A/N- Thanks to my wonderful beta, potterphile12, for her fantastic work! Oh, and I don't own Jo's characters, Hogwarts, and that stuff, but I do own Cassandra and her parents.
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If you ever think you have a rough life, if you ever feel like you just need to sit down and cry, or perhaps go and tear someone’s eyes out because life just isn’t fair, try being a squib.
I didn’t always know I was a squib. For awhile my parents and I thought I was a late-bloomer. We hoped that by the time I turned ten I would turn Mother’s hair purple. Then an owl would be tapping at the window, with a letter of acceptance from Hogwarts.
It didn’t work that way. I got my letter from Hogwarts, all right. My parents were thrilled when they saw the big school barn owl. Maybe I had done magic and nobody had noticed it. But the letter was somber. It wasn’t an official note from the school. The letter didn’t even have the Hogwarts crest. It was just a scrawled note from Professor McGonagall, whom Father has known forever. It said she would be over at noon to talk to Mother and Father.
The hour we spent waiting for the professor to come was one of the longest of my life. Neither one of my parents would talk to me. Mother was in the kitchen, doing something to a turnip that didn’t deserve to be tortured like that. Father couldn’t seem to decide what to do. At first he paced in front of the fire, his black robes billowing out behind him. Then he stood still, leaning against the wall. Finally he sat down in the red high-backed chair he keeps in front of the fire. Our house-elves are instructed to keep the fire going even in summer, and that summer was so cold we needed it most of the time. Father looked so imposing leaning forward and staring into the flames that I was a little bit scared of him right then. I didn’t want to stay with him. in case he turned into a great big dragon and gobbled me up. So I ran outside.
I didn’t truly comprehend what was happening. None of the other children I played with had ever been able to do magic. They weren’t Muggles- my parents and I didn’t know any Muggles. But they were the sons and daughters of witches and wizards and hadn’t been allowed to do magic. Some of them showed their magic early, some of them had got it later, but we all assumed we would be able to do magic eventually. I thought that the letter wasn’t right, couldn’t be right. Maybe I would get my magic tonight even!
But Mother and Father were so disappointed in me, I decided that I would do magic right there and then, to please them. I concentrated on a particularly dry, dead bush that I hated. Burn, bush I thought, screwing up my eyes and forming my hands into fists. Come on and burn so Father won’t be mad at me. But it wouldn’t catch on fire, and I started to worry somewhat. What if I wasn’t magic after all? I looked down at my red robes that my mother had bought to go with my dark brown braids and pale skin. The magical world was the only world I had ever known. What if I wasn’t allowed to be part of it?
Professor McGonagall appeared on our walkway just then, wearing intimidating tartan robes that seemed to fan out around her as she walked. She had been to some of the dinner parties Mother and Father liked to throw and she always frightened me, but not as much as she did right then. When she walked up to where I was standing on our front steps she had the saddest expression on her face. She looked at me for a moment and I wanted to run away and hide where she wouldn’t find me and tell me bad news.
She smiled at me. “Let’s go inside and see your parents, Cassandra,” and that scared me too. She had only ever called me Miss Pralent before. But what could I do? I opened the front door of our big grey house and walked inside silently, Professor McGonagall right behind me.
When we reached the living room my mother was standing at the back of my father’s chair, completely silent. When the professor and I came in, my mother gave a small sound of shock and almost lost her balance, steadying herself only by holding on to the chair. My father didn’t look up.
“So it’s true, then,” he said in a hollow voice. Professor McGonagall nodded quickly. My mother gave a small sob and collapsed onto the overstuffed sofa. I felt absolutely horrible. It was my fault my mother was so sad! I had to make things right.
“Professor, ma’m,” I said, my heart beating faster with fright, “you must be wrong. I’m a witch. Mother and Father can do magic- I have to be able to do it too. And all my friends. Mother says that I’m a late bloomer, is all.” I didn’t want it to be true. I had to be a witch. I just had to.
“I’m afraid you’re not, Cassandra,” Professor McGonagall whispered. “You’re not a witch. You’re a-”
“She’s a squib,” my father interrupted, his face turning red. “My daughter. A squib.” Mother gave a loud cry of distress, burying her face in her hands. Father did not look at me or Mother, but just kept staring into the fire. I ran over to Mother.
“Mother, Mother, don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I was crying too now- not sobbing like Mother, but quiet tears. I sat down on the floor at her feet, not leaning against the chair comfortably like I usually did.
“Now stop that this instance,” Professor McGonagall said There was no pity in her voice now. “Get up, girl. it’s not the end of the world.” I jumped to my feet, wiping at my eyes. You couldn’t do anything else with a voice like that. “And you, Belinda, stop that sniveling at once. You still have a daughter and should be grateful.” My mother didn’t look up, but she stopped sobbing quite so loudly. “And Albert, get up and face the facts. Yes, your daughter is a squib. She’s still the same girl she was before.” I’d never seen anybody tell Father what to do, and expected him to scream that he would do nothing. But he looked up and sighed, watching me. I’d forgotten Professor McGonagall used to teach Mother and Father when they were in school. Father was in Gryffindor, so she was his Head of House. Mother was in Ravenclaw, but she was very good at Transfiguration and was a bit of a pet of the professor’s. It was odd, seeing my parents act like school children.
My father spoke at last. “You’re right, of course,” he muttered, watching the ground as he stood up. “I’m sorry, Minerva, I overreacted.”
Professor McGonagall shook her head. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to, Albert. It’s your daughter.” Father looked at me rather sadly, turning around in his chair.
“I’m sorry, Cassandra,” he said, and I walked over and gave him a hug. He wasn’t scary looking anymore, just sad.
“I’m sorry too, Father,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder and sitting on the armrest. Father usually hates when I do that, but that day he said nothing about it, just hugged me back. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get my magic soon enough.” He smiled at me, but it was a sad smile, and his eyes met Mother’s. She looked away.
“What do we do now, Minerva?” asked my mother. Her grey eyes were red as she looked up, her back hunched over in her house robes. She usually would change when we had a guest over, but that day she was too distraught to think about it. Now she was playing with the apron string.
“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” Professor McGonagall answered. Her voice was business-like now. “As Headmistress of Hogwarts, it’s my duty to inform you that we can still take Cassandra into our school.” Her voice had cracked slightly when she said ‘Headmistress of Hogwarts.’ I knew about Professor Dumbledore dying. Mother and Father had gone to the funeral. But Father took no notice. His eyes lit up like a flashlight.
“You can? You mean-” He sounded so excited, I was surprised when Professor McGonagall interrupted him.
“No, Albert, I don’t mean to coax magic out of her, though she would be allowed to attend certain classes such as Herbology and History of Magic. Mr. Filch is getting on in his years, and needs an apprentice. Cassandra could attend the school as an apprentice caretaker.” I could hear Mother’s intake of breath, and I think Father stopped breathing altogether. I was still too thrilled with the prospect of going to Hogwarts to worry about why I was going. Wasn’t it enough I went? I so wanted to please Mother and Father. Hadn’t they always talked about how wonderful it would be when I went to Hogwarts? So what was the problem?
“Our daughter… an apprentice caretaker?” I could hear the horror in my mother’s voice, and suddenly my mind went careening off into the opposite direction. A caretaker? Me? Mother and Father obviously didn’t think it would be a worthy profession for their little girl, and so I didn’t either.
“Yes, Belinda,” Professor McGonagall said sternly, and suddenly I hated her, hated her for what she was making my parents go through. “She would be able to go to Hogwarts and get an education. She would have a good job in the magical world. She’d even be able to take her O.W.L. exams in certain classes.” An image appeared in my mind of a Muggle I had seen once when Mother took me into London for new robes. He was in a wheelchair, and the woman pushing the wheelchair was talking to him. Oh, isn’t that wonderful, dear? You’ll be able to attend school with the other children! And that’s what I felt like, an invalid, somebody who should feel lucky about doing what other children took for granted.
“It’s the best we’ve got, Belinda,” my Father whispered, then stood up, as I fell into the chair, deprived of a place to lean. “Very well, Minerva, she will go.” Mother gasped, but I felt a surge of hope. If Father wanted me to go, it must be the right decision. Professor McGonagall nodded, and Mother stood up for the first time since the Professor had arrived.
“Please… Minerva… when will she leave?” asked my Mother, and suddenly I had a horrible feeling in my chest. Did my Mother want to be rid of me? Didn’t she want me, even as a Squib? Professor McGonagall gave her a long, hard look, and then nodded to herself, mumbling something under her breath I couldn’t catch, though it sounded like ‘Albus’.
“I’ll take her now,” she stated briskly. “Term starts in two weeks and there is work to be done around the castle. Mr. Filch lives there year-round, and I’m sure he’ll be… happy for the assistance.” A shadow seemed to cross the Professor’s face. I looked at my Father, and he nodded, not meeting my eye. I knew what I had to do.
“I’d like to help Mr. Filch,” I said, my voice steady, though I felt shaky inside. I had never been away from my parents before. At dinner parties their friends would say things like, “oh, she’s a perfect clone!” and it was true. Anything my parents said I automatically agreed with. My mother picked out my clothes for me. I didn’t know how to be Cassandra Pralent without Cassandra Pralent’s parents close at hand.
Professor McGonagall gave me an odd look. “Very well, Miss Pralent.” I felt a little better hearing her call me Miss Pralent. Maybe everything would be alright after all. “Pack your things and be down in half an hour.” Half an hour! Half an hour to place my life in a trunk, half an hour to say goodbye to my home. I almost protested, but Father looked pleased, so it had to be right. I jumped out of the chair and ran upstairs without a word.
When I reached my bedroom I shut the door behind me, dragging a trunk out from underneath my bed. What to bring with me when I wasn’t sure when I would be back? Students were able to go home for the holidays, but would I be allowed?
I decided to start with the basics. Reaching for my bed I ripped off the sheets, folding them into the trunk with my pillow on top of it. I doubted I was going to sleep in a nice dormitory with sheets provided for me. What else? Going over to my closet, I flung open the doors and peered inside. There were dozens of robes in a rainbow of colors, from gardening robes to dress robes. What did caretakers wear? Standing on my tip-toes I grabbed all of the robes I had, including the ten or so dress robes, and threw them into my trunk. I piled shoes on top of it.
Did caretakers need Mary-Jane slippers, and fur-lined robes? I was going to find out. When I tossed a toothbrush, comb, and bottle of shampoo on top I could just barely get it closed when I sat on it. Upon reflection I grabbed a small backpack and tossed some books inside. I was ready. Without looking at my room I clambered down the stairs, pulling my trunk behind me, with the backpack over my shoulder.
An awkward scene met my eyes as I arrived downstairs. Mother and Father were sitting stiffly on the sofa, while Professor McGonagall sat straight and tall in Father’s arm chair, sipping a cup of tea. All three of them looked up when I clambered noisily into the room, and none of them looked particularly happy to see me. Professor McGonagall gave my parents a look, and they stood up, awkwardly embracing me. I hugged them back with much more enthusiasm.
“Well, off we go, then,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “Hold tightly to my arm.” I grabbed on, and without even a ‘good bye’ from my parents I could feel my lungs being pressed in, like I couldn’t breathe. Just before I was sure I was going to die the feeling stopped, and we were standing in front of a tall castle, with ominous looking gates. “Here we are,” the professor said, pulling the gates open. I picked up my trunk and my backpack, standing up straight and tall as I walked towards a new life.