Dear all, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I know that Harry Potter is actually set in the 80s, but I transferred it to our decade. Simply because I think it's interesting to imagine how our technology might affect the wizarding world and because I can't imagine that wizards wouldn't find smartphones interesting. XD

Also, for this story I decided to just talk about "wizards" instead of "witches and wizards". I just call every magic person a wizard. I always feel like there's a difference between whether you use the male form to adress groups while implying that the women should also feel adressed (generic masculinum and such), and just use one form for all even if you talk about an individual person. So a man's a wizard and a woman's a wizard, and every person with magic is a wizard and that's that.

I started writing this story because I remembered that at some point in the books, Ron tells Harry that a cousin of his (I think) is a squib, but that the family doesn't talk about it or something. It made me think - being a squib is probably the worst thing you can be in the Harry Potter universe. I tried to explore this a little further in this story.

That's all for now, here's the next chapter!

Chapter 3

By the fourth morning since Brenda had returned to Hogsmeade, she had Mr. Wood's coffee waiting for him by the time he returned from his early morning flight. She was a little surprised he felt the need to be up that early when he had an early morning practise (starting at 08:00am, which was early enough to Brenda's mind) later on. But he turned out to be pretty predictable in his routines, coming in for breakfast every morning at almost exactly 07:00am and beating his team mates to the buffet by about 10 minutes. Brenda didn't really know why she was doing it, the getting-him-coffee-behaviour was completely atypical for her. Even her mum had remarked on it. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her. He seemed… curious. Simply curious. Squibs were one of the last remaining taboo topics wizarding society entertained. But it was nice his curiosity wasn't laced with pity or disdain. Although it did make her feel a little like an attraction in a zoo.

As Mr. Wood came in from outside that morning, he had a scarf wrapped around his neck and his hair and woollen jumper were covered with lots of little droplets. It was no surprise, the sun had trouble rising through the thick fog. Brenda was surprised he'd even been able to see the goal posts. Mr. Wood's broom flew off and the wetness evaporated from him with a quiet hiss. He didn't even have to take out his wand. When he saw the steaming cup of coffee, he smiled at her. "Thanks. You remembered how I take my coffee," he then stated as he sat down. Yes, she had. And that was why a server had to be better than magic. Little things like that, they made people feel good. They felt appreciated even if it was hardly worth being called "brain-activity" to remember how one single person liked their coffee. Especially if they never varied their order. Brenda was about to retreat back into the kitchen when he spoke up again."A few nights ago, you were… drawing… something?" He seemed hesitant to use the word "drawing". Perhaps he wasn't sure he'd used the correct vocabulary. He probably hadn't held a crayon or pencil since he was 7 years old. Muggle games bored aspiring magical children pretty quickly once they realised they might coax some magic out of each other and call that "playing". Brenda turned back around, the smile still in place. "Yes. It's part of what I do for a living." – He cocked his head. "Drawing?" he then asked, as if unsure whether he had caught her meaning correctly. Man, he was clueless about the muggle world. Brenda chuckled. "Yes, drawing." She pinched her nose, it was clear he'd need more than that to understand. "It's like… the company I work at, we remodel and renovate houses and flats to suit their owners." Before he could be confused about why the owners didn't do that themselves, she added, "Muggle owners, obviously. Once we know what they want, we have to take down and pull up walls, paint, replace furniture… all that. Sometimes, we even re-do the gardens. It's like… muggles also only have a single job, usually. And if that's not painting or building houses or… something… it's hard to do all these different types of work by yourself." – He broke into a smile. "So you're kind of doing the magic for them?" he quipped. Brenda pondered that for a moment. She didn't yet know whether she liked to be seen as a stand-in for something that was so commonplace it was hardly worth noticing for a wizard. "Well… yeah. Kind of. Although, I'd like to think I am more than just a substitute for magic." – "Of course," he said, but Brenda knew he didn't mean it. To him, her job was really just something that could easily just be replaced by magic. Something that only existed because there were humans who had no magical abilities and needed to find ways around that. Like kids, in a way, who didn't know any better. Brenda returned to the kitchen before her smile could turn into an ugly grimace.

"I'm sure you went to Hogwarts, didn't you?" Brenda started the conversation the next day before it could even begin to turn to her job or other muggle things. Oliver Wood nodded as he cast a quick charm to cool his coffee down to drinking temperature. Brenda sighed inwardly. Wasn't it part of the fun to blow on a hot cup of coffee until it had cooled down enough to not burn your mouth? "Yes, I did. But that's more than nine years ago now." – "It must be weird to train again on the old pitch." – He grinned. "Yeah. Back then I used to be team captain and dragged all the others out for early morning practises." – Brenda frowned slightly. "Didn't you have a coach?" – Oliver rubbed his chin, his facial expression turning to slight confusion as well. "No, in fact we didn't have a coach. I don't know why. It was simply left to the team captains to train their team. Each house has their own team, so…" – "…so it was left to you to get the others to appear to practise. But now it's just you dragging yourself out?" Brenda smiled and it was almost honest. Oliver Wood chuckled. "Nah, well, as a professional team we do have a coach who will have your hide if you do not get your daily minimum flying hours. It's easier now than back in school where there was nobody forcing us to rise that early. Except myself." – Brenda hadn't thought about this before. If you were trainer as well as player, you made yourself do all the hard work as well. The others might complain about you or hate you for drilling them, but you had to force yourself, too. Which was perhaps the hardest thing to do. Oliver Wood's jumper this morning was thick, knitted wool and once again a turtle-neck. It did suit him really well. "So is it the same as back then?" Brenda asked. He sighed. "In a way, it is, but then… the Quidditch pitch had to be completely rebuilt after the war?" he looked at her, pronouncing the fact rather as a question than a statement. Brenda couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Don't worry. I know about the war." Brenda shuddered. She'd spent the battle of Hogwarts in her room, screaming almost all the time as the Death Eaters were flooding Hogsmeade and trying to get inside. She hadn't returned for a long time after that. "Sorry," he had the decency to apologise. "I didn't mean to offend you." – Brenda smiled at him, again almost honestly. "Thank you. Most people… most wizards don't really care." – He looked conflicted. Probably he'd been looking down or disregarding squibs just as much as the next wizard. Well, at least he was feeling bad about that now, or so it seemed. If she was having that effect on wizards – changing their mind even a little – that was probably a good thing.

"How is it possible to be at home in both worlds?" he then asked, tentatively. Brenda smiled at how clueless he was. "It's simple: I'm not. At home in both worlds, I mean. I know the magical world because it's where I grew up in until I was eleven. Then I was sent to a muggle boarding school and got to know their world." – "Just like that?" – Brenda shrugged and pressed her lips into a thin line. "There are courses. 'Preparations for the muggle world for squibs'. It's what the government does to fend off their guilty conscience as well as the muggle and squibs' rights activists." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.

The course had been depressing and an eye-opener at the same time. Depressing because she hated that she had to take it, as it meant she couldn't ever really belong into the wizarding world. Eye-opening because she was fascinated by the things the muggles had invented. The meaning of touching things gained a lot more meaning to her, of travelling, of art. For the first time, she was in a room with people who all did things while touching the utensils they needed. Such as household tasks. Even hobbies such as knitting or going for walks. And back then there were mobile phones already (by now they had evolved into touchscreen-bearing smartphones). Electricity. She was soaking it up like a sponge because her frustrations from the past years had her hate the wizarding world out of defiance. She loved and hated it at the same time. And once she had arrived at the muggle boarding school, there was nobody left for her to talk to about her experience. But she didn't want to return to Hogsmeade. It was too painful.

"Well, enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Wood," she said to Oliver, bending down a little to turn his cup so the handle was facing towards his right. It was then that she caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled of the outdoors and different other things she couldn't place. She liked it. "Just Oliver, please, Ms Caun." – "As you wish. It's Brenda, then." She clutched a nearby serving tray to her chest and returned to the kitchen. He had flustered her quite a bit this time. Darn it, Brenda chided herself. He was a wizard. She'd promised herself she'd never date a wizard anyway, even if one were interested in her.