The Houses Competition

House: Ravenclaw

Class: Charms

Category: BONUS - [Scenario] Non-Magic/Muggle/Squib Harry AU - Harry lives in the Muggle world and is not The Boy Who Lived. Suggested characters: Neville, Dudley, Ron, Hermione, Tom Riddle, Jr., Severus

Prompt(s): [First Line] Sometimes, running away [isn't/wasn't] the cowardly option.

Word Count: 1450

Sometimes, running away wasn't the cowardly option. As I held the granddaughter James would never, in his cowardice, be allowed to know, I couldn't help but revel in that fact. If Victoire's mother hadn't run from all she'd known, this child might've never known safety, and if James' superiority complex hadn't chased our own son away, none of this would be possible.

Victoire began to fuss, and one nappy change later, I rocked her to sleep, whispering what I knew of her parents' story.

It all started the night my son became a man.


"What do you mean you're moving out to live with the Muggles?" James had bellowed as his eighteen-year-old son calmly packed his bags.

"In case you missed the memo, Dad, I don't belong in your world. I. Don't. Have. Magic. You can't seriously expect me to live in a community where I'll be looked down upon my whole life, do you? Working at Fortescue's or Flourish and Blotts doing tasks my boss can do with a flick of his wand isn't what I want in life. I want, no, I need to make a difference. Can't you understand that?"

"Why do you even need a job? Your trust fund's plenty big to last you," James had tried again, not realising how much that simple statement alienated our son. At Harry's glare, he changed tactics. "I'm running for Minister. Are you really going to jeopardise my chances over some juvenile need to be independent? How'll you even get a job in the Muggle world? My connections would've told me if you'd visited the Muggle Documents Department."

Harry's gaze cooled as I fought the urge to scoff. If I'd needed any proof that James didn't in fact pay our Squib son the slightest attention, this was it. The Muggle Documents Department provided forgeries for anyone who needed to travel or work in the Muggle world and lacked the necessary qualifications. My Harry had no need for forgeries. He'd gotten his documents and grades 100% legitimately.

Buckling his last suitcase, Harry marched downstairs with me following all the while. Of course, I knew where he was going. I'd helped him fill out the application for his new job. As a cab honked outside, I hugged him tightly. "You've got this; become the best paramedic you can be, and if you ever need me, I'll be there, got it?"

Harry's strong arms grasped me tighter, wordlessly thanking me for supporting his decision to leave, as if doing anything else was remotely possible. Before James could make his way downstairs, Harry'd gone and turned his back on the magical world or so it seemed at the time.


It was six months before things calmed enough concerning James' bid to become Minister for me to visit my son without dragging reporters behind me.

What I found when I knocked on the door was not quite what I had expected, to say the least. The last I heard, my son wanted nothing to do with the magical world, yet his loft had obviously been expanded significantly to fit the large number of individuals in his apartment. Children of all shapes and sizes ran by as adults drank tea and read the newspaper. For a second, I thought I'd gotten the number wrong, but then Harry'd called for me to make myself at home, and in his arms was a woman, pregnant with what would eventually be my future grandchild.

As Harry made tea the non-magical way, he told me how it all came to be.

"You know how I said I needed to escape the magical world, Mum? Well, it turns out emergency services is a bad field if that's your goal. Within weeks, I'd learned that magicals getting sent to the A&E was not as uncommon as you'd think. Witches and wizards have an easy enough time escaping when no one was looking, but individuals with creature-blood often have a harder time of it and risk the Statute of Secrecy every time a good Samaritan calls 999 on a passed-out werewolf or vampire without access to Blood Pops. Once I realized that many of these people were at risk of further injury because Muggle hospitals don't know about their unique physiologies, I knew I had to do something. At first, I just did my best to contact family members and tried to head off issues by claiming the patient disclosed such-and-such allergy."

"I tried my best, but–" Here Harry paused to chuckle. "–I am my parents' son. Within a few months, I'd burned myself out and risked losing a job I loved because some of my patients would run off before I could confirm they were fully aware of the situation. So, I reached out to dear ol' Dad. His winning the election had to be good for something, right? Surely, he could allocate some funds to find a way to fix the problem."

"James never mentioned that you stopped by," I choked, knowing there was no way to explain away such a thing if he'd actually done right by our, no, my son.

"The bastard turned me away. Said those who mattered could Apparate away, and those who didn't were immaterial. All he cares about is staying in power, and he doesn't care who he hurts to get there."

"So you did what? Opened a refuge for those James ignored?"

For once, my son looked sheepish. "Kinda?" he responded as a large group of werewolf children ran past. It hurt to know that the man I'd fallen in love with had changed so much that he didn't even care about people with the same condition as his supposed friend, Remus.

"How many do you have here?" I asked. It had been a few years since I went through Healer training, but if my boy needed my skills, I'd do everything I could to help this endeavour.

"Eighteen permanent residents. Most of them ran away from home or otherwise have no place to stay. The rest come and go as they please but know they can come to me if they need medical help. Between my paramedic training and my trust fund to get specialized potions if necessary, unplanned trips to the A&E have been significantly lowered in the area."

The woman I'd seen when I first entered joined us in the kitchen. Without a word, Harry brewed her a tea that I knew was good for morning sickness, and on closer inspection, I realized that the woman was part-Veela.

Striking up a conversation with her hadn't been easy, but I eventually learned that her name was Fleur and that she'd become pregnant in France by her betrothed. Wanting something better for her own child than a forced marriage she didn't consent to, she'd run. Harry's accommodations kept her safe from unwanted looks or touch, and as I watched my son treat her with the care and concern of a spouse rather than the cold detachment of a professional, I could guess that theirs was a special relationship indeed. It made me proud to be his mum. The whole thing did, though I kept my observations to myself. My son, a man who at one point detested the magical world for all the opportunities it denied him, had opened his heart to those in need and given them sanctuary.


The cry of my granddaughter interrupted my trip down memory lane before things could get too dark. A few weeks later, news of a Squib healer willing to help non-humans avoid getting ill enough to warrant A&E interference came to James' attention. Caving to public outcry against such a person, he signed off on the Aurors going in with wands at the ready. His supposed crime? Having a loft in Muggle London expanded without a proper permit.

Harry came home to find everything trashed, and evidence of his friends and acquaintances having been murdered where they stood. No one was left. Well, almost no one. A cry from the attic had him rushing up to find a newborn resting on its mother's cold breast. Fleur had obviously died from the stress or complications shortly after giving birth.

That was three months ago. When the news leaked, creatures began to riot. My idiotic (ex)husband was kicked out of office and was now on the run: a coward who could only pray that a vengeful vampire or werewolf found him before his own son, no magic necessary.

As for me, I was just a doting grandmother whose only goal in life was to make sure Victoire knew she was loved and cared for while her daddy helped those who were hurting.