It was Thursday morning, and Willard Tweedy was frying himself a pair of eggs for his breakfast. Even now, nearly thirteen years after The Most Treacherous Flock of Chickens Ever Hatched had escaped from Tweedy’s Farm, Mrs. Tweedy’s lingering hatred of the vile, feathered creatures was such that she still refused to cook or consume an egg. Mr. Tweedy had grown up on hen fruit, however, and breakfast simply didn’t seem right without it, so he had become quite a good hand at preparing his own eggs, be they scrambled, poached, or sunny side up. He was just sliding this morning’s masterpiece out of the skillet when a feathery head popped through the owl flap next to the kitchen window.
The owl flap had been Mr. Tweedy’s own invention. The Tweedys’ daughter, Jane, was off at a boarding school called Hogwarts, learning to be a Witch, and she kept in touch with her parents by sending notes back and forth with her pet owl, Eglantine. At first, they had taken to leaving the kitchen window open for Eglantine, which had worked out fine until winter set in, and the flat became drafty. It was then that Mr. Tweedy had had the idea of building a flap in the wall, such as folks with dogs or cats used to let their pets pass in and out at will. Now, he turned around to greet Eglantine, and was surprised to see not her ruddy, round head, but that of a dignified, grey owl, who swiveled his gaze around the kitchen and hooted for attention.
“Now, where did you come from?” asked Mr. Tweedy, going to welcome him, and relieving him of the letter he carried. It was surprising, how quickly he had grown accustomed to these owls flapping in and out of his home, delivering letters and parcels at all hours, especially since all the Wizarding blood was on Mrs. Tweedy’s side of the family. The folded parchment was sealed with the Hogwarts crest, and addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy, The Flat Above Tweedy’s Photographic Studio, York, England. It looked very official, and Mr. Tweedy, worrying for a moment that something had happened to Jane, called for his wife.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Tweedy through a mouthful of hairpins, still putting up her bun as she came from the bedroom.
“A letter from the school.” He already had his thumb under the flap when she snatched it from his hand and ripped it open. From her anxious look, he could tell that her fears were the same as his, but as soon as she had skimmed the note once, her frown relaxed. Mr. Tweedy asked, “Nothing wrong, is there, luv?”
“No, no,” she waved him off distractedly. Mr. Tweedy glanced around for a bit of bacon to offer the delivery owl, but he had already vanished. Mrs. Tweedy was smiling as she read over the letter again more slowly. “How thoughtful of him,” she remarked, with a blush of pride.
“What is, luv?” Mr. Tweedy tried to read around her elbow.
“It’s from that lovely Professor Dumbledore. We’ve been invited to visit the school. Very kind of him, I must say.” She finally handed over the parchment to her husband, and Mr. Tweedy read it for himself.
~~~~~~~~~
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
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. and Mrs. Tweedy,
You are cordially invited to attend a special Visiting Day for the families of our first year students, to be held at the end of term on 29 June. Parents wishing to attend should be at King’s Cross Station at 7:00 am on that date. The Hogwarts Express will depart from Platform 9 ¾ at precisely 8:00 am. Ministry representatives from the Department of Muggle Relations will be on hand for those who need assistance in boarding. We hope you will take advantage of this opportunity to meet our faculty, and be our guest at the end-of-term feast.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Deputy Headmaster
~~~~~~~~~~
“So, it’s not just us, then,” Mr. Tweedy noted, once he had finished reading the letter. The Missus had made it sound as if they’d received a personal summons to Buckingham Palace. “I wonder if that young Mr. Weasel will be at the station. He’s a nice fellow. It’d be good to see him again.”
Arthur Weasley was the young man from the Ministry who had called on them when Jane had first received her acceptance letter from the school. Sure enough, when Willard and Melisha Tweedy walked into King’s Cross Station on the appointed morning, there was his flaming red head bobbing around in front of the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. He spotted them coming toward him, and greeted them with a wave of his hand.
“Hello, hello!” Arthur made his way through the crowd of travellers to meet them, and escorted them to a calmer spot beside the barrier. “Mrs. Tweedy, a pleasure to see you again. Mr. Tweedy, how are you?” he shook hands warmly with both of them. “So glad you made it, I was hoping I’d see you here. How’s Jane doing?”
“She’s doing very well, Mr. Weasley,” smiled Melisha. “This school certainly seems to agree with her. You’ve heard she went into Ravenclaw, of course.”
“Yes, she wrote to me once or twice last fall, sounded as if she was settling in quite happily. What’s that you’ve got there, Mr. Tweedy?” Arthur inquired eagerly, as he observed the man fiddling with a square, leather case.
“Oh, that,” said Melisha, her brow narrowing. “I told him not to bring that thing, Mr. Weasley. I told him it probably won’t even work there, but he insisted…”
“I’ll ask a professor or someone about it, luv, before I use it. But it would be nice to have some snaps of Jane and her friends.” He had unfastened the case, and Arthur gawked excitedly at the contents.
“Is that a Muggle Camera?” he breathed.
“That’s exactly what it is,” nodded Willard proudly, lifting it out of the case.
“Amazing. It doesn’t look all that much different from our Wizarding cameras,” said Arthur. “But, this is how you take those pictures? The ones that hold still?”
“This is how,” he nodded, unfolding the camera.
“Mr. Weasley, he won’t be able to take pictures with that thing at Hogwarts, will he?” Mrs. Tweedy pressed him for support.
“Well, I don’t know,” Arthur mused. “Is it eckeltriptic?”
“No,” said Tweedy, unfamiliar with that make, “it’s a Polaroid.”
“Ah,” said Arthur, attempting to look wise to the ways of Muggles.
“Takes instant pictures, you see,” Tweedy was explaining. “I thought, no point in taking up a lot of film and not knowing if it’s turned out till we’re home. Thought I’d try it out on you, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, capital!” Arthur exclaimed. “A Muggle photograph! Molly will be amazed! What do I do?”
“Just stand there,” the photographer directed him, assembling the flash. “Now,” he raised the camera, “hold still and say ‘cheese.’”
“Why ‘cheese’?” asked Arthur.
“Oh, that’s just to get a nice smile,” explained Mr. Tweedy. “It’s summat we photographers say.”
“Oh, ah, of course. Cheese!” exclaimed Arthur Weasley, and the flash went off with a pop.
“Now, we count out a minute while it develops,” said Mr. Tweedy, looking at his watch.
“Mr. Tweedy, we’re going to miss the train,” his wife fretted. “And I’m certain Mr. Weasley has a great deal of work to do…”
“Not at all, not at all,” Arthur assured her cheerfully. “All I’m here for is to get the Muggle parents onto the platform, and there aren’t all that many of you.”
“Luv, would you hand me the coater?” Mr. Tweedy asked his wife, still watching the seconds tick off. “It’s in the case.”
With a sigh, and a roll of her eyes, Mrs. Tweedy gave in. When the time was up, Mr. Tweedy pulled the finished picture out of the camera, wiped it with a few deft strokes of the coater, and handed it over. “There you are, young sir,” he beamed. “One Muggle photograph.”
“Amazing!” Arthur grinned with delight. “I’m all grey, too!”
“Black and white film,” Mr. Tweedy explained.
“Unbelievable! I can’t wait to show my wife. Thank you, Mr. Tweedy.”
“You’re welcome. I hope I can take some at the school. Think Janie’s friends might like them?”
“Oh, they’ll be thrilled. I’ll bet most of them have never even seen a Muggle photo before. I’ll bet this fellow hasn’t,” Arthur had spotted a young boy of nine or so, heading for the barrier with his parents. “Hello, there, young shaver!” he beckoned the child over. The boy hesitated, but looked at him with curious eyes. His father looked, too, and said, in a pleasant voice, “Ah, from the Ministry, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. Off to Hogwarts, are you?” he addressed this to the boy again, who tossed his touseled brown hair out of his eyes and nodded.
“I’m going to see my sister. Professor Dumbledore said it was all right,” he added, as if he expected an argument on this point, but Arthur Weasley was more interested in showing him the snapshot.
“What do you make of that, then? It’s a real, Muggle photograph!” Arthur explained to him, still grinning with delight over it. “This gentleman took it of me. Isn’t that clever? Doesn’t move a muscle. You can stare at it as long as you please, it stays still as a stone. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
The boy’s parents had followed him over, and now Mr. Tweedy extended his hand to the tall, slender gentleman. “Willard Tweedy, sir. Our daughter’s at Hogwarts, as well.”
“Tweedy,” the gentleman’s grey eyes widened in recognition. “Why, you must be Jane’s father. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Renard Lupin; our daughter, Irene, is a friend of Jane’s.”
“Why, of course,” Melisha joined the circle, smiling graciously. “Jane has told us all about her; she sounds like a lovely girl. I am Jane’s mother,” she gave Mr. Lupin her hand, “Melisha Pryce Tweedy.” None of Mrs. Tweedy’s Muggle acquaintances could have told you what her maiden name was, but she was determined to drop it as often as possible among any Wizarding folk she met, just in case it carried any influence. It made no apparent impact on the Lupins, but they were every bit as courteous to her as if it had.
“Isolde Lupin,” Irene’s mother took Mrs. Tweedy’s hand in turn. “Delighted,” she smiled, shaking Mr. Tweedy’s as well.
“And this young fellow must be Remus,” Mr. Tweedy deduced, nodding pleasantly to the boy. Shaking his finger at the lad, he added, “I’ve heard about you, mate.” Remus Lupin looked surprised, and more than a little uncomfortable at this, as he backed up against his mother. But then Mr. Tweedy went on to say, “You’re the one as collects them funny cards, aren’t you? Janie sent you that Headless Hector, or whatever he was.”
The boy visibly relaxed at the broaching of this subject, and grinned, still a bit shyly, as he answered, “Nearly Headless Nick. I’ve got a hundred and twenty-three cards in my album so far.”
“That’s champion!” enthused Mr. Tweedy. “Janie’s sent me half a dozen or so, that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“Well, isn’t this lucky,” Arthur noted, glancing away to where his eye had lit on some new lost souls who appeared to be searching for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. “Since you all know each other,” he addressed the Lupins, “would you be kind enough to escort Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy through the barrier? I have to keep a watch out here for any others.”
“It would be our pleasure,” Mr. Lupin agreed, with a gallant hint of a bow.
Mrs. Lupin smiled at Melisha and said, “Irene has told us quite a bit about Jane, as well. You must be very proud of her.”
“I can’t begin to tell you, Mrs. Lupin,” Melisha gushed, delighted at the attention. “My family were Wizards, you know, a very fine old family, but we’ve been rather unfortunate since my grandfather, Orpheus Pryce, he was a squib, you see…” Mrs. Tweedy had linked arms with Isolde Lupin and was so intent on relating the whole history of her family, she did not even flinch when Mrs. Lupin walked her through the barrier and they disappeared from sight.
Renard and Remus waited behind while Mr. Tweedy packed up his camera case, and Arthur Weasley shook hands with him and thanked him again for the photo. “How do we do this, Mr. Lupin?” asked Willard. “Walk right through, is it?” He was looking a bit uneasy, and Lupin laid a hand on his back.
“Not as difficult as it looks, I assure you. The thing to remember is, there’s really nothing there. All an illusion. Remus, stop that,” his father scolded. Remus Lupin had darted through the barrier while his father was speaking, and was standing now with his head sticking out of the wall and the rest of his body invisible. “You know better than that,” Renard shook his head, but not as sternly as he might have, and Remus laughed as he vanished from their sight. “Come on,” said Mr. Lupin, with a grave sigh, steering Mr. Tweedy toward the barrier. “I don’t want him running off from us, he’s very bad about that. Remus!” he called out, as he and Mr. Tweedy walked through the wall together.
When they emerged onto Platform 9 ¾, Remus was standing at his mother’s elbow, looking back at his father with an expression of such calculated “Who, Me?” innocence that even Mr. Lupin had to chuckle at it.
“Oooh,” breathed Mr. Tweedy, at the sight of the steaming, scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express. So this was where Janie had disappeared to on that September morning last fall. The parents of the first years formed a much smaller crowd than she had seen that day, but they were impressive to Mr. Tweedy’s eyes. Some wore Muggle clothes, and some, like the Lupins, wore clothing that was, while not the current fashion, at least plain and inconspicuous enough not to attract too much Muggle attention. There were more than a few, however, dressed in vividly colored cloaks and robes; some even wore funny, pointy hats, like that woman right over there, whose elegant ensemble of emerald green trimmed in silver was all but screaming, “Look at me! I’m a Witch!” Mr. Tweedy kept on staring at her, while he followed his wife, still bending Mrs. Lupin’s ear, toward the train. He wasn’t staring at her that way; she wasn’t really his type, although he could imagine that she might have turned a few other heads, funny clothes or no. Even from this distance, he could see that her eyes were blue, and her honey-blonde hair framed her face in soft, carefully-styled waves. Not even the generous folds of her emerald cloak could hide the fact that she had the sort of ripe, curvaceous figure that would have made plenty of red-blooded men gawk. Mr. Tweedy’s thought, however, as he took in the sum of her, from her sparkly silver shoes to the shape of her tall, beribboned hat, was I wonder how the Missus’d look in summat like that…
On the train, the Tweedys and Lupins settled into a compartment together. Remus claimed a window seat and pressed his nose to the glass. Mr. Tweedy sat down opposite him, and stowed his camera case under the seat. This prompted his wife to appeal to Mr. Lupin, just as she had to Arthur Weasley, “He won’t be able to take pictures with that thing at Hogwarts, will he. I’ve been telling him that all morning, but he won’t believe me.”
“That all depends,” Renard mused. “I’m not familiar with Muggle cameras, although if it is primarily a mechanical device, I think you’ll be all right. Trying to run something off an electrical current is where you run into trouble. On the other hand,” something new occurred to him, “are you asking whether he’ll be capable of using it, or whether he’ll be allowed to?”
“Both,” said Mrs. Tweedy, although she hadn’t thought things out in quite those terms yet.
“Ask Professor Dumbledore,” said Isolde. “If you’re concerned about getting permission. He’s a very fair and sensible man, much more so than some of the others.” Her brow contracted in a rare show of irritation as she said this. “I can’t imagine him saying no; if he does, you can be certain he has a good reason.”
“You’re acquainted with Professor Dumbledore?” Melisha’s eyes lit up at this. “I hardly know him, of course, we’ve exchanged a note or two, that’s all, but he does seem like a very nice gentleman…”
Mrs. Lupin replied that he had been her head of house when she was a Gryffindor, years ago, and the four parents became engrossed in a discussion of the Hogwarts faculty and curriculum that lasted until the tea cart arrived.
Remus Lupin, who had been watching the world speed by outside the window for most of the trip so far, bounced out of his seat at the sound of the cart outside their compartment, and began rooting in his pockets. Mr. Tweedy’s face lit up, as well, and he took some coins of his own from his coat.
“This is the part I’ve been waiting for,” he confided, to no one in particular, filling his palm with sickles and knuts. Mrs. Lupin, who was nearest the compartment door, opened it for them, and the tea-cart Witch asked them what they fancied.
Remus was anxiously counting out his own small handful of coins, but Mr. Tweedy said, “Put that away, mate, this round’s on me. Give us a dozen o’ them Chocolate Frogs, please,” he ordered.
“Mr. Tweedy,” Isolde Lupin tried to discourage him, “that’s really not necessary…”
“Mum…” Remus begged, making big, pleading eyes at her.
“As one collector to another, Mrs. Lupin,” Mr. Tweedy insisted. “He won’t eat all that chocolate at one go, will you, mate?” he winked at the boy. “You’ll put away some those sweets for another time. Or give ’em to your sister, eh? I hear her owl likes chocolate.” Mr. Tweedy handed over his money to the Witch and received in exchange two big handfuls of Chocolate Frogs. “Here we are, then,” he spilled six packs into Remus’ outstretched hands. “And if I’ve got any you want, I reckon we can work out a deal.”
“Thanks, Mr. Tweedy,” the boy was grinning from ear to ear as he began ripping open packs and pulling out cards.
“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Lupin was smiling, and shaking her head in resignation. “You’re very kind.”
“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Tweedy beamed, going to work on his own Frog packets. While the grownups talked, Remus and Willard occupied themselves with their trading cards.
“Uuugh,” Remus groaned, “not another Morgana! It’s getting so you can’t buy two packs of these without ending up with her.”
“Here, mate, I’ll take her,” Mr. Tweedy offered, even though Morgana was one of the few cards he already had. “What’ll you trade her for?”
“Practically anything,” said Remus. “What have you got?”
“Well, let me get through ’em all, and we’ll see what looks good,” offered Willard. His next pack yielded a severe-looking Witch who was identified as Abigail Peasegood, founder of the Salem Witches’ Institute.
“Ooh!” Remus’ eyes lit up at the sight of her. “She’s one of the American ones! They’re really hard to come by.”
“I take it that means you need her,” Mr. Tweedy smiled, holding out the card. “I’ll swap her for Morgana.”
“Oh, no,” Remus shook his head, “you want something better than Morgana for that one. Let me see what else I’ve got.” Two packs later, he exclaimed, “Here, look!” and held up a card for Mr. Tweedy’s inspection. “Look, this is Professor Dumbledore! That’s exactly what he’s like, I’ve met him. He’s great! Here,” Remus held out the card, “you should take him. Maybe he’ll autograph it for you; he did mine.”
“Look, luv,” Mr. Tweedy passed the card to his wife, whose attention had been attracted by the man’s name, “here’s Professor Dumbledore.”
“He looks very distinguished,” Melisha nodded, reading the back of the card while Mr. Tweedy handed over to Remus his Abigail Peasegood in exchange.
“I still want that Morgana of yours,” insisted Mr. Tweedy, opening his last two packs.
“Ooh, what one’s that?” Remus craned his neck to see one of the cards.
Mr. Tweedy flipped it over and read, “Bowman Wright. Says here he invented summat called a Golden Snitch.”
Remus nodded eagerly. “It’s a ball they use in Quidditch. Would you trade him for Morgana? Here, I’ll give you Elfrida Clagg, too; she was head of the old Wizards’ Council. I’ve already got her, but she’s a lot better than Morgana, for collecting.”
“Quidditch,” Mr. Tweedy mused. “That’s that funny game you play, isn’t it? Janie’s tried to explain some of it in her letters; she’s got this friend she’s always talkin’ about as wants her to play next year. ‘If I have a broom by then,’ she says,” Mr. Tweedy confided in his young friend, chuckling. “She’s let us know about a hundred different ways how much she wants herself a broom.”
“My sister’s getting one this summer,” Remus nodded. “It’s sort of a belated birthday gift, so she’s not really supposed to know, but of course she does. Don’t say anything, though. In case she doesn’t.”
“Oh, right, mate,” Mr. Tweedy tapped his nose wisely. “Not a word.”
At Hogwarts, Jane Tweedy and Irene Lupin had dressed in their best robes, and gone down to the Ravenclaw Common Room to await the afternoon festivities. They had received the scores on their exams the day before. Jane’s worst class was Transfiguration. She’d done well enough on the written exam, but her attempt to transfigure a hedgehog into a hairbrush had resulted in a ball of bristles that bit her when she tried to find a handle on it. Her best, and favorite, subject was still Charms. For their final exam, Professor Flitwick had taken them into his office one at a time and put them through the paces of what they’d learned so far, and Jane had done every spell perfectly. Even at that, she was surprised to learn that she’d had the highest score in the class; she had fully expected Kevin Grahame to come out on top. Kevin fared best in any class that involved raw magical talent, including and especially Charms. It had taken him a while to get the hang of Transfiguration, but no one had been surprised when his hedgehog hairbrush had come out the best of any of them, carved mahogany handle and all. Jane had made good marks in History, as well. Most of the students hated the class because of old Professor Binns, who was, she had to agree, the most boring Professor in the school. Jane did not let that stop her, however; she did her own reading and took her own notes and usually ended up with more information than had been asked for. She certainly fared better in that subject than the Kettlesmith cousins, who doodled away most of the term in History drawing battles between Wizards mounted on fire-breathing dragons. Angharad Jones was the whiz at potions; she had insisted on working alone for the entire term, grumbling that she didn’t need any stupid idiots fouling up her concoctions. Professor Penhaligon had taken five points from her for calling her schoolmates idiots, but it hardly mattered, she had earned so many points for her successes in the class. Irene was way ahead of the rest of them in Defense Against the Dark Arts – because of her parents, she said. She was also the best at making out the detailed star charts they had to do for Astronomy, and could tell you the moon phases down to the very second. Freddy Shrike’s charts weren’t as neatly drawn as Irene’s, but Astronomy had proven to be one of his better subjects, as well; that, and Herbology, at which Professor Sprout gushed about his naturally green thumbs.
Now, Freddy and Kevin came in from outside, hands dirty and robes stained with soil and fluorescent fungus. Wilfred Shrike and Kevin Grahame had to be about the two must unlikely friends at Hogwarts, not only because the Shrikes were an old Wizarding family, and the Grahames were Muggles. On appearances alone they made an odd couple: Freddy, slight and pale, with fine, blond hair, and Kevin, short and stocky, with bristly, dark brown hair, and thick, square glasses. They were engrossed in conversation as they came into the Common Room, and Freddy was saying, “…hope she remembers to bring it; I only asked her about a dozen times.”
“Where have you two been?” Jane asked, as they came near enough to make her nose wrinkle at the smell emanating from them.
“Out in the greenhouse,” said Kevin.
“Professor Sprout gave us permission,” noted Freddy.
“I made an awful mess of my Herbology exam,” Kevin explained. “I asked Freddy to show me where I went wrong; he’s the expert on this stuff. All those mushrooms look alike to me.”
“What did you do?” Jane regarded their soiled hands and stained robes, “Roll in them?”
“You’d better get cleaned up,” seconded Irene. “You wouldn’t want your mother to see you like that.”
“Ha,” Kevin coughed out a single laugh. “Trust me, if there’s one thing I don’t have to worry about, it’s being seen by my mother. C’mon, Shrike,” he headed for the stairs, “let’s go wash up.”
“You go on, I’ll be up in a minute,” Freddy waved him on, and turned back to the girls. “Irene, your parents are coming, aren’t they?”
“Yes, as far as I know,” she nodded. “They said they would.”
“I’d really like to meet them,” he gushed, his usually-cool demeanor giving way to goggle-eyed enthusiasm. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but… how are they about giving autographs? I mean, I wouldn’t want to embarrass them, or you, or…”
“They’ll be flattered,” Irene assured him, smiling.
“I – I’ve got one of their books,” he turned a bit pink as he admitted it. “My mother’s supposed to bring it with her. Poor Grahame,” his face fell as he changed the subject, glancing at the stairs where Kevin had disappeared. “That’s what he meant by that remark, you know. His mother’s not coming.”
“Why not?” frowned Jane.
“I’m certain she has a good reason,” said Irene, sounding not very certain at all.
“Oh, she’s got a reason all right,” sniffed Freddy. “She’s allergic to all this weirdo Wizarding nonsense. Probably afraid someone will turn her into a toad if she sets foot in the place. I guess she’s still not too keen on his being here, except that it’s less embarrassing than having him doing accidental magic around the house. What’s really sad is, he’s so good. My mother would be thrilled if I had half the ability he has.”
“I thought you did well on your exams,” said Irene. “You were the best in Herbology, I know that; and you did very well in Astronomy…”
“Oh, but those don’t count,” Freddy sighed, waving her off. “Any squib could pass those, they’re all book work. Kevin - ! You heard about his charms exam, of course.”
“No,” said Jane. Wilfred Shrike was the House Gossip, and Jane was already used to the way he opened every juicy story with, “Of course, you heard about…”
Freddy grinned as he leaned in to confide to them, “You know that paperweight on Flitwick’s desk? The glass one with the eagle in it? He asked Kevin to levitate it.”
“And…?” Jane prompted, when he seemed to be waiting for this.
Shrike laughed with glee. “Oh, he levitated it, all right, straight through the ceiling! Left a hole this big,” he demonstrated with his hands. “That’s how you came out with the highest score, Jane; Flitwick had to dock him for damaging school property!”
“I was wondering,” said Jane drily, considering whether she should be offended by his remark.
“I’d better run,” he noted, gesturing at his messy robes. “Irene, I’m serious about wanting to meet your parents.”
Irene’s parents, along with Jane’s, and those of the rest of the first years, had been loaded into carriages at the railway station and driven to the school – Much to the relief of Mr. Tweedy, who recalled Jane’s story of having to sail across a squid-infested lake upon her first arrival. They were met at the door by Professor Peachum, the headmistress, who welcomed them graciously and made a point of greeting each of them as they were directed into the Great Hall. Although Willard Tweedy had been taught for years to regard his occasionally odd imaginings as being “all in his head,” that didn’t stop him from having them, and he could have sworn that Mrs. Lupin’s temperature dropped about twenty degrees when she gingerly pressed the hand of the headmistress. And he was not imagining the suspicious, sidelong gaze with which Professor Peachum regarded young Remus.
Mr. Lupin addressed her in a soft, conciliatory voice, “Professor Dumbledore said we could…”
“Yes, Renard, I am aware of your correspondence with Professor Dumbledore.” Lucilla Peachum’s austere face was calm, and her tone was courteous, but Mr. Tweedy was catching a definite draft from Mrs. Lupin’s icy posture. “Your daughter will be pleased to see all of you here, I am certain. How do you do?” she turned her practiced smile abruptly upon Mr. Tweedy and gave him her hand, effectively dismissing the Lupins from her presence. Mr. Tweedy caught her flicking that funny glance at the little boy, again, as he walked away with his parents; she looked, thought Willard, as if she expected the lad to start pocketing the good silver. On the positive side, Remus Lupin had provided enough of a distraction that Professor Peachum seemed not to notice the camera case hung from Mr. Tweedy’s shoulder, and when Mrs. Tweedy pounced on the headmistress and launched into the Pryce Genealogy, he took the chance to slip into the Great Hall.
“Oooh,” he allowed himself a quick gawk around at the floating candles, and the magical ceiling that reflected the vivid blue of the late afternoon sky outside, before he started looking to see where the Lupins had gone. They hadn’t wandered very far, and he quickly spotted them, conversing with a white-whiskered Wizard whom he recognized at once from the Chocolate Frog card. Professor Dumbledore had a friendly hand resting on Remus Lupin’s shoulder, and was conversing in a pleasant tone with Mrs. Lupin, who appeared to have warmed up again. Mr. Tweedy was just about to venture over toward them, when his wife came sweeping into the room, spotted the Wizard with the silvery hair, and swooped down on him excitedly.
“Professor Dumbledore!” she exclaimed, rushing at him with her hand outstretched. “This is an honour. Melisha Pryce Tweedy,” she introduced herself. “We’ve corresponded, though we’ve never met face to face, until now. I’m Jane Tweedy’s mother. She’s in Ravenclaw.”
“I know her well,” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement at Mrs. Tweedy’s assault. “She’s a very bright student, and a lovely young lady. Clearly, she takes after her mother,” he bowed, and even went so far as to lightly kiss the hand of Melisha Pryce Tweedy, who turned a flaming fuschia pink and giggled in quite an alarming manner. Mr. Tweedy had to wipe one hand over his face to hide his grin, and caught the eye of Mr. Lupin, who was having as much trouble hiding his own. Mrs. Tweedy was just cranking up another go-round of “The Ballad of Orpheus Pryce the Unfortunate Squib,” when Mr. Tweedy touched her elbow and said, “Luv, don’t you think we ought to ask him about…” and he patted the camera case.
“Yes, yes,” she frowned irritably at him, then appealed again with her sweetest look to the Wizard. “Professor Dumbledore, I am relying on you to talk some sense into my husband. He’s a photographer, you see, a Muggle photographer,” she clarified, as if this were necessary, “and he insisted on bringing along his Muggle camera. I told him that he wouldn’t be able to use it here, but…”
“A Muggle camera?” Dumbledore asked, curious. “Would you mind if I had a look?”
“Not at all, sir,” Willard agreed, and they all moved to the long table against the wall, where Mr. Tweedy could unpack his case. “I was hoping to take a few snaps of Janie and her friends. If there’s no problem with that?” he appealed.
“Very interesting,” Dumbledore observed, as Mr. Tweedy unfolded the camera. “You understand that I can’t let you go running all over the castle with this, of course. Photographs of Hogwarts getting out among the Muggles,” he smiled a bit but shook his head. “The Ministry would have my beard for it.”
“Oh, of course, sir, wouldn’t dream of it,” Mr. Tweedy assured him. “All I was hoping for was a few snaps of my little girl, not to show anyone, of course. Mr. Weasel explained all that to us very clear, right up front; we haven’t said aught to anyone about Janie being here.”
“Mr. Weasley, he means,” Melisha put in, rolling her eyes. “Arthur Weasley, from the Ministry, perfectly charming young man, he met us at the station…”
“Ah, yes, Arthur was in my house, not that many years ago,” Dumbledore beamed at the mention of him. “We’re not supposed to have favorites, of course,” he confided, “but I’ve always liked Arthur.”
“’T any rate,” Mr. Tweedy put in, “what I was also thinking was that Janie’s friends might like to have a Muggle photo of themselves, to keep. It’s an instant camera, you see, develops your picture while you wait. Arthur thought most of ’em might think it was sort o’ fun.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded, and there was a sly gleam in his eyes when he said, “Of course, before I give my permission, it would be helpful to have a demonstration…”
“It would be my pleasure, sir,” Willard Tweedy beamed. “If you’ll just stand still a moment.”
He was getting the camera in order when Mrs. Tweedy put in her appeal: “Professor Dumbledore, would you mind terribly if I…?” She gestured to an invisible spot next to him.
“Not at all, Mrs. Tweedy; I would be delighted,” he welcomed her as she scampered into place beside him and faced the camera.
Mr. Tweedy got them in his sights, commanded them to, “Say cheese!” and snapped the photo. Sixty seconds later, he ripped the results from the camera. Professor Dumbledore looked like his wise, good-humored self. Mrs. Tweedy looked like a teenager who’d just scored a photo with her favorite Beatle, all wide eyes and toothy grin. Mr. Tweedy had a hard time not chuckling over how adorable she looked like that. Dumbledore admired the snapshot and said to Melisha, “Would you mind, Mrs. Tweedy, if I kept this? As a memento,” he explained gallantly. She could do nothing but giggle in that frightening manner of hers, and the Professor said, “Thank you.”
The Lupins were still in their circle, as well, and Isolde now remarked, “I see Professor Flitwick; we should go and say hello. I’m curious to hear what he has to say about Irene’s course work. Will you come with me?” she smiled at Mrs. Tweedy, and deftly led her away from Dumbledore and into the depths of the Hall.
Watching his wife’s back, Mr. Tweedy waited until she was a safe distance away before he remarked under his breath to Professor Dumbledore, “That was a sharp move on your part, sir. Keeping that photo,” he explained. “The Missus is a stickler for rules, of course; she’s been as good as gold about keeping all this Wizard business quiet at home, but getting a photo with you, Professor—” Mr. Tweedy couldn’t contain that fond smile again as he said, “Well, the thought of showing that snap around to the neighbours might be more temptation than Mrs. Tweedy could stand up to. Best to leave it in your hands.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” nodded Dumbledore, sharing the smile. “And I have no objection to your taking these photos of the students. I think they will enjoy them. I’ll trust you to be discreet, Mr. Tweedy.”
“Oh, yes, sir, Professor, you can trust me,” Willard assured him earnestly, rounding up his supplies.
He was holding the camera in one hand, and trying to fasten the case with the other, when Remus Lupin, who was still hanging about with his father, offered, “I can do that.”
“Thank you, young fellow,” Mr. Tweedy let him latch the case, and said, “Is that too heavy for you to tote? Only, it’s hard to do a location shoot without an assistant,” he noted, “and I was thinking that, unless you had summat else to do, you might like to lend me a hand.”
Remus’ eyes lit up and he looked at his father. “May I?”
“Well,” Renard considered, “I don’t want you running off. Or getting underfoot.”
“I won’t be underfoot,” he promised.
“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Mr. Tweedy seconded.
“All right,” Renard agreed, ruffling his son’s hair. Grinning, Remus slung the strap of the camera case over his shoulder and hoisted it off the table.
“Not too heavy, is it?” the photographer checked again, and Remus shook his head, no. Willard shook hands with Dumbledore and said, “Good to meet you, Professor.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Tweedy.”
“Come on, Assistant,” he patted Remus’ shoulder. “Let’s go meet Professor Flitwick, see if he’d like a snapshot.”
“Tell your mother I’ll be along,” Renard called after them, remaining behind to talk with Dumbledore.
Up in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Julia Manners, the 7th-year Prefect, was passing inspection on her flock of Firsties.
“Miss Jones, your robes are askew,” she plucked at Angharad’s shoulders, attempting to tidy her up.
“They’re always like that,” the little Welsh girl protested, shrugging her off.
“Yes, yes, and that’s how everyone wears them in the lovely village of Llancwllyn,” Julia finished the rest of the spiel herself in her usual manner, half honey, half bird-song, with just a squeeze of lemon to finish. Regarding the lot of them, however, the petite young lady smiled, her brown eyes genuinely moist. “I am going to miss all of you. Emrys is going to be Head Boy next year, you know, and I will pinch the nose of anyone who contradicts me on that point,” (Emrys Mathews was the current 6th year Prefect for Ravenclaw, and the Seeker who had captured the Golden Snitch that was Miss Manners’ heart) “but I have already told him that his First Years will never compare to my little brood.” Dabbing her eyes, she sniffled, “I am very proud of all of you, and expect to hear great things of you in the years to come. Now,” she drew herself up and tried to appear businesslike. “Your parents are waiting in the Great Hall. Let us go and meet them.”