“What are you and Freddy doing about the Ball?”The whispered question prompted Kevin Grahame to look up from the roll of parchment he was covering with scribbled study notes. Irene Lupin, sitting on the opposite side of the library table, had her clear, grey eyes fixed on him, awaiting an answer.
“I don’t know,” he grumbled.
“You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Have to, don’t we?” he sighed. “After all, we’re Seventh Years, it’s the Seventh Year Ball, we’re expected to turn up. I guess we’ll sit around and watch everyone else have fun.”
“Oh, now,” Irene began, in that annoyingly mature ‘big sister’ voice.
“Well, what else can we do? We can’t go out on the dance floor; what’s the point?”
“Are you certain you can’t? Have you asked anyone? Professor Flitwick, or…”
“What? Oh, Professor, do you suppose anyone would mind if my boyfriend and I got up and did the tango in front of the whole school?”
“I’ve never heard of any rules against it,” Irene pointed out.“Because no one would be stupid enough to try it,” Kevin insisted. “My mother’s already chucked me out of the house, I don’t need to get the boot from Hogwarts on top of that. And I certainly don’t want Freddy getting hurt. I still don’t think he understands how vicious people can be about this.”
“You can’t hide this forever,” she shook her head at him.
“We’re not going to hide forever, we’re only trying to finish school without being expelled.”
“Do you honestly think they’d expel you for…”
“I don’t plan to find out,” he retorted. “I’m not some damn-the-rules Gryffindor, Irene.”
“Kevin, for being a reasonably intelligent person, you certainly do work yourself up over things,” Irene shook her head as she turned her attention back to her homework.
“Kevin!”
His neck nearly snapped as he spun his head around in response to the familiar voice. A chorus of shushes, led by Madam Pince, the librarian, rippled through the stacks, and Freddy Shrike tempered his voice to something quieter but no less intense. “KevinKevinKevin…” he charged toward the table, robes flapping, waving a piece of parchment in his hand. Hurling himself into the chair beside his darling, he waved the parchment in his face and gasped, “Look!”
Kevin grasped for the parchment and got it away from him. His eye lit at once on the words “Arbuthnott Conservatory,” and he gaped wide-eyed at Freddy without reading further. “You made it!”
“I made it! Irene,” he snatched the letter back from Kevin and shoved it at her, “look! I made it!”“I knew you would,” Kevin was beaming almost as brightly as Freddy. “What did I tell you, I knew you’d get in!”
Irene read over the parchment. “You’ve been accepted by the Arbuthnott Conservatory!? Freddy,” she breathed, amazed, “they have the largest magical botanical gardens in England!”
“Yes, I know…”
“They’re one of the top herbology research sites anywhere!”
“Yes, Irene, that’s why I applied to them…”
“They take applications from all over the world, and they accept only five or six interns a year.”
“Yes, Irene,” Freddy was threatening to call down the wrath of Madam Pince again, “why do you think I came in here running and shouting? I’m doing advanced herbology studies at the Arbuthnott Conservatory!” He announced this as if he, himself, still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Maybe they’ll give you a job when you’re finished,” Kevin suggested.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Freddy shook his head, but he was still glowing with happiness. “The only thing more difficult than getting into the study program is actually getting a job there. But once you’re an Arbuthnott-certified herbologist, you can work practically anywhere!”
“Gosh,” Kevin gazed adoringly at his darling, “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of myself, I must say,” Freddy laughed, eyes misting up.
Freddy talked of nothing but the Arbuthnott Conservatory for the rest of the day. That evening, camped at the desk in their favorite nook of the Ravenclaw Common Room, he showed Kevin the spot on the map, northwest of Aylesbury, where the Conservatory was situated, and pointed out, “The good thing is, it’s near enough to London that we can still have our flat there, and you can work in the city.” Kevin and Freddy had decided, months ago, that the first thing they were going to do once they’d finished at Hogwarts was find a place in the Wizarding district of London where they could live together.
“Do you still think we can afford a flat?” Kevin ventured.
“Of course,” Freddy looked surprised by this question. “The Conservatory’s a paid-apprenticeship sort of thing, I’ll be making 7 Galleons a week. And you’ll do better than that, working full time. Besides, my parents have already said they’ll help us out; we’ll be fine.”
This still didn’t sound like much to Kevin, but he added, “I’ve got a bit saved up from working summers at the bookstore in Bristol.”
“Well, there you are then! We’re practically rolling in money!” Freddy decided.
“Assuming I get on at the Ministry,” Kevin was still calculating. “If that doesn’t work out… well, I suppose I could always get a job stocking shelves at Flourish & Blotts, but they won’t pay much.”
“Oh, the Ministry’s a piece of cake,” Freddy dismissed these worries. “You’d have to completely botch your interview and fail your aptitude tests, and we both know that’s not going to happen. Just think, Pudgie,” he whispered temptingly, “in a few short weeks, we’ll be living together in our own, private flat!”
“Mmm,” Kevin smiled, with a sidelong look at him. “Can’t wait.”
Freddy put his chin in his hand and remarked, “Irene asked me what we’re doing about the dance. I told her I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, she asked me, too. Wish we could go together.”
“Well, we can go together, of course,” Freddy pointed out, “but…”
“We can’t dance together,” Kevin finished the thought.
They were both quiet for a moment before Freddy ventured, “Do we know it’s against the rules?”
“No, but – gosh, Daisy, you know we’d cause a scene; we could even start a fight, or get in real trouble. I don’t want you getting hurt. And now that you know you’re going to the Conservatory – well, you don’t want to risk that by getting expelled at the last minute.” Kevin shook his head. “I just don’t think we can do it; it’s too dangerous.”
“Oh, well,” Freddy sighed with resignation. “Guess we’ll sit and watch everyone else have fun.”
There were still N.E.W.T.s to get through before they had to deal with the Seventh Year Ball, and the next morning, Professor McGonagall welcomed them to her transfiguration class by announcing, “Today, I have arranged a practical exercise for you.” Kevin had already noted the assortment of common household items spread on and under a table near the blackboard, and observed now as the teacher brought out two glass bowls and placed them on her desk. One was filled with twists of green paper, the other, filled with matching twists of purple. “You will find this helpful in preparing for your N.E.W.T.s,” she informed them. “When I call your name, you will come forward and take a slip from this bowl,” she indicated the green. “Written on it will be the name of an object, which you will find here,” pointing at the table. “You will take your assigned object, then draw a purple slip, which will tell you the name of the animal into which you will transfigure your object. Transfigure your object into the assigned animal, and back again. Is that clear to everyone?” There was a murmur of assent, and the Professor adjusted her spectacles. “Very well, we shall begin with… Miss Lupin.”
Kevin wondered what sort of animals Professor McGonagall had in mind. Freddy nudged him and whispered, “I hope I get a dragon.”
“She wouldn’t have us make a dragon,” Kevin whispered back. “Too dangerous. And too big.”
“A baby one. I could make a baby dragon,” Freddy insisted, under his breath.
Irene had drawn her green slip and fetched a long pair of scissors from the table, and was now rummaging in the bowl of purple slips. Whatever she drew made her smile with delight, as she placed the scissors on the professor’s desk. A wave of her wand and the appropriate spell, and the scissors clinked and clanked and rolled themselves into a ball that sprouted fur and revealed itself as a chubby, buff-colored hamster.
Kevin heard Freddy snort softly beside him and mutter, “Hamsters!” in a disappointed tone. Irene, however, was far from disappointed.
“Oh, now, no scampering off!” she scooped up the ball of fluff, although he’d made no attempt to escape.
“Nicely done,” was Professor McGonagall’s verdict, as Irene cuddled the hamster and chirruped to it. She was actually carrying it back to her seat when the professor coughed, “Miss Lupin.”
Irene’s startled look prompted Freddy to pipe up, “You don’t get to keep him, Irene.”
“Back to scissors, please,” the professor reminded her, and Irene, with a rueful look and a parting kiss, said goodbye to her new pet and transfigured him once again into a pair of forged steel blades.
“It wasn’t a real hamster, you know,” Angharad Jones scoffed at her.
“It felt real,” Irene sniffed back.
“That will do,” the professor quieted them, then beckoned to Freddy. “Mr. Shrike.”
“Good luck,” Kevin whispered, as Freddy slid out of his seat. It was awfully cute, Kevin had to admit, the way he scrunched his eyes shut and dug all the way down to the bottom of the bowl for his green slip. Freddy came back from the table with a china teacup, and repeated the closed eyes and deep-sea-fishing for his purple slip. The look of disappointment on his face was unmistakeable as he read it and tossed it on the desk. Probably a bunny rabbit, Kevin guessed, sympathetic but amused by his darling’s morose expression. “All right,” Freddy drew a breath, took a long look at the teacup, and pointed his wand at it. Once he had uttered the spell, the teacup began to spin and shrink, then, with a small pop, it was replaced by an iridescent silver-blue dragonfly. “Oh!” Freddy exclaimed involuntarily, as the dragonfly darted past him and began to explore the room. “Um,” he glanced surreptitiously at the purple slip again, and made an attempt to snatch it off the desk, but Professor McGonagall made a swift motion and the slip flew into her hand.
“Mr. Shrike, this says ‘Butterfly,’ not ‘Dragonfly.’”
“Oh, well, butterfly, dragonfly, what difference does it…”
“When you are asked to produce a butterfly at your N.E.W.T.s, the examiners will expect to see a butterfly. Not a housefly, nor a horsefly, nor, I fear, a dragonfly. Now, if you will be so kind as to transfigure it back into a teacup before it flies out the window…”
“Righto,” Freddy brandished his wand and took aim. The dragonfly dodged and darted above the class, and Freddy took a fruitless shot or two at it, before it divebombed Jane Tweedy. She screeched and swatted at the insect as it zipped around her, then screeched even louder when she spotted Freddy’s wand pointed at her nose.
“Mr. Shrike!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall, as a general chorus of alarm went up among the students.
“Blasted thing,” Freddy muttered, as the dragonfly skimmed over his head. “Trust me to get the difficult one.” Three more failed attempts, before he finally got a clear shot as it bobbed against the blackboard. A jab of the wand and a shout of the spell, and, with a clink, the teacup popped into view. There was one collective gasp as it fell toward the table, but Freddy was way ahead of them and shouted, “Accio teacup!” The piece of china sailed across the room and landed harmlessly in his hand.
There was a flurry of laughter and applause, a good bit of it from Kevin, as Freddy displayed the teacup and took a little bow.
“You may put that back on the table, thank you,” the professor put a halt to this. “And do read more carefully at your exams, please. Miss Tweedy.”
“Well, it wasn’t quite a dragon,” Kevin whispered, with a grin, as Freddy sat down beside him again and replied with a nudge of his elbow.
Jane had drawn a small, embroidered footstool as her object and plucked the first purple slip her fingers lit upon. The moment she read it, her face blanched white. “Professor McGonagall,” she said thickly, “I – may I draw another slip?”
“No, you may not,” the woman said, surprised at this request.
“But… I can’t do this one,” Jane looked pleadingly at her.
“Nonsense. You are a perfectly competent student; there is nothing in there that my Seventh Years can’t handle…”
“No, I don’t mean I can’t,” Jane corrected, voice cracking, “I mean – oh, can’t I do something else, please?” she was almost whimpering. “I’ll do a tiger, or – or a griffin or something, anything…”
“Certainly not! Give me that,” the professor took the purple slip from her and read it. Eyeing Jane with a mystified look, she handed it back. “I cannot imagine why you’re raising such a fuss over this, Miss Tweedy. You’ve drawn the easiest task of the lot, my Fifth Years could manage this one! Consider yourself fortunate, and transfigure your footstool, please.”
With a shudder Jane scanned the class. Irene was the only one who seemed to sympathize; she had her hand over her mouth and looked as if she knew exactly what must have been on the slip. Kevin exchanged a puzzled look with Freddy, who glowered and muttered, “If she’s drawn a dragon…” Clearing her throat, Jane eyed the footstool as if it might bite her, and warned her classmates, “You’d better stay back, there’s no telling what this might do…” Her wand hand was trembling as she pointed and spoke. A whoosh, and a rustle of feathers, and standing in place of the footstool was a fat, brown hen.
“A chicken!?” Jonah Kettlesmith exclaimed.
“You’ve botched it, Jane, that’s a chicken!” Milo seconded.
“Yes, it’s a chicken!” she snapped at them. “Stop distracting me!” Swiftly, she waved the wand and uttered the counterspell, and the hen, with a squawk, was transfigured back into the footstool. Letting out a deep breath, she stared at the stool for a moment, then poked it with her toe.
“Thank you, Miss Tweedy,” Professor McGonagall eyed her over her spectacles. “You may put that back now.”
Jane was still staring warily at the bit of furniture, and Irene got up and took her by the shoulders. “It’s all right, Jane, I’ll get it. You sit down.”
Jane sank into her seat across the aisle from Freddy, who leaned over and whispered, “What was it meant to be?”
She stared at him as if he’d gone daft. “A chicken!”
“Yes, but what was on the slip you drew?”
“A chicken!” she hissed, as if he hadn’t understood the first time.
“But, what was all the fuss--?”
“Freddy, don’t,” Irene, whispered, silencing him with a look as she reclaimed her seat on the other side of Jane and patted her friend’s back.
“Mr. Grahame,” the professor called next, and Kevin got up to draw his assignment. He wouldn’t have minded a nice, simple chicken. His selected object was a watering can – well, that wasn’t too bad, gave him plenty to work with. He unrolled his purple slip and took a look at it. Hm, not as easy as Jane’s, but he could manage. Pointing his wand at the watering can, he carefully visualized the transformation, and uttered the spell. The metal can rattled and shook, shimmered and shifted, until its new form took over and it changed shape and color into a magnificent, blue-green bird with a long, sweeping tail. There was a collective ‘ooo’ from the room as the colorful tail feathers fanned out, and the peacock strutted a step or two down the aisle between the desks.
“Brilliant!” he heard Freddy breathe, and smiled as he glanced at his darling. All at once, Kevin froze where he was. Watering can… peacock… he stared from Freddy to the bird he had transfigured, that beautiful, magnificent bird…
“Mr. Grahame. Mr. Grahame.”
“Huh?” he glanced back to find the professor regarding him drily.
“We’re all quite impressed, thank you. You may turn that back now.”
“Oh, right, of course.”
The peacock was restored to its mundane form, and chucked back under the table, and Kevin sat down next to Freddy.
“What was that about? You went all funny there for a bit,” Freddy informed him.“Brainstorm,” Kevin murmured. When Freddy persisted in looking at him inquisitively, Kevin whispered, “I know how we can go to the Ball.”
To be continued…