Tuesday, 14 August, 1973
Freddy Shrike was sitting in the window seat of his bedroom, two floors up, overlooking Asphodel Lane, a genteel haven of Georgian townhouses tucked into a quiet corner of Wizarding London. The cushioned sill wasn’t designed to hold a 17-year-old boy comfortably, but it was the only point in the room from which he had a decent view over the rooftops across the way. The latest issue of “Home Herbologist” was flopped open across his knees, and he was idly skimming an article on “New Tricks for De-Gnoming Your Garden,” but his attention kept wandering to the evening sky. He was bored, and lonely, and waiting for Betsey.
Aunt Betsey Trotwood was the most magnificent owl ever to grace the rafters of Eelops’ Owl Emporium. Freddy had purchased her there, just about a year ago – not for himself, but for Kevin Grahame, the boy of his dreams and the love of his life. Poor Kevin – a few weeks into last summer’s holiday, Freddy had received a letter from him bearing sad news:
My Dearest Daisy,
Wilkins died last night. I knew it was coming, but I guess you’re never really prepared for it. He hadn’t eaten much, the last couple of days. I mashed up some of his favourite green grapes for him, and he took a little of that, but his heart wasn’t in it. We spent a long time, at the end, just sitting together; he snuggled up in the crook of my arm, and I just kept on stroking him and telling him what a good rat he was, until he was gone – Gosh, I’m sitting in the pub writing this and I’m tearing up all over again. I know you won’t think I’m silly if I tell you I cried over him. Some people would say, “oh, he was only a rat,” but he was an exceptional rat, and a good companion, and I’m going to miss him.
Gran let me bring him to her house this morning, and we buried him in her garden. All I had was a shoebox and an old towel, but she got a nice wooden cigar box from her neighbour, Mr. Hodges, and found a piece of blue velveteen in her scrap bag, and we buried him in that. Gran says he had a long, happy life and a peaceful end, with someone who loved him to see him off, and none of us could wish for better than that. He has flowers all around, and we’re going to plant some new flowers over him. I didn’t tell her why, but I told her I’d like them to be daisies.
I’d better stop here, so I can get back to work. I love you, and miss you, and really wish you were here right now. I’ll be glad when we’re back to school.
Sending you all my love, as always,
Your devoted,
Pudgie
Freddy had shed a few tears over this, himself, and would have given anything to put his arms around his darling then and comfort him. They had written back and forth afterwards, and Kevin said his father had offered to buy him a new rat when they went to Diagon Alley for his school supplies, but Kevin had turned him down. There would never be another rat to compare with Wilkins. Besides, what Kevin still wanted was an owl, but his mother was as set as ever against the idea of some filthy great bird flapping around the house. That was when Freddy had started thinking about getting Pudgie an owl, himself. His family was used to them, and he could keep the owl at his house over school holidays – that is, when they weren’t using her to carry letters back and forth to each other. The start of their sixth year at Hogwarts had been fast approaching, and time had been running out, when Freddy had made his decision, cadged a few extra galleons from his mother just in case his own funds were short, and paid a visit to Eelops. He had been looking for something very particular: not only did this owl have to be exceptionally wise and exceptionally devoted, it also had to be nameless and female, because Kevin had told him, all the way back at the beginning of their acquaintance, that if he ever had an owl, he was going to name her Aunt Betsey Trotwood, after a character from his favorite novel, “David Copperfield.” Freddy hadn’t forgotten that, and he had found his ideal Aunt Betsey in the form of a particularly grand eagle owl, with striking, copper-colored eyes, and a beautiful, lacy bib of black and buff feathers.
Surprising Kevin with her had been one of the most enjoyable and most difficult things he had ever done. Engineering the surprise had been simple enough, but keeping a straight face for the entire day had been agonizing. Through the train ride from King’s Cross to Hogsmeade, through the carriage ride from Hogsmeade to the school, through the annual sorting of the first years, and the welcoming feast, through the longer than ever walk from the great hall to their common room, Freddy was bursting with joy and anticipation, until, finally, he and Kevin and the rest of the Ravenclaw Sixth Year Boys entered their dormitory. Kevin’s bed was first in the door on the left, and his desk stood between the bed and the wall, somewhat screened off from the rest of the room. Freddy lurked as casually as he could near the foot of Kevin’s bed, observing as his friend took notice of the large owl perched on the back of his desk chair, awaiting him with a letter in her beak.
“Hello, where’d you come from?” Kevin asked, as he took the folded parchment from her. Relieved of her burden, the owl launched herself from the chair at him. The gust from her wings made the bed curtains ripple as she flew a circle around him and landed on his shoulder, fetching him a clout in the head with one wing as she did so. “Hey! Careful, there!” said Kevin, but he was laughing, and Freddy was delighted to see the way he looked admiringly at the bird as he reached up and gently stroked her sleek feathers.
“What’s that you’ve got, a letter?” Freddy tried to sound casual as he sauntered closer.
“Yeah.” Kevin broke the seal with his thumb, and wondered, “Who’d be writing to me on the first night?”
Freddy was still making one last effort to suppress an eager smile as he watched Pudgie read the letter. He already knew, himself, what it said, word for word:
Mr. Grahame,
My name is Aunt Betsey Trotwood. I am here to keep an eye on you, as well as deliver your letters and attend to all the other matters a proper owl should. I am informed that I may not be permitted to accompany you home to Bristol during the holiday periods. While I believe this to be a preposterous situation, I beg you, do not concern yourself with my welfare. I have made arrangements for holiday lodgings in London, if needed. I know boys, and you are a bad lot, but I trust that you and I will find each other agreeable.
Yours,
Aunt Betsey
p.s. I also have a message for you. Silly, if you ask me, but he said you would understand it.
And, at the bottom of the page, was drawn a heart, followed by a lopsided daisy.
Kevin turned around and looked at him with great, soft, brown eyes shining from behind his glasses, and in a hushed voice meant for Freddy’s ears only, said, “Oh, gosh, Daisy… you didn’t…”
Melting in the warmth of those eyes, Freddy answered, pink-cheeked, “I hope you don’t mind…”
“Are you serious?” Kevin whispered, glancing over at the other boys, who were busy talking and banging around and unpacking their trunks. “Gosh, I’d kiss you if I could. I can’t believe you did this!” He had coaxed Aunt Betsey onto his wrist and was holding her where he could take a better look.
“Well, you always said you wanted one,” Freddy explained himself, coming close enough to brush his fingers over her feathery bib.
“You even remembered the ‘Aunt Betsey’ thing,” Kevin glowed with delighted amazement.
“Absolutely, couldn’t forget that,” Freddy grinned. “Mr. Eelops says she’s a top rate owl.”
“She looks top rate,” Kevin agreed, as the owl regarded him with a critical gaze from beneath her upswept eye-tufts. He laughed as he added, “She even looks like Aunt Betsey. I can just imagine her chasing the donkeys off her lawn.”
Freddy chuckled at this, too, and said, “I’m serious about taking her for holidays, if your parents say no.”
“Thanks. I don’t know how I’m ever going to pay you back for this.”
“Easy,” Freddy murmured, with a sidelong look. “A ‘gosh, Daisy, I love you,’ will do for now, and you can owe me a good, long kiss to go with it.”
With an adoring sigh, Kevin obliged him: “Gosh, Daisy, I love you. And as soon as we get the chance, I’ll pay up the rest of it, with interest.”
Now, sitting in the window seat nearly a year after this, Freddy’s impatience was finally rewarded when he saw the eagle owl appear over the neighbouring rooftops. He scrambled off the sill and opened the window for her, and Betsey swooped into the room, tossed a letter at him, and glided to her perch near the bed.
“Thought you were never coming,” he scolded her fondly, and she answered with an indignant screech and set about tidying her feathers. Freddy flopped down on the bed, ripping open the parchment. My Sweet Golden Daisy… Sighing with delight, he plunged into Kevin’s letter, devouring his happy chatter about his work at the bookstore, and goings-on in the Wizarding district of Bristol, and how he was progressing on The Adventures of Florian and Alaric, the serialized story he had begun writing for Freddy as a birthday present two and a half years ago. It was the continuing saga of two Dashing Young Wizards of Ancient Times, the slender, witty, golden-haired, azure-eyed Florian, and the sturdy, stout-hearted, dark-haired, brown-eyed Alaric, as they engaged in ongoing battles against all manner of evil Wizards and dangerous creatures, from whom they were always heroically rescuing each other and narrowly escaping with their lives. Freddy thought Kevin was a brilliant writer, and was convinced that he was going to be a famous author someday. With deepest devotion and undying love, your adoring Pudgie the letter concluded, and Freddy, his yearning sated for the moment, happily kissed the parchment and pressed it to his heart. He read the letter over again a few times before he finally rolled off the bed, sat down at his desk, and took up his quill to write back:
Dearest Darling Pudgie,
Eighteen whole days yet to go until I see you again. Ugh, this has been the longest summer ever! …
By the time he had finished writing, Aunt Betsey had settled down for a well-earned rest, and Freddy decided to let her be. She was still snoozing when he went to bed later, but he was awakened in the wee hours to find her sitting at the window, complaining to be let out. Freddy obliged her, after entrusting her with his letter to Kevin. He watched the owl vanish over the moonlit rooftops, then crawled back under the covers and drifted off again. The next time he woke, the sun was showing signs of coming up, and he decided that he’d might as well get dressed and go down to the dining room. The House Elves had not yet put breakfast on the table, but Mr. Shrike was sitting in his usual chair, turning the pages of the Daily Prophet.
“Morning, Dad,” Freddy greeted him brightly. “Anything good in the paper today?”
He was surprised by his father’s grim look as he closed the newspaper and laid it on the table. “Good, you’re up. Sit,” said Mr. Shrike, pointing at a chair, then he tempered his gruff ‘policeman’ voice to something more fatherly. “Sit down.”
Freddy drew the chair away from the dining table and did as he was told. Racking his brain, he tried to think of what could have put Dad in such a mood, and came up blank.
“Was that your owl I saw leaving around two this morning?” his father questioned him, in that quiet, tautly controlled manner Freddy had always thought of as ‘The Interrogation Voice.’
“What, Betsey?” Perplexed by this tone, he didn’t even bother to point out that, officially, she was Kevin’s owl. Dad wasn’t waiting for the correction, anyway.
“She’s been coming and going a lot of late, hasn’t she?”
What in the world is he on about? Freddy wondered, flinching a bit under his father’s unblinking gaze. “Well, yes,” he confessed, feeling guilty without knowing for what, “I’ve been writing back and forth with Kevin…”
“With Kevin,” Mr. Shrike repeated, in an even tone. His eyes remained intent on Freddy’s face as he rose from his chair, and did not break their contact until he turned away, folding his hands behind his back and pacing a few steps as if to collect his thoughts.
A dreadful realization swept over Freddy. He knows. Somehow or other, Dad had discovered that his son had fallen in mad, romantic love with another boy; that was what this interrogation was about. What else could it be? Freddy squirmed uncomfortably as the tension grew. He knew better than to disturb his father at a moment like this, and so he waited, with a dry, bitter taste in his mouth, for him to speak.
At last, Cyrus Shrike turned around and fixed his eyes on his son. “Wilfred…”
He does know. Freddy’s stomach knotted, and he hoped the jolt of fear didn’t show too clearly on his face. His father never called him Wilfred, not unless there was something seriously, seriously wrong.
“…I am going to ask you a question. It is imperative,” he leaned forward slightly with the word, “that you tell me the truth. Do you understand?”
Stay calm. Take your time. Answer only what he asks, don’t say any more than you have to. Freddy clenched his jaw to stop from trembling, and he answered through his teeth, “Yes, sir.”
“Have you been corresponding with your brother?”
“What?” The question was so unexpected, he had no other answer ready.
“Seen him, spoken to him, had letters from him--” his father clarified.
“From Theo?” Freddy blinked, perplexed. “I haven’t heard anything of him since – when was the last time we were both here? Last Christmas?”
“You’re certain,” Mr. Shrike pressed.
“Dad, Theo and I hate each other,” Freddy reminded him. “Why? What’s happened?” He didn’t care about Theo, but it bothered him to see his father so troubled.
With a sigh, the man reclaimed his chair and faced his son over the corner of the table. “I guess you’re old enough to know what’s going on,” he frowned, searching Freddy’s face as if trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. “There’s a movement afoot. People taking up the Dark Arts. They call themselves Death Eaters,” he grimaced with disgust at the words. “Cruel, murderous – they’re the followers of a dark Wizard, the most dangerous since Grindelwald. Maybe worse.”
At once, Freddy forgot all his own troubles. He did not miss the shudder with which his father uttered the name Grindelwald, and he knew the cause of it. Mr. Shrike’s parents had been aurors, in Grindelwald’s day, and had been killed by the dark Wizard’s agents, when Cyrus was not much older than Freddy was now. “Who is he?”
Mr. Shrike was silent for a moment before he said, with great difficulty, “He calls himself Lord Voldemort. Most people who know of him are afraid to say the name out loud. At the ministry, it’s ‘You Know Who,’ and ‘He Who Must Not Be Named.’” He suppressed another shudder. “We believe he has followers in the ministry. I can’t say any more as to that.”
With a dreadful new understanding of what was troubling his father, Freddy asked, already knowing the answer, “Why were you asking me about Theo? Is he involved in this?”
“You’re certain you haven’t heard anything of him?” There was a painful desperation in the question. Freddy shook his head, and his father said, in a grim voice, “I don’t know that he’s joined them. I know – I believe he has friends among them. The truth is, Freddy,” and all at once, he was no longer Shrike of Magical Law Enforcement, but just Dad, “I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a perfect target, pride, ambition, he’s exactly what they’re looking for. I don’t know where he is, we haven’t heard from him in months. Easy to say this now, but… I should have levelled with him about this a year or two ago. I knew what was brewing, I should have seen he’d be vulnerable to it. I didn’t want to believe my son could be sucked into something like that. Freddy, promise me,” he begged, “if you hear anything from him, about him, no matter what…”
“I’ll tell you,” he nodded. “I don’t expect to, though. Seriously, Dad, you know Theo and I aren’t on the best of terms.”“Still,” he pressed, “he might try to contact you. Don’t let him drag you into this. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
Freddy was surprised when his father reached out and laid a hand on his arm. Dad had never been the huggy sort, and the contact made Freddy sharply aware of how serious this was. “Don’t worry, Dad. I wouldn’t, I would never get mixed up with any of that sort of thing…”
“You say you’ve been writing to Kevin?” The question was abrupt, and startling. “You’re still friends with him?”
“Yes.” Freddy felt the blood rush to his face at the sudden broaching of this subject. “But, Dad, you can’t think Kevin would be involved in this! I swear, he would never--”
“I know, I know, I believe you,” his father cut off his blathering. “Kevin Grahame is one of the few people I’d trust around you right now.”
Freddy’s ears were tingling, they must be glowing red, he thought. He knows – he can’t know – what is he thinking…? “Wh-why?” he managed to ask.
“These Death Eaters – that’s another reason I’m worried about Theo joining them – we don’t know much about them yet, but we know they don’t like Muggles. Or Muggle-born Wizards.”
“Dad, you don’t think Kevin’s in danger?!” Freddy asked, not even trying to hide his alarm.
“No, no,” he answered, reassuring him. “I don’t want you to worry, this isn’t something to worry about. Especially while you’re at Hogwarts; Albus Dumbledore knows what’s what, he won’t let them get a toehold at Hogwarts. No,” he reached out and patted Freddy’s shoulder in an awkward effort to calm him down. “I only thought – as long as you’re friends with Kevin, I’m not too worried about you going bad on me,” he even managed to smile a little as he said this. “I like him. I think he’s been a good influence on you.”
Freddy couldn’t help it, he shrank back in his chair and wiped one hand over his mouth to conceal his nervous expression. It did not escape his father’s notice however. “What?”
Freddy shook his head. He tried to say, “Nothing,” but it came out as a mumble.
Dad’s brow narrowed a fuzz, but he looked puzzled, not angry. “You want to tell me something?”
“Not really,” Freddy joked feebly, “but I probably ought to.”
“Look, whatever it is,” Dad sat forward in the chair and folded his hands on the table, “I want you to know you can talk to me about it. It’s important for us to keep things open, eh?”
“Even if it’s something you’re not going to like?”
“Especially then. What did I just tell you, I don’t want you getting involved in something dangerous--”
“This isn’t dangerous,” Freddy assured him. “And it’s not Dark Arts, or anything like that. It’s… well…” There wasn’t going to be a tactful way to put it. “Dad – Kevin and I are in love.”
Mr. Shrike observed him in silence for a minute, while Freddy tried to interpret the emotions behind his slightly furrowed brow. The first thing he said was, “Can I assume there are a couple of girls involved in this equation?”
“No,” Freddy swallowed. “Just us.”
“Mm.” Dad drew a sharp breath and averted his gaze to a mark on the table. “Where did this idea come from?”
“I – I don’t know. It just – happened.”
“Freddy,” he sighed, trying to put together the right, fatherly words, “you’re at an age when – well, you’re going to have – thoughts. And they may be – confusing.”
“We’re not confused. We’ve known since halfway through Fourth Year. And I had this thing about him for ages before that, but it took us that long to find out we both felt the same way. You like Kevin, you know,” Freddy reminded him.
“Yes, but not as a daughter-in-law.”
The remark sounded funny, and Freddy laughed just a bit at it. This was enough to make his father look at him again. Dad had his mouth compressed in that shape, half frown, half smile, that Freddy had known since he was a toddler. It was the expression that meant I ought to be angry with you, but I haven’t got the heart, and it made him feel better.
“Honestly, Dad, Kevin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you can’t imagine how sweet he is--”
“I don’t need to imagine,” his father protested, getting to his feet. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I thought you wanted to keep things open.” Freddy couldn’t resist this dig, regarding him with wide, innocent eyes. Dad saw through the joke.
“Maybe I don’t have to know everything.”
The boy got to his feet as well, and said, “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear from your son. I only hope – Dad, please don’t be too angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” this answer came swiftly. “I don’t understand it, and I don’t think I want to, that’s the truth, and don’t you be angry with me for saying it. But – I guess, if you think you have to do something like this – well, I suppose it could be worse,” he admitted. “Kevin’s a good lad.”
“He’s not exactly a ‘lad’ anymore,” noted Freddy, and his father put up a hand to stop him.
“He’s a good lad. So are you. I’m glad you’re friends. End of subject.”
Only, it wasn’t quite the end, as something occurred to him. “Does your mother know about this?”
“No,” said Freddy. “Do you think I should tell her?”
“If you don’t, I’m bound to,” he warned. “And I can promise, it will sound better coming from you.”
Hypatia Shrike was in her study, poring over some papers in anticipation of her day’s work at the hospital. Freddy tapped on the doorframe and leaned into the room. “Are you busy?”
She glanced up long enough to say, “Come in, Wilfred,” and motioned him into the chair in front of her desk. He felt like a patient visiting her office at St. Mungo’s as he padded across the thick rug and sat down. Inking her quill, she finished scribbling a note as she said, “What is it, dear?”
“Um, I’ve just been talking with Dad,” he shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable, “and, um, he thought I’d better come and talk to you, too.”
She had stopped in mid-stroke and was now looking at him with the full attention of her clear eyes. “Is this about Theo?”
“No,” he answered her; he should have guessed that she might jump to this conclusion, after the conversation with his father. “Dad and I talked about him. I haven’t heard anything. I’m sorry.”
Laying aside the quill, she folded her hands and rested her head against them for a moment. “Your father told you why we’re concerned.”
“Yes. You don’t really think Theo would…” he tried to sound reassuring, but his mother looked at him sharply.
“Of course I do. So do you. Theophilus is my son, but I know his flaws. I confess, I was so proud when he went into Slytherin; it was my old house, of course. We’re criticized for being ambitious, but ambition is not a vice. One does not become a senior physician at St. Mungo’s without ambition, Wilfred,” she allowed herself the shadow of a proud smile at this observation. “But, it was always my ambition to save life, not destroy it. Dark magic is a poison, it consumes those who practice it. I hope your brother comes to understand that before it is too late.”
Freddy had no answer for this, and sat quietly, watching his mother. To anyone who did not know her, she would have appeared calm enough, but to his eyes, she was more agitated than he was used to seeing her, and he wondered whether or not this was a good time to tell her his own news. He was just moving to get up and go, when she remembered, “You wanted to speak to me about something?”
“It – It’s not important,” he hedged, standing up.
“I believe it must be,” she corrected him, “or you would not have come to me to begin with. Please, sit down. Tell me.”
There was an unusual softness in the look she gave him, that made him think of his father’s words, about keeping things open. It was as if losing touch with Theo had made them all the more anxious to hold onto their younger son, to keep him from slipping away from them as his brother had.
“Mother, I – I’m not certain you really want me to do this right now,” he shifted his weight awkwardly.
“Are you in some trouble?” she asked, concerned.
“No, nothing like that. I--” Surrendering to her anxious look, he dropped into the chair again and sighed. “I’m in love.”
Mrs. Shrike let out a deep breath, and her face relaxed into the cool hint of a smile. “Is that all? I’ve been wondering when you were going to tell me.”
“You – you knew?”
“I’ve suspected,” she admitted to him. “Does he know?”
“Dad? Yes, I told him--” Freddy thought he’d already explained that part.
“No, Wilfred, not your father, him. The boy.”
Freddy stared at her. She couldn’t possibly mean what he thought she meant.
“Don’t gape,” she admonished gently. “I’m not blind. You’re in love with that Grahame boy from school. That is what you came in here to tell me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he stammered, baffled by her pleasant tone, “but – how did you know? Theo told you, didn’t he?”
“No one had to tell me. You are as transparent as that window pane.” She smiled at his shocked expression. “You bought the boy an owl, dear. No one buys an owl for someone he considers ‘just a friend.’ I trust this is not a hopeless infatuation on your part?”
“No, Kevin loves me, too.” It sounded funny, saying it out loud that way. “Ever since Fourth Year. Longer than that, even, really--”
“Have you been intimate with him?”
“Have I what?” Freddy blinked in surprise. He was more flustered by his mother’s placid questioning than if she’d been angry at him.
“Sex, dear, have you had sex with him?”
“No! Good grief, Mother…” Freddy was burning with embarrassment.
“Good. Hogwarts frowns on sexual intercourse among students,” she informed him calmly. “I would not like to see you expelled over something like this. Has your father had any sort of conversation with you on the subject?”
“Well, I told him, he’s not exactly comfortable with it, but…”
“The customary father-son discussion on sexual maturity,” she clarified.
“You mean The Talk?” asked Freddy. “Not exactly. Well… he made an attempt at it, a few years ago. Of course, he assumed I wanted to know about girls, so it wasn’t much help.”
“I suppose not,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll bring you some of our literature from the hospital. We have a booklet that addresses your particular situation, A Wizard’s Guide to Intimacy; it should answer most of your questions. Do not skip over the chapter on the misuse and abuse of charms and potions,” she impressed upon him. “You can’t imagine some of the absurd things we see in the casualty ward.”
Freddy squirmed painfully; he didn’t want to imagine them, and hoped she wasn’t going to launch into any detailed examples. She seemed completely oblivious to his discomfort at having to discuss all this intimacy business with her, and he cracked, “Is there going to be a quiz afterwards?”
“Of course not, Wilfred,” she wasn’t as oblivious as he thought. “You needn’t read any of it if you don’t care to. It is your right to remain as ignorant as you choose to be, but I think you’ll find it is better to be informed. You might also wish to share it with Kevin; I’m certain his parents have told him absolutely nothing.”
“Mother…” he coughed slightly. “You – you really don’t mind this?”
“Well,” she confessed, “it would have been nice if you’d chosen someone from a more prominent family. At least his grandfather was one of us, that makes him more of a Squib-born than a true Muggle-born, I suppose, but even at that, the Grahames appear to have been rather common. Floo Inspector is hardly a prestigious career, you know. And the great-grandmother was in the Office for House-Elf Relocation, there is hardly a more demeaning office in the ministry than that one, it’s only slightly preferable to being sent to the Centaur Liaison Office. There was some distant cousin who had a small apothecary in Devon, but most of the more recent generations have been low-level ministry employees, clerks and so forth.”
“How on earth do you know all this?” Freddy marvelled. He doubted Kevin knew so much about his own family.
“I’ve done my homework, Wilfred. I wouldn’t want you associating with just anyone.”
“Kevin Grahame is not just anyone, Mother,” Freddy was affronted. “He’s brilliant, he’s really going to make something of himself, you’ll see. It’s not fair to hold his family against him.”
“No one is holding anything against him, dear,” his mother calmed him. “I’m certain they were all good people.”
Freddy accepted this, and backed up to his earlier point. “But, seriously, it doesn’t bother you that I’m… you know…”
“Homosexual, dear, it’s not a vulgar word.”
“But, you don’t think it’s – weird?”
“It is uncommon, Wilfred, that does not make it weird.”
“Kevin’s mother thinks it is,” he grimaced.
“Kevin’s mother is a Muggle,” Mrs. Shrike grimaced with him. “They have very strange ideas about things. Most Muggles think we are ‘weird.’”
Her words had made him ponder something, and now he said, “You know, Kevin and I have been keeping this a big secret, but if you’re not bothered by it…”
“I would keep it to myself at school,” she shook her head, guessing at the direction of his thoughts. “Your classmates are dealing with their own hormonal urges; they may not be prepared to view this from a mature perspective. I’m certain you’ve considered the awkwardness it would raise with the other boys in your dormitory.”
“Well, yes…” he acknowledged. “I guess you’re right. But, once we’re out of school… I mean, we haven’t talked about it yet, but it would be great if we could get a flat together, or something.”
“Oh, of course, dear, once you’re out of school, no one will bat an eye. Oh, a few will, here and there, but you can ignore them. I doubt most people will give it a thought.”
“Really?” Freddy looked doubtful.
“It’s none of their business, Wilfred, unless you make it so. Of course, one should always behave tastefully in public, regardless of the gender of one’s partner. Groping each other is best confined to the bedroom.”
Squirming again, he wondered how his mother could talk about such things in that cool, matter-of-fact tone, and he muttered, “Now I suppose you’ll ask me if we’ve ‘groped’ each other yet.”
“Have you--?” She might have been asking him if he’d finished with the morning papers.
“Mother,” Freddy cut her question short, “you don’t have to have a detailed account of everything, do you?”
“I was only going to ask, have you kissed him?”
“Well…” in a very small voice, he said, “yes.”
“Good.” And she smiled with a sweetness he had never seen from her before. “I don’t believe you can honestly know that you love someone until you’ve kissed him.”
THE END
Continue to A Disastrous Outing