A Hogwarts Fanfic by Therese

Part Two

Irene had brought Wilkins to the dinner table, and spent more time feeding him from her plate than feeding herself. Freddy, sitting next to her, gave the rat a gentle scratch on the back when he scampered over and nuzzled under his hand.
"I think he misses Kevin," said Irene. "He's been good as gold, but he keeps looking as if he expects him to turn up."
"How's he doing?" asked Jane, sitting opposite them.
"Not bad. He's still at the stage where it's mostly eat, sleep, and take your medicine. He's all right, though. Madam Pomfrey keeps chasing me off; I think she's already sick of me. I don't care, though; I told him I'd come back up after dinner. He asked me to bring him a book."
"He's not trying to study with the dragon pox?" Irene was surprised, and gave a disapproving look worthy of the school nurse.
"No, it's just the Ambrose Armstrong he's in the middle of. Must be terribly boring, stuck in bed all day."

After finishing a slice of apple pie, he headed up to the dorm and located the book Kevin wanted, 'Ambrose Armstrong and the Heir of Duvanyi.' It was one of Freddy's favorites in the series. On the cover, a Dark Witch in purple robes was menacing a brown-haired girl chained to the wall of a dungeon, while Ambrose Armstrong, the handsome Wizard hero, was in the act of bursting through the door at the top of the steep, stone stairs. Freddy wondered how far Kevin had gotten, but his magical bookmark had the book clamped shut, and Freddy didn't know how to get it open. Tucking the volume under his arm, he trotted off to his new home in the infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey was making her rounds among the other injuries and illnesses currently under her care, and Freddy slipped through the curtain without being spotted. Kevin was awake this time.
"Brought the book," Freddy waved it at him, pulling up the chair and sitting down.
"Oh, good, thanks. I just finished dinner. Madam Pomfrey made me eat the pureed pumpkin," he noted. "It wasn't all that bad. But the jelly was cherry this time." The blot of orange salve cracked as he wrinkled his nose in disgust, and he brushed a few crumbs of the dried stuff off his blankets. "I'm supposed to have a bath later, wash off all this stuff so she can put on a fresh coat. It does help the itching, though."
"I won't stay long," said Freddy.
"Don't run off," Kevin protested. "It's really boring in here. That's why I wanted the book; give me something to do while you're at classes all day."
"How far have you gotten?" Freddy asked him. "And how does this bookmark work?" It was made of stiffened leather, in the shape of an owl; the body was tucked between the pages, with the head looking out, and the wings clamped one on either side of the book.
"Bite it," said Kevin. "Not hard, just gently, on one of the tufts, that's all it takes."
With a quizzical look, Freddy gingerly pressed the top of the owl's head between his teeth, and the wings relaxed their grip. "That's a new one on me," he remarked, examining the bookmark with curiosity.
"I got it at the Wizard bookstore in Bristol, over Christmas holidays. I thought it was clever. I always chew on my bookmarks anyway," Kevin admitted.
Freddy was opening the book to the point at which Kevin had left off, and smiled. "Ooh, you're just up to Chapter Twelve! That's a really good part!"
"Why, what happens?"
"I'm not going to spoil it for you, you have to read it."
"I'm too tired to read," Kevin protested plaintively. "Tell me just a little."
"No," Freddy stood his ground, "I'm not going to tell you." But an inspiration hit him from who knew where, and he offered, "I'll read it to you, if you like."
Kevin's whole face lit up at this and he exclaimed, "Would you? That would be great! Oh, but," he hesitated, "you don't want to sit up here with me all night…"
"Of course I do. It's boring in the Common Room, too, without you around. This will be fun."
Kevin snuggled down in the blankets, and Freddy helped him fluff his pillow, then he drew up the chair as close as he could to the bed, and opened the book. "Let's see, you've just finished Chapter Eleven," Freddy recapped. "Ambrose Armstrong has followed Drugosz to the hidden fortress of Agnieska the Dark Witch, and he's made it past all the traps to the dungeons. Now… 'Chapter Twelve: Lileke's Secret…'"

Lileke was the young Countess Duvanyi, only ten years old, and a Witch only beginning to learn the depth of her powers. The wicked Agnieska had imprisoned the girl, as part of a plot to control her powers and her immense fortune and use them for Evil. Ambrose Armstrong had finally located Agnieska's hidden fortress, and had battled a Griffin, a Chimaera, and three Trolls to reach the dungeons and rescue young Lileke. The poor girl had collapsed under Agnieska's cruel tortures, and Ambrose Armstrong had gathered up her fragile body and carried her to safety. Unable to revive her, he had borne her to the hut of Madam Gravotny, the kindly old Witch who was wise in the ways of healing charms and potions, and she had prepared to treat the girl's injuries. Ambrose Armstrong, who was as compassionate as he was courageous, had gently supported Lileke in his arms as Madam Gravotny administered the restorative potion, and had stroked her brown hair with a fatherly hand as she stirred and opened her hazel eyes. "Poor little flower," the good Witch had clucked over her, "she'll be all right now." "Can you hear me, Lileke?" Ambrose Armstrong had coaxed, and Madam had asked, "Can you speak to us, dear girl?" The young Countess, looking between them, had sighed faintly, as Ambrose had assured her, "There is nothing to fear, Lileke; we are here to help you." And, as the sight of the hazel eyes began to clear, the child had looked up at the brave Wizard and struggled to murmur something in a faint, hoarse voice. "I am not - not Lileke." One small hand reached out and clasped that of the kind Witch, and the young voice, slowly gathering strength, declared, "I am Lazslo - her brother."

"WHAT!?" Kevin exclaimed, mouth hanging open.
"It's her twin brother," Freddy explained, beaming. "You didn't see that coming, did you!?"
"No! Gosh, wow…" Kevin murmured, grinning, too. "So, what happened to the real Lileke? Or has it been him all along?"
"Wait and see."
"Did we even know he was alive?" Kevin pondered, trying to remember. "I thought Lazslo was dead."
"Of course, that's what you're supposed to think. It's called a plot twist."
"It's called 'sneaky'!" said Kevin, but he was still smiling, wide-eyed with the joy of surprise. "MacCorkindale's a real stinker, isn't he?"
"I shouldn't disillusion you this way," Freddy warned, tucking the owl bookmark back into the volume where they had stopped, "but I've heard MacCorkindale's a she."
"Really?" Kevin looked as if he couldn't decide whether or not Freddy was pulling his leg.
"They say that E. J. stands for Elinor Juliette. Of course, I've also heard that she's not even writing them herself any more, and E. J. MacCorkindale is now a whole room full of aspiring authors scribbling away for a sickle a page."
"Oh, gosh, now you're really trying to disillusion me," Kevin groaned.
"Actually, I'm inclined to believe it, myself," Freddy admitted. "It would explain why some of the books are so much better than others. I mean, there are about thirty of them now, and they're coming out, what, three a year? One person couldn't write that fast. I'm guessing MacCorkindale did the first six or seven, and she may be doing a few here or there, but most of the more recent ones are by ghost writers. I'm pretty certain this one's by the same person who wrote Heart of the Sun. It's really good, too, but it's pretty dark, I had to put it down a couple of times. If you ever read it, whatever you do, once you start the chapter at the Ambassador's Ball, don't stop till you get to the end, no matter how much you want to throw the book across the room, or you'll never get the nerve again to finish it."

The white curtain at the foot of the bed was swept aside with a loud swish, and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in. "I don't know what those Gryffindors are thinking sometimes, trying to hold Quidditch practice on a night like this; snowing so hard you can't see a foot in front of your face. Letitia Lacey flew smack into one of her own goal hoops and fractured an arm, I only just got her taken care of. You'd better run along now," she addressed this to Freddy, although she had not made any face or fuss at him for being there. "Time for the patient's bath." She stripped the blankets off of Kevin and put an arm behind his shoulders to help him up.
"Thanks for bringing the book," Kevin smiled at Freddy as he struggled onto his feet.
"I'll leave it on your table," Freddy said, doing so. "Maybe we can read some more tomorrow night, if you haven't finished it by then."
"I'd like that," he nodded, as Madam Pomfrey shuffled him toward the curtain.
"I'd better go," Freddy took his leave. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"'Night," said Kevin. "Thanks again."

At two o'clock in the morning, Freddy Shrike woke with a start. His candle was still burning softly on the headboard, because he didn't like sleeping in pitch darkness, but he didn't need a light to know that he was tangled in the sheets, and his pajamas were clinging to him, and he was damp with his own sweat… and something that was not sweat. It took him a moment to get his alarmed mind around what had just happened to him, but he managed to remember a conversation his mother had tried to have with him last summer about Changes and Growing Up. That was the good/bad thing about being the son of a physician; Mother was always ready and eager to explain things to him in her calm, clinical, matter-of-fact way. He wasn't always ready to listen, but the lessons stuck, even when he tried to ignore them. 'You're thirteen, well, practically,' he lectured himself. 'It's about time this happened to you.' The strangest thing was, that he was not at all surprised by the dream that had brought it on…
Like all dreams, the sense and structure of it were melting more rapidly than the wax of the candle above him, but the strongest images were still burned into his mind. The infirmary… a vague knowledge that Madam Pomfrey was just out of sight somewhere, tending to a few dozen broken-armed Gryffindor Keepers… and a pair of melting, brown eyes, gazing up at him, over a smile, warm and curious and laughing, that he had seen so often, knew so well… Kevin, in the bath, wearing nothing, and Freddy, flannel in hand, gently scouring dried pumpkin salve from his back, arms, shoulders, chest… Then the flannel was gone, and Freddy was touching him, bare hands running over his wet body, discovering the curves of muscle lurking just beneath the soft skin… Now, in the ruined sheets, he sat up and clasped his arms around his drawn-up knees, dropping his head onto them and trying to stop his own shaking. Kevin. He was having wet dreams about Kevin, and the only surprise was that he hadn't had one sooner. He'd known for a while, although he had avoided thinking too hard about it, that he was thoroughly smitten with this handsome, brilliant, sweet, warm, charming, utterly irresistable boy. It wasn't just a crush - 'crush' was such a trivial word for the bone-deep adoration Freddy felt. It was glorious and terrible and made him want to laugh and cry all at once, because he felt so lucky to have such an amazingly wonderful person as a friend, and so sorry that Kevin would never know how Freddy loved him, and would never, ever feel that same, sweet, aching passion for him.

Struggling out of bed, now, he slogged off to the bathroom to clean up a bit and change into a fresh pair of pajamas. He wondered what he should do about the sheets, but when he came back to his bed, he found it neatly made up in crisp, new linens, covers turned down and waiting for him. House Elves, he realized, reasoning that, of course, he wasn't the first student they'd ever had to tidy up after. They certainly were efficient, he admitted, sliding back into the sheets. After a bit of tossing and turning, he finally gave in to the urge still nagging at him, and folded his arms around the spare pillow. Closing his eyes, he cuddled against it, nuzzling the cool linen and dreaming it into a warm, yielding cheek. If he was going to have some silly, unrequited love affair, he should at least try to enjoy it, he reasoned. And he pressed his lips to the pillow case and drowsily murmured, "Good night, Pudgie…"

In the morning, he dressed quickly and dashed off to the infirmary before breakfast. He had barely come into the ward, however, when Madam Pomfrey spotted him and, bearing down upon him with surprising swiftness, stopped him with an upraised palm. "No, no, no!" she warned, trying to keep her voice down. "Not this morning, he's sleeping, and I do not want him disturbed. He had a very restless night."
"Is he all right?" Freddy asked, suddenly worried. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"
"He will be all right, but he needs his rest. He had far too much stimulation yesterday," she frowned at Freddy, and he cringed at her choice of word. "I do not want to see you camped up here again today."
"Can't I just see him?" Freddy pleaded. "For a minute."
"Not right now."
"But, at lunch - I won't stay, just to peek in, say hello. Let him know how classes are going. And his rat - he'll be worried about Wilkins, he'll want to know he's all right."
"If he's awake, five minutes, and no arguments, young man. Now, off to breakfast with you."

The morning dragged on forever, but lunchtime came at last, and Freddy all but sprinted to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey looked as if she'd been expecting him. "Five minutes," she tapped the timepiece pinned to her bosom, "then off with you."
Kevin was eating. He was sitting up and managing his own tray today, but he looked flushed, and tired.
"How are you feeling?" Freddy asked, pulling up the chair.
"Ugh," Kevin made a face, swallowing his mouthful of pureed pumpkin. "I had an awful time sleeping last night, Madam Pomfrey finally gave me something to help. She says my fever's back. I slept a lot of the morning. How are you?"
"Fine. Bored," he added, with a little smile. "She thinks I was up here bothering you too much yesterday; I've got five minutes now before she gives me the boot."
"What?" Kevin protested. "You're not bothering me, I'd be bored to death by now if it weren't for you."
"Well, she thinks I'm 'over-stimulating' you," Freddy laughed a little as he got his mouth around the word.
Kevin's mouth was forced into an involuntary smile by this remark, and he shook his head slightly in answer as he took another spoon of the mushy vegetable.
"I see she's still making you eat the pumpkin," Freddy noted, with a sympathetic face.
"Oh, it's not bad. I guess it's what you'd call an acquired taste." This with a broader, more willing smile.
"Mmm," Freddy mused at this. "That's what they say about pickled eel, too."
"Pickled eel!?" the other boy shuddered, with a sour grimace. "Euuugh!"
"It's good! They sell it at all the chippies. The Wizard ones, anyway. You can't tell it's eel, it's just cubes of the meat," he held up his fingers to demonstrate a morsel maybe half an inch square. "It comes in a little cup of brine sauce, with a teeny little fork. I'll bet someone in Hogsmeade sells it; when we get to go there next year, I'm going to make you try some."
"Urgh, no!" Kevin was still making the face, but he was laughing. "Eugh, I'd rather eat coconut and cherry pie! Yech!"
"You'll eat your pickled eel and like it, young man!" declared Freddy, doing a passable imitation of Madam Pomfrey.
Kevin chuckled at this before he said, "You're coming up to read to me again, tonight, aren't you?"
"I don't know if she'll let me," Freddy shook his head sadly.
"She has to!" Kevin insisted, looking disappointed already. "I'll beg and plead. I'll go on a hunger strike. I'll cry," he volunteered. "No one wants to see a poor, sick little boy cry."
This drew another snicker. "You're not exactly a 'little boy,' Kevin."
"Well, a big, grown-up boy cry, then; that's even worse. I'll eat all my lunch and take a nice, long nap this afternoon, then she'll have to let you stay."
"Well, I will if I can," Freddy promised. He sat for a couple more minutes, discussing what had gone on in classes that morning, until Madam Pomfrey came in and ordered him out.
"Oh," she noted to Kevin, "you'll be glad to know you're not the only one with the dragon pox now."
"Really?" it was Freddy who asked the question, lingering by the curtain. "Who else?"
"Fairweather, from Gryffindor. I put him in bed number seven this morning."
"He's not Muggle-born, he should have had this years ago," said Freddy. "How'd he end up getting ill now?"
"I don't know, but if I could have bet a Galleon on who'd be next, he'd have been it. I've had him in here for something every year for five years. Bless his heart, he manages to come down with everything! Now, your five minutes are more than over, get along with you."

Freddy popped in again when his afternoon classes were over, and managed to sneak a peek behind the curtain before anyone noticed him. Kevin was sleeping - he looked so sweet and peaceful, Freddy wanted to touch him, stroke his hair, maybe even kiss his cheek - he was certain it would be much nicer than kissing the pillow last night. But he could do no more than gaze at the slumbering figure for perhaps half a minute before Madam Pomfrey came at him, hissing and flapping like an angry goose. Backing away and letting the curtain fall closed, Freddy raised his hands in self-defense.
"I know! He's sleeping! I'm going, I'm going."

At dinner, Freddy picked mopily at his food. Wilkins, rejecting Irene's offer of a brussels sprout, came snuffling over and nuzzled his wrist. Scooping up the rat in both hands, Freddy cuddled him, stroking a finger over his shoulderblades and brushing his cheek against the soft fur. Wilkins' twitching whiskers tickled under the edge of his jaw, and Freddy smiled. If he couldn't touch Kevin, he could touch something that had. It was as if that dream last night had cracked the dam that had held back his emotions, and all he could think of now was how much in love he was. He caught Jane staring at him warily from across the table.
"You're really not afraid of that rat biting your nose off?" she asked.
"Of course not," he retorted. "Wilkins would never do that. I can't believe, after a year and a half, you're still afraid of a harmless little fuzzy-wuzzy ball of fur." He had addressed this last bit to the rat, touching noses with him, and Wilkins had squeaked in agreement. Freddy set him down beside his plate, and Wilkins helped himself to a chunk of potato.
"Well, it can't be sanitary to let him eat off your plate," opined Jane.
"He's not carrying the plague, Jane," Freddy sighed, exasperated. "He's a very clean rat. Besides," he admitted, "I'm not all that hungry, anyway."
"Are you all right?" Irene asked him at last.
"Yes…" he sighed. "Madam Pomfrey keeps chasing me out of the infirmary, that's all. I'm going back up after dinner. Kevin's threatened to go on a hunger strike if she won't let me sit with him for a while," he smiled a bit.
"Are you planning on joining him?" asked Jane pointedly, indicating his hardly-touched plate.
"If I have to," said Freddy, feeling indignant and rather brave.

He didn't have to. When he returned to the infirmary after dinner, Madam Pomfrey, in the midst of bustling off to another curtained bed, spied him coming into the ward and raised a finger. "One hour."
Kevin was sitting up against the pillows, waiting for him. He looked better than he had before, his face freshly painted with salve. "I talked her into giving us a hour!" he beamed. "I didn't even have to cry."
"Good!" Freddy grinned in answer, drawing up the chair. "Shall we read, or…?"
Kevin had already picked up the book from the bedside table and held it out to him. "Chapter Thirteen. I'm ready." He snuggled down into the bed, folding his arms on top of the blankets, and Freddy nibbled the top of the bookmark - not without thinking, 'His teeth have been here, too!' - and started Chapter Thirteen.
Ambrose Armstrong discovered what had become of Lileke, the missing Countess, and set off in pursuit of her, with young Laszlo, now magically restored from his ordeal and changed back into boy's clothes, in tow. Freddy got to a good stopping place and closed the book before their hour had quite run out.
Kevin sighed with satisfaction and remarked, "I think this is my favorite Ambrose Armstrong yet."
Freddy agreed and ventured, "You know why I like this one; it has characters, well, not our age, we're a bit older than that now, but - young. I've always thought I'd like to tag along with Ambrose Armstrong." He confessed this with a blush of pink in his cheeks.
"Really?" Kevin regarded him with that smile, the laughing, curious one from the dream last night, and Freddy's cheeks went another shade pinker. "Have you ever thought about what you want to do when you finish school? Maybe you could be Ambrose Armstrong," he suggested.
Freddy laughed off this ridiculous notion. "I don't know. I'm not very good at anything."
"What are you talking about?" challenged Kevin, surprised at this modesty. "You're a whiz at Herbology. And you like it. You're the only person I know who could be cheerful with his hand caught down the gullet of a Snapping Swallowtrap, the rest of us were practically hiding under the tables after that thing chomped on you! Professor Sprout gave you twenty points for surviving that!"
"Surviving," Freddy brushed this off, but he was flattered. "They're not that dangerous. And I had my dragon hide gloves on. I don't know, I might be a herbologist, I suppose. What about you?" he asked, curious. "What do you want to do?"
"I have no idea," Kevin admitted. "I don't know all that much yet about what Wizards do. I'd like to have something to do with books, probably. The Wizard bookshop in Bristol is really nice, maybe I could have a place like that."
"Maybe you could be E. J. MacCorkindale and write Ambrose Armstrong," suggested Freddy.
"No," said Kevin thoughtfully, "if I were an author, I'd want to write my own books."
"What sort of books would you write?"
"I don't know… Maybe something like 'David Copperfield,' only about a Muggle boy who finds out he's a Wizard, and goes off to Wizarding school. Sort of auto-biographical, but not really. I'd make up a lot of it; I don't think most people would want to read about me."
"Why not? You're interesting. Could I be in the book?"
"Absolutely. You'd be the brilliant schoolmate who befriends the Muggle-born hero and teaches him all about Wizard things. And you could save the school from an attack of Giant Killer Plants!"
"I'm starting to like this book of yours," Freddy laughed, enjoying the glow of Kevin's shining eyes.
At this juncture, Madam Pomfrey whisked aside the curtain and said, "There, now, your hour is up. You may come back in the morning, briefly."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Freddy, with an appealing look, and Kevin seconded, "Yeah, thanks. I feel a lot better now."

Although he didn't want to give the House Elves any more work, Freddy was rather hoping for another pleasant dream that night as he snuggled down with his spare pillow, but if he had any, he didn't recall them when he woke at daybreak. Wisely, he opted to eat his own breakfast before stopping by the infirmary this time, and found Kevin awake and in the midst of his morning porridge. Madam Pomfrey had not even bothered to wave him off or point at her watch, and Kevin noted, "She's got her hands full. Three more cases of dragon pox this morning. Couple of Gryffindor first years, and one from our house. Stephanie something? Gilling? I couldn't place her."
"There's a Gillen, I think, sort of a spotty little girl with brown hair? I couldn't tell you her first name; she was talking to Professor Sprout the other day when I was in the greenhouse."
"I suppose that's her," Kevin shrugged. "At any rate, I don't think Madam Pomfrey's going to bother you today. In fact, you'd better be careful that she doesn't have you delivering lunch trays and cleaning bedpans," he laughed.
"Oops, I'm late, better get to class," Freddy cracked, thus warned, but he did back toward the curtain. "I'll stop by at lunch, all right?"
"See you later," Kevin nodded.

Freddy had the misfortune to run into Madam Pomfrey at lunchtime, and indulged her by staying only a few minutes. He was back after the day's classes were done, however, and did not see her as he made for Kevin's curtains. The dreams of two nights ago had stopped haunting him so actively, and he had calmed down a bit from them, so it startled him when he popped his head through the curtain with a cheerful, "Knock, knock!" and found Kevin sitting up in bed with his gown off and Madam Pomfrey briskly rubbing orange goop on his bare chest. It didn't help when Kevin smiled and said, "Hey! There you are!" Freddy was so busy fighting the rush of excitement and trying not to gawk that he didn't even notice Madam Pomfrey's scolding glance.
"Outside for a moment, please," she waved a gooey, gloved hand at him.
But, Kevin said, "Oh, he can stay, I don't mind. We're in the same dorm," he pointed out to the nurse. "It's not as if we aren't used to each other."
Madam Pomfrey looked between them, but gave in. "I'm too busy to argue with you today. Sit down," she addressed Freddy. "I'll be finished in a minute."
"MADAM POMFREY!!! EEEEE!!! MADAM POMFREY, HELP!!!" A shrill voice burst through the door of the hospital ward, accompanied by a pitiful groaning.
"Oh, now what!?" the nurse put aside the curtain with her elbow and looked out. Curious, Freddy peeped around her. A gawky first-year girl in Hufflepuff colors was the one squealing her little heart out, dragging along a puny Hufflepuff boy whose ears had already grown to half the size of an elephant's and showed no sign of stopping.
"We were working on our potions assignment," the girl was blathering, "and it was boiling too fast, and Edwin got some splashed on his thumb, and he just popped it in his mouth without even thinking - it was supposed to give you Extremely Good Hearing, but just look what it's done, I think we must have gone wrong somewhere…"
"All right, all right," Madam Pomfrey calmed the girl, "sit down on the second bed and I'll be right there."
"Can you hurry?" Edwin whimpered. "They're getting heavy."
With a sigh of exasperation, the nurse looked back at Kevin, most of his blistering green pox still waiting to be salved, and she muttered, shaking her head, "And I've got two more to do after him, as well…"
"I can finish Kevin for you." Freddy was startled to hear himself blurt this out. But he didn't flinch when Madam Pomfrey's sharp eye fell on him. "My mother's a doctor, you know. And it's not difficult, is it? Just spread it on."
"Madam Pomfrey, please…" the little boy called Edwin was begging; his ears were now long enough to sit on, a fact his friend accidentally demonstrated, prompting him to cry, "OW! Emily, get off!"
Stripping off her gloves and tossing them in the bin, Madam Pomfrey addressed Freddy. "The jar is on the stand, clean gloves in the drawer, not too thick, a nice even layer, and don't leave before I come back."

Stunned, Freddy stood there for a moment, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into, but Kevin was looking up at him expectantly, and he managed a smile as he turned up his sleeves. "Well, what's left to do?"
"Arms and back," said Kevin, "and face, if you're up to it. You can leave that for her, if you'd rather."
"Don't trust me, do you?" Freddy ribbed him, taking the gloves out of the drawer. They were moke-gut, he noted, too big when he put them on, but he told Kevin, "Watch this!" and clapped his hands together. Instantly, the thin, membranous gloves shrank to fit him perfectly.
"Wow!" said Kevin. "She did that earlier. How do they work?"
"Magic," said Freddy mysteriously, wiggling his fingers in the air.
"I could have guessed that. But, how?"
"Give me your arm," said Freddy, scooping a handful of goop from the jar. He took Kevin's wrist in his left hand, and let Kevin's hand rest on the exposed underside of his forearm. Running his hand the length of Kevin's arm up to the shoulder, he smeared on the orange salve. "The gloves are made of Moke intestines."
"Ew, wow," Kevin grinned, impressed.
"You remember Mokes, don't you? From 'Fantastic Beasts'?"
"Remind me."
"Lizard," Freddy hinted, smoothing the salve over the inside of Kevin's arm. "It shrinks? Skin is used for purses?"
"Oh, now I remember. So, the guts shrink, too?"
"Well, of course, if the entire lizard can shrink," he pointed out, finishing off Kevin's left arm to his satisfaction. "There, now, don't get that all over the sheets, Madam Pomfrey will kill me." Taking the jar with him, he went round to the other side of the bed and started on Kevin's right arm. The gloves not only fit like a second skin, they were thin enough to allow a sensitivity of touch just this side of bare hands. Kevin did have some nice muscles starting, he noticed, stroking the length of his arm. This was almost as good as the bathtub dream. When he surrendered this arm, he asked, "Trust me to do your face? I'll do just the obvious spots."
"Be my guest," invited Kevin, and Freddy sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, the better to reach him. There weren't too many spots on his face: a few on his chin and cheeks, three on his forehead, the one under his eye that Freddy decided not to do, and the one on top of his nose. When Freddy reached out to touch a finger to this last one, Kevin flinched and laughed a bit.
"Stop joking around," Dr. Shrike scolded, making another attempt to dab the potion on him. Kevin flinched again, and he left a larger blot than needed. "Hold still," he scolded, reaching to wipe it off, and Kevin giggled.
"I'm sorry, it tickles."
"Your nose is ticklish?" Freddy looked at him, amazed. "Come here," he ordered, gripping Kevin's chin in his left hand and holding him still while he wiped the extra salve off his nose with a firmer touch this time. It would have been insanely easy, in that instant, to kiss that laughing, tempting mouth, but Freddy let go of him before this thought could dig in any deeper, and said, "Sit up, and I'll do your back."
What was it about Kevin's back…? Even covered with green blisters, the shape of it, the cut of his shoulderblades, the curve of his spine, the glimpses of muscle beneath the soft blanket of flesh… Freddy felt he knew this place, and perhaps he did. After all, Kevin's back was the one thing he could stare at without the risk of catching Kevin's eye, and he'd found himself noticing it even before the dream the other night. Kevin was only thirteen, and his grandmother still called him 'Pudgie,' but Freddy didn't have to be a divination expert to predict that this handsome boy was going to be strong, and sturdy, and broad-shouldered and oh, the sudden fancy of a big, strong, future Kevin holding him close, making him feel safe and protected, and covering his willing cheeks with warm, gentle, laughing kisses… Freddy was spreading pumpkin salve across his shoulderblades, feeling the heat of him through the gloves, fingers tracking carefully over the blisters. Kevin was telling him about Madam Pomfrey's Bad Day, and all the new cases of dragon pox, and Freddy was listening, honestly, he was, because he couldn't not listen to Kevin, but his mind was on the gliding of his hand over the other boy's back and how glorious it felt, even through the glove and the blisters and the layer of salve. As with watching Kevin sleep, Freddy could not have guessed, afterwards, how much time he had spent at this, although he reasoned later, when his head had cleared, that it couldn't have been all that long, because Kevin would have raised some protest if Freddy had been sitting there just rubbing his back over and over and over…
Still, when Madam Pomfrey came whooshing back in, she had remarked at once, with considerable surprise, "Haven't you finished that yet?"
"Just getting a nice even layer," Freddy had excused himself, reluctantly backing away from his patient and removing his gloves.
She pushed Kevin forward, taking a peek, herself, at his handiwork, and said, "Well, Doctor Shrike, nicely done. You may go to your dinner now."
"Is it all right if he comes back later?" Kevin begged, and Freddy wondered how she could resist those brown eyes. "For an hour or so?"
"You're doing better today, so, yes, an hour would be fine."

That evening, Freddy stayed for more than an hour; Madam Pomfrey was too busy to bother with him, and he took advantage of the situation. Indeed, she seemed to have given up entirely on controlling his visits; he was back the next day, morning, noon, and night, and she raised no objections at all. Admittedly, Kevin was getting much better, and Madam Pomfrey did have her hands full with her other patients. Whatever the reason, she didn't make so much as a peep when the weekend came, and Freddy lugged in an armload of schoolbooks and spent most of two days at Kevin's bedside, helping him catch up on the studies he had missed. On Sunday night, after six days in the infirmary, the nurse deemed Kevin well enough to return to the dorm, and Freddy volunteered to provide his escort.
"Thanks for everything," Kevin's brown eyes gazed earnestly into his, when they were back in their own dormitory room. "I mean it. I was scared when I woke up with those spots," he admitted. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You would have been fine," Freddy shook his head, smiling modestly.
"But, it would have been awful, being stuck in the infirmary for a week without you to keep me company. I'm glad we got through the book. That was really fun."
"It was, wasn't it?" he agreed. "And now you can tell everyone you've survived the dragon pox."

That night, Freddy crept into his bed and drew the curtains, curled up with his pillow, and cuddled his cheek against the case. "Oh, Pudgie, do you?" he whispered. "I love you, too. You don't know how I've wanted this…" And he pressed his lips to the pillow, imagining how warm and yielding Kevin's lips would be if only he could cling to him like this and kiss him, and kiss him… 'You don't know… You will never, never know…'

Behind his own bed curtains, Kevin was wide awake. He had brought with him something from his desk drawer: a small, slim, leather-bound book, and a quill, and a small, spill-proof bottle of ink. The book was fastened shut with a strap of leather, and peeking from the top of it was a bookmark, like the leather owl in the Ambrose Armstrong book, only this one was in the shape of a cat. He had chosen the cat because its cool, clever smile reminded him of someone, and now he kissed it lightly before gently nibbling its ear and causing it to relax its grip on the book. With the un-inked quill, he scratched out a pattern of letters on the cover of the diary, near where the strap was fastened, and the strap let go and admitted him to the pages of his journal. He turned to where the bookmark signaled the place where he had left off writing, and inked his quill.

'I don't want to stay up all night, but I have to write down something. I have just spent a week in the hospital with dragon pox and I'm sorry it's over. He stayed with me the whole time, and we read together, and oh gosh there was the day he rubbed pumpkin salve on me! It was wonderful! I couldn't believe Madam Pomfrey let him do it. I wish she hadn't done my chest already. Although if he'd touched me there I probably would have just grabbed him and kissed him and that would have ruined everything. I can still remember what it felt like when he touched me. He has beautiful hands. I couldn't believe how long he went on rubbing my back, I guess he wanted to make certain he did it right, but it felt so good! That is my new fantasy about him, letting him undress me and rub his hands all over me. Not that he'd ever want to do that. Gosh he's handsome, and he's so sweet, I can't believe all the time he wasted up there with me. He didn't have to do that. I've never been this way about anyone before. I mean, I've always liked boys, I know that, but he's special. He's my friend, and he likes me, and he likes being around me, and I love being around him. I think things about him that I've never thought about anyone before. I wish I could sleep with him, just curl up with him and hold him in my arms and feel him snuggle up to me, and touch me, and let me kiss him. It would be so nice to kiss him, I'll bet his lips are so soft and just wonderful, and I'll bet he's a really good kisser, too. I hope I can stand to be just friends with him, because I would never ever want to lose that, even if I know he can never feel the same way I do. Gosh, I love him so much.'

Two Saturdays later, the Dragon Pox Epidemic had subsided for this term, and Madam Pomfrey was enjoying a well-deserved break at the Three Broomsticks, the pub in Hogsmeade, sipping a tumbler of lemon barley water. Luckily, she was sitting at a small table with a clear view of the door, or she never would have seen Professor Flitwick come in. He was brushing the light snowfall from his cloak when she caught his eye, and beckoned him over.
"Ah, hello, Poppy! Enjoying an afternoon out?"
"Please join me, Filius," she indicated the chair opposite her. "If you're not otherwise engaged."
"Not at all," the tiny Wizard deftly elevated himself into the chair. "Always a pleasure. The usual, please, Rosmerta," he addressed the pretty young barmaid who had followed him over.
Madam Pomfrey listened politely while Professor Flitwick chattered about his day and Rosmerta brought his drink, something pink and fizzy with a paper umbrella stuck in it. "Mmm," he stirred it with a little straw and took a sip. "Perfect."
"I'm glad we ran into each other," Madam Pomfrey took advantage of the break in the conversation. "There's something I've wanted to ask you."
"Oh? And what is that?" he asked cheerfully.
"Kevin Grahame and Wilfred Shrike are both in your house, are they not? Second years?"
"Yes, yes, indeed, they are," he nodded, sipping happily at his drink.
"What is your - assessment of them?" she asked delicately.
"Oh, fine boys, good students. Grahame is an exceptional student," Flitwick confided proudly. "Great talent, and very bright. And Shrike has made quite a bit of improvement since he started here; a bit shaky, at first, he was, but he seems to be developing more confidence in his abilities, I've been very pleased to see how well he's coming along."
Madam Pomfrey took another drink of her barley water and rephrased the question. "I meant - what is your assessment of their - relationship."
Flitwick looked mildly puzzled by the question. "They're friends, of course. Quite good friends, I believe. I see them around together quite a bit."
"And you've seen nothing - unusual about their friendship?"
"Well," he smiled slightly, picking up what he thought was her trail, "I know Shrike had some qualms at first about Grahame coming from a Muggle home, but he seems to have gotten over that little hurdle. Personally, I've always found that sort of 'cultural exchange' beneficial to the students; broadens their outlook on life."
"You're going to make me say this, aren't you?" Poppy Pomfrey gave him one of her scolding looks.
"Say what, Poppy? Am I misunderstanding something?" He looked genuinely curious.
Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him and explained, "Kevin Grahame was in my ward with the dragon pox for six days. It was all I could do to keep the Shrike boy from sleeping at the foot of his bed. You've never noticed anything between them? More than friendship?"
Now he was teasing her as he questioned, "Why, Poppy, what are you suggesting?"
"There's something going on between those boys. They're very - fond of each other. That way."
Professor Flitwick chortled at this. "My dear, they're second years! They're hardly old enough to be 'that way' about anyone yet."
"Laugh if you want, Filius, but if you'd seen them together as much as I have…"
"They're friends," he insisted calmly. "Grahame was ill, Shrike was keeping him company. That is what friends do. I have no doubt you would have seen exactly the same behaviour from the Kettlesmith cousins if one of them had come down with something. Or Miss Tweedy and Miss Lupin, they're quite close. I have no doubt that, if Miss Tweedy had suffered an attack of the dragon pox, you would have found Miss Lupin hovering over her. These friendships mean a great deal at their age."
Madam Pomfrey swirled the remaining liquid in her glass and compressed her lips as she shook her head at him. "I don't know about Miss Tweedy and Miss Lupin, but I know what I observed. I'm not objecting, if that's how they are. I'm only looking for a second opinion."
"Well, if you want mine," he twirled the paper umbrella in his fingers, "I think a year or two from now, they'll be mooning over girls, and you'll be laughing at this."
"You think I'm imagining things," she challenged him.
"I think you may be - over-interpreting," he answered with a conciliatory smile.
Madam Pomfrey frowned at him for a moment, then she reached into her purse and held up a shiny gold coin. "This Galleon says those boys have a romantic attachment to each other, and you will see proof of it before they leave this school." And she smacked the coin down on the table.
Flitwick smiled as he took another pull at his drink, then he said, "Very well, Poppy. I'm not ordinarily a gambling man, but just to amuse you - I'll take that bet."

THE END