Wizard-born Muggle

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

"I am Katarina Lucinda Figg. I am 10 years old and I'm a squib."

Lucy is a bit odd. She loves boxes, pranks and Eric the parrot - she also enjoys a good waffle with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. With mom and dad long gone she's now living with her gran' Mrs Arabella Doreen Figg in Little Whinging, Surrey. Join her in the adventures of wizard-born muggle in a world of magic.

English is - unfortunately - not my native language so please bear over with me.

Copyright babble:
I do not own any of the character except Lucy Figg, the rest belong to the amazing author J.K. Rowling to whom I am eternally grateful for writing and not suing me for borrowing some of her absolutely fantastic characters. I made the cover myself but a lot of credit must go out to Grace Yun, who made the font used.


1. Squibbly Squib

I am Katarina Lucinda Figg. I am 10 years old and I'm a squib - yes, indeed.. A Squibbly Squib. I live on Wisteria Lane in Little Whinging, Surrey with my grandmother Arabelle Figg. She's a squib as well, apparently it's heritable. I've lived with my gran pretty much all my life since my mother took off as soon as she had recovered giving birth to me. My dad, well... who the hell knows where he's spending his days. Some people might call me a nerd but I myself prefer the term explorer. My gran has always kept my existence a bit of a secret since squibs ain't that loved, therefor I have been left mostly to myself which by the way is fine. Most of the time you'll find me digging in some of gran's ol' boxes with Mr. Tibbles, Mr. Paws and Tufty our part-kneazle cats (Snowy don't like me much and usually just lie in the corner growling whenever I "accidently" throw something his way), my parrot 'Eric the Parrot' sometimes join in but he's not too fond of cats therefor he usually stay away, looking for interesting journals, ancient pictures or mysterious magical objects... because even squibs living in Surrey own magical objects. Occasionally I'm hanging out with Harry, the neighbour kid with the ruffled black hair, lightning scar and round glasses (better known as "The Boy Who Lived" but don't tell him that - it's a secret). Harry's usually having a rough time but I do my best to cheer him up, though it sometimes can be hard to not him in the head with one of the many books written about him and explain to him that he's way to badass to be bothered by his insane muggle foster family. That's how life goes around here... it's predictable and boring but I liked it, right until the day Harry got his letter.

We were sitting on the grass playing Rummy (it's a card game) when I looked up towards the sky, trying to start a conversation.

"What's up with the amount of owls on your roof" I asked even though I was fully aware of the reason. Gran always said I should do my best to appear muggly (is that a word? Muggly, mugglely, muggle like... whatever) and I suppose muggles might wonder about the amount of owls perched on the roof of Privet Drive number 4. 

Harry turned his head to look at me before answering doubtfully, "I think, they are there to deliver a letter".

"Well, that's odd. To whom is the letter for and why send it by owl? Why not use the mailbox, it is there for a reason you' know!..Your turn"

Harry made his move all the while his bushy brows drew closer and closer each other, "Lucy (that's my nickname by the way), would you find it strange if I told you that someone is trying to send me a letter by owl"

I looked at Harry as if the answer should be absolutely obvious, which it would be had I been a muggle, "of course I would, wouldn't you find it strange if a boy with practically no family got a letter from someone he didn't know... and a letter by owl non the less. But it is not impossible. They used to train owls and pidgeons and ravens and other birds to carry out letters. It would be strange but possible. Is someone trying to send you a letter by owl?"

"I am pretty sure, yes. But Uncle Vernon won't allow me to open it"

"If you are meant to see the letter, I am sure you will" I said reasurringly firmly believing this myself, I knew from my gran that the Hogwarts Headmaster had ways of getting his will. If he wanted (which he obviously did, since Harry's "The Boy Who Lived" - I mean, who wouldn't want the honor of teaching him) Harry at Hogwarts, Harry would come to Hogwarts. But then again... if the mountain won't come to Muhammed, Muhammed must come to the mountain which is pretty much what happened. 

The Dursley, in they desperation to get away from anything magical, moved to most deserted and inaccessible place in England and that's when they were visited by Muhammed (in the shape Rubeus Hagrid, half-gigant and gamekeeper of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) who came to collect his skinny blackhaired mountain called Harry. All this was explained to me in a letter I received from Harry when he had arrived safely at the school. He left out a lot of details but eventually told me the entire truth. Gran instructed me to still keep my squib identity a secret, apparently for Harry's own safety, don't ask me how it in any way protected him but I did what I was asked.

We frequently exchanged letters, Harry's snowy owl Hedwig came at least once a week with a letter and I soon send her off again carrying a reply. I thought about gettting my own owl but talked myself out it since it might very well look suspicious, so I settled with using Hedwig and instead got myself a cage and a package of various undefined owl goodies. I have no idea what it was but Hedwig seemed to enjoy it. 

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