In A Time Of Uncertainty

Part One, Chapter Two

Dear Jean-Marc,

We've won the Quidditch Cup! You should have seen it, it was brilliant. And then Summer of Fire arrived two days afterwards. Thanks for translating it and sending it to me; I'm at the part where François is watching Michel in the shower. I'd be further, except that

"Oliver? Oliver, are you with us?"

Oliver hurriedly scribbled "I have to study for N.E.W.T.s" and shoved the parchment under his notebook. "Sorry, sir."

"If I see you distracted one more time today, it'll be five points from Gryffindor."

"It won't happen again, Professor Lupin."

"All right." Lupin looked over his gradebook, searching for a name he hadn't called recently. The Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. was in a week and a day, and every class period was being devoted to review. Lupin's eyes paused near the middle of the list. "Marcus. Where do Red Caps get their name from?"

Marcus Flint would have answered under normal conditions, but Gryffindor's win had put him in a bad mood. "That's third-year stuff," he muttered, narrowing his thick eyebrows.

From across the aisle, Oliver heard a loud, dramatic sigh that could only mean one thing: Percy Weasley was displeased. Oliver put his hand to his mouth so that no one else could see him smile. Most of their year considered Percy to be an arrogant prat, but Oliver didn't mind him, really. Sure, he could be a bit irritating and would probably die of a stress-induced ulcer before his thirtieth birthday, but he wasn't a cruel person.

"Topics you learned in your third year will also be covered on the exam," said Lupin pleasantly.

"They dye their caps red with blood from their victims," said Flint in a monotone.

"Excellent. A point to Slytherin. Let me see...Atalanta, I don't believe you've had a question for a while."

Atalanta Swift was a tall, thickly-built Gryffindor whose passion in life was athletics. She didn't play on the Quidditch team, however, because she had joined the class at the start of fourth year. Previously she had lived in Luxembourg, where her father had worked for the British Wizarding Embassy.

"Don't think I 'ave," said Atalanta cheerfully, her Cockney accent unchanged by eight years abroad.

Lupin smiled. "All right. Which Unforgivable Curse can be fought?"

"The Imperius Curse," Atalanta said promptly. "You've got to 'ave a strong will, though, an' concentrate on your own thoughts."

"Wonderful response," said Lupin. "Seeing as you provided information beyond the answer of the question, I think I'll make it two points to Gryffindor."

Atalanta's friend Victoria Main, who sat in front of her, turned around. The two of them exchanged a high-five that echoed through the room and grinned at each other, satisfied.

"Dykes," muttered Flint, putting his head down on his desk.

Don't look at him, Oliver told himself, don't react -

Lupin, who had been walking towards his desk, stopped and slowly turned around. He looked at Flint; his face was calm but his eyes were bright and intense, an intensity that Oliver had never seen pierce through the weariness before. "Excuse me?"

Flint said something indistinguishable under his breath.

Lupin sighed, set down his gradebook on his desk, and turned to face the class. "I see that a large part of your education has been neglected," he said, his voice low. "You may close your books. I believe that this will take the remainder of the period." Silently, exchanging furtive looks, the class did as he said. Oliver had to keep reminding himself to breathe.

"Now," Lupin continued. He began to pace across the front of the room. "You have no doubt noticed that the world's Muggle population far exceeds that of wizards. Several factors have influenced this, but only one needs to concern us today. How many of you take Muggle Studies?"

From the corner of his eye, Oliver could see a few hands rise. "Five?" said Lupin. He was still pacing. "Less than I had hoped for, but never mind. Percy."

Oliver turned his head and blinked in surprise. Percy, usually smug and superior when called upon in class, was blushing a bright shade of pink. His eyes stared resolutely down at the desk, and from Oliver's position across the aisle he could see that Percy was twisting his fingers under the desk.

"Percy, would you happen to know the percentage of Muggles who are homosexual?"

Percy bit his lip. Oliver stared. "Between five and ten percent." He sat up, took a breath, and the old haughtiness returned. "That is the widely accepted estimate, though others have speculated both lower and higher."

"Quite right. A point to Gryffindor." Lupin stopped pacing and looked directly at Flint. "Among wizards, thirty-five percent of the population is not heterosexual."

Oliver felt a rush of relief he hadn't felt since the win of the Cup. That certainly explained Jean-Marc's massive circle of gay friends. But...if the numbers were that high, then why had it been such a shock to his father?

"Yes, Victoria?"

"If the percentage is so high," asked Victoria Main, "then why haven't we ever heard about it before?"

"There are members of the wizarding community who view it as a weakness, the reason why wizards do not dominate the world," said Lupin. When he spoke again, Oliver thought he could detect a trace of bitterness in his voice. "There are also those who wish to deny and suppress every difference among our kind. Class is dismissed. Oh, and Marcus - ten points from Slytherin."

Oliver picked up his books, and followed the rest of the class out the door. Percy was two people in front of him; his face was still curiously red.