Looking around, you see that you are in a dimly-lit store that shows no sigs of life. In fact, 'death' is on every shelf. Skulls, bones, severed hands, and dark artifacts cover every inch of this terrifyingly sinister shop.
Professor Quirrell walks over to the door, points his wand at the handle and whispers, "Colloportus."
Quirrell grabs you by the shoulder, and you both duck behind the counter. Not a moment too soon, as a group of five wizards and witches rush past. One stops to check the handle of the store only to find it locked.
A witch informs the others, "They aren't in Borgin and Burkes, keep checking those alleys."
Soon the sound of their voices and steps fade into the distance.
"There," Quirrell says with a tired smile. "Now, we can t-talk." You see him take a measured breath. He looks you up and down, before continuing, "How on earth did you acquire that wand?"
"What do you mean?!" you ask with confusion. "My brother just handed it to me."
"But...you were able to use it?" Quirrell asks. "You entered D-Diagon Alley?"
"Well...yeah." you say simply. The question seemed ridiculous. "Look, I know that I shouldn't have used magic or whatever, but why did that wizard in the yellow robes seem so shocked?"
Quirrell allows the question to linger longer than you would like. You see him tilt his head, regarding you speculatively. "Well," Quirrell begins slowly, "wands only work for a . At least, that is what common wand lore t-tells us. But this..."
Quirrell pulls out the long black baton that you saw the wizard use on you earlier.
"This is called a Squealer. It detects magical items. If it detects magical items on non-magical beings, it screams. And if we are to believe it, then you are something of an anomoly."
"What do you mean?" You ask, feeling light headed and confused.
"Put simply," Quirrell continues, "to my knowledge, you are the first squib who has demonstrated the ability to use a wand."
There is a long silence as you allow this shocking information to sink in. A part of you was hoping that, perhaps, you were a late bloomer - that your magic was just not fully developed yet.
"Then..." You hesitate to even ask the next question. "Then, how was I accepted to Hogwarts? They don't take squibs."
Quirrell looks at you intently. After what seems like an eternity, he nods to himself and replies, "Your mother was an amazing witch."
His response seems an odd reply to your question, but after a short moment, Quirrell continues, "Your mother studied an ancient Dark Magic that I will not speak of here. She knew that I was traveling the world, and she requested that I seek out a bit of information in Albania that would help her in her studies."
"My mom?" You ask stunned. "She...she studied Dark Arts?"
"Well, at the Ministry, the Unspeakables have many interests that are not exactly...well it's not all good versus evil." Quirrell replies. "It's more about p-p-power. And making sure that power doesn't f-fall into the hands of..." Quirrell hesitates before finishing, "the wrong people."
"But what does that have to do with me getting accepted into Hogwarts?" You ask.
"I...I don't think I should be the one to explain that to you. Have you asked your father?"
"My father is a muggle." You say, simply.
"Well, in that case," Quirrell says, rising to his feet. "I think it best that she explain it to you."
Turn to Chapter 4.