Year-1967
The cold wind was stealing heat from the face of that little almost 11-year-old boy. He came all the way from a small town to this magical alley called Diagon Alley.
The cold wind was stealing heat from the face of that little almost 11-year-old boy. He came all the way from a small town to this magical alley called Diagon Alley.
He was curious about the surroundings and he knew that although this magical world didn't amuse him, he was somewhat different from others.
He came there with a spark of hope in his eyes. He went to a vintage looking shop called "Ollivander's" & with that little spark in his eyes, he entered the shop.
***
"Please try to concentrate, my son" his mother instructed him gently every time she thought he couldn't perform magic. His father, on the other hand, had clearly given up. His parents just didn't say that word in front of him, but he knew he was a child that every magical parent didn't want to have.
**
"I'm afraid he won't be able to perform magic" said a female voice.
"Don't tell him, that he's a Squib. His friends already bully him a lot" a male voice replied.
They had no idea that their only child was listening to the conversation hiding behind the door of their bedroom.
***
"This is the last and final wand that I can give you to try, are you sure you're a wizard? " Ollivander said.
"Yes, yes I... I'm a wiz... I am a wizard, I don't know why there's no wand in your shop that can possibly choose me!" said that a boy in a sad voice.
He held that wand, made with Unicorn's hair, 10 inches in length. Nothing happened as always.
"PLEASE FIND A PROPER WAND FOR ME!" He cried.
Ollivander gave him another 10 wands to check, none of those wands chose that boy.
He left the shop with crushed dreams and blank eyes. He didn't want to see other children talking about joining a school named Hogwarts. He didn't want to accept the fact that he didn't get a letter from Hogwarts. He didn't want to accept that he actually was a Squib.
He came home. Depressed, and stressed. He wanted to be 'normal'. Why being normal was that hard?
A child from the neighborhood shouted, "look at that filthy squib baby crying!“
He shouted "MY NAME IS ARGUS FILCH YOU BASTARD! "
He never liked wizards and gifted children after that incident.
