Reborn As A Squib In Harry potter

Monday morning came, and everything seemed wonderful as I woke up.

The sun was shining, the birds singing, and there was a beautiful young woman in the bed next to me.

We hadn't done anything together last night, simply cuddled and spooned. Neither of us were ready for sex. I still had a few hang-ups about my mental age compared to Delilah's, even if they were somewhat illogical, and she simply wasn't ready to go that far yet in our brand-new relationship.

Even then, it had been nice, sleeping next to somebody again. Like having a giant pillow that occasionally stole the blankets.

Smiling to myself, I carefully made sure not to wake her as I slipped out of the covers and padded towards the bathroom.

Before I'd died and ended up reborn, it'd been two years since my last relationship. Still, even almost two decades since then, I still remembered certain rules for living with a significant other.

Don't hog the bathroom, don't use up all the hot water, and for the love of God and Merlin, don't leave the toilet seat up!

'Funny how the rules all revolve around the bathroom,' I thought to myself with a snort as I got into the shower.

When I got out a few minutes later, clad in only a towel around my waist, Delilah was awake and watching me from the bed, a grin on her lips.

"Hmm, very nice," she said as she looked at me, eyes lingering on my abs. I didn't have many, but the two I did have I took care of. My body in this world also healed faster and gained weight slower as well, so it was easier to make sure I stayed fit.

"Glad you like what you see," I replied with a chuckle.

"You know, my friends have always been jealous of the fact that I rarely get blemishes, nor gain weight like they do. I take it magic is responsible?" she asked as she got up, and I nodded.

"That's right. Magic is quite impressive. A wizard can fall a few stories and bounce without a single injury. And even us Squibs find it far easier to stay in shape thanks to the traces of magic we have," I explained as I got dressed while she sauntered into the bathroom. The only overweight wizard I knew of was Slughorn, and even then, he was more portly than obese.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" she asked as she emerged from the shower a few minutes later, drying her hair.

"We had plans to go to the Arc d'Triumph and walk around it a little bit, then visit Paris' version of Diagon Alley," I said.

"That sounds like fun!" she said excitedly.

When we were both dressed, we headed to the door to go eat a quick breakfast courtesy of the hotel, but when I opened the door, I found Harry on the other side, about to knock. Sam was standing behind him, a concerned look on both of their faces.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, seeing the expressions the two wore.

"Harry got himself a visitor this morning, thought you should know," Sam said.

"Beg pardon?" Delilah asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wordlessly, Harry led us over to his room, and we all went inside. There, we all stopped and stared at what was within.

"Is that an owl?" Delilah asked, blinking in shock at the sight of the elegant bird on the window sill. I didn't recognize the species, but it was extremely well-groomed. It had black half-circle marks on the sides of its head with black and tawny brown feathers, and watched us stoically.

"So it appears," I said slowly. "Harry, did somebody send you a letter?"

But who? That was the question. I'd said Gabrielle could do so yesterday, but hadn't expected her to do it so soon.

"Um, yes, that appears to be the case," Harry said as he nervously held up a piece of parchment.

"Why do you look like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?" I asked him. "Who is it from?"

"Here," he said, handing the letter to me. I took it and began to read, my eyes widening the further I read.

'Dear Mr. Potter,' the letter began in elegant cursive. 'My wife and I would like to extend an invitation for you and your three companions to join us for dinner this evening at six pm sharp at L'Dragon Chic. I know it is short notice, but we would truly love to meet you.

Yours, Nicholas Flamel.'

Below that was an address for a restaurant on Rue Magique, followed by a string of words that wouldn't make any sense to a normal person, but that I recognized as a magical password.

"Nicholas Flamel?" Sam exclaimed in shock. "You mean the Nicholas Flamel?!"

"And his wife," I muttered, since that was important.

"They're real?" Delilah gasped. "And still alive?"

"Yes?" I said slowly. "It's somewhat well-known in the magical world. He's famous on both sides, but the wizards and witches know a bit more. Like how he's not actually dead yet."

"You forget that I've only known about magic since December," Delilah said, lightly pinching my cheek.

"Right, right, sorry," I apologized quickly.

"I forgive you," she said. "Not like you could teach me everything there is to know about magic in just a couple months. Still, some things like 'we have immortal wizards' would have been nice."

"He's an alchemist, not a wizard," I corrected.

"Is that really an important distinction?" Delilah asked, and I could tell she was genuinely curious and not just being snarky.

"Kinda, yeah. If he were a wizard, knowledge about him would have been erased along with the other famous mages and mystics during the separation enacted by the Statute of Secrecy," I explained.

"Then that means he was either a Squib or a normal person!" Harry realized.

"Yes, that would seem to be the case. Although I suppose there's always another explanation for why the mundane side remembers him when so many others were forgotten," I said with a nod.

"How'd he live so long, then? Can all magical people live for centuries?" Delilah asked.

"No. Even in the best circumstances a witch or wizard can only live to be about 200 years old. There are some exceptions, like the Flamels or Barry Winkle, but they use some sort of other method to extend their lifespan. In this case, the Flamels used the Philosopher's Stone to brew the Elixir of Life."

"Barry who?" Sam asked.

"Some wizard. His seven hundred and seventh-fifth birthday was last year," I revealed.

"How?" Delilah asked, flabbergasted.

"I don't know. Pretty sure he's never told anyone what his secret is," I replied. "But that's besides the point. What is the point is that we have an invitation to dinner from the Nicholas Flamel. We're definitely going."

I spun to Harry, nearly poking him in the face with a finger as I pointed at him. "Send a reply, if you please, Harry. That's probably why the owl is still here."

We all glanced over at the bird in question, and it nodded its head as if agreeing with me. Honestly? It probably was. That was magic for ya!

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