July 19, 2008

Just two days in to being back into the flat over the shop, Alf found himself trying to permanently ensconce himself into the word of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Uncle Ron sent me to see if you wanted any lunch, Uncle George." Alf poked his head in to the lab that was just past the main storeroom.

George let out a deep sigh, lifting magical goggles from his face and on to the table. He sat back on his stool and ran his hands through his hair. "Might as well, I guess. I'm not getting anywhere with this lot." He met Alf's eye and broke into a smile. "You having fun out there?"

"Loads." He grinned in answer. "Uncle Ron has me demonstrating the fanged Frisbee tricks he's worked out."

"An excuse for RON to play with the merchandise if I ever heard one." George rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know, if you wanted to stay at Ginny's for the day, you could...I don't want to press you into indentured servitude!"

Alf felt a slight quake in his stomach at first, but he forced it down. "I like being here." He said, leaving the with you out, as he didn't want to seem too, well, clingy. "And I don't mind helping...I always helped out in the restaurant."

"I like having you here!" George gave him a quick grin. "But I want you to be happy."

Feeling lighter, Alf came up to him. "New toy?" He asked, looking it over. "Oh...it's a YoYo!" He said, glad to recognize something.

"Alf, my young friend, this is no mere YoYo..." Eyebrows raised, George lifted the purple orb up and on to his finger. "Observe, if you will, the result of six months' hard work and sweat, and ingenuity..." He spun the toy down, in the usual manner of YoYo's, but this one offered a burst of sparkles and mini fireworks shooting out in all angles.

"Whoa!" Alf gaped, wide eyes and grinning, at the spectacle. "Bloody brilliant, Uncle George!"

"Almost bloody brilliant, Alf." George sighed, winding the string around the toy and setting it aside. "Not sure if I can explain this, but when something is done, really ready to go out on the floor, I know it. And this...isn't quite, but for the life of me I can't figure out how." He shrugged, motioning around at an array of wires, potion ingredients, and notes with charm spells on them. "So...it's back to the drawing board for the WoWo's...and I had wanted to have them done this summer, as a surprise to...well, never mind."

The word WoWo stirred memories in Alf's mind. Uncle George, talking in his sleep. Alf reached over to the purple toy, and considered it thoughtfully. "Music." He said tentatively. "What if it played music, too?" He met his Uncle's eyes.

George was thoughtful, lips pursed. "Music?" He whispered. "Could it be that simple?"

"I mean, I don't know if it's possible." Alf wondered if the sort of thing he were thinking about was beyond even magical capabilities. "But say all those cool fireworks were going off and meanwhile it was playing God Save the Queen or something..."

"Oh, it's possible!" Color was coming up in George's face, and a new spark was in his eyes. He reached over for a set of text books and began thumbing through them. "I'll need to work out a new charm set, of course...maybe mix some wild Egyptian song beetle wing with the fireworks...need sheet music, too..."

Alf was warming up to the idea himself. "We could maybe do a bunch of different songs...ones that played happy birthday, ones that played Jingle Bells for Christmas..."

"The 1812 Overture!" George's eyes were now positively on fire. "That's what I want to start with, but you're right, Alf...we could do custom versions for weddings and parties...people would pay a fortune...Ha, Ha!" He clapped his hand on his head. "This is without question going to be the BEST new product we've put out in ten years!" He abruptly swung around on his stool, snagging Alf into a hug and onto his lap, and then spinning them together around in circles. "You are a ruddy genius, kiddo!"

Alf laughed, giddy with delight, although guilt bubbled up on him too. It wasn't really his idea, was it? "I don't know if I deserve that much credit, Sir...I mean, you probably would have got there on your own."

"Quit that Sir crap, this isn't the military." George squeezed him hard and stopped the stool. "And never question inspiration, kiddo...it happens to all of us in different ways. Now, your mission is to go out to your Uncle Ron and procure us sandwiches. Sadly, you are going to have to also inform him he is losing your assistance, as I need you here with me..."

"Can I help you back here?" Alf felt his pulse race. "Can I really?"

"Well, you're underage, of course, but no reason I can't have you grinding beetle wings and mixing pixie pigment." George rose quickly. "I'll start gathering what we need...you fetch us sustenance."

"Two corned beef sandwiches coming right up," he called to George's retreating back, and laughed at the mock scowl he got in return. He didn't quite get what George meant about his being underage, exactly...maybe you were supposed to be a certain age to use certain equipment, like how he couldn't use the meat slicer at the restaurant? But nothing much mattered right now; he had helped. He was usefull. He made his Uncle happy.

In short, Alf himself was as happy as he could recall being in his short life!

WWWWWWWWW

The happiness lasted all of two days.

Hanging out with Teddy in Godric's Hollow, on a day when George was going off to France on some top secret business mission, he first heard the word that would start to haunt him. Well, not the first time he heard it, exactly, but the first time he really became aware that it had anything to do with him.

They were looking through old photo albums, from the days around the war. Mostly they had shots of Uncle Harry and his friends, but Alf's Dad and Uncle seemed to be around a fair amount. But in one shot there was this incredibly ugly, stooped man with a glare in his eye, who looked like he was ready to kill whomever must have turned his cat neon green. (Alf had a vague suspicion he knew what person, or what two people, that might have been). "Who's that?" He asked innocently.

"Argus Filch. He was at Hogwarts as some sort of caretaker, I think. Hated kids from what I could hear, but maybe not surprising, since he was a squib…" Seeing that Alf didn't quite understand him, Teddy explained further. "You know, somebody who's parents were magic, but they're not. Magically disabled is what they call it now. Happens sometimes. Must have been hard for Filch, though, surrounded by so many highly magical kids and him no better than a muggle."

Teddy went on looking at photos, chatting about different people and scenes and regaling Alf with stories he'd learned from Uncle Harry, but Alf didn't hear a word of it. His mind was still reeling with Argus Filch and his disability. Teddy finally realized that Alf had gone quiet. "What's wrong?" He asked, seriously. "You look kind of sick."

"Teddy…I…I…I can't do magic either." He whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. "Never even occurred to me that I might be able to."

"Well of course you can't…you haven't been taught." Teddy smirked over at him.

"No…I mean…wouldn't I feel it if I could? You can, I know…I've seen you do it without even thinking about it sometimes." Alf fought to hold himself together.

Teddy blushed. "I'm not supposed to, but yeah…I can do little things. Still, figured that was because I've always been around wizards. You haven't." With inspiration, Teddy got up and went over to his desk, pulling out a highly polished case, holding it with reverence. "Here…these are my parent's wand. Try one." He opened the box.

Alf picked one up carefully, holding it as he'd seen everyone else do. "Now what?" He asked.

Teddy frowned, just slightly. "What do you feel, Alf?"

Fear clutched at him. "I'm supposed to feel something?" Alf concentrated hard, but all he could feel was the smooth wood in his hands, cool to the touch.

"Try the other…that one was my mum's. Maybe it's because you're a guy." Teddy urged.

Alf picked up the wand that would have belonged to Remus Lupin. "Nothing." His stomach seemed suddenly to be made of lead. He stared down at the thin stick, willing it to do something. "What should I feel, Teddy?" He asked, swallowing hard.

"When I touch a wand, I feel this tingle in my hand, like it's trying to pull something from me. I feel it mostly with my Dad's wand." Teddy looked anxious himself. "Why don't you maybe try a spell…you won't get into any trouble for it…well, not if you do something simple."

Alf pointed the wand at the door and tried what seemed to be the most basic thing he heard on a daily basis. "Alohamora." He tried to mimic his Uncle's wrist movement, casual and practiced, as much as he could.

Nothing.

Alfred froze, wand pointed uselessly in the air, and felt like the blood was draining right out of his body. "I'm a squib." He blinked hard.

"Stop it, Alf." Teddy said, though not unkindly. He took the wand away gently and placed it with great care in its box. "Look, I'm ten, what do I know about how these things work? Especially when you've been in a muggle environment your whole life. You need to talk to Uncle George about this, Alf. He'll know what you need to do."

Right. Talk to Uncle George. He can cure this, if I am one, right? Uncle George can do anything. But maybe I'm not even…maybe there's some sort of ceremony or something that needs to happen first? He'll know though. He'll take care of everything.

"Teddy…" Aunt Ginny called up the stairs. "Your Gran is here!"

Teddy hopped up. "Gotta go…Gran's just got back in town. We might go in to Diagon Alley tomorrow; you going to be in the shop?"

"Should be…" Alf said, adding in his mind, unless Uncle George thinks it's too dangerous for a squib.

"Stop it." Teddy said, seeing where he was going with his thoughts. "Uncle George will figure it all out. He will."

They got up together, Teddy punching him lightly on the arm. "Seeya, Weasley."

"Lupin." Alf forced a grin as Teddy walked away.

Only once he knew that Teddy was well gone did he run downstairs, popping in to the kitchen. "Have you got a dictionary I could take a look at, Aunt Gin?"

WWWWWWW

Late that evening after dinner, with Aunt Ginny thinking that Alf was looking up some info for Uncle George's top-secret project (only the two of them knew about the WoWos), Alf was clutching his pillow to his chest, staring without blinking at his Mum's wand, which was on bedside table. Both the Magic/Muggle dictionary and the "S" volume of Wiggenhoffer and Tinderbotz's Encyclopedia were on the bed beside him.

He'd started with the dictionary:

Squib (s-kwib/n): 1. A child born to magical parents, but possessing no or little magical capabilities of their own. 2. A person of retarded magical capabilities due to illness or injury. 3. (Slang) A dunce or fool, one of low intelligence, someone beneath magical notice.

All in all, it hadn't left him feeling warm and cozy. The article from the encyclopedia had left him feeling worse:

Squibs have historically been institutionalized so as to minimize the embarrassment caused to pure blood families. In the darkest circles, Squib children were often killed outright, with the preference usually by drowning. Although recently their treatment has been vastly improved, with some squibs being allowed to hold jobs within the magical community, they still find themselves facing heavy discrimination and are usually considered best kept within the muggle universe.

There is no known cause for naturally occurring instances of Squibness and the rate of occurrence between two pure-blood parents is expected to be slightly below one in ten million, with the rate increasing exponentially if the child is the result of less than pure lines.

"Mum always said I was one in a million--looks like she underestimated." Alf sighed to himself, thinking over every little thing that had happened since he'd found his father's world. And sure enough, what he'd been trying to ignore had been there: Uncle George giving him that look, the look his Mom used to give him. He'd been getting that look from a lot of people now, and now he understood it; it was strange that he wouldn't be trying to sneak some magic use past his Uncle; weird that he, when he was angry or happy, didn't do what was called accidental magic and what he saw happening from even small toddlers in the shop.

Was he an embarrassment to his new family? Would they try to hide him away? He knew what Uncle George kept telling him, what they kept telling each other, that they belonged to each other, together, but didn't this make everything different. The Weasley's were from a long line of pure-bloods, and from what he heard so were the Bells...neither of them could exactly be happy about this, could they? And from everything he'd read, there was no cure for this. He'd thought he was just a muggle. He hadn't known there was something worse.

Uncle Harry popped his head in the doorway. "Everything okay, Alf? You're kind of quiet tonight. You didn't have a fight with Teddy, did you?" Kind green eyes worried down at him.

"Teddy's my best friend." Alf protested.

Harry grinned. "Never stopped me and Ron from getting stupid. Anyway, your Uncle George is still in France…he'd like to speak with you."

Firechat. He could do that well enough, as long as he wasn't sticking his face in the flames. But it certainly wasn't the right place for him to spit out all of his fears. So he jogged down the stairs behind his Uncle Harry, sucking up all his reserves to put a good front on.

"Hey, Unc." Alf grinned at George's likeness, appearing strangely beheaded and glowing even more orange than his hair in the fire's embers. "How's France?"

"Brilliant, thanks to you, kiddo. I didn't want to say anything till I knew, but we just landed a major contract with the French Ministry. They've got a big shindig coming up last week of August, and they need fireworks. And we just happen to have the best fireworks on the planet!"

Alf gave a sincere if puzzled smile. "How's that my doing, though? Word is that you've had the best fireworks for years."

"Yes, but now they're MUSICAL. I took that tip you gave me for our little secret project and expanded on it. Totally blew everyone else away, if you'll pardon the bad pun. Anyway, kiddo, I'm going to be a bit longer out here, finalizing the contracts and then it seems they insist on sealing the deal over wine, what with being French and all. I'll have Harry drop you off at the shop tomorrow…no reason for you to have to wait for me."

Alf bit back his thoughts, I don't care how late you are, Uncle George, I need to talk to you! Even if it's two in the morning before you get here! "Sounds good, Uncle George. It'll be busy tomorrow, Uncle Ron says, but I'll be ready to go." Alf replied. Tomorrow all the kids who got their Hogwarts letters would start shopping. Too bad it looked like he wasn't ever going to be one of them

"Sleep tight, Alf. We'll celebrate tomorrow." George's face faded out of the fire, and Alf tried to act as normal as possible as he bid Uncle Harry and Ginny good-night. He doubted very much he'd be sleeping, tightly or otherwise.

WWWWWWW

The Next Day…

"Another carton of skiving snackboxes, Alf!" George called out towards the back.

"Right-o, Unc!" His willing nephew answered, with a salute, as he scooted back towards the store room.

One month before Hogwarts opened for the year, and Weasley's Wizzard Wheezes was overflowing with active children and their harried parents, both looking for a break from boring book and robe shopping. New products were flying off the shelf, and old standbys made reliable numbers. Percy had taken a week's vacation to help out with the books, so Ron was freed to work the floor full time with George. They had four additional staff as well, plus Alf, who had made it clear that he preferred being in the shop, with his Uncle, over anywhere else.

And a good thing, too. George smoothed lose hair behind his one ear, and watched with a bemused smile as Alf worked to carry boxes in and arrange them. One or two people looked at his nephew in confusion, no doubt wondering why he wasn't using magic to do the same thing.

On the surface, of course, he was underage. But kids his age used simple magic all the time, usually without comment from anybody. Accidentally sometimes, but not always. Still, it clearly never occurred to Alf to even try. And George was beginning to be worried that he knew why.

Katie had been ambiguous in her letter, had wanted him to draw his own conclusions about the vague way she described her son as different. George, in his overwhelming joy at having Alfred in his life, hadn't really thought about it much at first. But over time, with the days they'd spent together in Godric's Hollow, George had begun to notice things. Like that Alf never did accidental magic and it didn't even seem to occur to him that he might.

Now, of course, Alf had been raised by muggles. But George'd spent a fair amount of time with Harry and Hermione, both from muggle environments. Both told stories of having done accidental magic during their childhood with some frequency. For Harry, it had resulted in punishment and the general feeling that he was some sort of freak; for Hermione, her bemused parents had no clue what was special with their daughter, but took it in stride. But their wizard blood had not been suppressed by being surrounded by muggles.

So Alf ought to have some signs of magic manifesting itself. George had spent time gently quizzing him on some of the events of his childhood. Thinking of Harry's stories, most of the accidental magic he'd done had been in times of stress…having his hair cut hideously short and making it re-grow overnight, being chased by Dudley and managing to leap to the top of the school building. But Alf, with no clue why he was being asked for the stories, never came up with any exceptional tales of unexpected skills. He seemed bemused by magic, utterly impressed by those who had it, and with no expectation of doing any himself.

The conclusion was undeniable: His nephew was a squib.

It seemed utterly impossible that the child of two pure-blood wizards, especially wizards who had the talent of Fred Weasley and Katie Bell, would be without magic. And yet, wasn't that exactly what a squib was? It happened, in the most magic of families, to the children of some of the best wizards. Sometimes there was illness or trauma in early childhood that tampered with natural magic, as in the case of Ariana Dumbledore. But sometimes, the most perfectly healthy of children was born with nothing other than the most perfectly healthy muggle normalness imaginable.

It explained, of course, why Katie hadn't returned after Fred's death.

"Hi, Uncle George!" A shy voice said below him, and George came out of his worried revelry to look down at Teddy Lupin.

"Allo, Teddy!" George smiled warmly. "Here with your Gran, are you? But you don't start Hogwarts this year?" He asked, wondering if he'd missed a year somewhere.

"Nah, next year." Teddy said, beaming at the thought. "But Gran was so excited being back from her vacation she wanted us to spend the day here." He blushed. "And we're going for ice-cream, and she said I could ask Alf to come with us, if that's okay with you."

George felt a tremendous warmth towards the boy, who today was looking a lot like his Dad. He knew that Teddy would never treat Alf like a leper for being a squib…poor Teddy had his own share of prejudice in his past. "That is a wonderful idea, Teddy…I'll send Alf over to you!"

Excitedly Teddy darted away, and George went over to the stacked candies that Alf was unpacking. "Oi, what are you doing, Weasley?" He said, sounding like a stern employer.

Alf looked up, and played back in kind. "My slave driving boss asked me to restock the shelves, Sir." He smiled at him, but for some reason to George the smile seemed forced. Still, he tried to keep the mood light.

"Union violation that is. You are, at my orders, to report to Mr. Lupin and his Grandmother for ice-cream immediately!" He crossed his arms, mock-scowling.

Alfred broke into a wide smile. "Teddy's here?"

George bent as well, dropping the façade. "Over by the registers. Be good for you to take a break for a bit, and get to know Mrs. Tonks."

A slight shadow crossed over Alf's face. "Are you sure? You're so busy here…I know I'm not much help, but…"

"You're a huge help!" George squeezed his shoulder. "But I'll soldier on bravely without you for a bit….geron, now!" He smiled to himself as Alf finally turned away, with a smile for Teddy. He then set to restocking the snack-boxes by himself, the niggling problem of what to do about Alf still on his mind. The rainbow of candies did help somewhat to occupy him, and the ideas of which one to come up with next continued to flow.

Suddenly George became aware of a presence, his nerves prickling like he had done something wrong.

"Hello, George." His mother said.

He slowly and deliberately put the box down, wiping his hands on his robes, and turned to face her. "Mum." Dutifully he reached forward to kiss her cheek; stiffly she let him. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here."

"Well…" She said, awkwardly, fiddling with her tote bag. "I had some errands to run, and I thought I might stop in to see how Alfred was coming along."

She made it sound like he was a project instead of a child. But he stayed calm as he answered her. "He's doing great, Mum, but you just missed him…he's gone for ice cream."

"Ice-cream." She said, raising her eyebrows. "Now that's a healthy lunch. Why am I not surprised?"

George sighed. Why, why must she make this so difficult? "He had a bowl of chili and a salad for lunch an hour ago; this is a treat. He's been helping out quite a lot here and he deserves it." George cursed himself inwardly for even feeling the need to defend himself on Alf's parenting.

Molly look partially satisfied, if somewhat skeptical, as she looked around the shop. Spotting Ron, she frowned. "Who took Alfred for ice-cream, then?"

"He's with Teddy Lupin…" George started, but she interrupted him wide eyed and scandalized.

"You sent two ten year olds out alone in Diagon Alley? Are you an idiot George Weasley? Do you want him to get killed?"

George bristled. "They're not alone, they're with Andromeda, who last time I checked was one of your oldest friends and someone who I would have thought you'd have trusted with a child." He folded his arms in front of him. "Of course, I know that doesn't change your opinion of me as an idiot one bit, but…"

They were interrupted by a clatter of hooves and screams to get out of the way; a cry arose and someone shouted. And it was Andromeda's voice he heard, high and unnatural, yelling "NO! NO!" over and over again.

Terror filled George…his hands went clammy and his mouth ran dry; images of Fred, laid out in the Great Hall, flooded his mind. His mother slapped at his shoulder in like panic.

"I TOLD YOU…you weren't fit for this…" She started.

He didn't hear the rest, darting out of the store, the rest of the world seeming to move in slow motion, as he leapt around and over children and parcels, into the commotion outside.