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He was chewing a delicious hazelnut biscuit when a decrepit owl glided uncertainly into their kitchen, landing with a thud right in front of him and making the milk wobble inside his mug.
Gus felt a surge of blissful joy and amazing relief, and with a thundering heart he hastily freed the thick envelope from the owl’s leg.
The owl took advantage of his distraction and pecked at his abandoned biscuit. In different circumstances Gus would have felt resentful, but this time the yearning to read the letter was too strong for him to be annoyed.
He opened it with trembling hands, cracking the wax seal without even looking at it, and with religious respect he took out the parchment covered in orange ink.
Chudley Cannons
Summer Camp for young beginners.
Your broom keeps unsaddling you, but you dream of becoming the Captain of your House Quidditch team?
You’ve never spotted a Snitch, but you want to break the record for the fastest catch?
You failed any attempt to get the Quaffle through the two hoops, forgetting that there was a third?
You are an excellent Beater, but your teammates keep losing teeth?
Then you’ve picked the right course for you! Fly with us and become a Champion!
Shooting Stars are supplied.
Detailed information about costs, schedules and locations of the course overleaf.
Gus put down the sheet of parchment and didn’t even bother to turn it over, a bitter taste in his mouth replacing the thrill of joy he had felt mere moments ago.
After the umpteenth humiliation suffered on the Quidditch pitch, his mother had suggested that he enroll for that stupid course promoted on the radio. I’m sure your broom will start listening to you, after a bit of practise, she had said.
He had dwelled on it for a while, but then she added a promise too sweet to be ignored. You’ll shine, at Hogwarts.
He had been full of optimism and good intentions when he sent the letter, and yet he couldn’t find the will to be happy with the news, his mind wandering towards fresh memories that stung more than he was willing to admit.
“Look! My Hogwarts letter!” Kresten had shouted ecstatically a week ago, running towards them and waving it with pride. They had spent the whole afternoon dreaming of their future Houses and wondering about wand woods and cores, betting on how many they would have to try before finding the right one.
The morning after, it had been Gus’ cousin Alan and their friend Jacob to celebrate, and then it had been Horatio’s turn.
“What about your letter?” Kresten had asked the following day, and Gus still wondered if he had only imagined the malice in his voice.
“Mum says it’ll arrive soon,” he had lied, his tone challenging in the hope of concealing the insidious anguish that had been creeping inside him more and more every day that went by without a letter.
“When will it arrive?” he had asked at dinner the day before.
“Soon, sweetheart.” His mother had given him a strained smile, before lowering her gaze to her plate.
Too caught up in the past, Gus was startled when his mum stormed into the kitchen.
“I’m warning you, you won’t go out until you’ve tidied up…”
She trailed off, her wide eyes fixed on the letter in front of him.
“Merlin… it arrived…” she murmured, as her bewilderment slowly morphed into amazement. “It arrived!”
She rushed towards Gus to squeeze him into a crushing hug.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you! You’ll see, they’ll be able to teach you the most incredible magic, at Hogwarts!”
Gus tensed at her excited words, but she didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with kissing his head and saying stupid, unwelcome things.
When she finally let him go, he glared at her, hoping this time she wouldn’t miss his gloomy frustration.
“It’s not my Hogwarts letter,” he hissed against the lump in his throat.
His mum froze, her eyebrows pursed in a confused frown. “What do you mean, it’s not?”
“It means it’s not!” yelled Gus with mounting rage. “It’s only,” he said, clenching the letter in his fist, “that sodding,” – he crumpled the hated parchment with his fingers – “Quidditch course,” – he crushed it between is hands – “you wanted me to join!” he shouted, throwing the paper ball in her face with forceful contempt, before running into his bedroom and slamming the door with all his might.
He was sulking on his bed when his mother knocked gently.
“Go away!” yelled Gus, but she ignored his protest.
He turned onto his side to face the wall, kicking it in frustration, and heard her light steps getting closer. He curled up in defense, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.
He felt the mattress sagging when his mother sat down beside him, her side brushing his back, her fingers softly caressing his hair. He jerked his head away, but his mum didn’t relent, running her fingers through his strands with tender, placating movements.
His anger faded, replaced by a deep, aching sadness that pressed down on his chest and clenched his throat. Silent, spiteful tears ran down his cheeks, and eventually he was sobbing in his mother’s arms, his snot damping her shirt.
“It’ll come, you’ll see,” she murmured, and in the comfort of her hug it was easy to delude himself that it was true.
“Alan will buy his books and all the rest this Saturday,” Gus mentioned casually during lunch. “We could go too.”
His mum hesitated. “Why don’t we go this Friday, instead?”
“But I want to go with Alan!” he complained, annoyed.
“Saturdays are always so busy, though…”
“We can’t go alone. I don’t have the list.”
His mum smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I can ask Aunt Agnes to give me a copy.”
He huffed. “Okay, then…”
Gus left Flourish and Blotts with his brand-new pewter cauldron full of interesting books.
“Now there’s only the wand left!” he said excited, walking towards Ollivanders with a spring in his step.
His mum gave him an exaggerated grin. “Of course, sweetheart.”
When he reached the wand shop, he rested his hand against the window and peered inside.
“Look how many there are, Mum!” he said, enthralled by the sight of dozens of shelves packed with small boxes. “C’mon, let’s go inside!”
He was about to open the door, when his mum held him back.
She was still smiling, but now her expression seemed strained... fake.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the letter, before buying a wand?” she asked with a too high-pitched voice.
Gus swallowed. “Why?” he asked harshly.
His mother let out an awkward laugh. “Well, you see, nobody ever buys a wand before receiving the letter… I’m not even sure that it’s allowed, so we really sh–”
“But I’m eleven!” Gus cut her off. “I want to start casting spells!”
“You know children can’t do magic outside of Hogwarts, sweetheart…”
“But all my friends have! Horatio fell from his broom and bounced without breaking a single bone; Jacob once spilled pumpkin juice on Alan but he didn’t get wet; Kresten made the mud stains on his new trousers disappear, because he was scared his mother would ground him, and –”
His mother sighed, her forced smile fading. “Those... those weren’t real spells, Gus...”
“Of course they were!”
She shook her head. “They were just… just bursts of accidental magic,” she explained in a low voice. “You see, it’s normal for children to accidentally do wandless magic, from time to time… Every child does.”
“But that’s not true!” objected Gus, clenching his hands. “It never happened to me!”
“No,” said his mother, her eyes glassy, and Gus felt his stomach plummeting. “No, it never happened to you, because you… you are not a wizard, Gus…”
He looked at her in shock, shaking his head in betrayed disbelief, his mouth opening and closing without uttering any sound.
“I… of course I am… I… I have to be...”
His mother swallowed, her features crumpled in sorrow, and Gus hated her for this despicable show of weakness.
“I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart, I know I should have told you sooner, but –”
“YOU’RE WRONG!” shouted Gus, a sour taste in his mouth, his inside twisted in a knot. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t bear her, with her sickening lies and her deceiving smiles, and when she grabbed him from the shoulders, Gus wriggled free.
He ran away with angry tears running down his face, feeling like his whole world had just been ripped apart.
He was crying in a forgotten alley, his back pressed against cold bricks and his forehead resting upon his knees, when he felt something wet grazing his fingers.
He shot his head towards it and saw a black kitten brushing his tiny snout against his bare skin.
“Go away,” he mumbled, but didn’t move his hand.
The kitten probably sensed his lack of conviction, because it didn’t pull back, preferring to lick his fingers. It tickled a bit, but in a pleasant way, and Gus tentatively turned his hand over to caress its neck.
“Where do you come from, kitty?”
Its soft meow was covered by the rumors of hasty steps, and a moment later a girl with dirty blond hair darted into the alley.
She stopped abruptly when she saw him, her breaths deep and frequent, a hand pressed against her right side. When she lowered her gaze, her eyes went wide. “Tibbles!” she exclaimed, running towards Gus and lifting the docile kitten in her arms. “I was at the Magical Menagerie, and,” - she took a deep breath - “a nasty cat fled from the owner’s hands and scared him off,” she explained with a hint of resentment, taking another deep breath.
Gus nodded in understanding, feeling a bit sorry for her and for her kitten, but also for himself. He would have liked to stay alone with Tibbles for a bit longer.
“I searched for him in every alley,” said the girl. “Thank Merlin you found him.”
“It wasn’t me who found him. He was the one who found me.”
The girl threw him a suspicious glance. “That’s weird. He doesn’t like strangers.”
“Well, he likes me,” said Gus defensively.
She quirked an eyebrow, studying his face. “So it seems,” she conceded eventually, scratching Tibbles’ ears. “Anyway, I’m glad he isn’t lost. Mr Paws would have gone barmy if I had come back without him.”
Gus felt a sting of annoyance. “Is Mr Paws your father?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. If his own dad were still alive, Gus certainly wouldn’t call him by his surname.
The girl scoffed mockingly, and he didn’t know if he felt more irritated or humiliated.
He crossed his arms in a challenging pose. “What’s so funny?”
“He’s not my father, silly boy,” she clarified with a slightly patronising tone. “He’s Tibbles’ father. I have to bring him back to him, by the way, but you can come with me to the Magical Menagerie, if you like. You seem a bit lost.”
“I’m not lost!” he spluttered indignantly.
The girl shrugged. “Suit yourself, then,” she said, heading towards the entrance to the alley with Tibbles secured firmly in her arms.
Gus watched her walking away, but a moment later he jumped onto his feet, wiping his face with the back of his hands.
“Wait,” he called, rushing towards her. “I’m coming too.”
She shrugged again. “Fine,” she said, looking at him with an odd expression. “Do you want to carry Tibbles?”
Gus hadn’t expected the offer, and he nodded eagerly, stretching his hands to grab him. The kitten snuggled cosily in his arms, and this was all Gus needed to endure the endless, dull chatting of the girl, who had taken it upon herself to tell him everything about her crossbred cats and Kneazles.
The Magical Menagerie was smelly, noisy and packed with cages on every wall. There were animals of every kind and colour, from cats, toads, and rats to weird furballs and double-ended newts.
“Arabella!” exclaimed the witch behind the counter, pulling off a pair of heavy black spectacles with which she was examining an adult cat with black fur. “Did you find him?” she asked urgently, while the cat raised his head and meowed.
The girl pointing her thumb at Gus. “He did.”
The witch pressed a hand to her chest at the sight of Tibbles. “Thank Merlin,” she said with relief. “I’m sorry about what happened, dear. I won’t charge you for Mr Paws’ examination, and feel free to grab a packet of cat treats on your way out.”
“I will,” said Arabella without any trace of embarrassment, before taking Mr Paws from the counter. She then turned towards Gus, looking right into his eyes. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Gus,” he said a bit defiantly.
“You’re the boy they’re looking for, then!” said the older witch, her eyes wide. “Your mother was here a moment ago, she was worried sick!”
Gus felt a rush of vicious satisfaction at these words. “Serves her right,” he muttered.
“Come now, lad!” scolded the witch. “I’ll go find her. You stay here.” She pointed a menacing finger at him before looking back at the girl. “Arabella, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a bit more. I’ll show you the new kittens when this matter is solved.”
“It’s okay,” said the girl, nonplussed.
As soon as the witch was out of the shop, Gus dashed to the door, but only to find out she had locked it. He swore and kicked it, frustrated.
Arabella looked at him with curiosity. “Why are you avoiding your mum?”
“That’s none of your business,” he said, scowling. “Why do you know that witch so well?”
“Weren’t you listening?” she asked, annoyed. “I told you, I picked all my cats here. I want the seventh one.”
“What do you do with all these cats, if you’re only allowed to bring one to Hogwarts?”
For the first time, Arabella was lost for words. She lowered her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet. “I…”
“Do you really have six cats?”
“Of course I do!” she said indignantly, raising her head again to glare at him.
“Then how –”
“I’ve never been to Hogwarts, okay?” she cut him off aggressively. “Are you happy, now?”
He stared at her, taken aback. She was taller than him and obviously a few years older. “Why not?” he asked in a low voice, his heart thundering in his ears.
“Because I’m a Squib, that’s why.”
Gus had no idea what she was talking about. “A what?”
“Someone without magical power born into a wizarding family,” she said with impatience. “Are you taking the mickey or have you actually never heard of it?”
Gus stayed silent. Squib. So that was what people like him were called...
“I’m a Squib too,” he admitted, finally saying out loud what he had secretly known since forever. He felt relieved, in a way.
“Oh.” She didn’t look particularly bothered. “Well, that’d explain why Tibbles liked you, then. Cats love Squibs.”
“They do?”
“Yes, Albus Dumbledore told me so, in person. See, my parents know him.”
Gus was quite impressed to hear that, but he wasn’t particularly keen to tell her.
She rolled her eyes. “You know, Dumbledore?” She had spoken as if she was talking to a two-year-old. “Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmaster, the greatest –”
“I know who he is!” said Gus with resentment. Blimey, he had five Chocolate Frog Cards of him! Of course he knew who he was. Everybody did.
The girl’s miffed answer was lost, because at that moment the owner got back, his mother in tow.
“Gus!” exclaimed the latter, rushing to hug him. “I was so worried, I couldn’t find you anywhere!”
He didn’t answer, making sure to put on a reproachful scowl. When his mum looked at him with dismay, Gus felt cruelly pleased.
The owner stepped in, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you help Arabella pick her new kitten, lad?”
She had spoken with a conciliatory tone, and even if Gus hated to admit it, he was intrigued by the offer. He glanced at the girl and she shrugged, so he looked back at the witch and nodded. “Okay.”
“C’mon, then,” she said briskly, leading them behind the counter. One by one, they took all the cats and Kneazles out of their cage, no matter their fur colour or their age, and Gus and Arabella held them all in turn.
“What about that one?” asked Gus with surprise when the witch skipped one of the cages.
“She’s the one that scared Tibbles,” said Arabella with bitterness.
“Can I see her?”
The witch looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure? I can’t guarantee you that –”
He nodded with decision.
“Very well, then.” She opened the cage with cautious movements, and the kitten showed her sharp teeth, jerking a paw forward with her claws out.
“Nasty kitty!” yelped the witch, withdrawing her hand.
Gus got closer, intrigued. Ignoring his mother’s frightened “No!”, he bent forward and took the dust-coloured kitten, who snuggled meekly in his arms, purring happily.
Gus turned and met the baffled gaze of the three women in the shop. “Can I keep her, Mum?” he asked. Only silence followed. “Mum?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, coming back to earth. “Of course you can keep her.”
His mum knocked on the door and peered into his room without waiting for an answer.
“It’s Alan,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t you go and say hi?”
Gus kept caressing his kitten’s fur. “Tell him I’m not here,” he said, lowering his gaze and hoping she would take it as a hint to let him be.
“It’d do you good to go out with your friends, once in a while...”
“I don’t want to see them.”
“Gus… They care about you... I’m sure they’d understand, if you talk to them…”
“Nobody cares about Squibs,” he said stubbornly. “Except cats,” he added on a second thought.
“Please, Gus…”
“I said, tell them I’m not here.”
“Okay,” murmured his mum, defeated.
He thought she might have been crying, but he didn’t bother to check.
Gus refused to meet his friends for the rest of the summer. He would rather stay alone all the time than tell them why he wasn’t going to Hogwarts, or why he would never own a wand.
He made a habit of watching them play, perched on his windowsill, his cat always at his side. He couldn’t say when he had begun to resent them so much, so agile on their broomsticks, so happy and carefree, so good at reminding him how different he was.
“One day, we’ll go to Hogwarts too,” he promised to his cat on one of those awful afternoons. “And I swear that not a single student will dare make fools of Mrs Norris and Argus Filch.”