Helena Darrow didn’t show signs of magic until she was nine years old.

Being a wealthy, old pureblood couple, her parents were more than a little concerned. In every other respect, Helena had been the perfect child. A miracle baby gifted to them when they had long passed their prime, they had given Helena so much love that she could drown in it, and her happy, beloved upbringing was reflected in the girl she became. She was cheerful and easy to please, polite and good-humored, bright and kind. They were sure they couldn’t have asked for a better daughter, and they would have loved her even if she’d gone her whole life without showing a lick of magic. That didn’t mean they didn’t worry.

Squibs, they knew, were rarely happy. Rejected and scorned by the magic world they’d grown up, but never quite able to fit into the muggle world either, they spent their entire lives adrift, purposeless. That was not the future they wanted for their darling girl. So, they practiced with her endlessly, trying to coax out any magic they could. At first, it seemed to be all for naught.

When she was nine years old, Helena spent a week as an anxious wreck for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but whatever it was, it made her anxious of going on evening broom rides with her parents (which she’d always loved!). Within the month, her father had a bad accident as a result of falling off his broom when it malfunctioned, and had to be rushed to the hospital. Her parents were ecstatic; though it hadn’t been a prediction, had only been vague sense, it was still divination. Helena had magic!

Admittedly, Helena’s magic still seems to be rather weak in every other field besides divination, but she hopes to change that in her time at Hogwarts.