Reborn As A Squib In Harry potter

I pointed a finger at Harry who recoiled a bit. "You! Haven't you ever experienced strange things happening around you before? Like the time the teacher's hair turned blue, or you appeared on the roof without having climbed it?"

Harry jerked in surprise when I brought those two examples up and he stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that first incident," Sam mused. "Her hair was a really bright blue color, wasn't it? No one could explain how it happened. In the end, it was blamed on a student playing a prank with some dye, but I never bought it."

"Yeah, that was a case of accidental magic. And unless there's another magical student at Woolingsby, which to be fair is a possibility, then it has to be because of Harry."

"How do you know it was me?" Harry demanded, his disbelief slowly turning to anger at what he assumed was a terrible joke at his expense.

I bit my lower lip at that. There were several ways I could do that, but in the end, I decided to use the best example I could think of.

"Wait here," I instructed, and went over to my bedroom. Inside, I grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet that had been delivered to me this morning off the nightstand next to my bed. My mother had paid for a subscription for me, and as much as it was fluff pieces and propaganda, I found it useful as it let me stay up to date with what went on in the magical world. At least, what the Ministry allowed people to know about. I much preferred the Quibbler, honestly. Their puzzle section was a lot of fun.

The reason I wanted the Daily Prophet right now, however, was for a particular article on the front page, and I shoved it into Harry's hands.

"Read this," I ordered him, and he stared at me, then at the paper he was holding, eyes fixating on the moving black and white picture on the front of what was otherwise a completely normal newspaper.

"Um, why is that picture moving?" Sam asked as he stared at it. "And how?"

Harry, meanwhile, couldn't tear his eyes away from the picture. Something about the man and woman in it were familiar, yet he couldn't put his finger on why.

"The Daily Prophet?" Sam continued. "What the heck kind of name is that? Is this… wait, what's going on here, Ed?"

"Nine years ago, on October 31st, 1981, James and Lily Potter died trying to protect their one-year-old son, Harry Potter, from the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," I said slowly, repeating part of the front-page article the photo was attached to. "Although no one knows exactly what happened that night, the truth of the matter is that the Dark Lord was defeated, and Harry Potter became the first person in history to survive a direct strike from the infamous Killing Curse."

"I-I don't understand," Harry said shakily. "My parents… my aunt said they died in a car accident… that they were drunks…"

"That was a nothing more than a filthy lie spoken by a jealous bint," I replied sharply, the venom in my voice startling Harry and Sam's attention away from the magical newspaper. "Your parents are heroes, never, ever, think otherwise."

The two of them stared at me, before returning to the words on the page.

"What is this?" Sam finally asked, sounding rattled.

"That is the largest and most read newspaper within the magical community of Wizarding Britain," I explained. "It's not always the most accurate, as the Ministry of Magic has a pretty solid grip on what they let be published, but it's good for a surface view at the very least."

"Uh-huh," Sam said slowly, still looking confused. "Um, next question: Magic is real?"

"Yeah," I said awkwardly. "Please don't say anything to anyone. I don't want to be Obliviated or worse, fined for leaking the existence of magic to a non-magical."

"Lemme just sit down real quick," my friend muttered to himself before sinking onto the couch. Harry sat down beside him, and I dragged a chair from the dining room so I could sit down and face them.

"All those things I did… it was my magic acting up?" Harry asked after a moment. "Like the time my hair grew back overnight after a bad haircut, or the time I shrunk my cousin's sweater so it'd fit me? Or when my glasses broke, but then they seemed fined a couple hours later?"

"Sounds like accidental magic to me," I hummed, not recognizing two of the examples he gave as being from the books. "Rather subdued forms of it, honestly. My brother burped up glowing bubbles when he got really excited one Christmas morning, and turned all of his pillows into puppies another time."

"Your brother… he's magical?" Sam asked. "Wait, what about you? Are you a wizard?"

"No, I'm not," I said, trying and failing to hide the bitterness in my voice. "I'm what is known as a squib. A person without magic born to parents who did have magic."

"Let me explain a few things," I said when I saw the looks of confusion on the two of them. "First, is that there is a whole society of magic users, hidden all over the world from non-magical people…"

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