A Squib's Story

Chapter Seven

Violet knows Muggle post is slow, but this is ridiculous. After receiving no communication for the past year, two letters suddenly arrive in the cobwebby mailbox on the same day. One, judging by the postmarks, is five months old, the other ten. Eager for... well, anything, she rips the first one open.

"Violet!," it begins. "I've not heard from you in ages! How have you been?

Myself, I've been just.. oh, how do I say it? Thrilled? Overwhelmed? Scared out of my bloomin' mind? Yes, it's true... Franklin has popped the question! Oh, Violet, I know our relationship has lost a bit of, how should I say, oomph, but my wedding simply would not be complete if you weren't there. It would not. I do hope you'll give it some thought.

What have you been up to? Well, school, of course, right! But hopefully something else. Anyone special? Oh, I used to hate when people asked me that, but if you DO I know you'll be glad I asked, right?

Speaking of school, I'll be leaving University when Frank and I get married. Why not wait, you ask? Well.... I can't! I simply can't! Oh, I hope someday you know love like this. I hope someday everyone does! Do you know where you'll be attending University yet?

Well anyway, please know that I miss you and not a day goes by that I don't think of you, truly. The wedding will be held sometime next June; we've not yet set a date. Frank's family has all sorts of, I don't know, boat trips and the like planned, so... well, I've nattered on long enough. If you're still reading this dreadful excuse for a letter I hope very much to hear back from you! Wherever our roads may lead, I hope we can always be friends.

Love,

Becky xoxo."

Violet catches her breath; she feels like she's run a sprint. She looks back at the letter and laughs a little. Is this what love does to you, she wonders? Becky had always been spirited, full of ideas. A perfect complement to her own reserved and quiet nature. She imagines the sparkle in her friend's green eyes, the flush that spreads across her cheeks and slightly clashes with her red hair.

Having no idea how to answer Becky's request, she turns to the second letter.

"Dear Violet,

How have you been? I was delighted to receive your letter, and regret my delay in responding. However, my mother had just passed away, and death seems to bring nearly as much obligation as it does grieving. But, the business of life goes on, and writing to my favourite (and yes, only) employee is indeed a pleasant way to return to business.

I understand completely why you needed to leave my employ; there is no need to continue your profuse apologies. I hope we can keep up a correspondence, and that this finds you and yours well.

Regards,

Victor Caswell."

Violet feels the unpleasant prickle of pooling tears. She'd thought Mr. Caswell was angry at her, had spent hours berating herself and cursing stupid bloody Voldemort for making her abandon her fledgling life. But here were her friends (all two of them) still in existence and thinking of her somewhere out there, after all.

She'll decide what lies to tell them later.

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

A week later, a woman named Arabella Figg is found dead. This sends the Brown family into a panic, for reasons which everyone but Violet seems to grasp immediately. Thomas Brown sits his daughter down at the kitchen table, while Hyacinth puts on some tea.

"Mrs. Figg was a Squib," he explains, the slight tremor in his voice the only outward sign of his emotions. "We don't know why she was killed; she seemed to be living a quiet life as a Muggle in Surrey. But we do know this: she was killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He left his Mark over her house." He clears his throat. "Though it might be a coincidence, some at the Ministry believe he could be targeting Squibs." His face is illuminated by a brief flash of fear, then quickly returns to business. But Violet sees it. "Do you understand me? We believe you are in danger."

Violet nods, slowly, trying to take in the words. "Yes," she finally says. "But I don't understand why. Why me? Why not Lavender and all her O's in Transfigurations? To target me is... well, rather laughable, isn't it?"

"Well..." Mr. Brown sighs. He is not used to having these sort of conversations, especially not with his daughters.

"His image of a perfect world is one he sees as 'pure.' That is to say, no Muggles, no Halfbloods, no magic users born of Muggle parentage, and... no Squibs. While Squibs seem to have pure magical blood, they run the risk of producing 'less-than-pure' offspring. And also, probably, he just doesn't like them very much." He sighs, running a hand through his short, graying hair. "He seems to be following the same pattern." Mr. Brown glances over at his wife. "Tea almost ready, dear?"

Mrs. Brown murmurs assent just as the kettle starts whistling. Mr. Brown looks back at his daughter, seemingly having lost his train of thought.

"What do you mean by pattern?" she asks, wondering how she can discuss this so calmly, as if taking notes on a history lesson.

"The killings that have occurred lately follow those that occurred during his first rise to power. Random Muggles, a revenge killing, and a Squib."

"Who was the first one?" she asks quietly.

"A man by the name of Fletcher Dubose. He'd left the Wizarding community completely, was the captain of a small fishing boat. But You-Know-Who knew seemed to target him specifically. This is a man who is not a man at all, a creature who kills for fun and the most twisted purposes imaginable. We have reached some understanding of his motives in the attempt to prevent future killings."

Violet nods. "Do you really think I'm in danger?"

"We don't know. But clearly, we can't be too careful. There is only one place we know you'll be safe. I've talked with Headmaster Dumbledore, and he's agreed to let you stay at Hogwarts. You'll be serving as Madam Pince's assistant in the library."

Her mother pours them each a mug of steaming tea, and joins them at the table. "We know your love of books, dear."

"I... I don't know what to say." Live at Hogwarts? Work the sort of menial job she'd always objected to? It seems her fate as a Squib is pre-destined, after all. She knows she should be grateful. They're trying to save her life. But for what purpose? To fetch books for the little witches and wizards? She sighs. If the alternative is dying a pathetic, futile death to fulfill the purpose of an evil Dark Lord, she supposes being an assistant librarian won't be that bad. "I'll go," she says. "Though I doubt I'll be able to use it for University credit."

When her parents realise she is joking they laugh, softly. Life has become far too serious not to.

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

Lavender chews listlessly on a celery stick. It's only lunchtime and she already feels like she's been up all day.

"Ooh, Lav, you're so lucky," Parvati gushes for the umpteenth time. "You must do a reading for me!"

Lavender sighs. This is not the first time she has received this request. Ron Weasley had even asked her to read his eggs that morning at breakfast, but that might have been a joke.

"I don't know," she says, wondering why no one, not even her best friend, has noticed how tired she is. "I'm not sure it works that way."

"What do you mean? Professor Trelawney is always reading tea leaves, or gazing into the Orb..."

But I've never felt so weird after I've done those things, Lavender thinks. I've never felt like my skin is about to burst after looking at soggy leaves or vague, hazy shapes. She doesn't remember her vision, but she remembers her dreams. And she's not had a restful sleep in weeks. "I'll give it a try," she finally says, wondering whether Parvati wouldn't do just as well reading her own tea leaves.

Though Professor Trelawney had successfully erased the Prophecy from her students' minds, she couldn't help but inform them that she believed Lavender was a Seer. So rarely had she seen anyone with such a pure and vivid Sight.!

Parvati frowns. "You okay, Lav?"

"Yeah. I'm just really tired."

"Ooh!" Parvati points gleefully. "Look at what Loony's wearing!"

Lavender looks. Luna Lovegood is walking by wearing, for no apparent reason, blue, fuzzy bunny ears. She seems perfectly happy about it. "Funny," Lavender says.

Parvati giggles loudly, and in Luna's direction. "Hey Loony, would you like my carrots?"

Luna turns around, vaguely. "No, thank you... oh! Carrots, that's funny!" She throws back her head and laughs.

Parvati wrinkles her nose. "So, I'm curious, for what occasion does one wear rodent ears?"

Luna smiles. "It's my rabbits' anniversary today, actually. So kind of you to ask, no one else has..."

Parvati sniggers. "Well, wish them a Happy Anniversary from me, will you? Why don't you give them this is a present?" She makes to throw a carrot at Luna, but Luna's too quick for her. She catches it between her teeth.

"Phanks," she says. She takes the carrot out of her mouth, tucks it behind her ear, and ambles off. Parvati hoots with laughter.

Lavender doesn't join in. She sees fighting... bodies... is Luna among them? Why can't she think straight anymore? "I need to go lie down," she tells Parvati, hurrying off without waiting for a reply.

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

"Dear Becky,

First, let me congratulate you on your engagement. I'm sorry it took me so long to respond, but something seems to be wrong with our post delivery. Anyway, I'm very happy for you!

Mum and Dad have decided it's best I change schools, and I look forward to the challenge. I don't know where I'm going to University yet, but I may put it off for a year. I think I'd like to travel; Mum's always said it's the best education a girl can have.

You asked me about a "special someone." Well, as a matter of fact, there is someone, but nobody knows about it, least of all him. He goes to the school I'm transferring to, so I hope to get to know him better. I'm not good at this stuff! I wish you were here to put makeup on me and such. I'm hopeless.

Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to make the wedding. There's a lot going on here, family stuff, you know. I do miss you, though! I've packed the photo Mum took of us at the beach the summer before you left, remember? Somehow I don't think I could face the new school without it.

Well, I guess that's all. I know you'll probably be too busy to write back for a while, but I hope we can stay friends, too. If you fall in with a bunch of married ladies, that'll be okay too. Just try not to forget about me or talk too incessantly about things like dish soap, okay? (That's a joke.) And I know this might sound weird, but look out for strange guys in cloaks.

Love, your friend,

Violet."

Violet writes a vague reply to Mr. Caswell, then leaves both letters in the mailbox, hoping someone will come along for them before too long. The postman only seems to remember their house exists about half the time. Of course, Violet is the only recipient of Muggle post.

Her trunk is packed. It contains: several hand-me-down robes, books, the picture of Becky at the beach, her wand, and various personal items. She's ready to go. Whatever that means.

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

They take the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade once again, and the thestral-drawn carriages up to Hogwarts. This time, they are greeted by Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Brown," she says in her crisp brogue. "And good day to you, Thomas, Hyacinth." They exchange pleasantries. "We were not certain where to put you, Miss Brown, but Madame Pince has kindly offered to share her sleeping quarters. We've moved an extra bed into her spare room."

"That sounds fine, Ma'am," Violet says, not sure of the proper way to address a dignified old woman in a pointy hat.

McGonagall smiles kindly, as if sensing her unease. "Please call me Professor McGonagall. Your sister is a student of mine, and I've been told you're a good student as well. We hope you'll use this as an opportunity to expand your magical education. No matter that you can't use a wand, there's no excuse for not knowing your heritage."

Violet smiles. This doesn't sound so bad, actually. She is always at her most comfortable when behind a book. "I'd like that, Professor McGonagall."

She awkwardly hugs her parents goodbye. "You'll be fine," her mother says softly into her ear. "Lavender has agreed to show you around, and you can always talk to a teacher if you need help, okay?" Violet nods, a bit impatiently. Now that she's here, she's eager to get settled in.

The halls are empty as Professor McGonagall shows her to her room. Classes must be in session, she thinks. She wonders where Neville might be, then tries to dismiss the thought from her mind. As if he would ever look twice at a Squib! (She fails to remember that he did, indeed, look twice at her.)

She leaves her personal effects in her tiny, trapezoid-shaped room, changes into one of Lavender's old robes, then follows McGonagall to the library, her new workplace.

Madam Pince isn't particularly pleased to have an "assistant," but seems to have grudgingly accepted the situation. "You can shelve those," she says curtly, indicating a towering, wobbly stack of books.

"Erm," Violet says. The books have titles like "What Not to Do With Stumpwort;" "Improve Your Breath With the Mentos Charm, and Other Beauty Tips from Witch Weekly ;" and "So You Want to Be An Auror? Good Luck!" She doesn't have any idea what they mean, no less where to shelve them.

Pince sighs impatiently. "Just look at the codes! Honestly, I don't know why I can't just Levitate them back to their shelves like I used to..."

"Because as you well know, Madam Pince, George Weasley sustained a concussion from 'The Big Thick Book of Magic Stuff' and was unconscious for two days!" McGonagall reprimands her.

"Yes, that was a pity." She arranges some quills on her desk muttering, "I was aiming for Fred."

McGonagall pretends she doesn't hear, and turns to Violet. "You see, all you do is look at the code on the spine. That will lead you to the corresponding shelf."

"Oh!" Violet stifles a laugh. The Hogwarts library uses the Dewey Decimal System. "I understand."

"All right, then. I'm needed in my classroom. If there's anything you need, you may come to me. I'm Lavender's Head of House, so I suppose I'll be acting as yours, too." She gives a brief smile, and strides off.

Violet stands there. Madam Pince ignores her, which she supposes is better than the alternative. With a resigned sigh, she gets to work.

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

Sitting with Lavender and her Gryffindor friends reminds her of the time she accidentally sat at her school's Popular Table and was asked, ever so politely, to leave. This time her presence is tolerated, but she doesn't feel any more comfortable. Lavender's uncharacteristic silence has only made Parvati more shrill, the two boys on her other side talk incessantly about Quidditch, and she keeps glancing down the table to where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville are sitting.

Suddenly there is a cacophony like she has never heard. A rush of birds fly into the building like a sixties horror film, and she finds herself reflexively ducking her head and screaming. Of course, everyone starts laughing, except Lavender, who nudges her sharply. "It's just the owl post!" she whispers fiercely.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Violet says. And she is. The last thing she wants to do is embarrass Lavender.

Lavender smiles. There are dark circles under her eyes, which Violet makes a note to ask her about. "It's okay. It's just... a lot of odd things happen around here, and I hope you won't be screaming at all of them."

Violet grins in spite of herself. "What if there's a strange man with a chainsaw standing over my bed, may I scream then?"

Lavender giggles. "No, only if it's a strange man with a wand."

The sisters' conversation is interrupted by a shocked gasp from the other end of the table. "Oh... how dreadful!" someone says. Violet looks down the table and recognises the speaker as Hermione Granger, who starts reading loudly from a newspaper.

"Explosion at Muggle University kills dozens, injures hundreds. Lord You-Know-Who seems to be behind the attack- honestly, why can't they just say Voldemort!" Several people, including Lavender, cringe. Violet holds her breath as she waits for Hermione to continue. Somehow, she just knows... "Yesterday, an explosion rocked Trinity College, one of the biggest Universities in Muggle Dublin..."

Violet leaps from the table, runs to where Hermione is sitting and grabs the paper from her hands. Hermione is too shocked to react.

Violet scans the paper, breathing heavily. On the very last page she finds the list of Voldemort's latest victims. ...Ashley, Monica; Ciernan, Mary; Eddleby, James; Grogan, Rebecca...

Violet cries out; a choked, awful sound that echoes through the Great Hall and comes back to her sounding as broken as she feels. Her knees give way and she falls. She never feels herself hit the floor.

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