accepted that Julianne wasn't magical enough to ever go to Hogwarts. They'd explained it to both Julianne and him too, though he already knew what being a 'Squib' meant for anyone, wizarding family or not. Sometimes though, it was nice to pretend, and so they did, that Julianne was normal like all their cousins and all the younger siblings of his full-blood friends.

  He scowled, though, at the thought of those 'Gryffindor boys'. Just because the skills of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team left so much to be desired, didn't mean they needed to compose a whole song that went into detail about it. (Written out, without repeating the chorus again and again, it took a whole roll of parchment to put down – an admirable, if somewhat malicious feat in musical composition.) They could only count on most of the Gryffindors singing it in the stands the next time Ravenclaw played in the Inter-House games. To most of the school, it was all in good fun, even if quite a few of the Ravenclaws couldn't exactly agree. (Though even he had to admit, House pride or not, that the song didn't exaggerate – much.)

  Oh, he didn't much like James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, and he sometimes wondered which was worse, them and their less than universally-amusing stunts or the older Slytherin boys who called him a 'half-Squib' because of Julianne. (In the relatively small wizarding community, news seemed to travel fast.) But he didn't hate that she was a Squib, or her for it, he just thought it was unfair. Too many things in the world were unfair, like that Potions test that had been given without prior warning earlier today.

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Author's Notes: Future SB/OFC romance, maybe, should the characters decide to write themselves that way. (But completely independent of the Julianne Adhlar/SB story that I've sort of abandoned in my other fic.) Either way, this fic is more OC centric than anything else. And about that random special ability? I couldn't resist. (But it also makes sense to me that various people, even Squibs might have semi-magical talents sometimes even if they are very insignificant… I don't see 'magic' always coming in sufficient enough amounts for everyone with a bit of it to go to Hogwarts…)

Like any other author here, I covet your comments and criticisms. I'll ask it now and probably do so again the next time I update. Review please!