The Way of the Squib
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"
Chapter 6: Questions, Answers and More Questions
Everything in this story really belongs to J. K. Rowling
"Hold still, Mr. Filch," Ginny Weasley told me, as she and Hermione Granger came into my
office.
"This won't hurt a bit."
Before I could speak, move or do anything at all, Ginny's wand was out, tip aglow.
"Anodynos!" she said.
The flash of light made me nearly jump out of my chair. Bright spots danced in front of my eyes.
A whisper of magic, gentle as a breeze, brushed against my nose.
Blinking, I gingerly felt the spot where her spell had touched me. Most of the scratches on my
face and arms from my battle with Mrs. Norris's suitors had healed. Except for one deep gouge on my
nose. Now that gouge seemed to be nearly healed too.
"There. It made my nose hurt to see you like that!" Ginny said.
I've never had any delusions about my appearance. The few people who've cared for me over the
years certainly haven't done so because of my looks. A bit of damage done to my face doesn't trouble me.
But Ginny had clearly been bothered. It was a new experience to have a young friend who would be
concerned about a minor thing like that.
Even the house elves had just tsked and shaken their heads when they saw me.
"You is all scratches, Argus Filch. Should have left poor cats alone," Dobby had scolded.
"Poor Mrs. Norris... she is needing kittens!" Winky had agreed.
"Young sirs on brooms in the Castle! What is you *thinking*?" Winky had added, sternly.
The only other human who had commented on my appearance had been Professor Snape.
"You look as if every cat in the Castle tried to use you for a scratching post." Severus had
snarled. "Keep this up, and you won't need polyjuice potion if you wish to impersonate Alastor Moody!"
He'd stalked away, leaving me to wonder if that was his particular way of being solicitous. If it
was, then I guess that I preferred Ginny's methods.
"It's silly for you to keep avoiding Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said. "She's not angry at you.
Why should she be? Mrs. Norris is fine now, and she's going to have kittens..."
Ginny reached over to stroke Mrs. Norris. "That's right! You're going to be a Mum!" The small,
red-haired girl stroked my cat, affectionately.
Mrs. Norris responded with a very contented purr, butting her head up against Ginny's hand.
Pregnancy certainly seemed to agree with my cat thus far. She was unusually sweet-natured, at
least with the small number of people that she already liked. Ginny Weasley was one of those few.
The friendship between Ginny and Mrs. Norris had begun at the very end of Ginny's first year ,
unknown even to me.
Wisely, Hermione didn't attempt to pet my cat. She knew that befriending Mrs. Norris would be
a slow, painstaking process. But she was polite and restrained whenever she was with Mrs. Norris. She
never told my cat what to do, despite the fact that the kittens were Crookshanks' babies too. That was a
good start.
Hermione was looking at me. Her expression was troubled.
"I've been to the Library," she said. "You're right, Mr. Filch. There really isn't too much
information on Squibs available."
Surprised, I said, "You've been looking things up? You didn't have to do that."
"Of course she had to," Ginny said. "Ron and Harry told me that you gave her a new research
topic. You know what Hagrid would do if someone told him that there was a new monster in the
Forbidden Forest, don't you?" She grinned.
"Hermione is the same way when you tell her about a subject she hasn't studied yet."
I had a sudden, disconcerting image of Hermione, striding eagerly into the Library, with a
crossbow slung on her back and Fang at her heels.
"What I found was very general," Hermione began. "For example, no one seems to be sure
exactly how many Squibs there are in the Wizarding world today."
"That makes sense." I said, shrugging. "Most Squibs will hide it, if they can. I certainly would, if
it were possible."
"It's also interesting that a lot of books don't agree on what the actual definition of a Squib
should be!" Hermione said.
"Some sources use "Squib" as a label for witches and wizards who have magic, but don't seem
particularly powerful. While other sources reserve the term exclusively for those children born to a witch
and a wizard, who don't appear to manifest any measurable magical skills at all," she explained to Ginny.
I nodded. "My Mum and Dad eventually came to believe the latter. They thought `Squib' was
often used too broadly."
"I read that witches and wizards have argued over the precise definition of "Squib" for years, and
some have even come to blows and duels over it," Hermione said. The thought of such a lack of
professionalism among scholars made her frown.
I couldn't help grinning. Mum and I had been witness to one such violent argument, between two
wizards who'd both wanted to use me as a research subject. Apparently, the Squibs who manifest almost
no measurable magical skills whatsoever are the most rare of all.
When the two fierce looking wizards had pulled out their wands and started dueling to decide
who would study me, Mum had grabbed me and fled.
"All the sources reported no evidence that Squibs run in families," Hermione continued. "Many
known Squibs have normal siblings, and no other Squibs among their relatives."
That made me sigh. I could still remember my two grandmothers fighting over which side was to
blame. Eventually, both sides of the family had stopped speaking to each other entirely.
"And Squibs don't appear to be born as a result of curses, or hexes..." Hermione said.
"Or having the expectant mother frightened by a boggart..." I murmured. "That's what happened
to my Mum. Her friends always blamed the boggart."
Mum would have liked Hermione, I thought. In my most vivid memories of my mother, she was
surrounded by piles of books and parchment. When all the healers and various "experts" she'd dragged
me to couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, she continued researching on her own.
Poor Mum. None of her books could convince her of the one thing she really needed to know.
That my lack of magic wasn't her fault.
Hermione was looking more troubled than ever.
"There's more..." she said. Her voice was sad enough to make Ginny give both Hermione and me
an anxious glance.
I thought I knew what she was going to say.
"Most Squibs tend to die young?" I asked her. "Yes, I've heard that." (Mum had never shared
that particular fact with me. I'd only just heard it recently, from Mad Eye Moody.)
"Don't worry," I said, mostly to Ginny, who looked stricken. "It's safe to say that I've already
missed my chance to die young. Several chances, in fact."
Neither girl smiled.
"I'd imagine that most of those deaths would be attributable to some magical mishap or other.
We Squibs can't protect ourselves as well as proper wizards can." I tried hard not to sound sorry for
myself. I was merely stating a fact.
"Hermione, I'm sorry that you put yourself through all this..." I added gruffly. "I do appreciate
your efforts."
"But I haven't found any real answers!" she said, frustrated. "None of the books could even tell
me exactly why Squibs can't do magic!"
"Though," she added brightly, "there does seem to be proof to support the popular belief that a
powerful enough surge of adrenaline can awaken a Squib's magic. So Neville's great-uncle really was
acting on sound evidence when he dangled Neville out that attic window."
I shook my head, frowning. My parents had blamed all the "Squib cure" stories on people who
were using the term "Squib"to describe wizards and witches whose magic simply showed up later than
usual.
Mum and Dad had both seemed to know that violent cures, of the sort that Neville's great uncle
had tried, would have injured or killed me.
I said as much to Hermione.
"It's a bit like when Muggles used to think that they were burning real witches and wizards," I
said. "The only way that the poor Muggles could prove their innocence was to die. That's how my parents
thought you could tell the real Squibs from the wizards. The Squibs were the ones who died. Did the
books only mention the success stories?"
"One of the books did talk about the deaths..." Hermione said, soberly.
Grimly, I nodded.
I remembered my own experience with a deadly Squib cure all too well. Some of us always have
to learn things the hard way.
*******
My parents hadn't been willing to do anything drastic to me. But I'd been desperate. And I'd
heard all the "cure" stories too. Mum and Dad had tried to keep those sorts of stories from me but
naturally, they couldn't. So, one day, in the summer following my twelfth birthday, I had picked up the
heaviest rock I could carry. And I threw myself into the pond.
The pond was in a wooded area, near our village. The small wood had been protected with
Muggle-repelling spells. It was said that a unicorn lived in there, though no one had reported seeing the
unicorn for many years.
The Muggle repelling spells crawled over me like a thousand small ants as I went through the
wood. The spells didn't repel me. This was some small comfort but not enough. Magic was always
something that I could feel on my skin. Magic had never once come from inside me.
I wasn't thinking clearly about what I meant to do, but I knew the thought of September was
unbearable. This year, owls bearing letters from Hogwarts would be coming to children who were younger
than I was. And, when September started, off they would go to become brave Gryffindors or crafty
Slytherins or industrious Hufflepuffs or wise Ravenclaws. My year of hoping was gone. No owl had come
with a letter for me.
Most of my friends, who had returned from their first year of magical studies, had already begun
to draw away from me. Some had done it out of pity, and some were shunning me out of contempt, or
perhaps it was even fear. Maybe what I had might be contagious.
It was peaceful in the wood. The pond was still and deep. Carefully taking off my shoes and
stuffing my socks into them neatly, I picked up the rock. I wrapped my arms around it. Calmly I waded
into the water and out, past the shallow part. I knew that soon I would be either a dead squib or a live
wizard.
I was really hoping to be a live wizard. I didn't want to die. Surely, the magic would awaken
inside me before I drowned. The water closed over my head. I remember thinking "Please, magic,
please..."I remember feeling that my lungs would burst. I remember thinking "any moment now I will feel
the magic rising in me and I will be safe on the shore, and Mum and Dad will be so proud and they'll take
me to buy a wand, and the other children will never tease me again, because I'll be a wizard too..." I
remember choking as I tried to breathe and my mouth, nose and lungs filled with water.
I was drowning.
One of the other boys from the village had followed me.
Ian had been sorted into Ravenclaw the previous year. He knew the spells to make a nearly
drowned person breathe again.
"Argus! You idiot!" he'd shouted at me.
"I'm a Squib, Ian. I really am..." I'd said, when I could talk again.
It was the first time I'd ever said it aloud.
And then, I'd burst into tears.
My parents had never known about what I'd done. Ian and I had never told. When September
started, Ian went back to Hogwarts, and onward to the rest of his life as a wizard. He and I had drifted out
of touch over the years.
No one else knew about what had happened at the pond.
I certainly wasn't going to tell Ginny or Hermione that I'd ever done anything so stupid.
*******
Poor Neville. His grandmother, great aunts and uncles had all thought that he was a Squib for
years. Neville had thought so too. Even the letter and his wand had not convinced him! I could understand
how Neville felt. Thinking you're a Squib isn't the sort of thing you can leave behind very easily, even if
you're really a wizard.
"Neville's not a Squib." I told the girls. "Believe me, if he was, then his family would have been
mourning him instead of sending him to Hogwarts. He's a wizard. He's got plenty of magic in him. His
power feels just as strong as anyone's..."
"What do you mean... his power `feels' as strong as anyone's?" Ginny asked me.
I blinked at her, confused. "You know. When other wizards or witches do magic. The way it
*feels.*"
"The way what feels?" Hermione asked me, her eyes intent on my face.
"Well, magic of course." I said, a bit perplexed. "You must feel it too. Sometimes it has a taste,
doesn't it? Or a scent. Some spells make me sneeze. But mostly, magic has a feel. Rather like a wind. Hot
or cold, either way. In all varying degrees of strength, of course. Neville's magic is strong enough to suit
anyone. I wish he'd learn to believe the rest of you when you try to tell him."
Ginny and Hermione looked at each other, then at me.
"Mr. Filch..." Hermione said, very carefully. "I *can't* feel it when other witches or wizards use
magic."
"Neither can I," Ginny said.
I stared at them. "But that's impossible. I've always been able to do that. It's just about the only
thing I can do. The two of you must be able to do a simple little thing like that, with all the power you
have..."
"All the power we have...?" Ginny said.
Their constant repeating of everything I said was beginning to irk me a bit. "Yes, you're like
magical bonfires, both of you!" I said, irritably.
The girls exchanged another glance.
"Believe me when I tell you this, Mr. Filch..." Hermione said. "I have never heard anyone say
that they could feel magic, or taste magic, or smell magic before."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "I've always assumed that everyone could do it. Probably much better
than I could."
"What else can you do?" Hermione asked me.
I shrugged. "Nothing much, really. Er... I can tell when someone's about to use a spell, because
their magic gives a bit of a surge... there!" I said, nodding at Ginny, who was holding out her wand.
"You're about to do something."
Ginny grinned at me. "That's right, I was," she said. "Lumos!" Her wand tip glowed.
*******
I couldn't understand why Ginny and Hermione would be so interested in my simple little tricks.
Their powers were much greater than mine.
But they spent quite a while with me, asking me questions. And I realized that I had questions
too. I'd always assumed that anything I could do, a proper wizard could do even better. If that wasn't true,
what did it mean?
After the girls had left my office (Hermione said something about going back to the Library and
Ginny grinned, sighed and rolled her eyes.) I picked up Mrs. Norris and went in search of someone with
answers.
I didn't use my Doors to get directly into Dumbledore's office. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.
"Jelly Babies," I told the Gargoyle, and it jumped aside.
Up the moving staircase I went, and knocked on the Headmaster's door.
"Enter!" I heard him call, cheerfully.
"Good afternoon, Argus, Mrs. Norris," Dumbledore said. He had a pile of paperwork in front of
him, and he seemed rather glad to have an interruption.
"I understand that congratulations are in order."
"Yes, Headmaster." I felt a bit nervous, wondering if he was angry at me for allowing Harry and
Colin to fly their brooms in the Castle. But he didn't bring up the subject, and I certainly wasn't going to
mention it if he wasn't.
"Sir..? This may seem like a stupid question," I began, hesitantly. Then I blurted out,
"Headmaster, can you `feel' magic? Other people's spells?"
He listened very gravely while I described what I had always been able to do, silly and useless
though it was, and Hermione and Ginny's interesting reactions to it.
"Argus, what you're describing is a rare talent," he told me, quietly. "No, I cannot do it."
Feeling suddenly a bit shaky, I slid myself into a chair in front of his desk. Mrs. Norris slid down
from my shoulder and curled up in my lap, purring.
"I'd hardly call it a real `talent,'" I said, gruffly, embarrassed.
"I disagree," the Headmaster said, very seriously. "I do not use the term lightly. It is a talent. One
prized by Aurors, in fact."
A bit abashed, I studied the floor for a few moments. Stroking Mrs. Norris helped me regain my
composure.
"Have you ever heard of anyone else who could do it?" I asked him.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Two people, though not in recent memory."
I took a deep breath. "Were they both Squibs, Headmaster?"
He nodded again.
"Did you know that I c-could...?"
Dumbledore smiled. "You have never mentioned it until now, Argus. And, no, not every Squib I
have known has had the ability to feel magic."
"Have you known very many Squibs?" I whispered.
"Not many Squibs will admit what they are openly, Argus. I've probably known more than I
realize."
"Oh." I had a sudden memory, as something he'd said finally clicked. "Prized by Aurors...?
That's how he knew! Alastor Moody! During my second lesson with him, he noticed what I was doing!"
Dumbledore smiled. "Did he? He said nothing to me about it. Though he's always telling me that
he's extremely pleased with your progress and grinning in a rather smug and secretive way. Well, if he
asks to "borrow" you, I will know why."
"Borrow me!" I knew that I was repeating everything he said, very much like Ginny and
Hermione had been doing to me, earlier. I hoped that I wasn't irritating him.
Dumbledore didn't seem irritated. He grinned at me, like a small boy. "Aurors occasionally have
a need for someone with your talent."
"Headmaster... if he asked, would you let me go with him?" The thought made me feel
simultaneously excited and terrified.
Dumbledore said gently, "The choice would be yours, Argus. You belong to yourself, not to me.
Would you be willing to accompany Moody on an Auror's mission, if he asked for you?"
"I-I don't know..." I said, nervously, twisting my hands together. "I'd have to think about it."
Mrs. Norris pushed her head against my hands, reminding me that I had stopped stroking her. I
resumed petting and she resumed purring.
"I hope he doesn't ask any time soon," I said, anxiously. "I mean... I have the kittens to consider
now..."
"Alastor would not ask, unless he thought you were ready and was certain that you were willing,"
Dumbledore assured me.
That was a relief. It wasn't as if I didn't already have plenty to do. The Castle doesn't clean
itself.
"Argus, Alastor has been keeping me well informed regarding your increasing skills with the
Doors," the Headmaster said. "He's told me that you can summon them, making them appear in mid-air."
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent! I had an idea for something interesting that you might want to try. If I could use your
Doors without getting ill, this is probably one of the very first things I'd want to do."
Wondering what sort of defensive strategy he had in mind, I listened with interest.
"I believe you like to use the bathtub in the dungeons, correct," he asked.
I nodded, now a bit bemused.
"Well, I'd recommend using the main staff bathroom instead. That tub is even deeper. First, I'd
fill up the tub, all the way to the top," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Then I'd get a running start, perhaps
jumping through a floor somewhere to get some momentum."
I stared at him in total confusion.
He grinned. "Well, picture it, Argus. Imagine the diving possibilities. Flips! Cannonballs!"
"Headmaster!" I cried, scandalized, "Imagine the mess. The water all over the floor!"
He sighed. "Oh, Argus... everyone needs to have a bit of fun now and again. Using your own
talents to their fullest potential means learning to truly enjoy them."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said firmly. "Making a mess is never going to be my idea of fun!"
*******
Mrs. Norris and I took the long way back through the Castle. I needed to think. My life,
predictable for years, was suddenly changing in ways I'd never imagined. The Doors weren't my only
magical talent after all. I'd never truly realized the significance of something that was so much a part of
me that I'd always taken it for granted.
I'd never thought of myself as a puzzle. But the ways of Squibs appeared to be a mystery to the
Wizarding world. Hermione had not found many answers in those books of hers, but she'd seemed
determined to keep right on looking. The girl was a force of nature. If answers existed, she'd find them,
eventually.
Moody had been right. The students at Hogwarts were a resource. Full of energy, intelligence and
ideas. I had never thought about how much I could learn from them. And, perhaps, I could show them
more than just the penalties for making messes myself.
Of all the new thoughts I'd had recently, that was among the strangest and most frightening.
If I could only find a way to convince Neville that he was a proper wizard, and a powerful one,
that would be a good start.
But, in the meantime, I had an expectant mother to look after, and a litter of kittens to prepare
for.
THE END
(for now)
Author's Notes:
The other, darker story that I've been thinking about (the one with Sirius and Snape) takes place before
the birth of Mrs. Norris' & Crookshanks' kittens. I'm still thinking that story out, but I hope it won't be
too long before the pieces fall into place properly.
Please stay tuned...
Quoth the Raven: Thank you!! Yes, Harry's situation is so different from Filch's that Filch would
actually have to see how poor Harry gets treated by the Dursleys in order to comprehend what Harry's life
is like.
I agree that Harry is not the sort who talks about the details of his private life. I also agree that very few
people probably really know and understand the true horrors of Harry's life with the Dursleys.
McGonagall thought that Filch deserved the iodine for several reasons. Filch was refusing to see Poppy
because he was worried that the Nurse would give him a scolding every bit as bad as the one he got from
Minerva. Minerva was annoyed at him for being so silly; first about Mrs. Norris's situation, and then
about not wanting to go to Poppy and have his wounds tended properly.
McGonagall was also angry at Filch for giving the boys permission to fly brooms through the Castle. She
expected better from him. (Minerva saw Colin's brush with death from the stairs, and nearly had a heart
attack herself.)
And, Minerva also knows Filch's tendencies towards what Snape refers to as "self-flagellation." She knew
that Argus would punish himself for what had almost happened, if no one else did.
It occurred to me that Filch's parents had been Hogwarts students, so I started wondering what house(s)
they were in. I thought that Ron would be the logical one to have the insight to ask.
Alchemine: Thank you!! I loved your suggestion for what Filch should have done to Trelawney! It made
me laugh.
Jelsemium: Thank you!! The idea of Snape being horrified at Filch's friendliness towards Harry delighted
me!
Most people at Hogwarts know that Harry doesn't like the Dursleys, but I think very few people know all
about the horrible abuse that Harry has to live with.
I'm still thinking about how many kittens there should be. Your suggestions are good ones. Mrs. Norris's
litter may be larger than I'd planned at first.
I LOVED this scene where Harry tells Hermione about Crookshanks' situation! It's PERFECT!
Rabbit: Thank you!! Filch doesn't realize that there are books on Squibs and Dark Magic in the Restricted
Section. Hermione will be determined to read those, once she finds out about them.
Now Hermione and Ginny both know about the one manifestation of Filch's blocked-up powers that he's
always been able to access. And, soon this knowledge will spread to Ron, Harry and Neville.
Danalas: Thank you!!
DiaLin: Thank you!!
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! I wanted a plush Mrs. Norris! I wish they'd been available. I sure would
have bought one. Both Hermione and Filch realize that Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris were only doing
what cats do.
Lataradk: Thank you!! The image of Snape "accio-ing" the cats made me laugh. The poor man would
have ended up as badly scratched up as Filch.
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you!! & Thank you!! Wonderful Trelawney impression!!
Robert: Thank you!! Ooh! You've given this so much thought! You're bringing up some ideas that I'm
thinking about for the next story I'm trying to work on. Can you read my mind?
The Squib Scroll(s) sidestep the problem of Squibs being unable to access their own magic. The scrolls are
used to form a link between the Squib and another wizard. The "broken" part of the Squib is fully
compensated for by the other wizard, who then takes advantage of the power that the Squib has always
been unable to use.
Yes, the creator of the Squib Scrolls probably knew exactly what was "broken" in a Squib. It's easier to
exploit a creature that you understand well. Granting a Squib temporary access to their magic is only a
means to an end. The primary purpose of the scrolls is to increase the powers of the Dark wizard/witch
user who went to the trouble of finding a Squib and getting all the right bits.
Voldemort doesn't know about all four Doors. As Tom Riddle (Slytherin's Heir) he may be aware of
Salazar's Door, and he may have used it as a convenient escape route down to the dungeons when he was
at Hogwarts. But he never learned to get the Door to come to him, when he needed it, or take him
wherever he wanted to go.
(Someone once asked me if the Heirs of the Founders would be able to use the Doors. I thought it made
sense that they'd be able to.) However, once Riddle gave up whatever remained of his humanity to
become Lord Voldemort, Salazar's Door became closed to him forever.
Lord Voldemort doesn't know that Salazar's Door could be used by a Squib, though he is aware of the
"loophole" that makes Squibs immune from the effects of certain spells, particularly some of the protective
ones around Hogwarts Castle. The Dark Lord wants a scroll and a Squib to experiment on.
All four Doors have become "keyed" to Filch. No one, not even another Squib, could use them unless
Filch took them through the first time. (Though the Doors could, presumably, be keyed to more than one
person at a time. Each Door might recognize the heir of their own creator, if Filch were to take them
through.)
Wow! A spell that could turn a healthy wizard into a Squib, temporarily! What an utterly cool idea! I
could easily see Voldemort using that as a punishment, even if he doesn't know about the Doors.
"Wormtail! Get me a Squib to skin for a cloak, or I'll turn you into a Squib and use your worthless hide
instead!"
ThePet: Thank you!!
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, poor Snape did get his nap. His level of crankiness dropped down to
Snape-normal (merely bilious) shortly afterwards.
Gramarye: Thank you!! I loved the image of Snape, trying to sleep with a pillow over his head.
Filch is not really pleased with the notion that he has to "share" Mrs. Norris, but he knows that she could
have done far worse than Crookshanks.
Elspeth: Thank you!! Excellent point that Hermione has never had any babies to mother before! She's
going to be so sweet with Crookshanks' babies.
Yes, like you I am hoping to see Neville get some confidence in Rowling's Books!
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"
Chapter 6: Questions, Answers and More Questions
Everything in this story really belongs to J. K. Rowling
"Hold still, Mr. Filch," Ginny Weasley told me, as she and Hermione Granger came into my
office.
"This won't hurt a bit."
Before I could speak, move or do anything at all, Ginny's wand was out, tip aglow.
"Anodynos!" she said.
The flash of light made me nearly jump out of my chair. Bright spots danced in front of my eyes.
A whisper of magic, gentle as a breeze, brushed against my nose.
Blinking, I gingerly felt the spot where her spell had touched me. Most of the scratches on my
face and arms from my battle with Mrs. Norris's suitors had healed. Except for one deep gouge on my
nose. Now that gouge seemed to be nearly healed too.
"There. It made my nose hurt to see you like that!" Ginny said.
I've never had any delusions about my appearance. The few people who've cared for me over the
years certainly haven't done so because of my looks. A bit of damage done to my face doesn't trouble me.
But Ginny had clearly been bothered. It was a new experience to have a young friend who would be
concerned about a minor thing like that.
Even the house elves had just tsked and shaken their heads when they saw me.
"You is all scratches, Argus Filch. Should have left poor cats alone," Dobby had scolded.
"Poor Mrs. Norris... she is needing kittens!" Winky had agreed.
"Young sirs on brooms in the Castle! What is you *thinking*?" Winky had added, sternly.
The only other human who had commented on my appearance had been Professor Snape.
"You look as if every cat in the Castle tried to use you for a scratching post." Severus had
snarled. "Keep this up, and you won't need polyjuice potion if you wish to impersonate Alastor Moody!"
He'd stalked away, leaving me to wonder if that was his particular way of being solicitous. If it
was, then I guess that I preferred Ginny's methods.
"It's silly for you to keep avoiding Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said. "She's not angry at you.
Why should she be? Mrs. Norris is fine now, and she's going to have kittens..."
Ginny reached over to stroke Mrs. Norris. "That's right! You're going to be a Mum!" The small,
red-haired girl stroked my cat, affectionately.
Mrs. Norris responded with a very contented purr, butting her head up against Ginny's hand.
Pregnancy certainly seemed to agree with my cat thus far. She was unusually sweet-natured, at
least with the small number of people that she already liked. Ginny Weasley was one of those few.
The friendship between Ginny and Mrs. Norris had begun at the very end of Ginny's first year ,
unknown even to me.
Wisely, Hermione didn't attempt to pet my cat. She knew that befriending Mrs. Norris would be
a slow, painstaking process. But she was polite and restrained whenever she was with Mrs. Norris. She
never told my cat what to do, despite the fact that the kittens were Crookshanks' babies too. That was a
good start.
Hermione was looking at me. Her expression was troubled.
"I've been to the Library," she said. "You're right, Mr. Filch. There really isn't too much
information on Squibs available."
Surprised, I said, "You've been looking things up? You didn't have to do that."
"Of course she had to," Ginny said. "Ron and Harry told me that you gave her a new research
topic. You know what Hagrid would do if someone told him that there was a new monster in the
Forbidden Forest, don't you?" She grinned.
"Hermione is the same way when you tell her about a subject she hasn't studied yet."
I had a sudden, disconcerting image of Hermione, striding eagerly into the Library, with a
crossbow slung on her back and Fang at her heels.
"What I found was very general," Hermione began. "For example, no one seems to be sure
exactly how many Squibs there are in the Wizarding world today."
"That makes sense." I said, shrugging. "Most Squibs will hide it, if they can. I certainly would, if
it were possible."
"It's also interesting that a lot of books don't agree on what the actual definition of a Squib
should be!" Hermione said.
"Some sources use "Squib" as a label for witches and wizards who have magic, but don't seem
particularly powerful. While other sources reserve the term exclusively for those children born to a witch
and a wizard, who don't appear to manifest any measurable magical skills at all," she explained to Ginny.
I nodded. "My Mum and Dad eventually came to believe the latter. They thought `Squib' was
often used too broadly."
"I read that witches and wizards have argued over the precise definition of "Squib" for years, and
some have even come to blows and duels over it," Hermione said. The thought of such a lack of
professionalism among scholars made her frown.
I couldn't help grinning. Mum and I had been witness to one such violent argument, between two
wizards who'd both wanted to use me as a research subject. Apparently, the Squibs who manifest almost
no measurable magical skills whatsoever are the most rare of all.
When the two fierce looking wizards had pulled out their wands and started dueling to decide
who would study me, Mum had grabbed me and fled.
"All the sources reported no evidence that Squibs run in families," Hermione continued. "Many
known Squibs have normal siblings, and no other Squibs among their relatives."
That made me sigh. I could still remember my two grandmothers fighting over which side was to
blame. Eventually, both sides of the family had stopped speaking to each other entirely.
"And Squibs don't appear to be born as a result of curses, or hexes..." Hermione said.
"Or having the expectant mother frightened by a boggart..." I murmured. "That's what happened
to my Mum. Her friends always blamed the boggart."
Mum would have liked Hermione, I thought. In my most vivid memories of my mother, she was
surrounded by piles of books and parchment. When all the healers and various "experts" she'd dragged
me to couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, she continued researching on her own.
Poor Mum. None of her books could convince her of the one thing she really needed to know.
That my lack of magic wasn't her fault.
Hermione was looking more troubled than ever.
"There's more..." she said. Her voice was sad enough to make Ginny give both Hermione and me
an anxious glance.
I thought I knew what she was going to say.
"Most Squibs tend to die young?" I asked her. "Yes, I've heard that." (Mum had never shared
that particular fact with me. I'd only just heard it recently, from Mad Eye Moody.)
"Don't worry," I said, mostly to Ginny, who looked stricken. "It's safe to say that I've already
missed my chance to die young. Several chances, in fact."
Neither girl smiled.
"I'd imagine that most of those deaths would be attributable to some magical mishap or other.
We Squibs can't protect ourselves as well as proper wizards can." I tried hard not to sound sorry for
myself. I was merely stating a fact.
"Hermione, I'm sorry that you put yourself through all this..." I added gruffly. "I do appreciate
your efforts."
"But I haven't found any real answers!" she said, frustrated. "None of the books could even tell
me exactly why Squibs can't do magic!"
"Though," she added brightly, "there does seem to be proof to support the popular belief that a
powerful enough surge of adrenaline can awaken a Squib's magic. So Neville's great-uncle really was
acting on sound evidence when he dangled Neville out that attic window."
I shook my head, frowning. My parents had blamed all the "Squib cure" stories on people who
were using the term "Squib"to describe wizards and witches whose magic simply showed up later than
usual.
Mum and Dad had both seemed to know that violent cures, of the sort that Neville's great uncle
had tried, would have injured or killed me.
I said as much to Hermione.
"It's a bit like when Muggles used to think that they were burning real witches and wizards," I
said. "The only way that the poor Muggles could prove their innocence was to die. That's how my parents
thought you could tell the real Squibs from the wizards. The Squibs were the ones who died. Did the
books only mention the success stories?"
"One of the books did talk about the deaths..." Hermione said, soberly.
Grimly, I nodded.
I remembered my own experience with a deadly Squib cure all too well. Some of us always have
to learn things the hard way.
*******
My parents hadn't been willing to do anything drastic to me. But I'd been desperate. And I'd
heard all the "cure" stories too. Mum and Dad had tried to keep those sorts of stories from me but
naturally, they couldn't. So, one day, in the summer following my twelfth birthday, I had picked up the
heaviest rock I could carry. And I threw myself into the pond.
The pond was in a wooded area, near our village. The small wood had been protected with
Muggle-repelling spells. It was said that a unicorn lived in there, though no one had reported seeing the
unicorn for many years.
The Muggle repelling spells crawled over me like a thousand small ants as I went through the
wood. The spells didn't repel me. This was some small comfort but not enough. Magic was always
something that I could feel on my skin. Magic had never once come from inside me.
I wasn't thinking clearly about what I meant to do, but I knew the thought of September was
unbearable. This year, owls bearing letters from Hogwarts would be coming to children who were younger
than I was. And, when September started, off they would go to become brave Gryffindors or crafty
Slytherins or industrious Hufflepuffs or wise Ravenclaws. My year of hoping was gone. No owl had come
with a letter for me.
Most of my friends, who had returned from their first year of magical studies, had already begun
to draw away from me. Some had done it out of pity, and some were shunning me out of contempt, or
perhaps it was even fear. Maybe what I had might be contagious.
It was peaceful in the wood. The pond was still and deep. Carefully taking off my shoes and
stuffing my socks into them neatly, I picked up the rock. I wrapped my arms around it. Calmly I waded
into the water and out, past the shallow part. I knew that soon I would be either a dead squib or a live
wizard.
I was really hoping to be a live wizard. I didn't want to die. Surely, the magic would awaken
inside me before I drowned. The water closed over my head. I remember thinking "Please, magic,
please..."I remember feeling that my lungs would burst. I remember thinking "any moment now I will feel
the magic rising in me and I will be safe on the shore, and Mum and Dad will be so proud and they'll take
me to buy a wand, and the other children will never tease me again, because I'll be a wizard too..." I
remember choking as I tried to breathe and my mouth, nose and lungs filled with water.
I was drowning.
One of the other boys from the village had followed me.
Ian had been sorted into Ravenclaw the previous year. He knew the spells to make a nearly
drowned person breathe again.
"Argus! You idiot!" he'd shouted at me.
"I'm a Squib, Ian. I really am..." I'd said, when I could talk again.
It was the first time I'd ever said it aloud.
And then, I'd burst into tears.
My parents had never known about what I'd done. Ian and I had never told. When September
started, Ian went back to Hogwarts, and onward to the rest of his life as a wizard. He and I had drifted out
of touch over the years.
No one else knew about what had happened at the pond.
I certainly wasn't going to tell Ginny or Hermione that I'd ever done anything so stupid.
*******
Poor Neville. His grandmother, great aunts and uncles had all thought that he was a Squib for
years. Neville had thought so too. Even the letter and his wand had not convinced him! I could understand
how Neville felt. Thinking you're a Squib isn't the sort of thing you can leave behind very easily, even if
you're really a wizard.
"Neville's not a Squib." I told the girls. "Believe me, if he was, then his family would have been
mourning him instead of sending him to Hogwarts. He's a wizard. He's got plenty of magic in him. His
power feels just as strong as anyone's..."
"What do you mean... his power `feels' as strong as anyone's?" Ginny asked me.
I blinked at her, confused. "You know. When other wizards or witches do magic. The way it
*feels.*"
"The way what feels?" Hermione asked me, her eyes intent on my face.
"Well, magic of course." I said, a bit perplexed. "You must feel it too. Sometimes it has a taste,
doesn't it? Or a scent. Some spells make me sneeze. But mostly, magic has a feel. Rather like a wind. Hot
or cold, either way. In all varying degrees of strength, of course. Neville's magic is strong enough to suit
anyone. I wish he'd learn to believe the rest of you when you try to tell him."
Ginny and Hermione looked at each other, then at me.
"Mr. Filch..." Hermione said, very carefully. "I *can't* feel it when other witches or wizards use
magic."
"Neither can I," Ginny said.
I stared at them. "But that's impossible. I've always been able to do that. It's just about the only
thing I can do. The two of you must be able to do a simple little thing like that, with all the power you
have..."
"All the power we have...?" Ginny said.
Their constant repeating of everything I said was beginning to irk me a bit. "Yes, you're like
magical bonfires, both of you!" I said, irritably.
The girls exchanged another glance.
"Believe me when I tell you this, Mr. Filch..." Hermione said. "I have never heard anyone say
that they could feel magic, or taste magic, or smell magic before."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "I've always assumed that everyone could do it. Probably much better
than I could."
"What else can you do?" Hermione asked me.
I shrugged. "Nothing much, really. Er... I can tell when someone's about to use a spell, because
their magic gives a bit of a surge... there!" I said, nodding at Ginny, who was holding out her wand.
"You're about to do something."
Ginny grinned at me. "That's right, I was," she said. "Lumos!" Her wand tip glowed.
*******
I couldn't understand why Ginny and Hermione would be so interested in my simple little tricks.
Their powers were much greater than mine.
But they spent quite a while with me, asking me questions. And I realized that I had questions
too. I'd always assumed that anything I could do, a proper wizard could do even better. If that wasn't true,
what did it mean?
After the girls had left my office (Hermione said something about going back to the Library and
Ginny grinned, sighed and rolled her eyes.) I picked up Mrs. Norris and went in search of someone with
answers.
I didn't use my Doors to get directly into Dumbledore's office. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.
"Jelly Babies," I told the Gargoyle, and it jumped aside.
Up the moving staircase I went, and knocked on the Headmaster's door.
"Enter!" I heard him call, cheerfully.
"Good afternoon, Argus, Mrs. Norris," Dumbledore said. He had a pile of paperwork in front of
him, and he seemed rather glad to have an interruption.
"I understand that congratulations are in order."
"Yes, Headmaster." I felt a bit nervous, wondering if he was angry at me for allowing Harry and
Colin to fly their brooms in the Castle. But he didn't bring up the subject, and I certainly wasn't going to
mention it if he wasn't.
"Sir..? This may seem like a stupid question," I began, hesitantly. Then I blurted out,
"Headmaster, can you `feel' magic? Other people's spells?"
He listened very gravely while I described what I had always been able to do, silly and useless
though it was, and Hermione and Ginny's interesting reactions to it.
"Argus, what you're describing is a rare talent," he told me, quietly. "No, I cannot do it."
Feeling suddenly a bit shaky, I slid myself into a chair in front of his desk. Mrs. Norris slid down
from my shoulder and curled up in my lap, purring.
"I'd hardly call it a real `talent,'" I said, gruffly, embarrassed.
"I disagree," the Headmaster said, very seriously. "I do not use the term lightly. It is a talent. One
prized by Aurors, in fact."
A bit abashed, I studied the floor for a few moments. Stroking Mrs. Norris helped me regain my
composure.
"Have you ever heard of anyone else who could do it?" I asked him.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Two people, though not in recent memory."
I took a deep breath. "Were they both Squibs, Headmaster?"
He nodded again.
"Did you know that I c-could...?"
Dumbledore smiled. "You have never mentioned it until now, Argus. And, no, not every Squib I
have known has had the ability to feel magic."
"Have you known very many Squibs?" I whispered.
"Not many Squibs will admit what they are openly, Argus. I've probably known more than I
realize."
"Oh." I had a sudden memory, as something he'd said finally clicked. "Prized by Aurors...?
That's how he knew! Alastor Moody! During my second lesson with him, he noticed what I was doing!"
Dumbledore smiled. "Did he? He said nothing to me about it. Though he's always telling me that
he's extremely pleased with your progress and grinning in a rather smug and secretive way. Well, if he
asks to "borrow" you, I will know why."
"Borrow me!" I knew that I was repeating everything he said, very much like Ginny and
Hermione had been doing to me, earlier. I hoped that I wasn't irritating him.
Dumbledore didn't seem irritated. He grinned at me, like a small boy. "Aurors occasionally have
a need for someone with your talent."
"Headmaster... if he asked, would you let me go with him?" The thought made me feel
simultaneously excited and terrified.
Dumbledore said gently, "The choice would be yours, Argus. You belong to yourself, not to me.
Would you be willing to accompany Moody on an Auror's mission, if he asked for you?"
"I-I don't know..." I said, nervously, twisting my hands together. "I'd have to think about it."
Mrs. Norris pushed her head against my hands, reminding me that I had stopped stroking her. I
resumed petting and she resumed purring.
"I hope he doesn't ask any time soon," I said, anxiously. "I mean... I have the kittens to consider
now..."
"Alastor would not ask, unless he thought you were ready and was certain that you were willing,"
Dumbledore assured me.
That was a relief. It wasn't as if I didn't already have plenty to do. The Castle doesn't clean
itself.
"Argus, Alastor has been keeping me well informed regarding your increasing skills with the
Doors," the Headmaster said. "He's told me that you can summon them, making them appear in mid-air."
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent! I had an idea for something interesting that you might want to try. If I could use your
Doors without getting ill, this is probably one of the very first things I'd want to do."
Wondering what sort of defensive strategy he had in mind, I listened with interest.
"I believe you like to use the bathtub in the dungeons, correct," he asked.
I nodded, now a bit bemused.
"Well, I'd recommend using the main staff bathroom instead. That tub is even deeper. First, I'd
fill up the tub, all the way to the top," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Then I'd get a running start, perhaps
jumping through a floor somewhere to get some momentum."
I stared at him in total confusion.
He grinned. "Well, picture it, Argus. Imagine the diving possibilities. Flips! Cannonballs!"
"Headmaster!" I cried, scandalized, "Imagine the mess. The water all over the floor!"
He sighed. "Oh, Argus... everyone needs to have a bit of fun now and again. Using your own
talents to their fullest potential means learning to truly enjoy them."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said firmly. "Making a mess is never going to be my idea of fun!"
*******
Mrs. Norris and I took the long way back through the Castle. I needed to think. My life,
predictable for years, was suddenly changing in ways I'd never imagined. The Doors weren't my only
magical talent after all. I'd never truly realized the significance of something that was so much a part of
me that I'd always taken it for granted.
I'd never thought of myself as a puzzle. But the ways of Squibs appeared to be a mystery to the
Wizarding world. Hermione had not found many answers in those books of hers, but she'd seemed
determined to keep right on looking. The girl was a force of nature. If answers existed, she'd find them,
eventually.
Moody had been right. The students at Hogwarts were a resource. Full of energy, intelligence and
ideas. I had never thought about how much I could learn from them. And, perhaps, I could show them
more than just the penalties for making messes myself.
Of all the new thoughts I'd had recently, that was among the strangest and most frightening.
If I could only find a way to convince Neville that he was a proper wizard, and a powerful one,
that would be a good start.
But, in the meantime, I had an expectant mother to look after, and a litter of kittens to prepare
for.
THE END
(for now)
Author's Notes:
The other, darker story that I've been thinking about (the one with Sirius and Snape) takes place before
the birth of Mrs. Norris' & Crookshanks' kittens. I'm still thinking that story out, but I hope it won't be
too long before the pieces fall into place properly.
Please stay tuned...
Quoth the Raven: Thank you!! Yes, Harry's situation is so different from Filch's that Filch would
actually have to see how poor Harry gets treated by the Dursleys in order to comprehend what Harry's life
is like.
I agree that Harry is not the sort who talks about the details of his private life. I also agree that very few
people probably really know and understand the true horrors of Harry's life with the Dursleys.
McGonagall thought that Filch deserved the iodine for several reasons. Filch was refusing to see Poppy
because he was worried that the Nurse would give him a scolding every bit as bad as the one he got from
Minerva. Minerva was annoyed at him for being so silly; first about Mrs. Norris's situation, and then
about not wanting to go to Poppy and have his wounds tended properly.
McGonagall was also angry at Filch for giving the boys permission to fly brooms through the Castle. She
expected better from him. (Minerva saw Colin's brush with death from the stairs, and nearly had a heart
attack herself.)
And, Minerva also knows Filch's tendencies towards what Snape refers to as "self-flagellation." She knew
that Argus would punish himself for what had almost happened, if no one else did.
It occurred to me that Filch's parents had been Hogwarts students, so I started wondering what house(s)
they were in. I thought that Ron would be the logical one to have the insight to ask.
Alchemine: Thank you!! I loved your suggestion for what Filch should have done to Trelawney! It made
me laugh.
Jelsemium: Thank you!! The idea of Snape being horrified at Filch's friendliness towards Harry delighted
me!
Most people at Hogwarts know that Harry doesn't like the Dursleys, but I think very few people know all
about the horrible abuse that Harry has to live with.
I'm still thinking about how many kittens there should be. Your suggestions are good ones. Mrs. Norris's
litter may be larger than I'd planned at first.
I LOVED this scene where Harry tells Hermione about Crookshanks' situation! It's PERFECT!
Rabbit: Thank you!! Filch doesn't realize that there are books on Squibs and Dark Magic in the Restricted
Section. Hermione will be determined to read those, once she finds out about them.
Now Hermione and Ginny both know about the one manifestation of Filch's blocked-up powers that he's
always been able to access. And, soon this knowledge will spread to Ron, Harry and Neville.
Danalas: Thank you!!
DiaLin: Thank you!!
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! I wanted a plush Mrs. Norris! I wish they'd been available. I sure would
have bought one. Both Hermione and Filch realize that Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris were only doing
what cats do.
Lataradk: Thank you!! The image of Snape "accio-ing" the cats made me laugh. The poor man would
have ended up as badly scratched up as Filch.
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you!! & Thank you!! Wonderful Trelawney impression!!
Robert: Thank you!! Ooh! You've given this so much thought! You're bringing up some ideas that I'm
thinking about for the next story I'm trying to work on. Can you read my mind?
The Squib Scroll(s) sidestep the problem of Squibs being unable to access their own magic. The scrolls are
used to form a link between the Squib and another wizard. The "broken" part of the Squib is fully
compensated for by the other wizard, who then takes advantage of the power that the Squib has always
been unable to use.
Yes, the creator of the Squib Scrolls probably knew exactly what was "broken" in a Squib. It's easier to
exploit a creature that you understand well. Granting a Squib temporary access to their magic is only a
means to an end. The primary purpose of the scrolls is to increase the powers of the Dark wizard/witch
user who went to the trouble of finding a Squib and getting all the right bits.
Voldemort doesn't know about all four Doors. As Tom Riddle (Slytherin's Heir) he may be aware of
Salazar's Door, and he may have used it as a convenient escape route down to the dungeons when he was
at Hogwarts. But he never learned to get the Door to come to him, when he needed it, or take him
wherever he wanted to go.
(Someone once asked me if the Heirs of the Founders would be able to use the Doors. I thought it made
sense that they'd be able to.) However, once Riddle gave up whatever remained of his humanity to
become Lord Voldemort, Salazar's Door became closed to him forever.
Lord Voldemort doesn't know that Salazar's Door could be used by a Squib, though he is aware of the
"loophole" that makes Squibs immune from the effects of certain spells, particularly some of the protective
ones around Hogwarts Castle. The Dark Lord wants a scroll and a Squib to experiment on.
All four Doors have become "keyed" to Filch. No one, not even another Squib, could use them unless
Filch took them through the first time. (Though the Doors could, presumably, be keyed to more than one
person at a time. Each Door might recognize the heir of their own creator, if Filch were to take them
through.)
Wow! A spell that could turn a healthy wizard into a Squib, temporarily! What an utterly cool idea! I
could easily see Voldemort using that as a punishment, even if he doesn't know about the Doors.
"Wormtail! Get me a Squib to skin for a cloak, or I'll turn you into a Squib and use your worthless hide
instead!"
ThePet: Thank you!!
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, poor Snape did get his nap. His level of crankiness dropped down to
Snape-normal (merely bilious) shortly afterwards.
Gramarye: Thank you!! I loved the image of Snape, trying to sleep with a pillow over his head.
Filch is not really pleased with the notion that he has to "share" Mrs. Norris, but he knows that she could
have done far worse than Crookshanks.
Elspeth: Thank you!! Excellent point that Hermione has never had any babies to mother before! She's
going to be so sweet with Crookshanks' babies.
Yes, like you I am hoping to see Neville get some confidence in Rowling's Books!