My father is a muggle, my mother was a squib. I won't apologise for my genetic make up. My father is a kind and hard working man, and my mother died during He-who-must-not-be-named's second rising by a family friend turned DeathEater.
Before I became a student at Hogwarts I spent my time helping my father and mother tend to our 40 acres of rolling Devon farmlands. My mother - despite her status was a knowledgable and accomplished magizoologist. On my 11th birthday, after receiving my Hogwarts letter she took me out to the stables to help me feed our horses. She shut the door mischievously and pointed to my grandmother sitting on a bale of hay. She was the only other witch in our family, and with a gentle smile and no time to explain she swiftly waved her wand in the direction of our horses.
The disillusionment charm that had seemingly been placed on the stables began to destabilise, the wooden frames stretched high and expanded, tripling in size. I was so in awe that it took me a while to notice that our "muggle" horses were in fact magnificent Abraxan winged horses. Giant, powerful beasts that had huge loyalty for my family going back centuries. They looked at me with their deeply intelligent, gleaming red eyes and from that moment on the Care of Magical Creatures was my absolute passion.
When my mother died, we buried her in a plot of land we reserve for family members. The next day I discovered my mothers last surprise - A Thestral. Calmly trotting around her grave every dawn and dusk. I placed my mother's favourite flowers on her grave and he gave me a meaningful glance. He rarely leaves my side when I'm at home now and has been given special permissions to live at Hogwarts under the care of Hagrid.