They met up with the other houses’ first years in the main entry of the castle; Jane spotted, without even trying, Ludo Bagman’s blond head bobbing above those of his Slytherin classmates. Jane had met Ludo long ago, last fall, on the platform at King’s Cross, where he had nearly killed her pet owl with a stray bludger. This had not given her a good first impression of him, and she still considered him something of a dolt, but after spending a year in Madam Hooch’s flying class with him, she was growing accustomed to his genial goofiness. Now, she lost sight of him as the doors were flung open and they surged into the Great Hall in a mixed-up mob. The parents were scattered all around the room, and as soon as the first students walked through the door, everything became a jumble as Mummys swooped down from all directions upon their little darlings. Jane was scanning the throng for her own parents when a dumpy little woman, something taller than Professor Flitwick, but still not five feet high, pushed out of the crowd, flung open her arms in Jane’s general direction, and exclaimed, “PUDGIE!”
Kevin Grahame, who was next to Jane, lit up all at once and took out at a run toward the woman. “GRAN!” They plunged into each other’s arms and bear-hugged. “Gran!” If Kevin had been just a little bigger, he would have boosted her off the ground. “I can’t believe you came!”
“I couldn’t miss this, could I?” the little woman was beaming. “After all the stories your grandad told me of this place. Your father’s here, too; I lost him somewhere back there,” she noted, grabbing Kevin around the neck again and planting a big, red smooch on his cheek. “Oh, Pudgie, you’re getting so big! Let me look at you.”
“Gran, I want you to meet all my friends! Freddy…?” Kevin was looking around behind him for his best friend, but Wilfred Shrike had already been accosted and hauled away by his own parents. “Jane!” he spotted her, instead, and grabbed her arm as she passed. “Jane, this is my Granny, Elsie Grahame, she came all the way from Bristol to see me! Gran, this is Jane Tweedy, she’s a Muggle-born, too, only her great-great-something-grandfather was the Wizard in her family, she’s in my house.”
“Hello, Jane,” Mrs. Grahame beamed at her, noting, “My, you’re tall! Where are you from, ducks?”
“I’m from York,” she answered hastily, still trying to spot her own parents. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, my,” laughed Kevin’s Gran, “I could have guessed you were from Yorkshire if I’d only let you get a word in first, why, I could cut that accent of yours with a knife!” She had given Jane’s shoulder a pat as she said this and now remarked, “Goodness, don’t they feed you here? You’re nothing but skin and bones under that robe…”
Jane was trying to politely edge away when Irene, bobbing on her toes, waved at her from beyond a few people farther on. “Jane! I think I see your mother!”
“Can we talk later?” Jane begged, forcing a smile. “I haven’t seen my own parents yet.”
“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Grahame shooed her away, “don’t let me keep you, run along. Lovely to meet you.”
“Yes, you, too,” said Jane over her shoulder as she made her way to where Irene was waiting.
“Does your mother look exactly like you?” asked Irene, pointing toward what was usually the Ravenclaw quadrant of the Great Hall, where a head of dark hair done up in a tight bun was visible above several surrounding heads.
“Yes!” Jane squawked excitedly, and stretched her hand in the air. “Mum! Mum!”
Melisha had been looking for her, as well, and her eyes lit up when she spotted her. “Jane!”
“Come on!” Jane grabbed Irene and dragged her through the remaining crowd that separated her from her mother.
“Darling!” Mrs. Tweedy pounced on her daughter and hugged her tight.
At the same moment, Jane heard Irene exclaim, “Mother!” and glanced over to see her friend in the arms of a woman whom she instantly recognized as the one in the Wizard photo Irene had once shown her.
There was a flurry of excitement as the two girls untangled themselves and began yammering.
“Jane, this is my mother…”
“Mum, this is my friend, Irene…”
“Mrs. Tweedy…”
“Mrs. Lupin…”
“Slow down, girls, slow down,” Isolde Lupin was laughing, hands in the air. “Mrs. Tweedy and I are already well acquainted.”
“We came up on the train together,” Melisha explained, as the girls looked puzzled. “We had a lovely trip.”
“Yes, we did, and your fathers are here, somewhere,” Mrs. Lupin glanced around for them.
“Where’s Remus?” Irene asked, looking suddenly anxious. “He did get to come, didn’t he?”
“He’s here,” Isolde nodded, smiling. “He’s helping Jane’s father take pictures.”
“Your father brought his Polaroid,” Melisha informed her daughter. “Professor Dumbledore told him he could use it to take a few pictures of you and your friends. He took one of us together,” that giddy schoolgirl look crept back into her face as she mentioned it; “Professor Dumbledore is the most charming gentleman, really.”
“There’s my girl!” Renard Lupin spotted them, and scooped up Irene in a big hug. “And this must be Jane,” he reached out and shook her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Nice to meet you,” she answered him, then asked her mother, “Where is Dad? I want to see him.”
“He was over there, beside the table, when I saw him last” Melisha pointed them in the right direction, and Jane and Irene made their way over to where Mr. Tweedy was engaged in explaining the workings of his camera to his young assistant.
“Remus!” Irene ran at her little brother and grabbed him. Slender as she was, she hoisted him off the ground and swung him around in a circle once while he laughed with joy.
“Dad!” Jane collected a big hug from her own father.
“Janie! Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you. Your Mum’s here somewhere…” he glanced around.
“I know, we saw her, and Irene’s parents, too; they told us you were over here.”
“’Rene, look,” Remus was showing her what they had, “Mr. Tweedy brought a Muggle camera, he’s going to let me take a picture with it and everything. I’m his assistant.”
“Here we go, why don’t you take your sister and Janie, here; they’d like a snap together, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Irene said, and she and Jane tidied their robes and got their arms around each other while Mr. Tweedy showed Remus how to hold the camera and look through the viewfinder.
“Now, once you got ’em in your sights, just hold her steady and squeeze nice and slow.”
“You forgot ‘cheese,’” said Remus. “All right…” he told the girls. “Stand still…” With a little effort, he got the camera where he wanted it. “Now… say cheese!”
Irene and Jane smiled for the camera, and Remus snapped the shot. “Now we count sixty seconds,” he informed them, handing the camera back to Mr. Tweedy and taking that man’s wrist watch out of his pocket. “Mr. Tweedy let me hold this,” he explained, “since I’m doing the counting. You have to wait for this hand to go all the way round,” he showed his sister the Muggle watch.
Irene draped her arms around her little brother’s shoulders, and watched with him. “I’m so glad you got to come.”
“Me, too,” he nodded, never removing his eyes from the ticking second hand. “We got Chocolate Frogs on the train, and Mr. Tweedy traded me a couple of really good cards. I gave him a – Oh!” He glanced up at the man for just an instant, and noted, “You forgot to ask Dumbledore to autograph your card!”
“So I did,” Mr. Tweedy realized. “Perhaps I’ll catch him again later. How are we for time?”
“Mmm, about halfway.” When the second hand had completed its sweep, Remus looked up and said, “Done!”
“All right, then, let’s have a look at these lovely young ladies.” Mr. Tweedy pulled the picture from the camera, treated it with the coater, and held it up for examination. “Well, that’s a fine job, Mr. Lupin! There you are,” he handed it over.
“It came out all right, didn’t it?” Remus smiled proudly, and presented it to the girls.
“Oh, it’s black and white,” said Irene, delighted at the novelty. “That looks so funny, I’m not used to seeing myself that way.” She looked up at Jane’s father and asked, “May I keep this?”
“Of course; you keep that one, and I’ll take another for Janie. Here, let Remus hold that for now,” he suggested, and Irene handed over the picture to her brother. Mr. Tweedy got them lined up again and took a second snap; this time, Remus did the coating and handed the finished product to Jane.
“Thanks, Dad. And thank you, Mr. Lupin. You’d better be careful, or you might end up with a steady job there.”
Jane and Irene had not strayed very far from the photographers when they ran into Wilfred Shrike, clutching something large and flat to his chest. “Irene! She brought it! My mother brought the book!”
“Is that what I think it is?” Irene asked.
Pink-cheeked, he turned it around and displayed the cover. A vivid Chinese Fireball was swaying its head and snorting mushroom-shaped puffs of smoke, under the legend My First Book of Dragons, and at the bottom of the cover was the caption, in sparkling gold letters, by Renard and Isolde Lupin.
“Oh, that’s the dragon book,” Jane eyed it with curiosity. Irene and Ludo had talked about it on the train, when they’d first come to Hogwarts.
“I’ve had it forever,” Freddy confessed. “I used to make my parents read it to me every night. How about it, Irene?” he reminded her of their earlier conversation. “Think they’ll do it?”
“If we can find them. And then you have to come have your picture taken by Jane’s father.”
“And you’d better find Kevin,” Jane advised. “He was looking for you.”
“I’ve been looking for him, I want my parents to meet him. Theo’s been whining to them about how I’m disgracing the family, hanging around with Muggles – no offense, Jane.” Freddy’s big brother, Theo, had just finished his fourth year; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team and was already telling everyone that he was going to be Captain next year. “They’re usually pretty reasonable, though. And they know Theo’s full of himself,” he sniffed. “Come on, Irene, let’s go find your parents.”
Jane decided to go back and keep her father company. She had been hanging about, chatting with him and with Remus, who thanked her for the rare trading card of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington she had given him last fall, when a familiar voice called out her name.
“Jane!” Ludo Bagman came bounding over. “I wondered where you were hiding. This your dad?” he grinned at Mr. Tweedy.
“Hello, young fellow,” Willard shook hands with the strapping lad. “Friend of Janie’s?”
“Yes, sir,” he nodded, “I’m Ludo Bagman.”
“So you’re Ludo!” Mr. Tweedy’s face lit up. “I’ve heard no end about you, mate. Janie’s always a-talkin’ about you in her letters.”
“Da-ad!” Jane protested this.
“Why, Janie?” Ludo teased her with this name, “What have you told him?”
“That you’re a hulking great idiot,” said Jane, folding her arms and putting her nose in the air.
Ludo just laughed at this and added, nodding to Remus, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“That’s Irene’s brother, Remus Lupin,” Jane informed him.
“Remus – blast you, I know who you are!” Ludo shook a finger at him, and Remus flinched for an instant under this good-humored assault. “You charmed Jane out of that Nearly Headless Nick card, you scoundrel!”
“After you tried to cheat me out of it,” she reminded him.
“Never let a fellow live anything down, do you?” He was still chuckling over this, though, when he said, “Look, do you mind if I lay low here? Professor Lyme’s bending my mother’s ear about my exam scores, and I think I’d better stay out of her way for a while.”
“Be my guest, mate,” said Mr. Tweedy. “Care to have your picture taken? I’m taking Muggle photos of Janie’s friends.”
“Muggle photos? Never had one of those before,” Ludo looked curious. “How do they work?”
“You just stand still and give me a nice pose there, and I’ll show you.”
“What, like this?” Ludo straightened up and put his shoulders back.
“That’ll do,” Mr. Tweedy took up his camera. “Come on, Janie, get in there with your friend.”
“That’s all right,” she declined, hanging back.
“Oh, come on, Janie,” Ludo beckoned. “It’ll be fun.”
“Don’t call me Janie,” she snapped at him, and pointed at her father. “Only he is allowed to call me Janie.”
“Yes, Miss Tweedy,” he gave her a submissive look, then grinned again. “Oh, come on, don’t be cross, get in the picture with me.”
Rolling her eyes in resignation, Jane inched over toward him and stopped with a foot between them.
“Budge up there, you two,” Mr. Tweedy urged, peering through the viewfinder. “I can’t get you both in the frame.”
“Come on, Miss Tweedy, you heard your Dad,” Ludo scooted closer until his shoulder brushed hers.
“Stop it,” she pushed her shoulder against his.
“Ow!” he exclaimed as she bumped him, and appealed to her father. “Is she like this at home?”
“No,” said Mr. Tweedy. “But her mother is.”
“Dad, are you going to take this picture or not?”
All at once, Ludo dropped his pose and backed away. “Oh, that’s all right.”
“Where are you going?” Jane looked at him in surprise.
“Look, you don’t want to do this, that’s all right. You don’t have to be in the picture. You’ve got tons of Muggle pictures already, anyway. Come on, Mr. Tweedy, you can do just me. It’s all right, Jane,” Ludo insisted, as she stood and stared at him. “Go sit down, you don’t want to have a picture with me.”
“I never said that,” she protested. “Of course I’ll do it if you’re going to sulk about it.”
“I’m not sulking,” said Ludo, and Mr. Tweedy would have agreed, he didn’t look sulky at all.
“Yes, you are,” she informed him, facing the camera as she nudged her shoulder up against his. “Now smile.”
“I will if you will,” he grinned.
“That’s right, Janie,” her father coaxed, “give us a smile. Got to look pretty for your picture. Say cheese,” said Mr. Tweedy. He snapped the picture and Remus, watch in hand, began to count. “Don’t go anywhere,” the photographer begged his subjects. “I’m not certain I got that one just right; I’d like to do another.”
“Do you mind, Jane?” Ludo appealed to her with his round, blue eyes.
“Well, if we’re going to do this, we’d might as well get a good one,” was her answer.
“Done,” said Remus, when the time was up, and Mr. Tweedy pulled out the picture. He barely glanced at it, but handed it to the lad and said, “There you are, assistant, coat that one. Now,” he raised the camera again, “let’s do one more.”
Ludo and Jane got shoulder to shoulder again, and smiled for the camera. “That’s better,” said Mr. Tweedy. “Takes sixty seconds to develop; d’you want to count this one, Ludo?”
“You’d better let Remus do it,” said Jane; “I don’t think Ludo can count that high.”
“Oh, ha ha ha,” he made a face at her, but they were both smiling by this time. Remus told them when the second photo was done, Mr. Tweedy pulled it and let him coat it.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Tweedy, looking at both photos now, “that first one didn’t come out so bad after all. That’s all right, though; one for each, eh?” He handed Jane and Ludo each a photo.
“Ha,” Ludo laughed with pleasure at the results, “nice smile, Miss Tweedy. We look funny, all grey like that. And it really never moves? Not ever?”
“Of course not,” said Jane. She had to admit, the photos had turned out well, although it was strange to see herself standing so close to Ludo Bagman with that big, bright-eyed smile on her face. Someone who didn’t know better might get the idea that she actually liked him.
“There,” Mr. Tweedy beamed at the two of them, “you can put those in your scrapbooks.”
“Will do, Mr. Tweedy, thanks,” said Ludo. “And you know what I’m going to write under it?”
He directed this question to Jane, who cringed a bit as she asked him, “What?”
“‘Future Quidditch Captains.’ Bet you anything I’m right; that’s my stab at divination.”
Ludo was still hanging around when Freddy and Irene came back. The excited grin on Freddy’s face was enough to tell Jane that he had gotten the Lupins to autograph his book; and he eagerly showed the rest of them where they had written, in purple ink, inside the front cover: To Wilfred Shrike, with all best wishes – always remember, draco dormiens nunquam titillandus. Renard Lupin ~ Isolde Lupin.
“You know, that’s probably worth something, autographed,” said Ludo, and Jane saw Freddy tighten his grip on the treasured volume – a wise move, she suspected. Freddy was formally presented to Mr. Tweedy, and Irene’s brother, and got a Muggle snapshot of himself holding up his autographed book.
“I still want one with Kevin, if I ever find him…” Freddy was saying, when –
“There you are!” Kevin Grahame, dragging his grandmother, came charging at them. “Gosh, I’ve been looking all over for you!”
There was a flurry of introductions all round, in which Ludo was introduced to Elsie Grahame as “Jane’s friend” – Jane didn’t know why she should have to take all the blame for him, but she got a good giggle out of watching Ludo turn red when Kevin’s Gran remarked admiringly, “My, you’re a big, healthy lad, aren’t you?” Mr. Tweedy was introduced, as well, and took a couple of pictures of Kevin and Freddy together.
“Where are your Mum and Dad?” Kevin asked his friend.
“I don’t know,” Freddy groaned; “Probably listening to Hooch gripe that I still can’t stay on a broom for more than ten seconds.”
“Yeah,” Kevin sympathized, “last time I saw my Dad, Penhaligon was telling him how I melted a hole in her desk in potions.”
While Mr. Tweedy was plying his trade among Jane’s schoolmates, Mrs. Tweedy was circulating among the professors, quizzing them on Jane’s academic performance, and coming away very pleased with their reports. She was discussing with Madam Hooch Jane’s desire for a broom, and asking for pointers on selecting a proper one, when a man moving past them suddenly stopped and boomed, in a hearty voice, “Brooms!? Did I hear someone mention brooms?”
Madam Hooch cocked her sharp eyes up at him and said, in a dry sort of voice, “Hello, Boffo.”
“Not interrupting, am I?” the man called Boffo smiled broadly, looking between them; he was tall, and broad-shouldered, dressed in vivid, canary-yellow robes, and his blond hair was receding in front.
Melisha regarded him with an elevated brow, not quite certain what to make of the intrusion. “I was just asking Madam Hooch’s advice on purchasing a broom for my daughter…”
“Of course you were, Madam,” he addressed her jovially, “and today is your lucky day. I represent the Comet Trading Company. As you know, we have been producing brooms of the finest quality since 1929.” The Man from Comet placed his fingertips on Melisha’s elbow and gently steered her away from Madam Hooch, who was already occupied with another eager parent. “We were the originators of the patented Horton-Keitch braking charm, revolutionized the industry – but you don’t need me to tell you that, a discerning consumer such as yourself. There are cheaper brooms on the market, of course, like the Shooting Star, but you won’t get the quality from them that you’ll get from a Comet. Now, the 220 is our best model right now, and it’s very good, but if you can wait until the first of August…” Boffo made a display of looking around himself for eavesdroppers before he lowered his voice and confided, “That’s when the Comet 225 is set to come out. Top of the line, most modern design, all the bells and whistles. Cleansweep’ll be green with envy when they get a look at it. That’s the one you want, right there. Don’t take my word for it, though, take a look at the next issues of ‘Which Broomstick’ and ‘Magical Sports Monthly’ when they hit the stands. We gave them a preview, and I have it on good authority that the reviews are going to be glowing.”
Mrs. Tweedy found herself overwhelmed by this enthusiastic sales pitch, and could only stammer, “Yes, thank you, I’ll keep that in mind, Mr….?”
“Oh, sorry, didn’t we do that yet?” He patted his pockets and said, “I know I have a card here somewhere– ah, yes!” He found one and handed it to her. Comet Trading Company was emblazoned on it in flashing orange letters, and a little broom flew round and round the border. Printed in red, above the title Director of Publicity, was the name Bothwick Bagman.
Mrs. Tweedy was surprised to recognize the name. “Mr. Bagman – You have a son here.”
“Two, actually,” he answered proudly. “Otto and Ludo.”
“Ludo is the one I’ve heard of,” said Melisha. “I believe he is acquainted with my daughter, Jane Tweedy.”
Boffo Bagman’s pink face lit up all at once at the name. “Oh, so you’re Mrs. Tweedy! Well, well, this is a pleasure,” he laid hold of her hand and pumped it vigorously. “I have heard quite a lot about your daughter, Mrs. T., I have, indeed! I understand she’s got the makings of a top rate Quidditch player!”
The man’s enthusiasm came as something of a shock, and Melisha stammered as she answered him, “Really? Well, Jane did say something about trying out next year – surprising, really, she’s never taken an interest in sports before…”
“Ah, but this is more than sports, Mrs. Tweedy, this is Quidditch! And if she is planning to go out for the team, why, that’s all the more reason she should have the very best broom. It can make all the difference, I assure you–” His attention was suddenly arrested by a tall, green and silver hat gliding through the crowd and he called out, “Darling! Darling, come here! I want you to meet someone!” He remarked in an aside to Melisha, “My wife,” as she made her way toward them. Mrs. Tweedy had not seen her before now, but Mrs. Bagman was the curvaceous, blonde Witch in the emerald robes who had caught Mr. Tweedy’s attention that morning at the station. “Darling,” Mr. Bagman put his arm around her waist as she drew near, “you’ll never guess who this is.”
“No, liebchen, I won’t,” Mrs. Bagman abruptly dismissed his attempt at game-playing, and smiled graciously at Mrs. Tweedy. Offering her hand, she presented herself with a husky, German-accented voice which only made her more glamorous, “Eva Baahgman, how do you do?”
“Mrs. Bagman,” Mrs. Tweedy touched hands with her, “lovely to meet you. I am Melisha Pr–”
“No! No!” insisted Boffo, not so easily dissuaded. “Don’t tell her! I want her to guess.”
“Bothwick,” his wife turned her baby blue eyes on him scoldingly, “this lady and I do not wish to play your little guessing game.” Confiding in the other woman, Eva remarked, “You will forgive my husband; he can be very foolish at times.”
“Mine is exactly the same, Mrs. Bagman,” Melisha assured her. “I think they all are, really. I am Melisha Pryce Tweedy.”
Boffo was waiting, with an eager grin, for his wife’s reaction to this astounding revelation, and when Eva failed to respond at once, he put in, “She’s Jane’s mother!”
“Jane…?” Mrs. Bagman looked up at her husband as if to say What are you going on about? then she realized, and remarked, “Ah, yes. Our son, Ludovic, has mentioned a Jane Tweedy in his letters. So nice to make acquaintance with you.” Eva was perfectly cordial, but had displayed none of the bounding enthusiasm of her husband over the coincidence.
“Mentioned her?” Bagman was laughing. “I suppose you could call it mentioning: Jane this, Jane that, Jane the other thing. Between you and me and the broomstick, Mrs. Tweedy, I think our boy has taken quite a fancy to your Jane.”
“Liebchen,” Eva sighed, casting her eyes heavenward, “as usual, you are making too much of this thing.” She explained to Melisha, “Ludovic is in a flying class with Jane.”
“Not that he needed a flying class,” Boffo put in, puffing up in his role as proud papa. “Ludo was on a broom as soon as he could sit up by himself…”
“Bothwick!” said Mrs. Bagman in a sharp voice, and he pressed his mouth shut and looked at the ceiling as if he’d never said a word. Poor woman, thought Mrs. Tweedy, sympathetically. Eva addressed her again, resuming where she’d left off. “He tells us Jane is a good flier; he talks with her about Quidditch.” Ludovic’s mother smiled indulgently. “His only love is Quidditch. And,” she shot another scolding look at her husband, “he is much too young for girls. Mrs. Tweedy agrees, I am certain, that her Jane is also too young.”
Mr. Bagman feigned innocence as he cracked, “For what, girls?”
“Too young for boys! And your silly ideas are only that – silly. Are we not right in this, Mrs. Tweedy?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Tweedy agreed whole-heartedly. “Jane has mentioned your son, of course; they’ve talked about brooms and such. But I can assure you, my daughter is not one of those giddy, boy-chasing sorts; she’s very serious about her studies.”
“You see, liebchen,” this was enough for Eva, “it is all in your head!”
“That is exactly what I’m always having to tell Mr. Tweedy,” said Melisha, shaking her head with dismay.
“What you say is true: they are all alike,” said Eva, and the two women exchanged a sympathetic, suffering look.
“All right! All right!” Bagman protested, laughing. “I can tell when I’m outnumbered. Most boys his age still think all girls have chizpurfles, anyway. I am serious about that broom, though, Mrs. Tweedy,” he reminded her of their original conversation. “Keep that card, and drop me an owl around the first of August. I might be able to get you a good deal on the 225.”
Mrs. Tweedy thanked him and excused herself from the Bagmans. A few minutes later, their young son came sidling up to them.
“Ludovic,” his mother frowned when she saw him. “I have been having interesting conversation with Professor Lyme about you.”
“Um, is this about the biting toothbrush, because I can explain that…”
“Also with Professor Sprout,” she began ticking them off on her fingers, “Professor Flitwick, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Pengali–Penhaggala–”
When she got entangled on the name of the potions-mistress, Ludo seized his chance to jump in, and appealed to his father. “Look what I’ve got. I’ll bet you’ve never seen a real Muggle photo before. It doesn’t move or anything, isn’t that weird?”
Boffo, who was rather less concerned than his wife about Ludo’s academic misadventures, accepted the photo and remarked, “Well, isn’t that clever?”
“Liebling,” Eva peered at it as well, aghast, “what has happened to your face? You are so ashen!”
“The camera sucks all the colour out of you; neat, huh? Jane’s dad took the picture. That’s Jane,” he pointed her out; “isn’t she ripping?”
Boffo’s first impression of the smiling girl in the photo was that she was built like a Comet broomstick and her ears stuck out, but he wisely confined his response to, “Oh, yes, ripping.”
“Ludovic,” Mrs. Bagman’s face grew stern again, as she prepared to resume her lecture. Her son, spotting a couple of handy classmates, seized upon them as an excuse to dash off -- but not before he had snatched the photo back from his father. “Ludovic Bagman!” his mother snapped, to no avail. “I am not finished with you!”
“Be right back!” he called over his shoulder, ducking out of sight.
Bothwick put an arm around his wife and remarked, with a most annoying smile, “Isn’t Jane ripping, Darling? Or is it all in my head?”
At last, the Heads of the Houses herded their visitors out of the Great Hall for a brief tour of the castle grounds. Mr. Tweedy had to put away his camera, but Remus Lupin gamely toted the case for the duration of their hike. Kevin and Freddy were straggling along together behind the Ravenclaw pack, looking at the Dragon book, and Irene, with Jane following her lead, went back to join them.
“How did the big meeting go?” Irene asked them.
“About as well as could be expected,” Freddy sighed. “I suppose I should have known better than to get Professor Flitwick involved.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Freddy, airily, but Kevin explained, giving his chum a reassuring pat on the back.
“Flitwick made a big deal in front of them about how I’m one of his best students,” Kevin’s cheeks reddened a bit as he said this.
“Well, it’s true; you are,” Freddy argued. “I wanted him to say so, I thought it would impress my parents.”
“But it didn’t,” Irene surmised.
“Oh, it impressed them all right,” Freddy groaned. “Impressed them so much, now my mother wants to know why my marks aren’t as good as Kevin’s.”
“But, they are,” Kevin insisted. “You’re better than I am in lots of things.”
“I know, I know, herbology – I told Irene, that doesn’t count.”
“Counts in my book,” Kevin put his hand on Freddy’s shoulder again, and gave him a friendly shove. “At least your dad shook hands with me; he seemed all right about it. My dad--” the stocky boy sighed. “Well, he’s a lot calmer than Mum, but I think he’s still a little uncomfortable about things.”
“Your Grandmother’s not,” Freddy noted, laughing. “Look, can you still see it?” He turned around and displayed his cheek to the girls. They made out the trace of a pinkish smear on it. “She nearly strangled me, left a big lipstick smudge there,” he pointed to the spot.
“She thinks he’s cu-ute,” Kevin teased.
Freddy reached out and ruffled Kevin’s hair. “Not as cute as her little Pudgie.”
When they returned to the Great Hall, the tables were all arranged for the end-of-term feast, and the rest of the students were there. Slytherin had barely defeated Ravenclaw for the Quidditch Cup, but Ravenclaw had made up enough points elsewhere to win the House Cup, and Jane and her fellows buzzed and beamed excitedly when they saw the Hall decked out in their blue and bronze colors.
The first years and their families clustered together at the table, and it was easy to tell the Muggle parents by the way they oohed and aahed when the platters of food appeared magically before them. There was much conviviality as the dishes were passed back and forth, and Jane took stock of the gathering around herself as she filled her plate. Irene was on her left, then Remus, and their parents. Beyond them, on Jane’s side of the table, were all the Kettlesmiths. She had never known before today that the fathers of Milo and Jonah were twins, two solid, Wizarding yeomen so much alike she could not have told them apart. The boys (not surprisingly, considering how unalike they were) looked a great deal like their mothers. Across from them were the Joneses. Cadwalladwr Jones was as tall as Angharad was tiny, a gaunt and sinewy Welshman with dark, sparkling eyes and seemingly more than his share of elbows. In his flapping, homespun black robes, he looked like an unusually long-legged rook. His wife, Bronwen, was charming, with the same russet hair and foxish features as Angharad’s brother, Llewellyn, who now sat beside her. Mr. Jones was still showing around the Polaroid snapshot Mr. Tweedy had taken of him with his wife and daughter. Angharad had declared that taking pictures that turned you grey and didn’t move was silly (“Why would anyone want a picture that makes you look dead?” she had sniffed), but to her mortification, her father had been fascinated by Mr. Tweedy’s photographic equipment, and had even persuaded Jane’s father to allow him to take a snap of his own little girl. Angharad had spoiled this touching father-daughter moment by sticking out her tongue when the flash went off, but her brother, inspecting the photo later, said it captured her perfectly.
This side of the Joneses, across from the Lupins, were the Shrikes. Mr. Shrike was in Magical Law Enforcement, a bluff, gruff sort of Wizarding Policeman, and even though he was only in his early forties, his short-cropped hair was already steel-grey. Mrs. Shrike was a handsome, distinguished-looking woman with a strong profile and neatly styled ash-blonde hair. Mrs. Tweedy had cornered her earlier and quizzed her on Medea Pryce, formerly of St. Mungo’s Hospital, and Mrs. Shrike had been perfectly civil with her, but Jane had the feeling that Freddy’s mother was not the most congenial of persons; not to mention the fact that she had a cool, analytical way of summing you up with her icy blue eyes that was rather disconcerting. She was sitting next to her son, but you would have thought they were barely acquainted, watching her converse quietly with the Lupins while Freddy laughed and chattered and bantered with Kevin, who sat next to him, directly across from Jane. Mr. Tweedy sat beside his daughter on the right, with his wife on his other side, and beyond Melisha were the Allbrights. If Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy, already in their early fifties, were by far the oldest of the parents at the Ravenclaw table, Polly’s Mum and Dad were the youngest, barely into their thirties. The Allbrights had been Hogwarts Sweethearts; both had come from Muggle families and still had no idea where their Wizarding talents had originated. They were already good friends with the Liangs, their Liverpool neighbors, who sat opposite them. Jane knew it was ridiculous of her to think this, but it still surprised her to hear Aubrey’s parents, with their exotic Oriental features, speaking fluent, Liverpudlian English. Kevin Grahame’s father sat beside Mr. Liang, across from Mrs. Tweedy; he looked quite a bit like his son, glasses and all, except for the fact that his bristly hair was very sparse on top. Mr. Grahame chatted eagerly with Mrs. Tweedy, and Mrs. Allbright, questioning them on their own experiences with mixed Magical/Muggle households. Jane suspected he was trying to work out how Kevin fit into his own family. At one point, Mrs. Allbright asked as tactfully as she could about Kevin’s mother, and Mr. Grahame coughed and looked a bit awkward as he explained, “Well, she didn’t want to drag our little girl all this way – we’ve got another one at home, you see; Maggie, she’s just turned nine. No signs of magic out of her yet; best we can tell, she’s normal. Muggle, I mean,” he chose a better word, remembering where he was.
Elsie Grahame, Kevin’s doting Gran, was across from Mr. Tweedy, between her son and grandson, and was oohing and ahhing more than anyone over the magical feast. Mr. Tweedy, who had wondered more than once how in the world he ever would have found his wife and had his daughter if Melisha Pryce had been a Witch, was eager to know about Kevin’s Wizard grandfather, and asked Mrs. Grahame how they had come to be married.
“Oh, now you’ve opened a can of worms,” Mr. Grahame laughed, overhearing them, and his mother swatted at him.
“It’s a very funny story,” Elsie Grahame informed Mr. Tweedy. “I was nineteen, and living in a tiny, little flat. It was a part of some grand old house that had been broken up into rooms to let, and I had this enormous fireplace, it took up half the room! I had a little table and chair right there on the hearth, where I ate my meals, because there was nowhere else to put them. Well, I was sitting there one morning, eating my breakfast and reading the newspaper when WHOOSH! out of nowhere, this man comes tumbling out of the fireplace! He knocked over the table, he came out so fast, and I let out such a scream! I thought he was some lunatic, he was dressed so odd, but he was very polite once he’d gotten up off the floor, and, well,” she giggled at the memory, “he was quite the sheik to look at! This was back in the twenties, you know, and that was what all we girls fancied. He had the loveliest brown eyes, and this black hair, all sleek and glossy, and my goodness, he was just about the nicest thing I’d ever seen! Pudgie’s got his eyes, you know, if you can get past those glasses.”
“Gran!” Kevin turned bright red at this remark, and Freddy sputtered in his goblet.
Mrs. Grahame ignored his protests. “Well, once he was on his feet, he began spouting some nonsense about being a flue inspector. ‘A little big for a chimney sweep, aren’t you?’ I said to him. Of course, he wasn’t a chimney sweep, he was a Maintenance Wizard for the Floo Network – not that he told me that then, he couldn’t, of course, and I wouldn’t have understood him if he had. He’d gotten the wrong flat. Someone else in the building, I never did know who, was Magic, and was having trouble with their fireplace. He made some sort of silly excuse, and nearly went back out through the chimney before he decided he’d better use the door. You wouldn’t know it now,” she smiled at them, “but I was a pretty little thing when I was young, and I suppose that’s what brought him back the next morning with a big armload of flowers, to apologize. I fixed him a bit of breakfast, and we got to talking – he still didn’t tell me what he really was, of course, although I should have known there was something funny about him when he left a five pound tip at the tea shop on our first outing together.” Mrs. Grahame laughed at the recollection of this. “I just thought, my goodness, he’s a sport, tossing money about that way, he must be rolling in it! His name was Hal, and it wasn’t until he finally broke the news to me that he was a Wizard that he told me Hal was short for Halitherses! I’d never heard such a name, but it seems he was named for some old Greek fellow with a knack for predicting things. We ended up married, with one foot in the Wizard world and one in the Muggle world; I thought it was so romantic, having such important secrets. I told my family he was a plumber. That’s what we told the children, too; couldn’t have them saying things to their friends, and we always thought we’d tell them when they were old enough.” The smile had faded from her face, and she paused for a minute, and laid her hand on her son’s arm before she went on. “They tell me now that Wizards live ever so much longer than we Muggles. I never got a chance to know it for myself.” Even all these years later, Mrs. Grahame still pressed her lips tight together and blinked a bit before she said, “My Hal wasn’t much more than thirty when I lost him. Struck by a lorry, crossing the street – of all the senseless things. Robby was only five,” she indicated Kevin’s father, “Henry, our oldest, was eight, and Josie was hardly more than a baby, she can’t even remember him. I kept hoping one of them would get the letter, to come here,” she looked around the Hall. “I thought, ‘That’s when I’ll tell them…’ But it never came. Not until this one,” glowing, she put both arms around Kevin and squeezed him tight. He turned only slightly pink this time, and grinned broadly as she hugged him. “I’m so proud of this one, you can’t imagine!”
Mr. Tweedy smiled and looked at his own daughter as he answered, “Oh, I reckon I’ve got a fair idea.”The dinner, of course, was delicious. Mr. Tweedy said he’d never had such good pork chops in his life. “Except for yours, o’ course, luv,” he added hastily.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tweedy,” said his wife, smacking her own lips, “these are better than anything I could make.”
Julia Manners had to be introduced to all the parents, and was so enthralled by Mr. Tweedy’s camera, she insisted on having a snapshot with her darling Emrys, and another with her precious Firsties, and a third with her brilliant Quidditch team. “Two more goals,” she insisted, “and we would have won the season.” Aubrey Liang got to be in the Quidditch picture, since he had been one of her two reserve players this year, and so did Llew Jones, who was the Keeper. Jane thought, looking at them, all grinning so proudly, with their arms around each other, that it would be fun to play Quidditch next year, although she knew that, with Julia the only graduating player, her chances of making the team were slim. Still, even if she didn’t make it next year, maybe she would at least have her own broom…
Jane had always known that Hogwarts was a mysterious place that seemed to grow and rearrange rooms and corridors at will, so she was not at all surprised to find that a convenient suite of chambers to accommodate the parents had sprouted above the Ravenclaw Common Room. Everyone had a good night’s sleep, and gathered again in the morning to catch the train back to London. Jane had never thought about the magical properties of the Hogwarts Express, but somehow the Tweedys and Lupins managed to cram four adults, three children, and two large owl cages into one compartment. Irene had to put a cloth over Copernicus’ huge, rectangular cage to stop him from fussing, and, shoved against the window, it ended up serving as something of a table over which Remus and Irene, on one side, and Jane and her father, on the other, looked over their stock of Polaroid snapshots. Irene had a new one of herself with all her family, and she tucked it into the little purse around her neck, alongside the old, Wizard photo of them she had shown Jane on the trip to Hogwarts last fall. Mr. Tweedy’s arm rested lightly around Jane’s shoulders as he looked at the pictures she was sorting through.
“That’s still my favourite one of you,” he tapped the photo that had come to the top of the stack. “Such a pretty smile you’ve got there, Janie. Funny that one turned out the best, after all the fuss you made.” It was the photo of Jane and Ludo. Truth to tell, it was one of the more flattering photos she’d seen of herself. And even with that broad grin on his face, she had to admit that Ludo didn’t look as dopey as she would have expected. Someone who didn’t know he was a big, stupid dolt might have thought he was rather good looking.
When the tea cart came, Mr. Lupin gave his son some coins, and Remus treated Mr. Tweedy this time to a handful of Chocolate Frogs. Jane and Irene ate the sweets while the Collectors bartered over their trading cards, and Irene dropped a couple of frogs into Coppy’s cage to keep him occupied for a while. Everyone was so full and sated with the excitement of the last day that they were fairly quiet for the trip home, and eventually, Remus fell asleep with his head on his sister’s shoulder. Jane snuggled against her father and closed her eyes, too, listening to the quiet buzz of conversation among the adults, until she drifted off. She woke up when everyone began moving about in preparation for their arrival at King’s Cross. On the platform, she and Irene collected their trunks.
“Write to me, won’t you?” Irene begged. “Let me know if you get your broom.”
“You, too,” Jane nodded, and the two girls hugged each other.
Shouldering his camera case, Mr. Tweedy shook hands with Remus and said, “’S been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lupin. If you ever decide to give this Wizarding business a pass, I could use you in the photographic trade.”
Remus laughed merrily at this and said, “Thanks, Mr. Tweedy. And thanks for the cards. You know, you still didn’t get your Dumbledore signed.”
“I know,” the man sighed. “Tell you what, when you get to Hogwarts, drop me an owl, I’ll send it up to you and you can take care of that for me, how’s that?”
Remus’ smile faltered a bit, but he said, “I’ll try.” The boy started off after his father, but looked back once more and said, with a depth of feeling that didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Tweedy, “Thanks, again.”
Mr. Tweedy gave him the old thumbs up, and an encouraging smile. “Cheers, mate.”
Jane was walking off with her mother, and Mr. Tweedy was loading her trunk onto a cart, when he felt a light touch on his sleeve. It was Isolde Lupin.
“Mr. Tweedy,” she spoke quietly, but her brown eyes were earnest, “I want to thank you for taking such a kind interest in Remus. He leads such an isolated life – we travel a great deal, you know,” she explained, “and he has so little opportunity to make friends. I – I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me, seeing him so happy. It was very good of you.”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Tweedy blushed a little as he touched his cap, “it’s my pleasure, ma’m. He’s a fine lad, Mrs. Lupin; I reckon you’re right proud of him.”
“Yes, I am, in fact,” she pressed her lips into a smile that trembled only a bit. Thanking him again, she walked off after her family, and Mr. Tweedy collected his own girls.
“Well, Janie,” he asked his daughter, as they left Platform 9 ¾ and melted into the throng of Muggles in the station, “you’ve got two whole months before you go back. Anything special you’d like to do?”
Jane cocked her blue-grey eyes up at him – they were so like her mother’s – and asked, suspiciously, “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing much,” he mused. “Your mother had some thoughts.”
“Mum?” Jane looked at her.
“Well, we’ll have to go to Diagon Alley in August, to get your new things for next term, and I thought that, while we’re there, we might look at getting you a broom of your own.”
“Really!?” Jane could not stop herself from making a little jump for joy.
Mr. Tweedy smiled. “We sort of had the feeling you might be wanting one. Oh, and there’s summat else.” He glanced at his wife as he said this.
“You’re still set on that, are you?” Mrs. Tweedy frowned at him.
“I’ve got to go up sometime, luv, you know that, and Janie might enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what?” she asked, still bright-eyed over the prospect of her new broom.
“Well, sweetheart, the Thorners, you remember them, they’ve moved out, and I’ve got to go up to the Dales and look things over before we take on a new tenant. So, as long as I’m going, I thought you might like to make a holiday of it. How about it, Janie? Fancy paying a visit to the farm?”
“The farm?” Jane gasped. “Our farm?”
“Don’t get too excited, darling,” her mother warned. “I’ve told you, it’s a dreadful, gloomy place.”
“I’d still like to see it,” Jane insisted.
Her own broom and, at long last, a trip to Tweedy’s Farm! Jane was smiling all the way home. This was going to be a wonderful summer.
THE END
Continue to Dragon Pox