A Squib's Story

Chapter Three

Thomas and Hyacinth Brown had realised something was off about their first child when she was about three years old. It wasn't anything she had done; more like what she hadn't. Both parents could remember when, in early childhood, they knew they could make things happen. Hyacinth had shattered her sister's batfish bowl during a particularly violent tantrum. (Lucky for the leathery batfish, it had been able to take flight until her father charged in and yelled, "Reparo!")

Thomas had been playing in a sandbox on a calm spring day when a sudden sandstorm erupted. When questioned, he said he'd lost a Bertie Bott Bean he'd been *certain* was double fudge in the sand, and had wished for the sand to fly away so he could find it. (The Bean in question was later found in a flowerbed fifty yards away, and had the dog who'd eaten it been able to talk, he would have reported that it was, in fact, mud.)

Nothing like this happened to Violet. Not when she was three, not when she was seven, not ever. While this doesn't in itself assume a non-magical child, there were other, intangible indications. Was it her eyes? Did they lack a certain sparkle, a certain knowing look? Was it her face, which was pale and full and suggested nothing more magical than vanilla pudding? There wasn't exactly anything out of the ordinary about her, but... well, that was just it. It's said that those who know can sense the presence of magic; perhaps they can also sense a magical void within an otherwise charged atmosphere.

They'd been uncertain at first about Lavender. She was a truly beautiful child with golden ringlets and bright blue eyes, rarely seen without her silver fairy wings, woven with actual strands of silken fairy hair, that had been bestowed on her at birth by her grandmother. Once they thought they saw her hover slightly above the ground while wearing these wings, but when they looked again her feet were firmly on the ground. There was no further evidence until she received her letter, but-

"There's something special about this child," her grandmother had stated, peering into the bassinette while two-year-old Violet sat on the floor, banging blocks together.

Suddenly Violet had shouted, "B! B!," holding one of the blocks out as far as her arm could reach. She received a polite laugh of appreciation for her "baby talk," and the three adults returned to cooing into the bassinette. No one noticed the block, with an intricate letter "B" carved into the wood, roll out of sight under an armoire when Violet dropped it.

Perhaps a tiny seed had been planted in the two-year-old's mind that day, a seed that had taken root and blossomed, against all laws of nature, under the ground.

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Violet has given up smiling, and is very happy about it. She has gained an air of serenity over the past year, which has come partly due to the realisation that true happiness doesn't manifest itself in the false displaying of one's molars. She knows young ladies are *supposed* to smile; she's spied Lavender and Parvati practicing theirs in mirrors often enough. But Wizards don't seem to care if Squibs smile (or are girls, for that matter). In the Muggle world she has become known as a "brain," which to her signifies a grudging respect, and the freedom to do whatever she wishes with her face. Consequently, she has become a bit prettier.

She tries to keep these things in mind as she grips, white-knuckled, the seat in front of her. She has never ridden on the Knight Bus before, and it is doing nothing whatsoever to quell the butterflies in her stomach. In fact, she now has a dull headache, heart palpitations, and several very angry butterflies on her hands.

She has always felt more unease than curiosity about her sister's school. What would prevent some fourteen-year old "wizard" from launching a particularly nasty curse at her while she stood there, defenceless? Kids are cruel enough as it is; whose bloody-minded idea had it been to *arm* them? But she is sixteen now, not far off from University, and she does not want to carry an irrational fear of teenagers with wands with her. Besides, Lavender is suffering from a- probably- painful- and- really- not- at- all- funny hex, and is currently laid up in the Infirmary, which is the purpose of the visit.

The bus drops them without ceremony in Hogsmeade, where her father explains they can get a carriage up to the castle. "Are those thestrals?" Violet asks, as one pulls into view.

Both parents blink rapidly, seemingly at a loss. "Thes... how... well, I never really thought about it, but..." Recognition dawns in Mr. Brown's eyes. "Of course, You saw Uncle Pinkerton die, didn't you? How curious. The only one of us who can see them..."

"I do have magical blood, you know."

"Yes, well." He clears his throat. "Remember, we have decided to keep this business quiet. Anyone asks, you stay home to take care of your mother. None of your Muggle University talk..."

"But Mum's not even sick!"

Her mother reaches over and awkwardly pats her hand. "Believe me, dear, it's much easier this way."

"Won't they know anyway?"

"Perhaps." This is, apparently, the end of the conversation.

They are greeted at the door by Filch, the caretaker, and his cat, who Violet reaches out to pet. "Ssssss!" Mrs. Norris hisses and takes a swipe at her before scurrying off.

"She don't take to strangers," Filch says. It is not an apology. "Come on, I'll show ye the way." He turns and stomps off without waiting for a response.

Mr. Brown puffs himself up. "I was a student here myself, Mr. Finch. I am certain I can remember how to find the Infirmary."

Filch shrugs. "Suit yerself, then. And it's Filch. Argus Filch."

"Yes, that's right. Come, Hyacinth, Violet?" He leads them down a corridor.

Five minutes later, they are hopelessly lost. Mr. Brown mutters something about changing staircases. By lucky coincidence, they meet none other than Madame Pomfrey, who tells them the Infirmary is around the corner. "Just how I remembered it," Mr. Brown says with a nod.

"I'll be right back, I'm just nipping off for a potion!"

"We're Lavender Brown's family," Mr. Brown says.

Madame Pomfrey manages to convey the utmost sympathy. "Yes, she's right in there. She's awake now, poor thing. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you all!" She dashes off, tossing Violet a curious glance over her shoulder.

Lavender lies in a lump in a small bed, the blanket pulled up around her neck and her back to the door. "Did you find it?" she asks.

"It's us, dear," Mrs. Brown says. "We were so worried! How are you feeling?" She kneels at Lavender's bedside. Lavender doesn't turn around.

"'m fine," she mumbles into her pillow. "Thanks for coming."

"Now, darling, would you turn around and look at us, please? I'm sure it can't be as bad as all this."

"But it is!" the lump cries.

Violet hangs back by the door. Her hands are like nervous birds so she stuffs them in her pockets.

Mr. Brown strides over to the bed. "Enough of this silliness, young lady. You're worrying your mother. I assure you, I've seen far worse things than..."

"All right!" Lavender sits bolt upright in bed. She looks like she has been in an epic food fight, and lost. Her face and arms are covered with red, blotchy, occasionally pulsating bumps. They look both painful and itchy, and ever so slightly like macaroni. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks.

Violet has never been fonder of her. As Lavender notices her by the door, Violet smiles in what she hopes is a soothing, bedside sort of way. Lavender turns to her parents and screams, "What is she doing here?"

"She is part of the family," says Mr. Brown, in the manner of one who is carrying great weight on his shoulders but will soldier on, regardless.

"I didn't even let Parvati see me like this, and she's my best friend!"

"I'm sorry," Violet speaks up. "I asked them to let me come."

"Why?

Before Violet can answer, Madame Pomfrey bustles in with a bottle of buzzing, steaming, yellow something. "Here we are, dear. Professor Snape just made a new batch, fresh from the hives!"

"I have to drink... that?"

Pomfrey nods crisply. "Essence of bumblebee is the only known cure for the Bee-sting Hex. I asked him to make it extra potent due to the, ah, extreme nature of the case."

"Of all the times Neville could have picked to be powerful, he has to do it to my face!"

"Now, you know Mr. Longbottom didn't do it on purpose, and he feels perfectly awful. I do not approve of the things that Moody fellow lets go on in his classroom, but nobody asks my opinion, just asks me to clean up the mess..." She measures yellow goop into a glass, shaking her head. "All right, here we are, dear. This will take some time to work, now, and it might sting a bit, but by morning you should be as pretty as ever!"

Lavender smiles weakly. "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey." She drinks, making a face so horrible that everyone looks away politely.

"All right, then!" Mrs. Pomfrey takes the glass. "She'll probably want to sleep in a bit, but you're welcome to stay with her. Lovely of you to come all this way, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. So few parents make the effort."

Mr. Brown gives a dry chuckle. "Well, Lavender's owl home implied she was at Death's door, and once we received your account of things we had already decided to come."

"Of course it's always nice to see our daughter, and to return to dear Hogwarts," Mrs. Brown gushes.

Pomfrey nods, smiling, then turns to Violet. "And what about you, young lady? I don't believe I've seen you before."

"Ah, terribly sorry, Madame Pomfrey," Mr. Brown cuts in before Violet can reply. "This is our other daughter, Violet."

"Nice to meet you, Madame Pomfrey."

"And you, Miss Brown. Tell me, why haven't I seen you around Hogwarts?"

"I, uh..."

"She stays home to help my wife," Mr. Brown says smoothly.

"I also work in a bookstore." Mr. Brown shoots her a glare, which she ignores.

"Oh, I see. Well." Madame Pomfrey smiles, too polite to press the issue.

Lavender, meanwhile, has fallen asleep. "Perhaps Violet would like to see more of Hogwarts than the inside of an Infirmary?" Pomfrey suggests cheerily.

"I would," Violet says a bit nervously. She wishes she could get the image of people lurking around corners with wands out of her mind. The state of Lavender's face hasn't helped any. She hopes she doesn't run into this Neville Longbottom; he must be some kind of powerful Dark wizard.

Violet's parents show her the Great Hall, various empty classrooms, and a Gryffindor Quidditch trophy with the inscription "Thomas Brown, Beater," which causes Mrs. Brown to coo in a rather adolescent manner. She then suggests visiting the Gryffindor Common Room.

They have not forgotten the way to Gryffindor Tower. Unfortunately, no one is milling about who can give them the password.

"Avast, ye scurvy curs!" a voice calls.

They turn around and come face - to- sword with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his pony, who is lying under a tree, snoring. "What happened to the Fat Lady?" Mrs. Brown inquires.

"She's off at some hen party. Left me here to stand guard. Have at thee!" The tiny knight waves his sword with more enthusiasm than skill.

Suddenly Madame Pomfrey rushes up the corridor, flushed and out of breath. "Thank Merlin you're here... come quick! Something seems to have happened with the potion... Professor Snape is trying to sort it out, but... Lavender is asking for you..."

"Let's go, Hyacinth. Violet, stay here, please."

Violet doesn't argue. The appeal of her perfect sister's malady has worn off, and she appreciates the time alone to work through her thoughts.

But she is not actually alone. "I challenge ye to a duel!" Sir Cadogan barks.

"Um... no thanks," Violet says. "I left my sword at home."

"Ah! Hand-to-hand combat, then!" He brandishes tiny fists. "Put 'em up!"

Curious, Violet walks up to the portrait. "Who are you?"

"I am Sir Cadogan the Brave. I warn ye, don't get too close!"

Violet gets a bit closer. "You aren't half as frightening as the portrait of my Great-uncle Pinkerton," she tells him.

"Back away before ye lose your pretty head!"

This disarms her. She looks around to see if someone is standing behind her, a bump-free Lavender, perhaps, but the corridor is quite empty. "I'm not pretty," she tells him. "I think you've spent too much time with your horse." The pony opens an eye and snorts affrontedly.

Sir Cadogan absently pats him. "Nay, ye're not the prettiest I've seen pass this way, but I'd not turn ye away. And watch how you speak about my pony." He throws in another "scurvy cur" for good measure.

"Thanks. I think." She realises she is standing uncomfortably close to him. "Hmm. I don't suppose you'd let me in?"

"Password, please!" he barks. So much for her feminine wiles.

"Scurvy cur?"

Sir Cadogan blinks. "Well... how in blazes... oh, bother!" He swings open and she climbs inside, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart.

The room is decorated in rich tones and textures of red and gold. A fire blazes in the hearth, and it strikes her how cosy this room must seem to everyone but her. She feels a chill as half the heads in the room turn to look at her. She does a quick wand scan and, seeing none, relaxes just a bit.

A bushy-haired girl walks purposefully toward her, smiling. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. Are you, um, another one of those transfer students?"

"No. I'm Lavender Brown's sister." She shakes Hermione's proffered hand. Hermione has quite a grip.

At this Parvati glances up from the boy she was engaged with. "Hello, Violet," she says politely.

"Hello, Parvati," Violet says just as politely. Parvati returns to the boy.

Three others have joined Hermione in the Welcome Wagon: a gangly redhead, an aw-shucks-looking boy with glasses and black hair, and a timid round-faced boy whom she likes on sight.

"This is Ron Weasley." Hermione indicates the redhead. Violet nods.

"This is Harry Potter." Hermione indicates the aw-shucks boy, and Violet gives a little gasp of recognition. Even she knows who Harry Potter is.

"Very nice to meet you, Harry."

Harry clears his throat. "You too. Er." He seems thrown by her lack of fawning and scar-gawping.

"And this is Neville Longbottom." Hermione indicates the round-faced boy.

Violet screams.