A Hogwarts Fanfic by Therese

[Note:  This will make more sense to you if you've read the other Kevin and Freddy stories, “Dragon Pox,” “Making the Team,” and "Daisy Daisy." ]

Wednesday, 15 August, 1973

Kevin Grahame had no idea, when he woke up that morning, that this would be a date forever etched in the calendar of his life. He caught the bus into the city, as usual, and walked from the bus stop to the Griffin’s Goblet, the Wizarding pub, which appeared to Muggles as nothing but a narrow span of wall between a dentist’s office and a shop that sold ladies’ shoes. Mr. Paddock, who owned the pub, wished him a good morning as Kevin passed through and out the back, to the courtyard that led to the Wizarding district of Bristol. Unlike London’s twisting network of hidden alleys, the magical neighborhood here was a small one, a cobblestoned square with a handful of shops clustered around it. The Public Owl Post was on the right, and this was always Kevin’s first stop of the morning. Today, he was rewarded with a familiar hoot of greeting, as a magnificent, copper-eyed eagle owl swooped down from the rafters, flew a circle around his head, and lit on his shoulder, dropping a folded letter into his hands.

"Morning, Betsey," he reached up and stroked her sleek feathers. Aunt Betsey Trotwood was his owl, but she was not allowed to come home with him for holidays; Kevin’s mother forbade owls in her clean, respectable, suburban home. Aunt Betsey was spending the summer with Freddy Shrike, Kevin’s best friend and best beloved, who had bought the owl for him a year ago as a surprise, after Kevin’s pet rat, Wilkins, had gone to the Big Cheese Factory in the Sky. Freddy’s familiar quill-hand was on the outside of the letter, which was addressed to Mr. Kevin Grahame, Box 5, Owl Post, Bristol.

Dearest Darling Pudgie, the letter began.

Eighteen whole days yet to go until I see you again. Ugh, this has been the longest summer ever! I miss you terribly. How is the writing coming? Have you rescued me from the deep, dark dungeon yet? I was thinking, it might be good to throw a few grindylows into the moat, but if you’ve already written past that part, never mind. I will expect three good chapters to read as soon as we are back in school.

My Fluttering Flytrap is coming along very nicely. Grandmother wants me to enter it in her Garden Club show. The show is not until after we are back in school, but she says we could do it as a joint entry, she’ll take care of everything, and it would look good on my application for the Conservatory. I hope the Swedish Dragontongue has held up over the summer. Professor Sprout said she would keep an eye on everything for me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the Flowering Portcullis after we leave Hogwarts. I may ask Grandmother if I can transfer it to her garden until I have a place for it. Ah, the dear old Portcullis! Only think, Pudgie, three weeks from now, we’ll be slipping out to the greenhouse for a cuddle in our Secret Bower. I hope you are up for a good cuddle, because I could certainly use one. I think about you day and night, and long to be in your strong arms again, and to rub your magnificent shoulders, and to feel your sweet lips on my neck. Ahhh! I’m thinking of that right now, Pudgie! Can you tell? Have I told you I miss you terribly? I love you, and hope you are well. Write back soon.

Kisses from your loving,

Daisy

Kevin read this over, grinning from ear to ear. Slipping out to the greenhouse. He was still amazed that Freddy had talked Professor Sprout into giving him his own corner of Greenhouse #3 and allowing him to fill it with exotic plants, including the Flowering Portcullis. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Freddy was one of her best and most enthusiastic students, and she was eagerly encouraging his plans to pursue advanced herbology studies at the Arbuthnott Conservatory next year, after he finished at Hogwarts. But, little did the Professor know that Freddy had grown the magical Portcullis not only to protect his extra-credit projects from nosy schoolmates, but to create a hideaway where he and Kevin could sometimes grab a bit of private kiss-and-cuddle time. Freddy was right, he sighed; it had been a long summer, and Pudgie missed his darling Daisy terribly, too. Who would have thought that he could ever be so lucky as to fall in love with a boy who loved him in return? He would have to write back over lunch. For now, it was time to get to work.

Madam Winterwell, the Post Witch, came bustling in from the back and said, "Oh, good morning, ducks! Your owl found you, I see."

"Yes," said Kevin, smiling. "Can she stay here till lunchtime?"

"Oh, your Betsey’s always welcome here," the Witch assured him.

"Don’t leave yet," Kevin addressed the owl, who observed him with her copper-coloured eyes. "I’ll come back for you at lunch, and you can take a letter back for me, all right?"

Aunt Betsey acknowledged this with a hoot, and a nip at Kevin’s bristly hair, and flapped back up to her perch on the rafter. He said goodbye to the owl, and to Madam Winterwell, and headed off to the bookstore.

Nibbs and Co. was the largest Wizarding bookseller and stationer’s in this part of the country. Kevin had been a regular customer ever since he’d found the place over Christmas holidays, during his second year at Hogwarts. Last summer, when he had come home to Bristol, Mr. Nibbs, the owner, had offered him a job, helping out in the shop, and he had jumped at it. He loved the bookstore, and it was a perfect chance to make some pocket money. Kevin worked from nine to four, with half an hour for lunch and Sundays off. Today was a typical day in the shop. He unpacked incoming books, packed a couple of special orders and carried them to the Owl Post, wrote back to ‘My Own Sweet Daisy’ over lunch at the pub, dispatched Aunt Betsey with the letter, and spent the rest of the afternoon working behind the counter at the bookshop. After four o’clock, Kevin made a few quick stops to buy some odds and ends he needed for school, then left through the pub again to catch the Muggle bus back to his own neighbourhood.

It was nearly dinner time when he walked in the front door of the Grahame home. He could hear his mother in the kitchen as he lugged his armload of purchases (all wrapped discreetly in brown paper) upstairs to his room. Only when he had dumped everything on his bed and was sorting through it did he realize that his letter from Freddy was missing. He was certain he hadn’t left it in the pub, although he’d had it back out at lunchtime. He couldn’t possibly have lost it on the bus – could he? How could he ever get it back if he had? What if he’d merely dropped it outside somewhere, coming up the walk, perhaps; that was as good a place as any to start his search.

Kevin emerged from his room and made for the stairs, hoping he had time to retrace at least some of his steps before dinner. He was surprised to see his mother standing in the hall below him. And he was shocked to see what was clutched in her hand. She was reading the sheet of parchment, and when she heard him coming down, she looked up at him with a great, giddy grin on her face.

"Sweetie, why didn’t you tell me!?"

Kevin was speechless. She had found the love letter from Freddy, she was reading it – and she was happy!? It didn’t occur to him why until he mumbled, "Tell you what?" and she answered.

"About your little girlfriend! Daisy! Oh, that’s such a cute name. She must be a very cute girl. Isn’t she?"

It was frightening to see his mother so wild-eyed with joy. Kevin ventured down a few more steps, hand outstretched. "Mum, it’s – it’s only someone from school. May I have it back, please?"

"Oh, she doesn’t sound like ‘only someone,’" his mother was trying to tease him. "’Dearest Darling,’ ‘Love and Kisses,’ this sounds very serious to me. Who is she? Where is she from? Is she in your class at school? I want to hear all about her."

"Mum, you don’t really want to--"

"I know, she’s a Witch," her smile twisted into a grimace at the word, "but I suppose it would be asking too much to think you could fall in love with a respectable girl. I’m just so relieved you’ve finally gotten over that unhealthy boy thing," she shuddered. "Isn’t this so much nicer, Sweetie, having a girlfriend, the way normal boys do?"

Kevin’s hand was still out to her, and he said again, in a very quiet, tight voice, "Mother, please give me my letter."

"Oh, Kevin, don’t be bashful. Tell me something about her. Can’t you show me her picture, or something? What does she look like? She hasn’t got – oh, green hair, or something, has she?"

"No," he murmured, when she waited for an answer.

"Is she one of those Slithery people?" Mum asked, with a curious hint of sympathy.

Kevin would have laughed at this if he hadn’t been so tense. "Mum, please…" he held out his hand again.

"Your Daisy likes flowers, I see; isn’t that sweet?" she pressed on, indicating the letter. "And her grandmother sounds nice. What sort of family is she from? Have you met them?"

"They’re… nice." His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Her smile was tightening into a grimace; she was losing patience with him. "Kevin, it’s like pulling teeth, getting anything out of you! I’d think you’d want to talk about this girl, if you’re so in love with her, sneaking off to ‘Secret Bowers’ and such. I’ve waited so long to see you meet the right girl, and I’m certain this Daisy is very sweet, can’t you tell me anything? Is she pretty? She must be very pretty…"

"She’s a HE!" Kevin snapped, bursting out at last in frustration. "Daisy is a BOY!"

A jolt of regret seized him at once, as he saw the remaining happiness drain from her face. She stared at him with stunned, disbelieving eyes, and her nostrils were quivering when she said, "That’s ridiculous. What sort of name is Daisy for a boy?"

"It’s a nickname," said Kevin, forcing himself to stay calm. "It’s what I call him." Mother made a sound of disgust at this, and he said something he knew perfectly well he shouldn’t have: "It’s a literary reference. I wouldn’t expect you to understand."

She exploded at this. "What I don’t understand is how you can carry on in this disgraceful manner with another boy!" She brandished the parchment. "This is disgusting!"

"It wasn’t disgusting when Daisy was a girl," Kevin gave in to his own anger. "And yes, he is sweet, he’s handsome, and wonderful, and…"

"Stop it! STOP THAT!" she was shouting over him. "Don’t you dare throw your sick behaviour in my face."

"You wanted to know."

"I will not have this filth in my house." She made an effort to tear the letter, but the magic parchment was too much for her, and she crumpled it in her hands and threw it at him. "You are determined to humiliate this family, aren’t you? As if this weird magic business isn’t enough, now I have to worry about the neighbours finding out you’re a pervert--"

"Do you think I did this on purpose?" Kevin demanded. "Do you think I fell in love just to upset you?"

"This is not love," she spat out the word. "It’s – it’s unnatural – deviant – sick…" She didn’t have enough bad words for him. "I will not have some disgusting queer for a son!"

"Too bad," said Kevin tersely. "Because I guess that’s what you’ve got." He picked up the letter from where she had tossed it, and went back up the stairs. Before he shut the door to his room, he heard her storm into the dining room and tell his sister, who was laying out the plates:

"Three places only, Maggie. Kevin is not welcome at this table."

Robert Grahame had had a pleasant, productive day at the office, and was actually whistling as he came up the walk to his front door, anticipating nothing but a good dinner, followed by a nice, relaxing evening spent with his feet up in front of the telly. As soon as he came into the house, however, he could sense something ominous in the clatter of dishes emanating from the kitchen. His daughter was in the dining room, arranging the table. Maggie’s thin face was drawn, and her brown eyes were anxious when they met his. The two of them had a long-forged alliance in their ongoing effort to maintain peace in the house, and he knew at once what her look meant. His wife was stirred up about something.

"Maggie, what’s wrong?" he asked, in a subdued voice.

She shook her head, and he could see that she was struggling not to tear up. "It’s really bad this time; you don’t want to talk to her."

"Why, what happened?"

"She and Kevin had a row. They were shouting at each other."

"Great," Dad sighed.

Maggie drew nearer, and dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper as she said, "Dad, Mum says Kevin is queer. Is that true?"

"Is that what this is about?" He should have known. Kevin’s awkward inclinations had long been the only topic more inflammatory than his unusual magic powers. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the kitchen to find out what had happened.

Upstairs, Kevin flopped down on his bed. Smoothing out the crumpled parchment, he read it over again, kissed it, and pressed it to his heart as he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He was too furious to cry. He felt brave and noble, suffering so for his love. And, in some strange way, however disastrous it had been, he was relieved to have the whole thing out in the open. So, his mother hated him. He had always known that she didn’t like what she considered his ‘weird’ quirks. It was only a matter of time before they came to this. Dad would probably be angry, too, but he wouldn’t be so irrational about it, at least. Dad let you know when he was unhappy, but he kept a level head. Someone in the house had to. Mum… he thought again about all the things she had said. He hadn’t seen her that upset with him since The Melville Incident. Gosh, he hadn’t thought about that in ages…

The Curtis family had moved in down the street during Kevin’s eighth summer. Mum had gone over to meet Mrs. Curtis soon after, and the two of them had become friendly. The Curtises had a son, named Melville. He was only a few months older than Kevin, but a year ahead of him in school. Melville was tall and slim and wiry, with sandy curls, and a nice smile, and just enough freckles to be cute, and Kevin liked him. To his shock, Melville liked him, too – oh, not that way, of course, but he was willing to be friends. Since it was summer, he hadn’t really met anyone else yet, and he and Kevin got in the habit of running around together. They called each other "Kev" and "Melv." It was wonderful. Even after school started, and Melv started making other friends, he would still chum around some with Kevin. They were out together one afternoon that autumn; Melv was already nine and Kevin would be there, himself, in about six weeks. They were running around among the trees in the neighbourhood park, in an impromptu game of tag, when Melville surprised him by jumping out from behind a tree, and Kevin took a tumble, laughing, into a pile of fallen leaves. Melville jumped in with him, and they sat there, throwing leaves at each other, until Kevin gave him a shove, and he shoved back, there was a brief tussle, and all at once, Melville was on his back, and Kevin was on top of him, pinning him down. He was so handsome… leaves in his curly hair, hazel eyes shining, those cute freckles dusting his nose, dimples in his cheeks as he smiled and laughed, and then he wriggled a bit under Kevin, in a tentative, playful effort to budge him, and it was all so incredibly, romantically perfect, Kevin couldn’t help himself. He planted his lips on that laughing face in an eager kiss. It was quick, and clumsy, he only half-got Melville’s mouth, but his cheek was warm, and smooth, and nice…

"Hey!" Melville’s brow narrowed as Kevin smiled down on him, but he was still laughing a bit when he said, "What was that for?!"

"Because I like you," Kevin beamed, feeling utterly glorious. And he kissed Melville again. This time, he managed to hit his mouth, and pressed his lips hard against the other boy’s, his eight-year-old heart knowing no other way. Now, Melville struggled in earnest, and Kevin had only a moment to register that he liked the way this felt before the older boy threw him off and sat up.

"Gaaah!" Melville gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are you, barmy?"

"No," said Kevin, still smiling with pleasure. "I like you."

"What’d you kiss me like that for!?" he sputtered.

"Sorry," said Kevin, "I’ve never kissed anyone before. Can we try it again?"

"NO!" Melville scrambled to his feet. "What are you, some sort of bender?"

"What’s a bender?" asked Kevin, ignorant of the term.

"A bloke who likes kissing other blokes," explained Melv, keeping a wary distance from him as Kevin stood up.

"Oh!" He hadn’t known there was a name for it. "Well, then, yeah, I guess I am." Kevin was still smiling blithely, but his smile vanished when Melville reached out and roughly shoved him away.

"It’s not funny."

"Why, what’s wrong? Look, all I did was kiss you, if you didn’t like it…"

"It’s sick to go around kissing boys like that. Don’t you know that?"

"Why?"

"Gyeah!" Melville groaned in surprise. "I don’t believe you! You are barmy!"

"Oh, come on," Kevin appealed to him, "don’t be angry about it. I won’t do it again, if you don’t like it. I wanted to kiss you, that’s all," he made one more attempt to explain himself. "I think you’re handsome."

Melv stared at him in horror for a moment, then began to walk away. "I have to go home."

"Can I come over?"

"NO! You stay AWAY from me!"

"But…"

"Don’t even TALK to me. You’re sick, Kevin. You just leave me alone."

That was the first time Kevin had really understood that Liking Boys was something Weird that was going to get him in trouble. His crushes up till then had been confined to a sort of distant, starry-eyed hero worship. Now, the first time he’d actually tried to do something about one, he’d been called sick. Even now, he could remember sitting in the leaves and crying over being rejected by Melville Curtis. Kevin had tried to talk to him at school on Monday, but Melville had shoved him into a corner and warned him, in a whisper, "You leave me alone, you sick bender. And if you tell anyone what you did to me, I’ll break your neck. You just keep away from me." And that wasn’t the worst of it. Apparently, after not seeing Kevin for a few days, Mrs. Curtis had asked her son why they weren’t ‘playing’ together, and Melville had told her everything. Mrs. Curtis had descended upon Mrs. Grahame, demanding to know what her son meant by assaulting Melville, and Kevin had gotten his first earful from his mother on the subject of Perverts and Deviants. Later, Dad had sat him down and tried to read him a more rational lecture on why he was not supposed to kiss other boys. To Kevin’s ears, the reasons basically boiled down to, "Because I said so." To this day, no one had ever been able to give him a logical, sensible reason for why it was so horrid for him to like boys instead of girls. On the other hand, he had to admit, he couldn’t give anyone a logical, sensible reason for why he did like boys instead of girls. He just did. He always had. And he could never, ever imagine loving anyone as much as he loved Freddy Shrike…

Without warning, the door of his room was opened, and he sat up on the bed. Kevin’s father stood and glared at him.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, in a low, grim voice.

"I’m in love," blurted Kevin, still more angry than anything else, and determined to stand his ground. "I’m in love with Freddy from school, and he loves me, and you can’t stop us…"

"That’s ENOUGH!" his father barked, silencing him. "I don’t want to hear that rot! What the hell were you thinking, telling your mother?!"

"She asked me…"

"She didn’t ask to hear about this."

"She read my letter. It was none of her business."

"If it was none of her business, why did you tell her?" Dad pressed. "You knew damn well how she was going to react to this."

"She wouldn’t leave me alone!" Kevin defended himself. "I asked her to give me back the letter and just drop it, but she wouldn’t. She just kept on about my girlfriend, was she cute was she nice was she pretty, she wouldn’t stop!"

"So you had to tell her it was a boy. You couldn’t make up something. Tell her yes, it’s a girl, yes, she’s pretty, tell her whatever she wants to hear…"

"You mean I should lie to her?" Kevin challenged.

"Under the circumstances, it’s preferrable to the truth."

"WHY!?" Kevin exploded, jumping to his feet. "I love Freddy! I’m sick of lying, and hiding, and keeping it secret. What for? What is so terrible about this? You don’t even know him, he’s wonderful, he’s sweet, and brilliant, and handsome, and charming – if Maggie brought him home, you’d turn backflips!"

"YOU ARE NOT MAGGIE!" Kevin’s father roared at him in exasperation. "No matter how much you want to be, you are NEVER going to be a girl!"

This was something else Kevin had never been able to understand. Why did everyone think that liking boys automatically made him ‘girly’? "I don’t want to be a girl!" he shouted back now, trying to explain. "I have never wanted to be a girl! I JUST – LIKE – BOYS! Why can’t you accept that?"

"Because," Dad fumed with frustration, "it’s wrong! Kevin, people are never going to ‘just accept’ this! Why do you have to do this?!"

"You think she’s right?" Kevin’s voice was quiet. "You think I chose this? That I want to be called weird and sick and ‘deviant’?" His voice began to rise again. "That I just got up one morning and said, hmm, what can I do today to make my parents hate me!?"

Dad let him get this rant out, but answered it with a level gaze. "I’m not going to argue with you about this. You are going downstairs now, to apologize to your mother."

"What!? No! She read my private correspondence, she called me names – Why should I have to apologize?"

Dad groaned, "Because that is the only way we are going to get any peace in this house."

Kevin sat down on the bed and folded his arms. "That’s all you care about. Keep Mum happy. Mustn’t upset Mum, oh, no, tell her what she wants to hear, bend over backwards to satisfy her, can’t have her getting upset…"

"Because when she’s miserable, she makes damned certain that we’re as miserable as she is," Dad snapped.

"That’s not my fault," Kevin stood his ground. "I don’t care what you, or she, or the whole world says, I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m not apologizing to anyone!"

Dad stood there for a bit, mouth clamped shut, brow lowered, then he finally turned to leave. "Don’t expect any dinner," were his last words, as he shut the door.

Damn, damn, damn… Robert Grahame went down to dinner. It was not a pleasant experience. Why couldn’t Kevin have kept his mouth shut, stayed in the closet until he was, oh, forty or so, rather than forcing this mess on them? It wasn’t exactly a surprise. From his first year of primary school, Kevin had prattled about the superior qualities of this boy or that, in a way that had always seemed odd and inappropriate. Mr. Grahame could still remember, after that trouble with the Curtises, struggling to explain to his eight-year-old son that his interest in kissing other boys was wrong and unhealthy. "Why?" Kevin had challenged this assertion. Mr. Grahame had laid out every reason he could come up with, legal, theological, psychological, biological, and Kevin’s only response to any of it had been an increasingly frustrated refrain of, "But – why?" There was no way to ignore it: Kevin had a problem, and as often as Mr. Grahame had assured his wife that this was only some childish phase, he had known in his gut that this was not going to magically go away. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t work out where they’d gone wrong with their son. He’d never been a Mama’s Boy, they’d never coddled him. For pity’s sake, he’d played sports at Hogwarts, that crazy Quidditch thing, he’d even taken the toughest position in the game. He wasn’t some mincing little Nancy-Boy; if you hadn’t known he was ‘that way,’ you never would have guessed. So, how on earth had he ended up like that? And what were they going to do about him?

Mr. Grahame hoped against hope that a good night’s sleep would calm everyone down. But, in the morning, Brenda did not make breakfast for her son, and Kevin left the house earlier than usual for the Wizarding District. Maybe a day away from each other would lessen the tension, he thought. But, when he came home that evening, Kevin was shut up in his room, Brenda was still snapping at the rest of them, and there were only three places at the table. Unable to tolerate this situation any longer, and not knowing what else to do, Robert Grahame had no choice but to go in search of advice from the one person he knew he could always trust: his mother.

When Elsie Grahame opened her door, she looked surprised to see her son standing there.

"Robby! Come in," she welcomed him, noting his grim look. "Why, what’s wrong?"

"It’s Kevin," he blurted.

Her eyes widened in alarm and she asked, "What’s happened? Is he all right?"

"He’s fine," Robert hastened to assure her; he hadn’t stopped to think about how she might assume the worst. "It’s nothing like that. He…" With a sour expression, he said glumly, "He thinks he’s in love."

"Ohhh…" her face lit up with delight. "It’s that cute little blond one, isn’t it?!"

"No, Mother, it’s a boy!" he groaned. "It’s that boy from school, that – that Freddy!"

"Well, yes, isn’t he the blond one?" she asked.

Shocked by her placid smile, he burst out, "He’s a BOY!"

"Yes, dear, you said that already. Come sit down, tell me about it. Is he in love with Pudgie?"

"Mother, are you listening to any of this!?" Robert stared at her. This was not the sort of helpful response he had expected.

"Of course, dear, Pudgie’s in love with his cute little friend from school. Oh, Robby, honestly," she sighed, shaking her head at him. "We’ve all known for years that he was inclined to fancy other boys; you told me so, yourself. I don’t understand why you’re acting so shocked about this. And you still haven’t told me, is this mutual, or is Pudgie going to get his poor heart broken?"

"Oh, they’re mutual all right," Robert muttered, sitting down on the sofa. "They’ve been writing love letters to each other; that’s how we found out. Brenda read a letter Kevin had from this boy. It was signed ‘Daisy,’ she thought it was from a girl. Kevin told her it was from that Freddy, from school. Daisy’s some sort of nickname."

"Isn’t that cute? Where did he get that, I wonder?"

"This isn’t cute, Mother, it’s – it’s abnormal! Brenda’s furious, and I can’t blame her. Honestly, I don’t know what he’s thinking sometimes! He carries on this way, and somehow we’re the ones who are wrong for not ‘understanding.’ He thinks we should just accept this, pretend that it’s all right. Now, he’s holed up in his room, she won’t have him at the table, no one’s speaking to each other… Kevin never should have brought this up, he should have just kept his mouth shut! And he absolutely refuses to apologize to his mother, even though he knows perfectly well that that’s the only way we’re ever going to get any peace. I don’t know what to do with him!"

"Get up," Elsie Grahame commanded. While he had been talking, she had fetched her handbag, and was now standing in front of him, frowning. "We are going to your house, right now."

"Mother," he sighed, "it’s not going to do any good to go over there and argue with Brenda…"

"I am not going to argue with Brenda. I have nothing to say to Brenda." She was trembling with barely contained fury. "I am going to get my grandson. Kevin is packing a bag and coming back here with me tonight, and he is staying with me until it is time for him to go back to Hogwarts."

Robert thought for a moment of debating the point, but he realized that, under the circumstances, sending Kevin to his grandmother’s was not the worst solution. His mother said nothing else until they were in the car and on their way, then she burst out, "Robert Grahame, I am ashamed of you! I am ashamed that you would treat your own son this way. I can understand," she held up a hand to silence him as he began to protest, "how, if he’d robbed a bank, or murdered someone, you might be a bit disappointed in him. But not over this."

"Mum, I know you love Kevin, but you can’t pretend this is nothing to be concerned about…"

"He’s fallen in love with someone you don’t approve of. You put as many ugly names on it as you want, that is all this is about, and that is not a reason to reject your child. He is your son, and he deserves your love and support, no matter what. And I am appalled that you and Brenda don’t understand that."

Kevin was up in his room with the door shut. Anticipating another night of no supper, he’d grabbed a bite at the Griffin’s Goblet before he’d come home. He thought he’d heard the front door, and heard the car leave a while ago, but didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know what it meant when he heard the car come back. What difference did it make to him, anyway? No one was speaking to him. That was why he was surprised to hear a tap at his door. It opened a crack, and a familiar voice said, "Pudgie? May I come in?"

"Gran," he smiled as he sat up, then his face fell as she came in.

Noting this, she said, "Oh, now, don’t I get a hug?"

"I don’t know if you want to hug me," he warned.

"Of course I do, come here," she swooped down on him, sitting beside him on the bed and squeezing him tight. "Pudgie, I know all about what’s happened here." She smiled and patted his cheek as she said, "Your father says you’ve got a boyfriend."

He avoided her eyes as he asked, "Did he tell you I’m unnatural, and sick, and…"

"Now, you stop that! You are no such thing."

Kevin looked at her and said, "You – you really don’t think I’m some sort of awful – pervert?"

"Certainly not!" She took his face between her hands and said, "You are my own, dear Pudgie, and I love you."

"Oh, Gran…" For all the pain and anger and frustration he had felt up to this point, Kevin had not shed a single tear. Now, however, he broke down in sobs, and Gran pulled him close and rocked him in her arms. "Hsshhh, baby, you’re all right," she soothed him, letting him cry. This was what had mattered most to him. He’d always expected his mother to reject him sooner or later, and he hadn’t been surprised by Dad’s anger, but Gran – if Gran had hated him, or turned against him, it would have broken his heart. Now, he wondered how he ever could have doubted her. She had always, always been there for him, always loved him, no matter what. He clung to her tiny form, sobbing, until she groped around for her handbag and found a hanky for him. It was hardly big enough to soak up his tears, but she dabbed at his cheeks, and said, "Oh, Pudgie, there now, everything will be all right."

"Gran, I love you…"

"I know, baby, I love you, too. All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all that really matters."

He hugged her again, and they were quiet for a moment while he settled down, then she said, "There is one thing you have to tell me."

"What?"

"This boy you’re in love with – it is that cute little blond boy you introduced me to back in first year?"

"Yes, it’s Freddy," he smiled, then ventured: "Do you want to see his picture?"

"Oh, yes, please!"

Kevin got up and fetched from his desk drawer the Wizard photograph. "He gave me this last year," he explained, handing it to her. It had been taken outdoors, and the breeze stirred Freddy’s golden hair as he smiled up from the photo.

"Oh, my, he is cute, isn’t he?" Gran beamed. "It’s no wonder you like him."

"He’s wonderful," Kevin sat down beside her again. "He’s sweet, and funny, and clever. I really do love him, Gran. And he loves me. I just wish people would understand," he sighed. "I get so tired of having to keep it all a big secret."

Gran gave him a squeeze and said, "I know exactly how you feel, Pudgie. I was married to a Wizard; I know all about keeping secrets."

This had not occurred to him before, and he looked at her with curiosity as she handed back the photo.

"So, where did ‘Daisy’ come from?" she asked him. "I understand that’s your name for him."

"Oh, you heard about that," Kevin grinned slightly. "It’s from David Copperfield. The book." Gran nodded her understanding of this, and he went on. "David has sort of a crush on Steerforth, his friend, at school, and Steerforth calls him Daisy. Freddy borrowed the book from me, back in first year, and he thinks I’m like Steerforth – well, nicer, he turns out to be sort of a rotter, but David goes on about how handsome and brilliant he is and – well," he blushed, "Freddy says that I’m handsome and brilliant and such."

"My, I wonder where he got that idea," Gran smiled, pinching his chin between her fingers. "You know, you are a handsome young man, Pudgie. You’re turning out to look quite a bit like your grandfather, and he was the most handsome man I ever knew."

"The thing is," Kevin beamed at this compliment, "Freddy’s really the handsome, brilliant one. At least, I think so."

"Does he have a nickname for you?" she asked.

"Yes," he smiled. "He got it from you. He calls me Pudgie."

Gran laughed at this, and kissed his cheek. "Then I know he loves you." She took his hand in both of hers and said, "Pudgie, why don’t you get your things and come home with me tonight? And, if you want to, perhaps you’d like to stay with me until school starts again. Would you like that?"

Kevin’s face fell as he withdrew his hand from hers and stood up. "They’re turning me out." It had to be, there was no other logical explanation. "Mum and Dad don’t want me here."

"That is not true!" Gran insisted, getting up, herself. "No one is turning you out, Pudgie, don’t think such a thing! I want you to stay with me. I made your father bring me over here to fetch you." She reached out to him again. "Please come home with me, baby. We’ll have a lovely time, we can talk about everything. I want to hear all about Freddy, and how you fell in love. Do come with me, Pudgie, please. I don’t feel right, leaving you here."

With a sigh, he hugged her tight. "Thanks, Gran. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Robert Grahame was leaning on the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. He had told Brenda that his mother was willing to take Kevin home with her, and he had been stunned by her response. As upset as he knew she was, he was still not prepared to hear her say, "Good. She’s welcome to him. The sooner he’s out of this house, the better." And with that, she had washed her hands of the matter and disappeared into the sanctity of her kitchen. Robert knew his wife better than anyone; she had confided to him things about her family and childhood that she never would have acknowledged to anyone else. She had grown up in a house borrowed from her grandparents, with a father who drank too much, and a mother who wore her dresses too tight, and her makeup too thick, and she had made the painful discovery, early in life, that the ‘nice’ families wouldn’t let their children come over to play with her, because her parents weren’t the ‘right’ sort of people. After her father had died in the war, her mother had taken up with a succession of married men, leaving a trail of gossip in her wake as she and Brenda moved from one seedy place to another. When Brenda was seventeen, her mother had finally latched onto a man who wasn’t already taken, and they had married. He meant well, and had tried to get along with Brenda, but he was shabby and shiftless and she had little use for him. It was no wonder, thought Robert Grahame, that his wife clung so fiercely to her dream of a respectable family, and fought so hard against their displaying anything that might make the neighbours whisper and shake their heads. No wonder, perhaps, that she was mortified by the way in which Kevin’s awkward quirks might reflect on her, and make her a pariah among respectable society. She had taken it hard when Mrs. Curtis had ended their friendship after the incident between their boys. But, even with the knowledge of all that, Robert had to admit, he was dismayed by her willingness to abandon her own son. Mum was right, Kevin was their son, and whatever his problems, Robert was not quite ready to turn his back on him. He was startled by the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs, and his own mother closed it behind her and came down to him, a scolding frown on her face.

"Robert, he thinks you’re turning him out! I want you to go upstairs right now and explain to him that that is not so."

"Is he…?"

"He’s packing his things and coming with me, but I want him to know that this is his choice, and mine, not yours."

Kevin was collecting the things he would need for the next day or so, when there was a rap at the door, and his father came in.

"I understand you’re going home with Gran."

"Yes," he nodded, then added quietly, "I guess you’ll be glad to get me out of your hair."

"Kevin – no one is forcing you to go. This is still your home. Only, Gran thought that – under the circumstances – you might be more – comfortable with her."

Kevin paused and looked at him. They were nearly the same height now, he noted. It felt a bit funny, finally being able to look his own father in the eye. Dad regarded him with something that might have been mistaken for regret, as if he might have struggled for a kind word, given the time. Before he could say anything though, Kevin said, "Thanks, Dad. She understands, you know," he noted, pointedly.

"She would," said Dad, and his mouth compressed into something halfway like a smile. "I’ll drive you over when you’re ready. You can collect the rest of your things tomorrow. Or – whenever."

Kevin sighed and looked around at all the clutter he had accumulated in seventeen years, and wondered how much of it he was expected to remove from the house. The bookcases, crammed to overflowing, would be a major project in themselves, and he was tempted to grab a pair of scissors and start cutting down his aeroplanes then and there. Back a thousand years ago, before he had gone to Hogwarts, his favorite hobby had been building model aeroplanes, and there were no fewer than a dozen strung with black thread from the ceiling, engaged in various aerial dog-fights, some with scraps of red tissue paper trailing from their tails and toy soldiers (incongruously dressed in Napoleonic uniforms) parachuting from them. In the tableau that dangled over his bed, two of the miniature figures were taped together, sharing a single parachute: that was him, saving his greatest primary-school crush, Jeffrey Sterling, from yet another certain death. "Oh, Sergeant Grahame!" Captain Sterling would say, when they had safely reached the ground, "Your incredibly heroic bravery has saved my life! How can I ever repay you?" Then Kevin would reply, "Captain, your safety is my reward. I would give my life for you, Sir." Then Jeffrey Sterling’s sparkling eyes would gaze into his, and there would be a sudden, deep, unspoken understanding between them, and they would plunge into each other’s arms and kiss with all the fervent passion a ten-year-old could imagine… Kevin supposed he still had all his "Saving Jeffrey Sterling" stories stuffed in a drawer somewhere, probably with his old scrapbook of Herman’s Hermits and Chad & Jeremy clippings. Gosh, who knew what had been buried and forgotten in this vault of his life?

Now, with a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, he looked over at his father and said, "Dad, don’t throw anything out until I have a chance to move it, all right?"

"No one is going to touch your things, Kevin," his father answered, brow lowering a bit irritably.

"I mean it," Kevin insisted. He trusted Dad, but Dad wasn’t the one he was worried about. "Don’t let her throw away anything!"

He sighed. "Your mother is not going to--"

"She might."

Dad shook his head in exasperation at this, and, suddenly afraid to leave anything, Kevin grabbed the scissors from the desk and climbed up on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Dad demanded, as he clipped down the first plane. "Leave that; no one’s going to bother your things. Kevin – get down from there!"

"Pudgie, do you need help with that?" came Gran’s sweet voice from the doorway as she re-entered the room.

"No, he does not," said Mr. Grahame. "Kevin, you’re not taking everything with you tonight! You can come back this weekend for whatever you need, and anything you don’t need can stay here..."

"Gran," said Kevin, pointing at his father with the scissors, "make him promise that he won’t let Mum throw away any of my things!"

"Good heavens, Robert, what is Brenda doing!?" demanded Gran, alarmed.

"NOTHING!" he roared. "NO ONE IS DOING ANYTHING! Kevin’s taken some hysterical notion that we’re going to set fire to his room the minute he’s out the door!"

"I wouldn’t put it past her," Kevin blurted, jumping down from the bed.

"Robert, you and Brenda are not to touch any of Pudgie’s things," Gran decreed, wrapping a protective arm around her grandson. "Is that understood?"

"It was already understood," Dad sighed, as the two of them ganged up on him. "Kevin – we’re shutting the door, no one is going to come in here, everything will be exactly as you left it until you take it, no one is going to bother anything!"

Elsie Grahame, tiny as she was, gave her son The Look he had known for as long as he could remember and said curtly, "You had better not."

Kevin settled on an overnight bag stuffed with essentials, plus his journal, a box filled with Freddy’s letters and photos, and the chapters-in-progress of the Adventures of Florian and Alaric. When they went downstairs to leave, Mum was nowhere in sight, but Maggie was lurking around the sitting room doorway, regarding him with a strange new mix of curiosity and pity.

Dad said to her, "Tell your mother we’re going to Gran’s house. I’ll be back."

"Goodbye, Maggie," said Kevin, avoiding her stare.

When she said nothing, Gran prompted gently, "Sugarplum, aren’t you going to tell your brother goodbye?"

Maggie cringed slightly and looked at her toes as she murmured, "Mum says I’m not supposed to speak to him."

Dad flushed red at this, and Gran looked as if she would say something cross, but Kevin quickly put in, "That’s all right, Maggie."

"No, it’s not," said her father. "I’m certain Mum never meant you couldn’t say goodbye."

With one anxious glance around the corner toward the kitchen, Maggie murmured, "’Bye, Kevin."

"’Bye, Maggie. Take care of yourself."

"Come here, sweetheart," Gran drew the girl into a reassuring hug. "We’ll all see each other soon."

Kevin followed his father out the front door, and looked back to wait for Gran. He had always known the day would come when he would leave home. But, he had never guessed it would be like this…

THE END