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Author: girlyswot Story: The Squib Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 6 Words: 63,028
Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K.Rowling for creating Harry Potter and his world and letting people play in it. And thanks to Gabriella Du Sult for inspiring me with George/Padma and to St Margarets for Jack Jordan and other next generation inspiration. Cathy Preston chewed the end of her quill as she let her eyes wander down the sheet of parchment for perhaps the fiftieth time since it had arrived that morning. She already sported one dribble of black ink down her right cheek and a blotch on her left hand, so the mark she was making on her lips merely completed the look. She sighed and reached for another handful of chocolate spiders. It was good. It really was. Witch Weekly were offering her an interview. They were looking for a new Junior Features editor and Cathy had an interview on Wednesday. Today was Saturday. Four days, then, to come up with at least half a dozen innovative and inspirational ideas with which to impress the notoriously critical Romilda Vane. Well, she had one. It was practically certain to be unpublishable but maybe it would impress Romilda nonetheless. Celebrity gossip was one of the mainstays of Witch Weekly. Only last week they’d run a story about the latest love-child of Colin Creevey to come out into the public eye. Pineapple had given Witch Weekly an exclusive photo shoot, showing off her glamorous home and rather too much of her less than perfect flesh, in Cathy’s opinion. There was no doubt that Raphael Bernadetti was as A-list as celebrities came. The dark, delectably handsome superstar Chaser had been hounded by the wizarding paparazzi ever since he was signed for Puddlemere from the Ligurian Giants. He rarely gave interviews, claiming that his English was too poor. Inevitably, that merely heightened interest in the details of Bernadetti’s rags-to-riches fairy tale. Raphael Bernadetti had learned to ride a broom before he learned to walk. His Mamma would send him out to the olive grove where his Pappa was working with packages of bread and peppers and delicious salty cheese and a bottle of vino dell’uovo tied on the back of the broomstick. Francesca was proud of her son and he was proud as well, that he could help his Mamma and Pappa in their work. Alberto always stopped when Raphael arrived. He would hold his arms out wide and beam at his little son and then clasp him to his breast. And when he had untied the packages and laid out his lunch, he would sit Raphael on his lap and feed him some of the delicious morsels Francesca had sent. That was how Raphael remembered his childhood, he would say. With the sun beating down and his father laughing and the taste of forbidden wine on his lips. Unfortunately, Raphael’s youth was not so idyllic. He preferred not to talk about it but everyone knew that the war had come, even to the olive groves of Liguria. Death Eaters swept through the little towns and the tiny villages. They destroyed homes and fields and families almost indiscriminately. Muggles and Muggle-borns and half-bloods and pure-bloods - not that there were many of those left in the region - all suffered. The ten-year-old Raphael was sent to the hills to hide in a cave with the two precious goats and a parcel of provisions. After a week, when he was so hungry he could barely stand, Raphael ventured out. He went down the slopes through the olive grove and the overblown vegetable plot, helping himself greedily to tomatoes and peppers and sweet new broad beans that could be eaten straight from the pod. Thoroughly gorged, Raphael looked uncertainly down to the little town. Pappa hadn’t told him when he was allowed back and Raphael hadn’t thought to ask. The town appeared deserted when Raphael approached cautiously. He wandered slowly through the familiar streets feeling utterly lost. The old men who spent their whole days sitting at Luigi’s bar weren’t there. No mammas were shouting across the square to their errant children. No children ran out to greet Raphael. One forlorn goat was still tethered by its empty pail. Raphael untied it and watched it run off to try to find water. He went down the narrow street that led to his home. All the houses along the alley were tall and looked as if they had been built by children putting blocks unevenly on top of each other. The second storey of the houses on each side of the street almost met at the top, blocking out most of the midday sun. It was always wonderfully cool in the alley and Raphael ran along happily to the peeling blue-painted door. Raphael pushed it slowly, for the first time in his life afraid of what he might find inside. He never told anyone what he’d seen. His eyes would narrow if he was asked, and he would simply reply that that was the day he changed from a boy into a man. Bernadetti rarely spoke about his teenage years. He preferred to talk about the day when a man had spotted him flying with some friends in a disused quarry. They had no Quaffle or Snitch but one of them had a wand which he’d used to Transfigure a couple of rocks into balls. The man had returned the following day and offered Bernadetti a training contract with the Ligurian Giants. The rest, Raphael would say with a self-deprecating smile that never failed to charm the ladies, was history. Over the years his name had naturally been linked with practically every beautiful, available witch - and some who weren’t technically available at all. So far as anyone knew, he hadn’t had a serious relationship in the two years since he moved to the UK. Yet, if the rumours Cathy had heard were true that wasn’t quite right. Apparently there was a woman, possibly even a wife, back in Italy - and a child. It would be a massive coup. It could make her name as an investigative journalist. It could also make her some serious enemies. Bernadetti’s name was one of the most powerful in the Italian underworld. Although Raphael himself had never been linked with crime, Cathy knew it would be a brave witch who denounced him in the eyes of the world. Once again, she took the quill out of her mouth and reached for more chocolate. Then she drew a fresh sheet of parchment in front of her and began to write. ### ‘There.’ Laura looked down at the bridge where Jack was pointing. The stream was high, following a rainy spell the previous week, but there was still just room for one person to fly underneath without getting wet. They’d had enough of playing catch with the Quaffle Jack had brought, so he’d suggested a race down the river. ‘You’re on.’ She grinned broadly at him and nodded. ‘On three?’ ‘Sure.’ Jack held her gaze for a second before turning to focus on their goal. ‘Ready? Three!’ ‘You…!’ Laura let out a loud expletive and kicked her Wizster on as fast as she dared. She knew she had the faster broom but Jack had a good ten yard start on her and he knew this valley and its tricky air currents much better than she did. She decided to use him as her guide, catching him inch by inch, following his line as he shot smoothly down towards the choppy stream. Two hundred yards. One hundred. Fifty. Jack stole a glance back over his shoulder and at that moment Laura darted in the other direction, out of his line of vision. She dipped lower than Jack and let the Wizster rip, loving the sudden surge of power in her hands. She heard his growl of frustration as he realised that she was now between him and the bridge and allowed herself a grin of triumph. Laura kept her gaze on the graceful arch of the stone bridge. Years of playing Quidditch with her father had taught her never to lose sight of her target. She was faster than Jack and there was nothing between her and winning. ‘Ow!’ Laura wobbled on her broom when something hit her on the shoulder but she refused to be distracted. Then another stone hit its target - not Laura, but the tip of her broom, pushing her well off balance. She swerved sharply, letting the broom find its level, knowing that it was the fastest way to get back under control. Jack shot past her, turning back to favour her with a broad wink. That settled it. If he wanted to play dirty, Laura would show him what dirty really was. She pointed her broom upwards, aiming directly for her new target and accelerating hard, knowing she only had a fraction of a second to reach for Jack’s broom. He was almost at the bridge and Laura’s arm was at full stretch when she grabbed for the twigs on Jack’s Speedbolt and let the Wizster go into its vertical shift. Jack’s broom tilted until it was hanging straight down below Laura’s. Jack was clinging on grimly, keeping his head just above the water level. Laura’s laugh rang out across the valley. ‘Shall I let go?’ He twisted his face up to glare at her. ‘Fine. You win.’ ‘Do I now? What’s my prize?’ Jack raised an eyebrow suggestively. ‘What do you want, darling?’ ‘I think…’ Laura paused and let her eyes drift over Jack’s tense body. ‘… I think I want to see what you look like in a wet shirt.’ She grinned and let her hand open slowly, watching as Jack fell head first into the cold Scottish water. He came up spluttering and cursing and struggling to get his leg over his broom. Laura darted away out of reach, certain she knew what was coming next. This time the chase was all over the place. Twisting and turning like otters playing in the water, Jack and Laura followed each other, screaming and laughing, catching hold of brooms or clothes or arms or legs, then letting the other pull free. Jack shook his damp hair at Laura, loving the way she shivered with the cool water landing on her warm skin. Finally, he grasped her broom and pulled it firmly against his, pressing his body against her side. She screamed but instead of pushing him away, she leaned against him and let him slip an arm around her. ‘I win,’ he announced. ‘Did not,’ Laura protested. ‘Oh really?’ He winked at her. ‘So you wanted to be caught?’ ‘So what if I did?’ She gazed at him, a clear challenge in her green eyes. ‘So is this the prize?’ he asked, bending to kiss her. ### Witch Weekly was losing its readership practically on a weekly basis. Everyone knew that. Younger witches preferred the more glamorous magazines that promised to tell them everything they needed to know to get the wizard they’d always dreamed of and how to keep him happy once they’d got him. Older witches were bored of its endless cycles of household spells and celebrity interviews that were no more than shameless self-promotion. When Romilda Vane took over, the magazine had claimed to be reaching a fresh new generation of witches with its more youthful design and broader range of issues. Cathy wasn’t convinced, as she flicked through her pile of past issues: ‘Twenty ways to keep your children so busy over the summer they won’t even want to use magic’; ‘Ever wondered how to keep your vegetables as fresh as the day you picked them? Fanny Braddock shows you her latest refrigeration spells’; ‘Celestina Warbeck talks about life, love and her latest album: Songs from my Wizarding Heart.’ Did she even want to write for a magazine like that? At least she wouldn’t have to worry that her articles weren’t interesting enough. She looked down at her list again. Aside from the Bernadetti story, she had… oh that’s right, none. Oh God, maybe she wasn’t cut out for this at all. She was eighteen. She should be writing about dating and sex and life as a single girl in the twenty-first century. Almost without thinking, Cathy reached for the chocolate again. She couldn’t write about those things. She’d never been out with a boy in her life, let alone had sex. As for life as a single girl, she didn’t think people really wanted to read about what it was like to stay in every Saturday night with only her books and the Wizarding Wireless Network for company. Utterly miserable, and having exhausted her supply of chocolate, Cathy abandoned her desk and went to the Floo. There was no chance Laura would be free on a Saturday and she knew that Callie was away with her family. She frowned. Zoe was staying with her parents and they weren’t on the Floo Network. Cathy didn’t fancy Apparating that far, to a Muggle area she didn’t know, on the off chance that her friend would be free. Perhaps she should get a cat, after all? At least it would be company. Cathy flicked on the wireless and went to see if she had any ice cream left. ### Zoe tried not to mind when Ben didn’t get in touch with her on Saturday. He’d have things to sort out with Bert, she reasoned, remembering the state Bert had been in the night before. Besides, he’d hardly shown any tendency to take the initiative so far. But they’d had fun. She was sure he’d enjoyed it. Right up until Bert appeared. On Sunday morning she told her parents she was going out for the day and Apparated over to Laura’s house. She waved at Mr Potter who was out de-gnoming the garden and asked him if Laura was inside. ‘She’s still in bed,’ he answered with a smile. ‘You can go on up.’ She thanked him and turned towards the back door. ‘Ask Mrs Potter for a cup of tea and some cake if you like,’ he called out after her. Zoe knocked briefly then pushed the white-painted door to Laura’s bedroom open. She was surprised to find it dark, the yellow and white striped curtains still drawn. In the dim light from the doorway, Zoe inched cautiously over to the desk and put the tray down, spilling a pile of papers onto the floor by mistake. She went over to pull the curtains open and with a grin on her face turned to the bed where Laura slept. Except there was no-one in the bed. A pillow had been pushed under the covers to simulate a sleeping body but it was evident that Laura had spent her night elsewhere. Zoe’s eyebrows rose and her eyes widened as she considered the implications of this. Mr Potter had certainly said Laura was inside. Mrs Potter had given Zoe two mugs and two pieces of cake. Curiouser and curiouser. Zoe picked up her mug and absently chomped her way through both pieces of Mrs Potter’s deliciously moist chocolate cake. From all she’d heard, Laura was still pining over Jack Jordan but he was playing it cool to the point of arctic. Maybe the iceberg had melted. He was certainly gorgeous, admitted Zoe, but she’d had enough of that cocky arrogance with Bert. Jack Jordan was major league and knew it. Besides, reflected Zoe, making herself comfortable on Laura’s rocking chair, Jack was younger than she was. She was just starting on her second cup of tea when she heard a voice in the garden that made her heart thump. Setting the mug down, Zoe carefully inched towards the window, making sure she couldn’t be seen. She twitched the curtain back and sneaked a glance towards the hedge where Mr Potter was standing. He’d temporarily stopped his de-gnoming and was talking to another visitor. Actually, there were two visitors: Bert and Ben. Zoe stood and gazed for a while. She couldn’t tell what they were saying and the body language was hard to read but she’d happily look on that perfect double profile for hours. Just a few minutes later however, a pop in the corner of the room signalled its owner’s return. ‘Well, well, well,’ teased Zoe. ‘Where have you been?’ Laura had bed hair, she was bug-eyed, she wore old checked pyjamas and a dingy grey t-shirt that Zoe suspected had begun life white, but she couldn’t hide the glow in her eyes or the smile that tugged at her lips. She collapsed onto her bed and grinned at her friend. ‘Nowhere,’ she announced innocently. ‘Wow,’ said Zoe. ‘Wish I looked like that when I hadn’t been anywhere.’ Laura hid her face in her hands and emitted a noise halfway between a giggle and a squeal while her legs kicked up and down like a delighted child. Zoe waited patiently, looking idly out of the window, disappointed to see that the garden was now devoid of Weasleys. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ ‘Ah.’ Zoe kept her face turned away. ‘I was looking for someone to commiserate with but I seem to have come to the wrong place.’ ‘Zoe?’ Laura came to put her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘What’s up? I thought you were okay about Bert.’ ‘I was. I am.’ Zoe tried a smile. ‘So?’ ‘So-oo, I’m not okay about…’ She paused and closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. ‘Who?’ Laura was trying to keep the curiosity in her voice lower than her concern. Zoe took a deep breath. ‘Ben.’ ‘Ben?’ Laura repeated blankly. ‘Ben who?’ Zoe waited. ‘Not… Oh, Zoe.’ ‘Terribly predictable, I know. They’re obviously my type, your cousins.’ She tried to make it sound like a joke. ‘Tell me all about it.’ Laura pulled Zoe down to sit beside her on the bed. She reached into her chest of drawers searching for something. ‘Here! Emergency chocolate.’ She broke off a large chunk and handed it to Zoe. ‘Better than boys, any day.’ ‘Oh really?’ asked Zoe, managing a small grin to tease her friend. Laura blushed and laughed. ‘Well, most days. But you go first. I want to know everything about you and those awful cousins of mine.’ ### ‘Idiots.’ Laura happily condemned the entire male sex. ‘If he likes you he should be prepared to tell his brother where to get off.’ Zoe spread her hands helplessly. ‘It’s not that easy. He’s always been on the outside. Not properly a Muggle and not a wizard either. Bert’s the most important person in his life. When I saw them together I realised…’ ‘Realised what?’ prompted Laura. Zoe continued slowly. ‘I realised Bert’s the only person he thinks of as an equal. With me there’s always embarrassment. With other wizards too. I saw it at your party. They were his family, for pete’s sake, and he was walking round like he had no right to be there. I bet he’s the same with Muggles. Always on edge, worrying that he’ll say something stupid, that he won’t know how to behave, that someone’ll find out about his family. And there’s nothing I can do,’ she wailed. ‘I just want him to be happy!’ ‘And snog you,’ added Laura. ‘And that,’ sniffed Zoe. ‘Though perhaps the two aren’t mutually exclusive.’ And for the first time since Friday night she giggled. ‘Anyway,’ she turned to her friend with a sly glance, ‘enough about my non-existent love life. Tell,’ she ordered. Laura closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow and began dreamily. ‘I played Quidditch with Jack yesterday. Oh Zoe, don’t you think he’s just the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen?’ ‘He’s pretty cute. Not quite my taste.’ Laura grinned. ‘Well he’s definitely my taste. And, let me tell you, he tastes delicious.’ Zoe gave a shocked gasp. ‘Laura Potter! Did you really… you know?’ Laura bit her lip, giggled and nodded. ‘I Apparated into his room last night.’ ‘And was it… what was it like?’ ‘Well,’ Laura wondered how honest she wanted to be, ‘it was… odd. Not like I expected.’ She rolled over to look at Zoe. ‘It hurt more than I thought. And,’ she decided to be completely honest, ‘I don’t think he really knew what he was doing either.’ ‘Oh.’ Zoe frowned. ‘But you looked pretty happy earlier?’ ‘I am. It was lovely just sleeping with him, you know? I had my head on his chest and he put his arm round me. He does smell delicious. I liked being close to him like that. And when he was kissing me and stroking and stuff.’ Laura hid her face in the pillow. ‘That was nice.’ ‘But the other… wasn’t?’ Zoe tried not to sound too alarmed. ‘He didn’t… you know… force you, Lal?’ ‘No!’ Laura looked horrified. ‘No. Only,’ she paused for a moment. ‘there was a point when I sort of wished I hadn’t said yes, but it was too late to stop.’ ‘Oh, Laura.’ Zoe reached to put her arms round her friend. Another frightening thought struck her. ‘You did do the Charm, didn’t you?’ ‘Mm,’ Laura confirmed with a grunt. ‘Do you want to keep seeing him?’ ‘Of course.’ Laura pulled away and grinned at Zoe. ‘How else will we get any better at it?’
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