A Squib's Story

Chapter Four

Neville screams.

A toad flings itself from his pocket and lands on Ron's head; Ron screams. Violet covers her face and cries, "Please don't curse me!"

Ron, having divested himself of amphibians, mutters, "Blimey, she's even weirder than Lavender."

Hermione, of course, speaks up, peering at Violet like she's a particularly ticklish Arithmancy problem. "Why on earth would we curse you?"

"Yeah, this isn't the Slytherin common room," Harry says with a slight snicker. Ron snorts. Neville holds Trevor protectively.

"Quiet, you two! Are you all right?" Hermione asks.

"Yes, I... it's just, Lavender..." she stutters. I'd think someone put a Tongue-Tied Idiot Curse on me if I wasn't like this all the time, she thinks miserably. And Neville really doesn't look all that dangerous. Is it possible he did hex Lavender by mistake?

"What about Lavender?"

"N...Nothing. I'm just worried about her, is all."

"Oh, of course!" Hermione's eyes are full of sympathy. "It must be dreadful to see your sister in that state. I'm sure Professor Snape will have the antidote ready soon." She lays a comforting hand on Violet's arm.

Violet smiles. "Thanks." She doesn't know what else to say. Any minute one of them, probably Hermione from the looks of it, is going to ask her why she doesn't attend Hogwarts.

Neville catches her eye shyly. "How... how is Lavender?"

Again, Violet doesn't know what to say, so she repeats something she heard Madame Pomfrey say. "Professor Snape is tending to her."

Neville's watery eyes widen. "Oh... is he, then? Well, that's go... good." He swallows. "Please tell her I'm very sorry. She, um, wasn't taking visitors last time I checked, so I couldn't tell her myself..."

Violet smiles slightly, partly in response to the boy's good-naturedness and partly due to her folly in suspecting him of Dark motives. He's about as Dark as Lavender's bathrobe, which is to say, pastel pink and fluffy. "I'll tell her."

Neville seems appeased, or as appeased as Neville can seem, anyway, and they all take seats around a table scattered with open textbooks. Ron shuts "A Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four" with evident relish. At last he has a viable excuse to put off studying.

"You don't go to Hogwarts, do you, Violet?" It's Harry that asks.

"No, I... I stay home to take care of my mother."

"Oh, I didn't realise she was ill!" Hermione says.

"Yes, it's um, one of those very silent illnesses. Undetectable, almost."

"Lavender's never mentioned it. She must be so worried! It's not healthy to keep things like that in..."

"Hey!" Ron exclaims. "Maybe that's why she got so bothered when Trelawney made that stupid prediction in class the other day. You know she believes everything that old fraud says."

"What did she say?" Violet asks.

"Something about..." Ron screws up his face.

"Doom befalling her house," Harry puts in.

"Or some such rot," Ron agrees.

"Um," Violet interjects. "What?"

"The Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney," Hermione explains. "She says stuff like that every day. It's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, yes. She's Lavender's favourite teacher, I think. She talks about her all the time, what a great Seer she is..."

Hermione makes a scoffy sound. "That woman's about as much of a Seer as my uncle's blind old bulldog!"

Ron laughs. "Good one, Hermione."

Hermione smiles primly. "Anyway, now that we've established that Doom isn't befalling anyone, is this your first visit to Hogwarts, Violet?"

Violet nods, wondering how much she should say. "I've heard a lot about it from Lavender, though." She bites her lip.

"Weird she's never mentioned a sister." Ron, whose life consists of almost nothing *but* siblings, finds this a very foreign idea.

"Well, we're not really close. The age difference and all." Violet is distressed by the ease with which she can lie. It makes her want to yell the truth from the rooftops and damn the consequences.

"You don't go to school at *all*, then?" Hermione seems horrorstruck by this idea.

"I get, um, private tutoring."

"Wish I could get private tutoring," Neville pipes up.

"Sometimes I wish I could go here," Violet says, realising she means it.

"I think it's wonderful how loyal you are to your family," Hermione says. "Although I don't think it's entirely fair to expect you to give up your education."

Violet shrugs, uncomfortable. "I don't mind, really. So, what are your favourite classes?"

They all start speaking at once, Hermione going on long after the others have finished. Violet lets their words drift over her, relieved she is no longer the centre of attention.

The topic switches to the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which Violet has overheard her parents discuss in passing. "The first task is only four days away," Hermione explains to her. "Harry is one of our champions. I hope Lavender is... sorted out in time!"

"I know she'd hate to miss it."

"Are you and your parents staying?" Harry asks.

"Oh... I don't think so. I have to get back to sch... er... sketching. Yes. I like to sketch." She tries not to let her voice convey that this is news to her.

"Oh, then you must meet Dean Thomas! He's a wonderful artist." Hermione looks around, apparently for the artistic Dean.

"That's all right," Violet says quickly, standing to go. "It was lovely meeting you all, but I should get back to my sister."

"Of course. Nice meeting you, Violet. I hope you visit again." Hermione gives her a warm, genuine smile, and she feels a vague but distinct ache somewhere between her stomach and her heart.

Harry, Ron and Neville also smile and wish her well, and she smiles without thinking in return. As she and Neville lock eyes, her heart suddenly lurches to the side, like a cardiac roller coaster. Violet waves and walks swiftly out of the Common Room, so the only one who sees the first tear fall is Sir Cadogan.

*******************************

Lavender is buzzing, Snape flapping, Pomfrey cooing, Mrs. Brown squawking, and Mr. Brown hooting; the Infirmary resembles nothing so much as an aviary gone mad.

"Everybody quiet!" No one had noticed Professor McGonagall slip into the room on her catlike feet. As soon as they hear her dulcet but deadly brogue, the room falls almost completely silent.

"What is the meaning of this noise, in the Infirmary, no less?"

"Dreadfully sorry, Minerva," Madame Pomfrey pants. "But as you can see, we have a bit of a... situation here."

McGonagall peers down at Lavender, who is yellowish and still buzzing softly. "My word, what happened to you?"

Everyone starts talking at once. McGonagall holds up a hand. "One at a time, please. Severus?"

Snape steps forward. "I believe this can all be traced back to the Longbottom boy, Minerva. That boy never fails to break new ground in the field of ineptitude."

Lavender speaks up. "It wasn't Neville's fault, Professor McGonagall. We were practicing hexes in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and..."

McGonagall suppresses a smile. "Yes, I believe I see where you are going, Miss Brown. But surely... Mr. Longbottom couldn't have..." she gestures at Lavender.

"The potion backfired," Snape admits grudgingly. "I'd never seen such a peculiar case of the Bee-sting Hex before. I can fix this, but it will take time."

McGonagall sighs. "Very well. My sincerest apologies to you, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. I assure you this sort of thing doesn't go on... too often."

Mr. Brown gives a false-sounding hearty chuckle. "Oh, this is nothing compared to my days at Hogwarts! Once I turned some greasy-looking fellow into a penguin. Ah, those were the days..."

Snape shoots darts from his eyes, but says nothing. Great bloody Gryffindor git.

"What's going to... bzzz... happen to me?" Lavender speaks up. Her slightly insectlike eyes bulge with anxiety.

Madame Pomfrey takes her hand. "We'll get you sorted out, don't you worry. What you need now is a good rest. I think it's best if everyone leaves now."

Snape and McGonagall look relieved. Mr. and Mrs. Brown nod resignedly. "We need to fetch Violet, anyway," Mrs. Brown remembers. "I hope she hasn't gotten into anything."

"Mum?"

"Yes, Lavender dear?"

"When you see Violet... tell her I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to... bzzz... yell at her. I was just... bzzz... embarrassed."

Mrs. Brown smiles. "I'll tell her, dear. Sleep well."

**********************************

Mr. and Mrs. Brown are unable to find Violet, which is probably due to the fact that she is sitting in Dumbledore's office, sucking on a lemon candy. As she launches into her lie about staying home to take care of her mother, Dumbledore stops her.

"There is no need for false words within these four walls, Miss Brown. I know who you are, and I am, in fact, delighted you are here."

"You are?"

He nods. "How are you enjoying your brief magical education so far?"

"It's... different than I thought it would be. I didn't know if I would like this place or not. No offence, of course," she adds hastily.

"None taken. I believe you were about to give me a compliment anyway, were you not?" His eyes, of course, twinkle. Violet, who has never seen twinkling eyes, is rather captivated.

"Hogwarts makes my school look like a dismal squat brick affair. Not that it didn't anyway. I mean, more so."

Dumbledore nods, playing with one of his many desk toys. "So often the special ones never set foot in Hogwarts, which is a terrible shame, as it is part of their heritage."

"Special ones?"

"Yes. I believe you would say 'Squibs.'"

"No offence, Sir, but I'm about as special as a sack of potatoes."

"Are you really? I wonder, how many people have a chance to explore both the magic and Muggle worlds? There is much more to magic than casting spells, Miss Brown, just as I've been told there is more to Muggles than watching football on television."

"You know about... television?"

"I do, yes. But so few in the Wizarding world do. Do you not see your unique position, Miss Brown?"

"I suppose I do. But I've never heard of a Squib who was particularly successful."

Dumbledore puts down his toy and folds his hands on the desk. "I never said it was an easy road, did I? But the potential is there. It is up to you what you do with it. Ah, was a lucky coincidence I ran into you today!" Something in his voice tells her it wasn't exactly a coincidence. "You're always welcome at Hogwarts, Miss Brown. I hope you'll return, and we may discuss this further." He stands, smoothing his voluminous robes. "Now, then! I'll just round up your parents, as I'm sure they're wondering where their daughter's got off to. You may talk to my bird if you like."

"Um... eh?"

He indicates a sleepy bird on a perch that Violet had assumed was stuffed. "That's Fawkes, my Phoenix. He enjoys good conversation."

Violet manages a smile. "Great. I'll be sure to tell him all about my life, then."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore gives an odd salute and sweeps out. Violet gives a little snort of laughter. The man could rather use a sense of irony, she thinks.

Violet approaches the Phoenix cautiously. "Hello... bird." Fawkes doesn't stir. Well. Violet starts looking absently around the room, and spots something of interest almost immediately.

The Hat is sleeping. It sits, in all its faded, threadbare glory, atop a rather high shelf. Not so high, though, Violet thinks...

Violet knows exactly what this Hat is; it is the aspect of Hogwarts that intrigues her the most. A Hat that can tell you who you are just by sitting on your head! No wonder all the Wizards and Witches she knows seem so self-assured; they've been left little room for identity crises. When in doubt they can think, "I'm a Gryffindor. I am brave."

Does she dare? Well, she rationalises, according to Dumbledore's little pep talk, this is exactly the sort of thing she should be doing. She steps on a little spindly-legged stool and grabs the Hat.

The Hat blinks, she swears, sleepily. She decides to let it get its bearings before she puts it to work. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and puts it on her head.

"Hello, there," the Hat says into her ear.

"Hello," she says out loud.

"No need to speak. I can hear your thoughts," it says. "Hmm..." If the Hat wasn't on her head, she would have seen it squinching up its face in concentration. "There is something different about you."

I'm a Squib, she thinks. I don't know if you can sort me or not, but I'd like to know... something about myself.

"I see... a Squib, interesting... well, I'll give it a go. I can't actually sort you though, you know that."

I know, Violet thinks.

"You are not a Slytherin," it informs her. "Nor a Hufflepuff." Violet exhales loudly. She'd been certain it was going to say Hufflepuff. Not that she knows much about any of the Houses, but from the way Lavender speaks of Hufflepuff, it sounded like the kind of place she'd end up. "I see bravery," it continues, "but not the dashing-about-with-swords sort. I believe Godric was rather specific about swords." Violet gets a sudden image of Lavender and Parvati wielding swords and stopping to check their makeup in the reflection, and stifles a giggle.

"I heard that," the Hat says. "I remember Miss Brown and Miss Patil and I assure you, they are Gryffindors to the end." Violet shudders suddenly. "Yes... I see intelligence, and a desire to prove that intelligence to the world. You would be prime Ravenclaw material."

Violet smiles. "Thank you, ah... Mr. Hat. I'm sorry for waking you."

The Hat, were it able, would have doffed itself. "My pleasure, Miss Brown. And remember, your Sorting is only a guideline. Your true identity must come from experience."

Violet nods, removing the hat and placing it back on the shelf. She'd received more life advice in one day from a dotty old wizard and a hat than her parents had given her in sixteen years. She settles into a squashy chair, wondering why she still feels uneasy.