---

The first letter arrived on a Tuesday.  Brenda Grahame found it lying on the front hall rug, amongst the daily post.  It caught her eye at once, poking out from behind the usual bills and solicitations; it looked peculiar, and Brenda Grahame did not like receiving peculiar-looking things in the post.  The envelope was made of some strange, parchmenty paper, with a funny seal on the back, and no proper stamps to be seen on the front.  It was addressed, in an odd, old-fashioned hand, to:

Mr. Kevin Grahame

The Blue Room Overlooking the Back Garden

22 Banbury Close

Henleaze, Bristol, England

 

This was not right.  It was disturbing enough that some unknown person was sending odd-looking letters to her eleven-year-old son, but this stranger even knew the color and location of Kevin’s bedroom.  “What on earth is he at now?” she muttered to herself, as she punched her thumbnail under the edge of the envelope and tore it open.

 

~~~

 

Headmistress: Lucilla Peachum

(Order of Merlin, First Class,

Seventh Level Charms Specialist,

European Chair, International Council of Wizarding Educators,

Contributing Correspondent to Witch Weekly)

 

Dear Mr. Grahame,

 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

 

Term begins on 1 September.  We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster

 

~~~

 

“School of what!?” exclaimed Mrs. Grahame, when she had read this over twice.  There was only one explanation for this.  Her foolish, over-imaginative son had written off to some advert he’d found in the back of a comic book, for some correspondence course in doing magic, and this was the result.  There ought to be a law, she thought, against advertising that sort of nonsense to impressionable children.  Refolding the letter, she made an attempt to tear it in half, but the unusual paper held fast against her efforts.  Not liking this at all, she crushed the letter in both hands and went to throw it in the kitchen dustbin.  There would be none of this nonsense in her house.  And when Kevin came looking for it, as he was certain to do, she would have an earful ready for him.

 

Kevin said nothing, not that day, nor the next.  He made no attempt to intercept the post.  He asked no questions about what had been received, or whether anything had come with his name on it.  By half past six on Thursday morning, she was beginning to think that the whole thing had been some strange mistake.   That was when her husband unfolded the morning paper and a parchment envelope fell out of it, onto the breakfast table.

“Hm, what’s this, then?” wondered Robert Grahame aloud, turning it over in his hand.

Brenda took one look, and her stomach clenched.  “Oh, no, not another!”

“Why, what is it?” asked Robert, looking to her for an explanation.

“Give me that; I’ll put it in the bin,” she took it from his hand.

“Steady on,” he protested, more puzzled than anything.  “What is it?”

“Kevin’s written off to who knows what sort of bizarre people, and now they’re sending these strange letters.”  She had opened this one and skimmed it quickly; it was identical to the first.

“What do you mean by strange?”  Robert was on his feet, and took hold of the parchment as his wife held it up for his notice.  Reading it over, he looked at her.  “He’s had another?”

“Exactly like that one.”

“And what did he have to say for himself?” he asked, with a fatherly frown.

“Not a word.”

“He must know something,” Mr. Grahame insisted.

“I didn’t tell him about it.  He doesn’t need to be encouraged,” she argued, as her husband examined the parchment front and back, and read it again.  There was a second sheet behind it, and he perused this, as well.

“Robes…  Cauldrons… Dragon Hide Gloves?”

“It’s some ridiculous advert he’s picked up somewhere, ‘send in five shillings and learn to do magic,’” Brenda sniffed.  “He’s old enough to know better than that, and I don’t like him giving out our address to who knows what sort of people.”

She had dropped the envelope on the table, and Robert was looking it over now.  “No stamps,” he noted.  “And it didn’t come in the post, it was tucked into the paper.”

“The first one came in the post.”

“Did it have stamps?”

“No.  But, what other explanation is there?” she pressed, noting his pensive look.

“If you ask me,” said Mr. Grahame slowly, “it’s someone’s idea of a cruel joke.  Some of the lads from school, I’d guess.”

“Why would…?” Brenda began, but she didn’t bother to finish the question.  Robert looked at her and sighed.  Their son always had been a bit odd, one way and another.  The mere fact that he was short for his age, and condemned to wearing chunky glasses, was enough to make him a natural target, and his penchant for daydreaming up wild stories (when he didn’t have his nose in a book) hadn’t helped his popularity.  There was no doubt that some classmate or other had decided it would be funny to tell that weirdie Kevin that he’d been enrolled in some barmy wizard school, and see what he’d do.

This time, Mr. Grahame crumpled the letter and said, quietly, “You’re right.  Kevin doesn’t need to know about this.”

And Kevin, enjoying a nice summer-morning lie-in upstairs, knew nothing.

 

The letter weighed on Robert Grahame’s mind, though.  If his wife was correct, and Kevin was writing off to strange cults, or squandering his allowance on so-called magic lessons, he wanted to know about it.  That evening, after Mr. Grahame came home from the office, and while his wife was preparing dinner, he caught Kevin in the lounge watching the telly, and sat down for a chat with him.

“Anything exciting happen today?” Robert tested the waters.

“Not much,” Kevin answered him.  “How about you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.  Ever heard of a place called Hogwarts?”

“No,” the boy chuckled at the sound of it, “where’s that?”

“Not certain.  I thought you might know.”  Robert observed his son closely as he shook his head, but saw nothing in his expression besides an amused curiosity.

“Why do they call villages such funny names?” asked Kevin.  “Chipping Sodbury, and Itchington, and things.  Who thinks those up?”

“I don’t know.  Some history behind them, I suppose.  The names meant something to someone.”

“What, do the hogs have warts in Hogwarts?” Kevin joked.

Robert smiled back at him, but pressed on.  “You’re certain you’ve never heard that name.”

“I don’t think so,” Kevin shook his head again.  “Did you try looking on a map?”

“It’s not a village,” said Robert.  “It’s the name of a school, apparently.”

A laugh burst out of his son, “All right, you’re having me on, now.  You’re making this up.  Is this from a book or something?”

“Is that what it sounds like?” Robert followed him down this trail.

“It’s something out of a Charles Dickens book, isn’t it?” Kevin insisted.  “Some horrible old school where it’s always freezing, and they feed you on bread and water, and beat you with a switch if you don’t know your Latin grammar.”

“That is what it sounds like, isn’t it?”

“What’s the book?” Kevin asked, eyes bright behind his glasses.

“It’s not from a book, as far as I know,” Robert answered him.  “That’s why I wanted to know if you’d heard of it.”

Kevin looked disappointed at this as he shook his head once more, and turned his attention back to the television.  They were both quiet for a minute before Robert asked, “What about Dumbledore?”

Kevin gave him a sidelong look, as if he wasn’t certain he wanted to get drawn into another guessing game if there wasn’t a new book to read at the end of it, but he played along enough to say, “Where’s that?”

“It’s not a where, it’s a who.  Albus Dumbledore?”

“That’s got to be Dickens for certain,” said Kevin.  “Where’d you hear all this?”

“Oh, I read it somewhere today.  Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School…”  He cast the bait one more time, but Kevin was no closer to biting.

“I’ll bet it’s from Dickens.”  Kevin appeared convinced of this.  “Maybe it’s Nicholas Nickleby.  I haven’t read that, but there’s supposed to be a school in it.”

“Maybe,” Robert conceded, and gave up the struggle.  In a way, Dickens would make sense – Kevin had read David Copperfield last year, and had expounded upon it in detail to anyone who would listen.  Some of the lads at school, making up some pretend Wizards’ academy with names out of a Dickens novel – that was as logical an explanation as anything Robert could imagine.

 

And that was the last anyone heard or saw of any strange letters at the Grahame house.

Until Saturday.

Kevin had walked over to Whittemore’s Bakery in Henleaze Road.  He had money in his pocket for a treat, but his real reason for going to the bakery was to visit his Grandmother.  Elsie Grahame had known the Whittemores since childhood, and had worked behind the counter at the bakery off and on since she was 16 – Kevin had seen photographs of her from back then, a small, softly curvy girl, all bright eyes and long, dark curls, smiling in front of the display case with her friend, Alice, the Whittemores’ tall, blonde daughter.  Alice and her brother ran the bakery now, and Kevin’s Gran helped to serve the customers who came in.  Kevin wished he could work in the bakery.  His father had worked there as a boy, sweeping up and running errands.  It would have been something fun to do for the summer, and he could have used the pocket money, but his mother had put her foot down.  He was much too young to work, and people would think his father couldn’t provide for the family.  There was nothing to stop him from going there to see Gran, however, and that was where he had been for the past hour or so.

Now, he called out, “I’m home!” as he came in the front door.  Almost at once, he trod on something that crackled under his foot.  It was an envelope, and when he bent to pick it up, he saw his name written on it in a funny, fancy handwriting.  “Wow,” he murmured, turning it over in his hands and ripping it open.  He pulled out the parchment inside, read it over quickly, and said, a little louder this time, “Oh, gosh!”

“Kevin, is that you?” his mother came into the hall.

He looked up at her, his eyes huge, and saw her staring back with an equally stunned expression.  “Mum, I got a letter!”

“Another one of those horrible letters!” she choked.

“It’s not horrible,” he assured her eagerly, “it’s great!  Look, I’ve been accepted at a magical school – That’s what Dad was talking about,” he realized.  “Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore, and all of it, he knows about this!  Dad!” Kevin plunged into the lounge in search of his father.  “Look, I got a letter!” Finding the lounge empty, he came bounding back into the hall.  “Dad!”

“Kevin!” Brenda narrowly avoided being trodden on by her excited son.  “Keep your voice down!  There is no such thing as a magical school.”

“Yes, there is, they sent me a letter,” he waved it.  “Gosh, this is fantastic!”

“What’s all the row?” came Dad’s voice, as he descended the stairs.

“Robert, he’s got another of those letters,” Brenda appealed to him for help.

“This is what you were talking about, wasn’t it?” said Kevin, as his father came down into the hall.  “Hogwarts School – it’s a magic school!  Did you write to them?  They’ve accepted me!” he gushed.  “Isn’t it great? Gosh, Dad, you’re the best!  Thank you!”

He was too excited, himself, to catch the spark of fury in his mother’s eyes, but there was no mistaking that crackle in her voice when she said, “Robert, what have you done!?”

“Nothing!” he defended himself.  “I told you, I didn’t – Kevin, will you stand still!  I didn’t write to any school, I know nothing more about this than you do.  Kevin,” he took hold of his son’s shoulders and looked him square in the eyes.  “I don’t know who sent you this letter.  But there is no such thing as a magical school.  It’s made up.  It’s some sort of – hoax.”

“How do you know?” Kevin challenged this assertion.

“Kevin,” his father sighed, “be logical.  You said, yourself, this sounded like something out of a book.”

“But – I’ve got a letter,” he insisted.  “And, look, they sent instructions and everything.  I’m supposed to get a cauldron, and a wand, and…”

“And where do you think you can buy a magic wand?” Dad argued.  “You can’t.  There is no such thing.”

“What about an owl?” Kevin was still reading.  “This says I can have a pet owl.  May I?”

“Certainly not,” his mother shot this down at once.  “People don’t keep owls.”

“They keep parrots,” said Kevin.

The jangle of the doorbell cut off Mrs. Grahame’s response to this, and she fretted, “Oh, who could that be?”

A shadow was visible through the frosted glass pane beside the door, and Mr. Grahame said, “Never mind, I’ll handle it.”

“Why couldn’t you keep an owl?”  Kevin was still interested in getting an answer to this as his mother herded him into the lounge.

“Because they’re filthy and they do not belong in the house,” said Mum, decisively, following him.

“But, it wouldn’t be in the house,” he pointed out.  “It would be at school, with me.”

“You’re not going to school!” Dad raised his voice from the hallway, growing exasperated.  “There is no school!”  Whoever was on the stoop was knocking, now, and he finally opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Grahame?”  The visitor was an attractive young woman, dressed in a short, double-breasted jacket and slim skirt, all in cotton-candy pink wool.  She appeared to be missing her sample case of cosmetics, but her purpose was obvious to him.

“I’m sorry, but the lady of the house is occupied.”

“Then I won’t disturb her,” the young woman said.  “My name is Diana Ashwood.  I’m here to see Kevin.”

“Kevin?”  Robert Grahame hadn’t expected this.

“He is at home.”  She did not make this sound like a question.

Hearing his name, the boy ducked back into the hallway and said, “I’m Kevin.”

“Oh, good,” the young woman noted the parchment still clutched in his hand, “you do have your letter.  Apparently, we’ve had some difficulty reaching you.”  As she said this, she turned her crystal-blue eyes full upon Mrs. Grahame, who stood in the doorway of the lounge.

“Miss Ashwood,” Mr. Grahame stepped between them, “I don’t know what you’re selling, but we have no intention of…”

“What business have you, sending strange letters to my son?” Brenda demanded, interrupting him.  “Who do you think you are?”

And, on top of both of them, Kevin said, “You sent me this?  Are you from the school, then?  It really does exist?”

“If you will allow me to explain…” said Miss Ashwood, in a patient tone befitting a skillful nursery school teacher.
“You’re not explaining anything,” Mrs. Grahame’s voice rose shrilly.  “You leave my house this minute, you…”

“Brenda,” her husband intervened, “I, for one, would like to know what this is all about.  Miss Ashwood, are you responsible for these letters?”

“Mr. Grahame, I am here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic.  We were rather surprised that this visit was necessary.  I don’t need to tell you that Hogwarts is a very prestigious school; I thought you would be pleased to learn that Kevin has been accepted.”

“I’m pleased!” Kevin put in.  “It sounds great.  Do they really teach you to do magic?”

“Of course,” Miss Ashwood smiled at him.  “All the best Wizards are educated there.”

“I could be a Wizard?” Kevin breathed.  “Gosh, are you serious?”

“Kevin, you already are a Wizard,” she answered.  “The school will teach you how to--”

“Nonsense!” Brenda squawked, seizing Kevin by the shoulders and dragging him out of the strange woman’s reach.  “This is absolute nonsense!  My son is a perfectly normal boy and he does not need to have such foolish ideas put in his head!”

“Mr. Grahame,” Miss Ashwood appealed to him again, “will you please assure your wife that I am quite sincere about this.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me,” Robert grumbled.  “I don’t believe in this rubbish, either, and I still don’t understand what you’re after.  This all sounds like some sort of confidence game to me, and if you think…”

With a sigh, the young woman drew a slim baton of wood from her sleeve and pointed it past Mrs. Grahame into the lounge.  None of them understood what she said, but there was a flash and a crack and they all turned to see a large, white unicorn pawing the ground where their coffee table had stood just a moment ago.

Mrs. Grahame let out a scream, Kevin let out a “Wow!” and Mr. Grahame said, “What the hell is that!?”

A whoosh, a flash and a crack again, and the unicorn turned back into a table.

“I trust there will be no more talk about magic being rubbish and nonsense,” said Miss Ashwood, sweetly.  “Mr. Grahame, is your mother nearby?  I believe she could help shed some light on this situation.”

“What has my mother got to do with this?” Robert was more confused than before.

“Do you know where she is?” Miss Ashwood pressed.  “I would like to bring her here.”

“She’s at the bakery,” Kevin piped up.  “Where she works.  Whittemore’s, in Henleaze Road.”

“Kevin,” his father frowned at him, but he should have known it would take more than that to shut him up.

“Is Gran magical?  Can she do that?” he gestured at the coffee table.

“No, I’m afraid not.  But, she--”  Miss Ashwood hesitated and said, “Perhaps she should be the one to explain.”

Kevin’s mother spoke through her teeth, “Robert, if your mother has written off to these people…”

“Brenda, don’t start,” he sighed, and, with a wary eye still on their visitor, picked up the hall telephone and rang the bakery.  “Mum? …  Could you take a few minutes and come to the house?  …  Yes, everything is fine…  No, honestly, we’re all fine.  But, something’s come up, and I need to talk to you.  …  I don’t want to discuss it on the telephone…  He’s fine…  Maggie’s fine, too…  It’s not an emergency, it’s – well,” he looked at Miss Ashwood.  “I’ll explain when you get here. …  All right.  …  No, it’s nothing to worry about. …  Good, let him drive you over.  …  All right, we’ll be here ...  Goodbye.”  He hung up the phone and groused, “There.  Alice’s son is bringing her over.  But now she thinks one of the kids is in hospital or something.”  This brought something new to mind, and he looked to his wife.  “Where is Maggie?”

“She’s playing at Valerie’s house, thank goodness; she won’t be home until dinner.”

“Good; no point involving her in this.  Very well, Miss Ashwood, now what?”

“May we sit down?” she requested.

“All right,” said Robert, “everyone into the lounge.  That is, unless you plan on turning any more of our furniture into wild animals.”

“I don’t plan on turning anything else into anything,” Miss Ashwood assured him.  “But it did seem necessary to get your attention.  Kevin, why don’t you sit here with me?” she smiled, patting the sofa cushion.

“Was that a real unicorn?” he asked, plopping down beside her.

“Not exactly.  I merely transfigured your table.  There are such things as real unicorns, though.  You might see one someday.  You will very likely have the hair of one in your wand; I do.”

“I really do get a magic wand, then?” Kevin’s eyes were shining.

“No one’s getting a magic wand yet,” his father warned.  “I still don’t understand what this is all about.”

“There are persons,” Miss Ashwood explained, “with a natural ability for magic.  We are Wizards, and Witches.  For the past few centuries, we have kept ourselves apart from the Muggles – from people without the knowledge of magic.  But, it is impossible for us to have absolutely no contact with Muggles, and sometimes… things happen.  That is why, occasionally, we will see a Wizard born to two Muggle parents, such as yourselves.  Kevin has the aptitude; he is a Wizard.  That is why he needs to attend Hogwarts, to learn to use his powers.”

“How do you know this?” Brenda challenged.  “How can you tell he has – powers?”  She uttered the word as if it were an infectious disease.

“We have our ways,” the Witch declined to elaborate.  “But, can you honestly tell me that you’ve never known him to do anything a bit odd?”

“That is ridiculous,” the offended mother huffed.  “My son is not ‘odd.’”

Robert couldn’t contain a mild snort at this assertion, and his wife glared at him.

“I can do things,” Kevin declared, as if this had not occurred to him before.  “I have done!  I kept Stuart from kicking the football into the window!  Everyone said it was the wind, but I made the ball slow down so I could catch it.  That was me!”  He was awestruck by the realization.

“Is Stuart a friend of yours?” Diana asked him.

“No-o,” Kevin sighed; “he’s this boy I used to like, but he never--”

“She doesn’t want to hear about Stuart, Kevin,” Mrs. Grahame cut this off abruptly.

“She asked me about him,” he pointed out.

“Never mind that,” her voice was shrill as she nipped this subject in the bud.

Kevin’s father attempted to douse this fire and divert Miss Ashwood’s attention from it by scoffing, “Catching a football is hardly a magic trick.”

“But,” Kevin was still thinking, “there was the biscuit jar, remember that, Mum?”

Diana looked to her for an explanation.  “Tell me about the biscuit jar, Mrs. Grahame.”

“Kevin broke the biscuit jar, he tried to blame it on his little sister.  He was six.”

“No dessert that night, and no telly for three days,” he still had a frown left for the memory.  “And I didn’t do anything wrong.  Maggie – my sister,” he explained to Miss Ashwood, who nodded, “climbed up on the kitchen counter – she was always climbing things, she pulled a whole bureau over once, trying to climb up the drawers.”

“Oh, my,” said Miss Ashwood, sympathetically.

“She was all right,” Kevin assured her.  “Mum called the ambulance, but she wasn’t really hurt.  Anyway, one day she climbed up to get the biscuit jar, and I saw her knock it off the counter.  I was too far away to catch it, but I tried, anyway, and when I reached for it, it just – stopped.  It just stayed there, in the air, sort of floating.  I stood there, and I stared at it and stared at it, and it didn’t move.  Then Mum came in and said, ‘KEVIN!’” he mimicked her shriek, “and she made me jump, and the jar fell on the floor and broke.  That was magic, wasn’t it?”

The young woman nodded.  “Yes, that was magic.”

Kevin’s mother had one hand over her mouth and looked as if she would be sick.  Miss Ashwood saw the look, and asked her, “That is what happened, isn’t it?”

She nodded, tears seeping into her eyes.  “It was just hanging there – I didn’t believe it.  I thought I imagined it.  Oh, Robert, what are we going to do?” she began to sob.

“We’re not going to panic, that’s the first thing,” he patted her arm.  “So, he’s done one or two strange things in his life…”

This prompted a wail of despair from Mrs. Grahame, which nearly succeeded in drowning out the doorbell.

“Gran!” Kevin bounced up, but his father got to his feet first.

“You stay right there,” he pointed, and went to get the door.

Kevin could hear his grandmother’s voice the moment the door was opened.

“Robert, what on earth is going on?  Why wouldn’t you tell me anything on the telephone?  Pudgie!”  As soon as she was in the lounge, she bustled straight over to Kevin and hugged him.  “Where’s Maggie?” she looked around herself, then cast her eyes again on Robert.  “It is Maggie, isn’t it?  What’s happened?”

“Maggie’s fine, she’s at a friend’s house.  Mother, this is Miss Diana Ashwood.  She wants to see you, for some reason.”

“Oh,” Gran looked surprised, but extended a hand to the pink-suited lady.  “I don’t think I know you, do I?”
“No, Mrs. Grahame,” she smiled and took the little woman’s hand.  “We haven’t met before.  But, I think you’ll understand why I’m here.  I’m from the Ministry of Magic, from the Office of Muggle Relations.”

Elsie Grahame gasped audibly, and her free hand flew straight to her heart.  “Oh, my – Pudgie?” she looked at her grandson.

“I got a letter from this place called Hogwarts School, and Miss Ashwood says I can do magic,” Kevin informed her.

“AAAAAAA!” Kevin’s Gran screamed, and threw her arms around him.  “Pudgie!  Oh, Pudgie!  Oh, my sweet darling, a Wizard!  I never dreamed!  I never thought…”  She was laughing and crying, all quite in earnest, and Kevin, though surprised by this outburst, hugged her tight, until she pulled away from him and threw herself at Miss Ashwood, squeezing the air out of her, as well.  “Oh, my dear, God bless you!  Oh, Robert!” she beamed at her son.  “Can you believe it?  Our Pudgie is a Wizard!”

“Mother,” he caught her as she came flying at him, and gently steered her onto the sofa, where Kevin sat down beside her and grandmother and grandson put their arms around each other.  “You know what this is about?”
“Of course, dear, Pudgie’s going to Hogwarts!” she was practically bouncing up and down.  “Oh, I’m so proud of you!” she took her grandson’s face in her hands, knocking his glasses askew in the process, and kissed him.

“Did you write to these people?” Robert asked her, striving, with some effort, to remain calm, and respectful of his mother.

“Of course not, I didn’t know he had the talent.  I’d hoped, of course, but…”

“But, you knew about this?” he pressed, staggered by the thought.  “All this Wizard business, and this Hogwarts place, and…”
“Of course I knew, how could I not know.  Oh, Robert, I’m sorry,” she held out her hand to him.  “I should have told you years ago, but I never knew we’d have another in the family,” she squeezed Kevin again and kissed his cheek.

“What do you mean, another?” Brenda demanded.  She had stopped crying, but still looked nauseous.

“Robert,” Elsie Grahame sighed, struggling to collect herself.  “I think you had better brace yourself for this.  Robert – darling – Your father was a Wizard.”

“My – What?” was the best he could get out.  “Are you saying,” he blanched white with the shock of it, and lowered his voice.  “Are you trying to say that – I’m not really a Grahame?”

His mother’s eyes and mouth flew open all at once and she gasped, mortally offended, “Good heavens, Robert, don’t you even think such a thing!  I am saying that Halitherses Grahame – my husband and your father,” she emphasized the words, “was a Wizard.  Why on earth do you think he was called Halitherses?” she laughed a bit.  “No Muggle would name her son such a thing!”

Brenda was now staring at her husband with storm clouds brewing in her eyes.  “Your father was a what!?  Why didn’t you tell me this!?”
“Why didn’t I...?”  Being caught in the crossfire of wild female emotion was taking its toll on him, and his head was starting to hurt.

“I can’t believe you would keep something like this from me,” Brenda’s nostrils flared.

“You heard what she said,” he defended himself, waving an arm in his mother’s direction.  “I didn’t know before now!”

“Of course not,” Elsie left the sofa and went to her son’s aid.  “We’d always kept it a secret, Hal and I, and when none of our children were magic, well, I thought that was the end of it.”

“I had a right to know this!” Brenda ranted.

“And now you do,” Elsie huffed back at her.

“And now,” she was on her feet, as well, and pointing at Kevin, “I have a son with some sort of weird powers, and some strange woman in my house talking about sending him off to some weird school!  What am I supposed to do about this!?”

“You are supposed to be proud!” Elsie informed her.  “Your son is something exceptional!”

“I don’t want him to be exceptional,” Brenda fumed, “I want him to be normal!”

“You already know it’s too late for that,” Kevin murmured, from where he was sitting on the sofa.

He hadn’t expected his mother to hear this, but she flashed from fury to panic in an instant and warned him, in a shaking voice, “Don’t you dare say another word on that subject!”

Elsie snapped back at her, “Don’t you speak to him in that tone!”

“I am his mother, I’ll speak to him as I see fit!”

“ENOUGH!” Robert put a halt to this.  “That – Is – Enough.  Everyone – sit down.”

There was a scant moment of silence, then Brenda burst into tears and collapsed into her chair.  “I don’t know how you can love me and speak to me in such a way!  My own husband…”

He sighed and cast an anxious look at Miss Ashwood.  “Brenda, this isn’t the time…”

“I swear I don’t know what I do to deserve this…”  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Elsie Grahame squeezed her mouth shut with some force, drew a deep breath through her nose, pulled herself up to her full height, small as she was, and plumped herself on the sofa again.  Kevin put an arm around her shoulders, and she took his free hand in both of hers, while Robert stood by his wife’s chair and waited for the storm to subside.

“Pudgie,” Kevin’s Gran spoke to him in a gentle voice, sounding for all the world as if none of the turmoil had happened, “you’re going to love Hogwarts.  Your grandfather was educated there, and he told me such wonderful stories.”

“Was he really a Wizard?”

“He was, indeed; he worked for the Ministry of Magic, just like Miss Ashwood, here.  He was a Floo Inspector, and I’ll bet you don’t know what that is,” she beamed at him, and he shook his head.  “Wizards,” Kevin’s Gran explained, “can travel through fires, and chimneys.  Rather like the London Underground, you know; you go in at one fireplace, and come out at another, isn’t that clever?  It was Hal’s job to make certain all the fireplaces were joined up properly, so you came out where you were supposed to.”

“Did he have an owl?”  Kevin was still thinking about this.

“No, we never had one.  We lived among the Muggles, you know, and an owl constantly coming and going would have drawn too many questions.”

“What sort of things did he learn at school?”

“Oh, my, he learned how to brew magic potions, and use magic spells to change things into other things…”

“Miss Ashwood changed our table into a unicorn before you came,” Kevin informed her.  “It was brilliant!”

Elsie leaned in front of Kevin and reached over to pat Diana’s arm.  “I am sorry, my dear, I suppose I should have prepared them for this.  But, I honestly never imagined…”
“That is quite all right, Mrs. Grahame,” Diana assured her kindly.  “I know we always impress upon our Muggle family members not to tell unless absolutely necessary.  You do understand that, Mr. Grahame?” she addressed Kevin’s father.  “We cannot permit you to tell your friends or neighbours that your son is a Wizard.”

Robert cast one glance at his snuffling wife and said, “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble about that.”

“What about Maggie?” asked Gran.

Brenda raised her head and blurted defensively, “There is nothing wrong with Maggie!  She’s perfectly fine, she’s never been any trouble!”

“But, what do we tell her?” Robert understood the real question.  “She’s only eight, she’s too young for all this secrecy.”

“I believe,” put in Miss Ashwood, “that most parents simply explain that their child is attending a good boarding school somewhere.  That is the truth,” she pointed out.

“I suppose,” said Robert, “that all Maggie needs to know is that Kevin’s going off to boarding school.  We can tell her the rest when she’s a bit older.”

“I really am going, then?” Kevin lit up at this.  “Gosh!”

“That’s right, Kevin,” his mother sniffled, “you do as you please.  All of you.  Never mind my feelings.”

Robert rolled his eyes with exasperation, but Miss Ashwood got up and walked over to Brenda’s chair.  With no fanfare, she quietly conjured a little stool beside the armchair so she could sit down and address Kevin’s mother eye to eye.

“Mrs. Grahame, I have no doubt that this has come as quite a shock.  But, I’m certain that you only want what is best for your son.”

Gran looked like she would have made an answer to this, but restrained herself.

“I would think,” Miss Ashwood went on, “it might be something of a relief to you, to know the truth.  You must have wondered about him, levitating biscuit jars and so forth.  Isn’t it better to know why?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Brenda dabbed at her eyes.  “But… oh, couldn’t he not do magic, just forget all of this, and try to be normal…?”

Diana shook her head.  “Kevin is a Wizard.  His abilities are an innate part of who he is.  He will do magic, he can’t help himself.  But, at Hogwarts, he’ll learn to control his powers, and direct them properly.  And he’ll be with other children like himself.  It will be a better place for him, don’t you think?”

She managed a nod at this.

A slight edge of foreboding crept into Miss Ashwood’s voice as she added, “And I am certain you would prefer this to the alternative.”

It was Mr. Grahame who asked, with dread, “What alternative?”

Miss Ashwood rose and addressed them both.  “We at the Ministry cannot allow untrained Wizards to go about doing uncontrolled magic.  That is why we have established a system of Watchers.  Here in Britain, we cannot force Muggle parents to send their children to Hogwarts, of course.  But, if they refuse, we certainly can – and do – set a Watcher on the child.  Someone to keep an eye on things, step in if there is an incident of accidental magic.  Unfortunately, even our best Watchers are apt to pique the curiosity of the neighbours, if there are too many magical accidents.  And,” she directed this to Brenda, “I am certain you would not want that.”

Brenda shuddered at this prospect.  “What choice do we have?  We can’t trust Kevin not to do magic, and we can’t have the neighbours asking embarrassing questions.”

“That settles it, then,” Gran beamed.  “Pudgie, you’re going to Hogwarts!”  She squeezed him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“What do I do about this, though?” he raised the letter he’d been clinging to the entire time.  “Miss Ashwood, how do I get my magic wand, and cauldron, and all of this?”

“I will take you to London.  With your parents,” she added, “or your grandmother, or whomever you’d like.  There are shops in London where we can find all of these things.  We shall plan a day that is convenient for everyone.”

“Do they sell owls in London?  I am allowed a pet owl at school, aren’t I?  It says so here.”

“No, Kevin,” his mother’s firmness returned.  “For the last time, you will not have an owl.  I forbid it.”

“But…  Dad?” he appealed.

Dad took her side.  “Your mother’s right, Kevin; no owls in the house.  Besides, you heard your Gran, they attract too much notice.”

“When you’re grown, Pudgie,” Gran patted him, “you can live in a Wizard house and have all the owls you like.  In the meantime, why don’t we get you a cat?  That would be nice, don’t you think?”

“No, no cats, either,” Mum shot this down, too.

“Why not?” said Kevin.  “They don’t drop feathers.  And they’re normal,” he used her favorite word.

“They claw the furniture and shed on everything.  And besides, your sister is allergic.”

“Is she?” Gran puzzled.  “I never knew that.”

“You do not need an owl or a cat,” Mum decreed.

“Don’t worry,” Gran patted him.  “We’ll find you something.”  When Mum looked like she would object again, Gran emphasized, “Something small and harmless that can stay in a cage while he’s here, and won’t cause any trouble.”

“Rats are nice,” said Miss Ashwood.  “And they’re very clever.”

“Rats!”  Brenda gasped.  “You’ll give us all the plague next!”

“Domesticated rats are very clean and perfectly tame,” Miss Ashwood assured her.  “They make excellent pets, and many students keep them.”

“There, Pudgie, I’ll buy you a rat, would you like that?”

“Thanks, Gran.”  Kevin hugged her.

“You’re going to make a wonderful Wizard, Pudgie.  And your grandfather would say the same.”

 

THE END

 

(Author’s postscript:  The concept of the “Watchers” is not canon, but it’s not mine, either.  One of the Big Unanswered Questions among the HP fandom is, what happens if Muggle parents refuse to send their Wizard children to Hogwarts?  I don’t know who originated the idea of the Ministry keeping tabs on these untrained youngsters and intervening if there’s trouble, but I’ve seen this theory floated around the HP fandom and I like it.)

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