Written for:

The Houses Competition

House: Hufflepuff

Position: Year 7

Category: AU

Prompt: Squib!AU

Word Count: 1964 words

Also written for:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Voodoo - 11 - Write about something or someone that isn't what it seems. (It seems like Amnesia and memory loss, but is Obliviate)

Notes/Warnings:

This is an AU where Sirius is a squib. Since he's a squib, he didn't go to Hogwarts.

It's canon for some pure-blood families to erase the Squibs from their family tree. However, I've added in a type of Child Protection or Squib Protection for my story. Seventeen years old is considered an adult in the magical world.

There are many reasons to obliviate a Squib. As this is from Sirius' POV, I can't write too much into it because the thoughts are not his, nor the reasoning. He expected to walk out of his home, so his thoughts wouldn't go elsewhere to the other options a magical family would take.

In these circumstances, there are many reasons that Walburga and Orion would have done this. I imagine they'd have hidden Sirius from the world upon realising he's a Squib. The embarrassment for a start. Not wanting the burden of him anymore and not wanting the risk of anyone finding out about him. Perhaps they realise Sirius would never be completely gone from their lives because he'd never truly abandon Regulus. The only way to erase Sirius would be to take away his identity. (That or kill him because I have no doubts that it's been done in the past, further up the family tree when a Squib has appeared).

As for Hope: we don't canonly know Hope Lupin's job. I imagine her as a very caring person who goes to church often and does charity work. So having her as a nurse is quite fitting for how I picture the mother of Remus.

Shining Brightly

Sirius clutches his bag, ready to depart. The Squib Protection Law has changed over the years, thankfully forcing his parents to protect him until this point.

But he's seventeen today, an adult, and the law protects him no longer.

He knows they won't allow him to stay out of the goodness of their hearts. Orion's heart has shrivelled over the years and he suspects Walburga never had one to begin with.

He heads downstairs into the dark entrance hall, his eyes on the front door. He doesn't see the wand pointed his way. He doesn't realise his parents have been waiting for this moment for years. There are only two ways to truly hide the existence of a Squib. The first is death. The other is taking away their identity completely.

The last thing he hears is his father's voice.

"Obliviate."

...oOo...

The first face he sees when he opens his eyes is that of a pretty blonde woman.

"Where am I?" he asks. The 'who am I?' also finds his lips, but he holds the question back. He asked that yesterday, but nobody knew. He tries to push down the panic as he glances around at the hospital room. He had panicked before and they had been forced to restrain him. He wants to avoid that as much as possible.

"In the hospital, dear," the woman says, a bright smile on her lips as she turns to him, slightly surprised that he's talking. "I'm just finishing my rounds. Is there anything you need?" She observes him with startling amber eyes for a long moment, but he doesn't reply. "How are you feeling?" she adds.

After his outburst the previous day, he had refused to speak to anyone, so he understands the nurse's surprise. But she looks kind and he feels so alone. He needs someone to talk to, to confide in, and this woman has a motherly way about her that he feels a longing for.

"A bit… scared," he admits. "I don't have a name."

She's clearly saddened by this and doesn't even try to hide it. He finds it unusual that she portrays her feelings so opening, but he doesn't quite understand why. Perhaps something else in his brain is affected besides his memory? Thinking too much about it will break the frail wall holding the panic back.

"What do you know?" she asks.

He glances at her name-tag. Hope. That's a sign if he's ever seen one. Hope to figure this puzzle out, perhaps? Hope for the future? He'll take any of those. Even if it's not a sign, he's going to cling to it with both hands as though it was.

"Nothing. I… woke up here and couldn't remember a single thing about myself," he explains. "No name, I don't know what colour my hair is and when I speak, I don't recognise this voice."

"I can't begin to imagine," she murmurs. "Perhaps for now, you could choose a name for yourself?"

"I wouldn't know where to start."

Hope smiles. "Your chart says there are some markings on your arm. Perhaps take a look at those. If you don't have a name by the time I return tomorrow, I'll help you with one," she offers. "Do you like reading? Drawing? Is there anything I can get you?"

"Why are you being so kind?" he asks.

Hope's smile widens. "I have a son I imagine is around your age. If something ever happened to him, I hope that there's someone kind enough to help him until I find him," she explains.

"How old is he?" he demands urgently. Maybe they won't be the same age, but at least he'll have some idea of his own. An approximation is better than nothing.

"My boy is sixteen," Hope says. He feels the weird longing again as Hope mentions her son. The pride in her voice is obvious and she's not even listing an achievement of his. He doesn't understand why he longs for that same pride. Maybe he's just longing for his own mother.

Yes, that must be it.

Hope must notice something in his expression, because she reaches out slowly for his hand. He doesn't move to stop her, merely turning his own over so she can hold it. At her touch, the longing intensifies and he wonders if he was ever close with his own mother. He longs for Hope to hug him, but knows that if she does, he won't be able to maintain his composure. He silently chastises himself for becoming so attached to a stranger so quickly.

"Someone out there will be looking for you," she insists gently.

"What if no-one does?" he asks. There's fear pushing against him, fighting all of his other emotions. It threatens to outweigh the panic. What if he didn't have a family? If he didn't matter to anyone? What if nobody ever came for him? The fear and the panic threaten to twist together, to overtake him, but Hope is like a guardian angel, protecting him from the darkness these emotions bring.

"Then I'll look out for you," she promises. "I'll come back with some things for you. You won't do this alone, dear."

He's aware that he has no name which she can call him, but 'dear' works. The way it comes naturally for her, he imagines she uses it on her own son.

The scary emotions are back behind the wall, though he's not sure he can keep them there for too long.

...oOo...

He stares at the reflection in the mirror and unfamiliar grey eyes look back at him. He can see the fear he feels shining from them like a beacon. He reaches up and the image does the same, both of them tucking a black curl back behind an ear at the exact moment.

It's unreal. This person in the mirror is him, but he feels like he's looking at a stranger. He turns away, taking off the hospital robe as he does. He has a lot more to examine. The panic is there, but he fights against it. He's examining it so he can try and pick a suitable name afterwards. He wants to give Hope something to call him. He wants a name for his charts.

He knows he can't take too long—other people will want to take showers too, but he can't help himself. He moves strange limbs, examining the muscles and freckles. He takes in some faint scars and wonders if he'll ever find out how he got them. Finally he examines his arm where small stars were drawn in black ink. Aside from the stars, there's nothing to give him any clues about his past.

Except that he liked stars.

He traces them for a long moment before walking over to the shower and turning the knob as a nurse showed him minutes ago. The concept of using a shower feels strange to him as though he had never had to deal with them before. Perhaps he was a bath person before?

He waits for the water to warm up before stepping under the spray. He twists the knob to add a little more heat, and suddenly feels the weight of everything catching up to him.

He wants to drop to the floor, to curl up as the water hits his skin, but he doesn't let himself do that. He can do that tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, he'll tell himself the same thing until he's strong enough to not whisper it like a mantra. If he can hold on for today, that's his goal, his achievement. When his family comes, he can tell them how strong he was.

The whispering does help. Focusing on the words forces the horrible questions from his mind. "One day at a time," he murmurs, letting the words out over and over until he feels his breathing regulate.

It doesn't stop the panic completely, but he's able to handle standing under the water, to keep the tears from his cheeks as he reaches for the sponge. He pours some wash onto it and begins to clean himself, hesitating at the stars on his arm.

He leaves them. He knows they'll fade soon, but it's his only link to his past and he can't bring himself to lose them just yet.

...oOo...

Hope returns as promised. She brings a stack of books, some felt-tips, pens and a pad of blank paper. She also brings a notebook with her and some chocolate.

He can't help but be grateful. He's not sure about anything in his past, but there's a lingering feeling that he's not used to this degree of kindness. He tries to push the feeling away. He doesn't want to make any judgements. The only thing he's sure of right now is that Hope is a wonderful mum, and her son is very lucky to have her.

He fights the jealousy that rears up—it's an ugly emotion, and he's trying not to feel those. He's trying to be strong and focus on the good.

Hope sets the empty tote bag on the empty chair. "Do you have a name yet?"

He shakes his head. "I did find this," he admits, presenting his arm. Hope stares at the stars for a long moment.

"It's the only clue I have," he continues. "Stars. Why stars?"

"My son was named for a mythological wolf," Hope murmurs, her eyes still on the stars. "Do you want me to think of something for you?"

He nods eagerly. A name until he remembers his real one. A name to put to the face in the mirror. It made sense for Hope to have some input—mothers named children. People didn't name themselves.

She considers names for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing her face and he watches her, waiting to see what she comes up with.

"Orion," she finally offers. "He was a huntsman that Zeus placed amongst the stars as a…" she trails off as he shakes his head in a panic. He doesn't like that name—something about it makes him feel uneasy, panicked, sick.

Hope smiles reassuringly. "Well, do you know much about mythology?" she asks, changing the subject.

He shakes his head. "I'd like to." He recognises the change of topic for what it is: a distraction.

"Well, I've always been fascinated. Let me start with the story of Hades and Persephone." She settles into the chair next to him and begins the story.

He listens, fascinated.

...oOo...

"What if I wasn't a good person before… before? What if I hurt people… or… or what if I—"

"You'll know in your heart," Hope assures him. It's her third visit, day four of his loss of memories, and she's sitting at his side instead of going home. "You have a good heart, anyone can see that. You choose your future, dear. You choose who you want to be."

She's right. She's always right. He could've done bad things in the past, and wouldn't know until his family turned up. But that didn't mean he couldn't be a good person in the future.

"I've thought of a lovely name," she tells him. "It's not mythological or from any of the stories, but it does have a nice sound to it."

He waits eagerly.

"Eridanus," she offers. "It's the name of a star." Somehow he already knew it was a star, but he doesn't know how.

"Eridanus," he echoes. "Eri." He smiles. It's not his real name, but it's something. It's a start until he remembers who he really is.

Hope smiles at him, pleased at his reaction. "Eri," she murmurs. "Now you have a name, I can properly introduce you to my son. He'll be by soon to pick me up."

Eridanus smiles. "I can't wait," he replies. He imagines that any son of Hope must have a heart as kind as hers and can't wait to make a friend.

So, this story was written for something, so I had to end it there because of word count.

Good news for those interested - I am making this an MC. I've already half written the next chapter.

And yes, it will be WolfStar!