Writing a Squib Story with Depth, Tension and Heart

A story about a Squib can reveal parts of the wizarding world that remain hidden when the plot follows powerful witches and wizards. Without a wand, magical schooling or an obvious place in wizard society, a Squib must build an identity in the space between two communities. That position creates room for stories about family, class, secrecy, prejudice, ambition and belonging.

The strongest version of this premise treats the character as more than a symbol of exclusion. A Squib can be funny, ambitious, selfish, generous, technically gifted, frightened or deeply ordinary. Their lack of magical ability should shape their life, but it should not become their entire personality. Give them specific goals, complicated relationships and choices that carry real consequences.

Start with a life beyond magical ability

A useful first step is to decide what your character wants before deciding what they lack. They might want to become a journalist, repair old technology, work in magical law, protect a younger sibling or leave a controlling family. A clear personal ambition gives the plot direction and prevents every scene from becoming a reminder that the protagonist cannot cast spells.

Consider how the character earns money and manages practical tasks. A Squib in Britain might work in a Muggle office, while one in Australia could be employed at a Melbourne university, a regional hospital or a family business in Newcastle. Their job can create story pressure: a museum worker notices a cursed object, a delivery driver sees magical activity on a rural property, or a legal assistant discovers that wizarding authorities have ignored a non-magical witness.

A detailed routine makes the character convincing. Show them catching a tram in Melbourne, checking a late-night bus timetable or using a cracked mobile phone while magical relatives rely on enchanted communication. These details establish how the character moves through the world and make the contrast with wizard society feel lived-in rather than decorative.

Define what a Squib can and cannot access

Canon leaves plenty of room for interpretation, so establish your own boundaries early. Can Squibs see dementors? Can they enter Diagon Alley without assistance? Are they permitted to use wizarding libraries, magical transport or healing services? Do they understand spell theory even though they cannot perform spells? Your answers will determine the kinds of conflict available.

Avoid making the character secretly magical unless that revelation is central to your purpose. A Squib story does not need a late discovery that the protagonist has been powerful all along. Their value can come from observation, persistence, social knowledge, science, tradecraft or emotional intelligence. If they solve every problem by gaining unexpected magical abilities, the narrative may accidentally suggest that their original identity was insufficient.

The magical community might have inconsistent rules. One department could quietly employ Squibs as clerks or investigators, while another refuses them access to basic services. A local wizarding council may depend on Squib-run businesses yet deny them voting rights. Such contradictions create believable institutions and give your character something concrete to challenge.

Build family relationships with competing loyalties

Family is often the emotional centre of a Squib narrative. Parents may love their child but feel embarrassed by them. A magical sibling may be protective in private and dismissive in public. A grandparent might insist that the family never mention the Squib at social gatherings. These relationships become more powerful when affection and harm exist at the same time.

Give each relative a reason for their behaviour. A parent who hides the child might fear Ministry punishment, gossip or the collapse of an old family reputation. A sibling who constantly offers magical help may genuinely want to be kind, while failing to understand how patronising that help feels. Avoid making the wizarding family uniformly cruel; ordinary love, denial and shame are often more painful than open villainy.

The protagonist also needs connections outside the family. A Muggle neighbour, former schoolmate, colleague or community organiser can offer an alternative understanding of adulthood. In an Australian setting, that person might invite them to a backyard barbecue, a local footy match or a weekend market, giving the story social spaces where wizarding status has little meaning. These scenes help the character develop a life that is not defined by family judgement.

Use prejudice through systems and everyday choices

Large-scale discrimination matters, but small moments often communicate it most effectively. A receptionist may refuse to schedule a magical medical appointment. A shopkeeper may assume a Squib is delivering something for a witch or wizard. A school-age child may be told not to discuss the family secret at an ordinary Australian primary school. Each incident can reveal the rules of the society without requiring a speech about oppression.

Think about access to information. If magical newspapers ignore Squib concerns, how does the protagonist learn what is happening? They may depend on overheard conversations, restricted archives, Muggle news or a network of other outsiders. A story set during a crisis could show wizarding authorities overlooking a bushfire evacuation, a cyclone or a public safety risk because they assume non-magical people will remain uninformed.

Institutional conflict works best when it creates difficult choices. The character might expose a secret programme that protects Squibs in some regions but relocates them without consent. They may have to choose between helping a family member escape punishment and revealing evidence that could reform the system. Let the character make mistakes, especially when every available option carries a cost.

Make Australia part of the story’s texture

Australia should influence the plot rather than serve as a decorative location. A magical community near Sydney could hide behind ordinary commercial buildings, while a Queensland settlement might maintain strict protocols during heatwaves and storms. In Western Australia, long distances could make magical emergency support unreliable. In regional areas, everyone knowing everyone else can make secrecy nearly impossible.

Local customs can shape character interactions. A tense conversation may happen during a sausage sizzle, after an AFL match or while relatives argue over whether a person should move to Brisbane for work. A teenager could balance HSC pressure with hidden family obligations, while someone in Victoria compares wizarding transport with the Myki system. These references ground the fantasy in recognisable routines without turning the setting into a list of tourist attractions.

The local market can also affect the protagonist’s options. A Squib might sell handmade protective charms as ordinary jewellery at a weekend market, run a small repair shop, or work in an industry shaped by mining, agriculture, tourism or university research. They may use Australian slang differently from older wizarding relatives, or feel caught between city life and a remote family property. The result is a setting with economic and cultural pressure, not merely an Australian name attached to a British world.

Let relationships change without fixing the character

Romance can intensify the Squib’s central conflict, especially if one person belongs to wizard society and the other does not. The relationship should not become a simple rescue fantasy in which a magical partner validates the protagonist. Both people need independent desires, boundaries and reasons to stay or leave.

Domestic scenes are valuable because they show how difference operates when nobody is performing for an audience. Cooking, travelling, meeting friends and handling money can expose mismatched assumptions. For a quiet scene between partners, details from these romantic dinner ideas could inspire an evening where the Squib prepares an ordinary meal while the wizard tries to make it spectacular with magic. The gesture may be loving, irritating or both.

Friendship deserves equal attention. Other outsiders may resent the protagonist for having magical relatives, while a sympathetic witch or wizard may still carry unconscious prejudice. Let trust develop through action rather than instant understanding. Someone who listens, shares information, apologises properly and accepts a boundary can become more meaningful than a character who simply declares that Squibs are equal.

Design conflicts that require ingenuity

A compelling plot gives the protagonist problems that cannot be solved by acquiring a wand. They might need to retrieve a stolen object, expose a forged identity, find a missing person or prevent a family member from making a dangerous bargain. Their methods could involve surveillance, negotiation, research, engineering, community networks or knowledge of both magical and Muggle habits.

The stakes should connect to personal vulnerability. If the protagonist is discovered inside a restricted magical institution, they could lose access to a sibling, a job or their home rather than face a generic duel. A magical security system might be designed to detect spells, making the Squib uniquely able to pass through it, but physical danger and moral responsibility should remain. Their advantage can be real without becoming a superpower.

Plot twists should deepen the premise instead of erasing it. Perhaps the protagonist discovers that Squibs were once trained in a forgotten profession, or that their family has been exploiting Squib labour for generations. The revelation should create new questions about choice and responsibility. It should not imply that every Squib is destined for a hidden grand purpose.

Revise for nuance and share the work

During revision, check how often the story describes the protagonist’s lack of magic compared with their interests, skills and relationships. If every important scene returns to humiliation, add moments of competence, pleasure and ordinary disagreement. A character can be hurt by exclusion without spending every page thinking about it.

Pay attention to language around disability, inheritance and worth. Decide whether magical society treats Squibs as disabled, inferior, inconvenient or simply unusual, and show how different characters understand those ideas. Avoid using Muggle life as a punishment or magical life as an automatic reward. Both communities should contain kindness, exploitation, boredom and joy.

Feedback can help identify places where the story unintentionally repeats the hierarchy it wants to criticise. A moderated writing community such as HPFanficTalk offers space for fanfiction discussion, constructive reviews, writing challenges and conversations about characterisation. Share a focused excerpt when seeking feedback, explaining whether you want comments on worldbuilding, pacing, emotional realism or canon consistency.

A strong ending does not need to place the character comfortably in either world. They might establish a new life, repair one relationship while ending another, or choose to work for institutional change. They might remain outside wizard society by preference. What matters is that the final decision belongs to them and reflects everything they have learned.

Give your Squib a history, a livelihood, a voice and a future that cannot be reduced to magical blood status. Then place them in a conflict where observation matters, where relationships have consequences and where Australian life contributes its own texture. Publish the story, invite thoughtful critique and let the character claim space on their own terms.