"Nia isn't old enough yet, sweetie," Herbert said gently, kneeling beside his daughter. "Hogwarts will send an owl to you just before your twelfth birthday, then you can go. You just have to be patient."
Nia pulled away, her lower lip trembling with indignation and a deeper, more painful emotion. "Do you truly think I'm that dense, Dad? I'm not an idiot! I know I don't have magic." She looked directly at her father, tears welling up in her eyes. "Albert knew it, too. He's known for a long time."
Herb recoiled slightly, stammering. "How could—how could you possibly know that, Nia?"
The girl's composure finally broke. She recounted the incident from the summer, her voice shaky with sadness.
"That letter from the Ministry of Magic that Truman got," she choked out. "The one warning him about using the Levitation Charm in a Muggle neighborhood, in front of a Muggle? You all thought the Ministry was just being vague."
She wiped furiously at a tear, smearing chocolate frog residue across her cheek. "But think about it: at the park, it was just the three of us. Truman is a wizard. Albert is a wizard. The only Muggle there—the only person who isn't a wizard and could have seen the charm—was me."
Her words hung heavy in the quiet living room, a moment of stark, painful clarity. The realization that she was the Squib—the non-magical child in the family—had hit her with the brutal, logical force that only a nine-year-old's wounded ego can deliver. Nia buried her face into her mother's chest, dissolving into wrenching sobs.
Daisy immediately wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her close and rocking her gently. Daisy had been aware of this possibility, as Albert had, with his characteristic foresight, prepared her for the likely genetic outcome. But knowing the possibility and witnessing her daughter's heartbreak were two different things.
"It's alright, my heart," Daisy murmured, stroking her daughter's hair. "Let it all out. Cry as much as you need to, darling girl."
Luke, observing the raw pain of his youngest grandchild, remained outwardly calm, but his gaze was deeply empathetic. He waited until the worst of the tears subsided, then spoke, his voice low and steady, drawing on a lifetime of quiet resilience.
"Nia, you need to understand something important," he said, holding her gaze. "Wizards have their own unique fun, yes, but the Muggle world has its own joys that they simply cannot touch."
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "For example, there is no television in the wizarding world. No modern movies, no complex anime like the ones you love. Before Albert left, he complained to me that they couldn't even find many friends outside of school, because they have to keep the secret so carefully."
"It's actually a wonderful freedom not to live permanently in the wizarding world," Luke concluded softly. "At least, that's what your Grandpa believes."
"But... but I wanted to see the moving stairs and the ghosts!" Nia choked out, her voice still thick with tears, clinging to the romantic vision Albert's letter had created.
Tom, sensing the sustained distress, made his move. He gracefully leaped from Daisy's lap to Nia's, rubbing his head insistently against her stained, tear-soaked clothes. The small, purring motor of the cat's affection proved to be the most effective comfort of all.
"That's a very big cat, Nia," Luke said, managing a gentle smile. "Okay, now stop crying. You're nearly as loud as Fang when he wants dinner. Here, have some chocolate."
Herb, relieved to see the tears receding, quickly pointed to one of the remaining gifts in the box. "Nia, don't you want to see what else Albert bought you? This one is special—it changes your voice!" He picked up a box of Animal Voice-Changing Candies and shook it, the contents rattling invitingly.
"Come on, sweetheart," Daisy encouraged, wiping Nia's cheeks with a handkerchief. "You can still experience the joy of the magical world without having to live there. Albert said in his letter that eating this candy will let you make the sounds of different animals. Why don't you give it a try?"
"If Nia is too sad to try it, then I will bravely volunteer," Herb declared, taking the opportunity to lighten the mood. He popped a candy into his mouth, chewed twice, and inflated his chest, letting out a surprisingly loud, gravelly LION'S ROAR!
"MEOW!"
The sudden, deafening roar instantly terrified Tom. The cat emitted a sound of pure panic, scrambling wildly out of Nia's arms, under the sofa, and deep into the dust bunnies, refusing to emerge.
A dead silence descended upon the living room, broken only by Herb's muffled chuckling. He quickly covered his mouth, eyes wide with awkward embarrassment, pointing hysterically at the box of rogue candy.
"I want some too!" Nia cried, the shock and absurdity of her father's roar having completely obliterated her sadness. She reached out, eager to try the bizarre sweet.
"Nia, a moment," Daisy cautioned, regaining her stern, maternal focus. "Remember what Albert said: these things can't be taken out of the house, and no one else can know about them. The magical world needs to keep its secrets strictly guarded from ordinary people."
"But, wait," Herb mumbled, the candy still affecting his voice with a slight CROAK. "Doesn't the fact that we know and are here talking about it break the secret already?"
"No, dear," Daisy explained, consulting the second, private letter Albert had included for her. "Albert specifically wrote that Muggle families of Muggle-born wizards—like Truman's—are permitted to know, but only if they agree to absolute secrecy. We are the privileged few who can't tell the rest of the world."
"Well, then, I suppose I should read my letter too," Herb said, finally reaching for the scroll. He glanced at Luke, whose face had taken on an unusually quiet, distant expression. "Dad, are you alright? You look a bit strange."
"I'm perfectly fine," Luke replied softly, folding the second letter he had been given.
Sansa, however, had already skimmed the contents. "It seems Albert mentioned a man named Filch—the caretaker at Hogwarts. He noted that Filch is a Squib."
This revelation struck Luke deeply. He knew the term, and he understood the implication instantly. Filch was a non-magical person trapped in the wizarding world, surrounded by the magic he could not touch.
Albert's letter painted a subtle but clear picture of Filch: a man who antagonized students, struggled to clean the massive castle with a mere mop, and was constantly furious at the chaos and carelessness of magic.
He's an absolute fixture, an unnecessary man, Luke thought with a pang of bitter recognition. Any wizard could do his job with a wave of their hand. He lives in a world that mocks his very existence.
Luke did not feel sympathy, however. He felt pity mixed with a strange kind of judgment. Why would he stay? Why endure the perpetual misery of being an outsider in a world that hates non-magic? To Luke, the choice he had made decades ago was clear: integrate into the Muggle world, learn its skills, and live a productive life.
Filch is lucky, in a way, Luke conceded, adjusting his perspective. He has a job, a place, and a roof over his head, thanks only to the Headmaster's charity.
Looking at the multi-generational family gathered around the table—Sansa, Herb, Daisy, and the two children—Luke realized he was, in fact, the truly fortunate one. He had built a rich, fulfilling life, free from the shadow of the magic he lost. He had a family who loved him, completely separate from the wizarding drama.
He looked at the shared photograph of the six of them and the cat, a genuine, profound smile spreading across his face.
"Grandpa Luke, why are you smiling like that?" Nia asked, her face still damp but her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Grandpa feels very lucky," Luke said, folding Albert's letter and tucking it away securely. "Now, come here. Let me show you how to blow a proper magical bubble."
From the box, he pulled a small packet of Blowing Treasure Super Bubble Gum—Albert's specific, targeted gift.
"Albert didn't get this for me," Nia noted, a last remnant of her earlier melancholy.
"Oh, but he did," Luke said, extracting a piece. "He knew that grandfathers need an excuse to be silly, and that little sisters need a reason to forget they were crying."
He popped a piece into his mouth, chewed slowly, and then, with a controlled puff, blew out a large, perfectly spherical, bluebell-colored bubble. The bubble detached, floating lazily through the air, gently bouncing off the ceiling without bursting, suspended by a subtle charm.
Nia instantly cheered, her face radiating pure, unadulterated delight. She took a piece of gum from her grandfather and, after a few clumsy attempts, managed to blow a shimmering, green bubble.
Watching the fragile, colorful spheres bounce weightlessly around the living room, Nia had already forgotten her sorrow. The simple, delightful magic of a piece of gum had conquered the complex heartbreak of a lost identity.