I don't own the Harry Potters :(

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Chapter 2: "Squib Alert!"

Syrill slowly roused, but when he realised what day it was he was up and ready before you could shout "Bogey flavoured beans!"
He'd been expecting the letter to arrive for days, and though it was the last official date it was supposed to arrive, he was going to be lenient, just in case the owl got lost. That was it.
He soon found out he would need to use his theory, and when he got downstairs to check the Owl post, he noticed many letters, none of which bearing the tell-tale symbol of Hogwarts.
He sulkily got out some bowls, tried magicking the milk to the table, failed and had to take it manually. After what seemed an age, his mother appeared, ready to begin preparations for her husband and three sons.

"No luck?" She inquired, after seeing the sour, puffy-eyed boy.

"Nope." He replied sulkily.

"I'm sure it'll come, though, right?" His mother asked, looking hopeful.

"Maybe." He said this last remark almost scathingly, then stalked off back upstairs into his bedroom.

After a few hours of calming himself, Syrill went downstairs to eat some food, perhaps cheer himself up a little, and who knows, maybe the owl was late. Again, this was proven to be false, the fall only being made worse by his two older brothers, both of which enjoying the increasing strain their brother was under every day that passed without a letter. They, however, had already received theirs a week ago, so they taunted to their hearts content.

"Squib Alert"
"Nee-Naw! Nee-Naw!"
"Hey, wizar- oh, sorry, I thought you were a wizard."
"You still going strong Squib-a-dib?"

Many minutes were passed with Syrill slowly and calmly nibbling away at his breakfast, though he didn't really feel like eating, and every insult they threw only made him want to throw his breakfast over them more and more.

When their mother entered the room, however, they stopped taunting immediately."Come on, Sy, eat it up, be a good boy." This led to more snickering by the boys, but was quelled by a stern look from their mother.

Mother made some sort of signal, because both boys left the room, leaving Syrill alone with his mother.

"It must be hard, I kno-"
"You DON'T KNOW!" Syrill shouted vehemently, almost foaming at the lips. "How could you EVER KNOW!"

"Syrill, calm down."
"It's not going to make a difference, I'm still a damn squib!"
"Sy, that doesn't change anything. My best friend when I was your age was a squib, and she was my world back then."
"She… huh?" Syrill was stunned by this remark, mostly because he had never bothered to ask about her childhood, but also that his mother, his own mother, would befriend a squib.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of Sy, there are thousands out there.""But there are millions of Wizards." He stated bluntly. "And I'll never be one of them."
"You don't need to be one of them, Sy. They're no better than you."
"I wish everyone else though that. It's not fair."
"I'm sorry, Sy, but life isn't fair."
"Hmph."

And with that, he got up, turned on his heel, and left the room.

After more and more days like this, Syrill gave up that little glimmer of hope that he was indeed a wizard, and tried to think about ways in which he could go about living as a Squib.
What was it Squibs did?
And it hit him.

He was, for all extents and purposes, a muggle in wizards clothing.
A muggle.
A muggle?
Never.
No, he couldn't be.
This was a blow unlike any he had sustained before in his life, not one that made him cry out in pain, but one that crippled him. Throughout that day, in which the rest of his family were out, his brothers and mother gone to buy supplies for Hogwarts, deciding that waiting for Syrill's letter was a hopeless case, his father working for Muggle Protection in the Improper Use of Magic in the ministry, he couldn't tear his mind away from this terrible thought.
He couldn't be.
Never.
Never?

He brushed through his light brown hair, noting that he was in need of a short trim, because his hair was getting on the untidy side.

Then he decided that if he was going to live his life akin to that of a muggle's, he would need to find out what they did all day. He put some clothes that he thought looked like what muggle children wore on, wrote a quick note to his parents, and then set out the door, heading for the town centre, the fields, anywhere.

He needed to find someone.