Thanquol climbed up the tower steps irritably. Yes, his duty was an honour, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a pain in the backside at times. Still, he thought to himself, at least he didn’t have to worry himself with the cats anymore. He had managed to pass that task onto Gideon a few years back. ‘Greeting cats is a job for cats,’ he had told the Kneazlegamot. It had taken some pushing to get the move forward; Vincent and Jurgen hadn’t liked the idea of a cat on the Kneazlegamot one bit. Thankfully, Thanquol had managed to get the proposal past them. In his eyes, popularity came a poor second to avoiding the chore of explaining how portraits worked to idiotic kittens.

Now, he was in charge of monitoring the humans, and found himself a great deal higher on the wall as a result. It had been Vincent’s old duty, in the days before Egrimm’s accident. Thanquol didn’t suppose he would find himself in Vincent’s new seat any time soon. The blue Kneazle was considerably wiser than his predecessor, who had found out the hard way that battling a horde of Acromantula was not an easy task. “Egrimm-the-All-Powerful�, they used to call him. These days, he was known as “Egrimm-the-Dead.� Thanquol couldn’t say he missed him. True, he and Teclis had been a formidable partnership, but Vincent was an infinitely more stable Kneazle, and Thanquol was very fond of stability.

The irritatingly heavy scent of incense had hit Thanquol’s nose before he had even reached the tower, but at the top it was unbearable. Thanquol leapt onto the sill and opened the window in haste, desperate to get away from the overpowering stench. The gust of wind rifled through his fur, and the Kneazle had to adjust to the conditions before stepping onto the wooden sill outside.

The window slammed shut behind him as soon as his tail had cleared it. Thanquol sat there for a moment, his eyes narrowed against the howling wind blowing around the tower. He shivered. It was absolutely freezing up here, and Thanquol wished he could’ve diverted some of his magic into warming himself up. As it was, he had to spend most of his energy focusing on staying upright. He peered down over the edge of the sill. It was a long way down. Thanquol was no mathematician, but he could tell that the distance was at least lots of tail-to-heads, possibly even many. Shrugging and supposing it wasn’t going to get any warmer if he waited, Thanquol moved on.

At least, he thought to himself, as he clawed his way along the tower tiles towards the inner turrets, it was all down from here. There were a couple of tricky leaps, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Still, the journey was irksome. It wasn’t one he usually had to make, but Teclis had been insistent. Normally, it was just a case of checking up with that Minerva woman. She was positively likeable, for a human. At least she understood decent milk protocols. Hell, at least she had a door you could enter through, thought Thanquol, as he landed gracefully upon one of the lower ramparts.

The wind did not howl through so much at this level, and Thanquol took a moment to examine the grey autumn sky above him. Over the mountains he could see dark clouds brewing ominously. He cursed to himself. Dark clouds meant rain, and Thanquol hated the stuff. He wasn’t alone. Rainy days were generally seen as wasted days by most of the Kneazles. Teclis and Vincent might carry on with whatever they were doing, but even they didn’t like to be outside when it rained. There was only one Kneazle that did, and he was the reason Thanquol was here now. Nagash.

Thanquol sighed as he headed onward. Nagash was a strange one, all right. It wasn’t just rain, the Kneazle’s whole attitude was somehow skewed. Normally a lack of history wouldn’t have bothered Thanquol – it wasn’t for him or the Kneazlegamot to demand a fellow Kneazle’s past – but Nagash talked like he didn’t even have one. No mention of past events, no boasting of old accomplishments, no backing up predictions, nothing. Maybe it was a foreign thing, thought Thanquol. Perhaps, wherever Nagash was from, that was simply how things were done. Maybe all the nonsense about this bet was just a case of that. It certainly wasn’t how things were done here. Here, they kept things stable.

Thanquol jumped onto the final turret and came to rest above the window. He could already make out the sounds of talking within.

‘You know, Albus, I could probably deal with it if she wasn’t involved,’ said a voice that Thanquol recognised as Minerva’s. ‘But when I have the two of them telling me this, day after day…’

‘There was no deceit in the boy’s eyes, Minerva,’ replied a voice Thanquol knew to be the headmaster’s.

‘Then you think he’s right?’

‘I think,’ said the headmaster slowly, ‘that he is not aware that he could be wrong.’

‘Well, you can say that again,’ replied Minerva. ‘Do you know what he said to me today?’

Thanquol sighed, gripped hold of the gutter by his feet and opened the window. With a single breath he hooked himself over the end and landed gracefully onto the sill, before walking elegantly across the table and down onto the floor.

The headmaster’s office was warmer than the cold air outside, and even on a grey day such as this, it seemed well lit. One source of light and warmth was the familiar red glow emanating from the phoenix perched above him. Thanquol stared up at it, a familiar feeling rising up in his stomach. In different surroundings, Thanquol felt that he and it might have had the other on their menu. As it was, there was stability to think about. That, and chronic indigestion.

‘We should keep an eye on him, certainly. He gets on well enough with his classmates?’ asked the headmaster, as Thanquol walked gracefully around his desk.

The headmaster and Minerva had not been alone. Also present was a third man, another human who Thanquol had seen around the dungeons. It was Thanquol’s job to ascertain which humans were pre-disposed to them, and upon first smelling him Thanquol had recognised that he was a lost cause. Mercifully, the scent of plants and insects was strong upon him, at least to Thanquol’s nose, and subsequently he was easily avoidable.

Thanquol jumped onto the headmaster’s desk, and turned his back to Minerva and the man.

‘Things between the two of them don’t seem so good, that is for certain, and frankly I worry about his effect on the other –’

‘Good afternoon, Headmaster,’ said Thanquol, in his most diplomatic voice. ‘The Kneazlegamot requires your attention.’

There was a pause in the conversation. Perhaps this wasn’t going to go so badly after all, thought Thanquol. He pressed his advantage.

‘Leave us,’ he instructed to the other two.

‘I think you’ll find,’ said the other man icily, ‘that we were already having a conversation.’

Thanquol closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That was the trouble with humans. If you caught one on their own, they were manageable. In groups, however, they were prone to ideas above their station. Best to ignore them when they were like that.

‘Perhaps, headmaster,’ continued the man, ‘he might benefit from a change of scenery –’

‘Stay then,’ interrupted Thanquol. ‘We have business to discuss, however, that does not concern you.’

The man paused again. Good, thought Thanquol, at least he’s capable of learning. To his irritation, however, he found himself interrupted by Minerva this time.

‘Can this not wait, Thanquol?’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll be happy to –’

‘I’m afraid that Teclis asked me for the ear of the headmaster himself, Minerva. We will discuss our business afterwards.’

‘And what exactly can I do for dear Teclis today?’ asked the headmaster warmly.

Thanquol turned his back fully on the other two now. He had the headmaster’s ear, and he relaxed his posture somewhat.

‘The Arch-Kneazle is troubled, Headmaster. He feels there have been several important arrivals within our walls of late, none of which have been properly revealed to us. He seeks some answers.

‘The first,’ continued Thanquol, without waiting for a reply, ‘concerns a Kneazle that entered the grounds a few years ago. Are you familiar with Nagash?’

‘I was under the impression,’ replied the headmaster, ‘that the Kneazlegamot was well capable of keeping track of their own members.’

‘Indeed we are,’ said Thanquol. ‘Yet this one is unusual, and has not explained his arrival. Teclis was under the impression that you might know more about him.’

‘What does he look like?’ interrupted Minerva.

Thanquol sighed. This was going predictably slowly.

‘Short black fur, hard-red eyes, long-medium tail, semi-short clawed. Impact scars upon his chin, nose and front legs, with long scars along his midriff – none visible in normal light. Are you familiar with him?’

‘I cannot say that I am,’ replied the headmaster, with a glance over Thanquol’s shoulder towards Minerva. ‘May I ask what is troubling you about him?’

‘He is not a companion of any of the humans, then?’ asked Thanquol brusquely, feeling his patience drain out of him.

The headmaster once again looked at Minerva and the man.

‘He doesn’t belong to anyone in my house,’ said Minerva.

‘Severus?’

There was a pause before the man replied in the same slow, icy voice he had used before.

‘Are we seriously entering into this conversation?’ he asked coldly. ‘I was under the impression that I came here to discuss –’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Thanquol, without turning around. In front of him the headmaster smiled, and nodded towards the man.

‘There are no cats of that description in my house’s common room,’ he said eventually, with no more warmth. ‘And I would be certain if there was.’

‘Unlikely,’ said Thanquol, before readdressing the headmaster. ‘You have seen no trace of him, then?’

‘I could consult the other teachers if you would like, Thanquol, it is possible –’

‘Do so,’ said Thanquol firmly, though he didn’t hold much hope. ‘Any searches will, however, be done in the utmost secrecy. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Thanquol,’ said Minerva warningly, ‘this has echoes of the Malekith incident, and I won’t have that repeated.’

Thanquol pawed the desk irritably. Malekith had been a Kneazle here lots of years back, when Thanquol was a young Kneazle in an unseated position on the Kneazlegamot. Malekith had been contesting leadership with Nakai, and it had turned very ugly. The subsequent duel to the death had culminated in Malekith ripping the head off his dying opponent. Unfortunately, the event had been witnessed by several of the younger humans; who lacked the constitution for such things. Malekith’s spell as leader had been short lived; the humans had forcibly removed him from the grounds the following day. The Kneazles didn’t mind, since it had allowed for Teclis to become Arch-Kneazle – as was the condition of his bet. Things were much more stable now, but Malekith’s expulsion served as a reminder that the humans could be very intolerant of such behaviour. Thanquol didn’t care for that level of instability to return.

‘That is precisely why we are looking into Nagash,’ said Thanquol eventually. ‘I cannot ever see him challenging Teclis, but prudence dictates that we investigate to make certain our assumptions. He is a curiosity, not a threat.

‘The next question, then,’ continued Thanquol, even more irritably, ‘concerns any new arrivals you may wish to let us know about.’

‘I don’t see why we need to discuss this now,’ replied Minerva. ‘I have already told you that I –’

‘Not this year,’ said Thanquol shortly.

‘What do you mean, Thanquol?’ asked the headmaster politely.

Thanquol closed his eyes in irritation, but this time it was not reserved for the humans. Teclis had asked him to consult the humans on this, yet had provided no details whatsoever. All he talked about was an odd feeling, and had little to back it up. As it was, Thanquol found himself wondering if the Arch-Kneazle was growing senile. Still, until that was proven, Thanquol would have to carry on his duties.

‘Have there been any arrivals you would care to let us know about?’ repeated Thanquol mechanically. ‘Anyone out of the ordinary arriving?’

‘Thanquol,’ replied the headmaster, with such patience that the Kneazle found himself even more irritated, ‘we are a school of wizardry. Barely a year goes by without…’

Thanquol let the words wash over him. All the kind words in the world couldn’t disguise the fact that either the headmaster didn’t know, or else he wasn’t going to say. He scratched his left ear irritably, feeling the questions he was asking were quite as pointless as the answers he was receiving. Eager to get out of the room and back to the Kneazlegamot, he moved onto the last question.

‘There are also two humans we are interested in. Two students,’ he added, before Minerva could interrupt. ‘Luke Oakshot and Gordon Owen.’

Thanquol did not need any magic to detect the change of atmosphere.

‘What’ve they –’ began Professor McGonagall, but the headmaster interrupted.

‘A moment, please, Minerva,’ he said kindly. ‘Why would any of the students concern the Kneazlegamot, Thanquol?’

Thanquol let loose a satisfied smile. There were answers here, for sure.

‘You are familiar with them, then?’

‘I am still curious as to why you should be interested in them, Thanquol. I’m afraid I was under the impression that Kneazles didn’t interest themselves in human behaviour.’

Not without good reason, thought Thanquol, swishing his tail.

‘They are enemies?’

‘No,’ said Minerva automatically. ‘As it happens –’

‘Forgive me, Thanquol,’ interrupted the headmaster, ‘I believe you were explaining your interest?’

‘They are friends, then?’ said Thanquol, ignoring him. ‘That is good. Teclis will be pleased with that piece of news, at least. Is there anything else we should know about them?’

None of the humans responded, and the atmosphere in the room changed from tense to outright cold.

‘As you are then, we will find out in time, I am sure –’

‘It is not your business to find out,’ interrupted the other man icily.

‘Our business is whatever we choose it to be,’ finished Thanquol, standing up. ‘I will be in contact later today for our standard chat, Minerva. Ensure that my milk is suitably warmed.’

Thanquol was certain that had she been in her proper form, Minerva would have hissed at this. The other man practically hissed as it was. Thanquol could have cared less. He jumped down from the desk, and walked elegantly out of the door, which opened for him quite naturally, before shutting itself firmly behind him. As one last measure, he pointed his ears towards the office door as he walked away. There was nothing to catch, apart from the mutterings of the other man.

‘God, I hate cats.’

Thanquol stopped in his tracks, and turned around.

‘I am no cat!’ he called back towards the office door. ‘I am a Kneazle!’

There was no response, so Thanquol walked back down towards the kitchens. God, he hated humans.

As the first rays of sunlight crept through the curtains, Gordon began to stir. He pulled the covers over his head for a second, enjoying a few last moments in bed, before sitting up and opening his eyes. The room around him was littered with old magazines and boxes full of videos. Although the surroundings were messy, they were of the sort found in the living spaces of most twelve-year-old boys.

Gordon Owen was not like most other boys his age though. Last year he had found out he was a wizard, and was going to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

His first year at Hogwarts had proved to be far more eventful than all his primary school years put together. He had spent most of it trying to find out who was poisoning his classmate, had happened upon the information that children had died at Hogwarts, and had topped off the year with an encounter with a none-too-friendly wyvern. All through this he had also managed to complete a small mountain of homework, and passed several exams. Remarkably, he had enjoyed every last minute of it.

If Gordon could have one complaint about his first year at Hogwarts, though, it was that it had made the summer holidays quite dull in comparison. On leaving last year, he had received a letter informing him that he was not allowed to perform magic outside of school until he was seventeen. He had already learned this the previous summer, from the witch who had first told him he was a wizard, but had rather been hoping that they would forget to mention it.

As he climbed out of bed, Gordon reached into a hole in the plaster of the wall, and pulled out a long thin box. He took off the box’s lid, and carefully lifted out his wand.

Since summer began Gordon had been doing this every morning, almost ritually. Although he wasn’t allowed to do magic out of school, he felt it would be a sin if he did not feel the magic in his wand seep through his fingers each day. He did not dare utter an incantation or so much as wave the thing, but it seemed to brighten him up in the mornings just to touch it.

As well as a wand, Gordon had a trunk full of magical books and equipment, topped off by a small pewter cauldron lying next to it. Although Gordon took a certain amount of care over his books and his wand, the cauldron was presently lying on its side covered in dust. The inside was stained and discoloured, and its bottom had been slightly eroded by several potions that had gone badly wrong. Gordon didn’t particularly care about this. The Potions teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, was probably the most unpleasant man Gordon had ever met. Besides which, having levitated feathers through the air and transfigured matchsticks into needles, Gordon felt that making potions wasn’t real magic anyway.

It was at that moment that the room’s other inhabitant came flying in through the window. It was Edwin, Gordon’s owl. Edwin flew down beside Gordon, and gave him a friendly peck on the hand. Gordon winced slightly as the owl’s beak pinched his skin. Edwin seemed to be quite a cheerful owl, and had been more than happy to act as a relay between Gordon and his friend Luke Oakshot down the road. He had also delivered several letters without complaint to another of his wizard friends – who Gordon was sure lived halfway across the country. Unfortunately, Edwin’s enthusiasm for the job meant his pecks of affection could easily be mistaken for attacks of opportunity, and the skin on Gordon’s thumb was now quite tough from the experience.

When Gordon had bought Edwin from Eeylops Owl Emporium last year, he had done so partly because he had been so amazed by the manners of the owls that had delivered his Hogwarts letter, but also because he had believed an owl could be useful. Edwin did not disappoint. Not only was he quite content to fly to the other end of the country at Gordon’s whim, he had also proved to be a very low maintenance pet. Although Gordon had bought a large bag of seed for him upon returning from Hogwarts, Edwin had decided that the large population of mice in the fields behind Gordon’s house were more to his taste. This meant that the bag of seed now sat virtually untouched, and his cage’s floor was littered with the hair and bones of his latest meals.

Gordon picked out a quill from his trunk, some ink and a small piece of parchment, while Edwin took a drink from the water trough in his cage. Twiddling the quill between his fingers, Gordon screwed up his face in concentration as he pondered what to write. Eventually, apparently satisfied, he dipped his quill in his bottle of ink before putting it to paper.

‘You are a moron.’

He read it over before chuckling to himself and rolling it up. He then pulled out a small piece of ribbon from his trunk as Edwin flew down from his cage to his side.

‘Take that to Luke, would you? I hate to think I’m up and he isn’t,’ said Gordon, as he tied the parchment to Edwin’s leg with the ribbon. ‘And you have my full permission to peck him as many times as you like,’ he finished, grinning to himself. Edwin gave him another peck on the hand, further reddening it, and flew out of the window.

Since he had returned from Hogwarts, the only one of his school friends Gordon had seen was Luke Oakshot, another wizard boy in the village. The pair of them had known each other for as long as either could remember, and it was at Luke’s house last year that they had found out they were destined for Hogwarts. Gordon’s other friends at school were Oliver and Kyle, who were in Gryffindor, Gordon and Luke’s house. Their house had one other boy in their year, Percy. Gordon didn’t really count Percy as his friend, since he had reported them to teachers on several occasions, and also tended to regard his classmates as being his colleagues.

Gordon had received letters from all of them so far this summer, which were now spread about the floor beside his bed. Kyle’s letters tended to be the shortest of all of them. They seemed to be hurriedly put together accounts of what he had been up to, which mostly included things such as getting the Doxys out of the garage or de-gnoming the garden. Gordon was sure that these things would be terribly exciting to witness, but Kyle talked about them like they were the washing up.

Percy’s letters, on the other hand, were so long and drawn out that Gordon got into the habit of skim-reading them for anything of interest, which was rare. Percy spent most of the letters talking about how important his father was, and how he was going to help get Percy a job at the Ministry one day. Though Gordon loved most aspects of wizarding life, his interest in magic did not extend to the wizarding government (though he had been amazed to find out they had one). The only interesting bits in Percy’s letters seemed to be when he was talking about his brothers.

Gordon knew Percy’s two older brothers, Bill and Charlie, from Hogwarts. It had been Charlie who, with the help of the groundskeeper Hagrid, had raised the wyvern last year. Although the wyvern almost ended up devouring Gordon, Luke and Kyle, the experience had managed to get Charlie a job over the holidays at a Dragon Sanctuary in Romania. From what he knew of Charlie, Gordon imagined it was the job of his dreams, though Percy referred to it as “something he can use at interviews for proper jobs�.

Through Percy’s letters, Gordon now also knew the names of Percy’s younger brothers, who he had briefly seen on the Hogwarts train platform last year. There were the twins, Fred and George, who were ten, and his youngest brother Ron, who was eight. Percy had also mentioned a sister who was youngest of all, whose name Gordon believed to be Gemma, though he hadn’t read Percy’s letters thoroughly enough to be sure of this. In truth, he spent most of the letters looking for any mention of Fred or George, who by Percy’s accounts seemed to have made it their lifework to torment him. Last week Gordon had been close to wetting himself with laughter upon reading about Percy’s rather traumatised account of them hiding exploding-snap-cards in his pyjamas.

Yet of all the letters Gordon received, his favourites by far were those from Oliver. On the train to Hogwarts last year Oliver had introduced him to Quidditch; a basketball-like game played on broomsticks, which was now Gordon’s favourite sport. Oliver rarely seemed to mention anything other than Quidditch in his letters, and had included several magical newspaper cuttings (where the people in the pictures moved, much to the amazement of Gordon’s parents) about players and of league tables. Oliver had even said that he would help Gordon buy a broom this summer, as well as helping him practice for the house Quidditch team tryouts. Gordon had been itching to get a broom from the moment he had heard of the sport, and Oliver had promised that they would go shopping to Diagon Alley the first weekend after they received their reading lists. Gordon was sure they were overdue.

After he had got dressed, Gordon went downstairs to find his mother sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea. Mrs Owen had very long hair that, like Gordon’s, was bright ginger.

‘Morning,’ said Mrs Owen, as her son came in.

‘Morning,’ mumbled Gordon back, taking a seat at the table.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No thanks,’ mumbled Gordon once more. ‘Have I had any mail today?’

Gordon’s mother shook her head and smiled.

‘I’m sure it’ll be here soon,’ she said. ‘There’s still weeks before you actually go back there.’

Gordon nodded and got up, before reaching over to a loaf of bread on the side and placing two slices into the toaster. The Owen’s kitchen was a cluttered and slightly messy affair, with mounds of washing up by the sink and countless tools lying about the place. The spanners, wrenches and hammers that made up the latter belonged to his father and Gordon’s brother, Michael.

Gordon had two brothers. There was Michael, who was the older of the two and worked with Gordon’s father at a garage, and David, who was the quietest of the three of them and worked with Gordon’s mother at the factory. When they had found out last year that their younger brother was a wizard, at first neither of them believed it. When Gordon had eventually shown them the letter he had received, Michael had taken his father’s motorcycle straight down to the shops and came back with armfuls of sweets and fizzy pop. David had been pretty much stunned into silence.

Unfortunately, the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery meant that while Gordon had come home at the end of last year with enough tales for the whole summer, he couldn’t actually show them what he had learnt. This summer he had found his relationship with his brothers rather more awkward than usual, because both were eager to see Gordon doing some magic. As it was, he had hardly spoken to his brothers this summer, which was unusual for him.

His parents, however, had already met several wizards, as they had escorted Gordon down to London to catch the train to Hogwarts. As well as this, they had also passed through the portal to platform nine and three quarters at Kings Cross. This had been enough to convince both of them that magic was very much for real, and not knowing enough about it, they had not questioned Gordon in the slightest. Gordon was rather glad about this, since he wasn’t sure how his parents would react to hearing about him nearly getting eaten by a wyvern.

Gordon was just about to start buttering his toast, when there was a tap at the kitchen window. Gordon turned to see Edwin perched on the windowsill with a piece of parchment loosely tied around his leg. Gordon put down his toast and opened the window to let him in. The owl leapt through and onto the table – nearly knocking over Gordon’s mother’s cup of tea in the process – before giving him another friendly peck on the hand. Gordon pulled the piece of parchment off Edwin’s leg and read it.

‘I’m not the one sending a bloody great bird out to maim people.’

Gordon chuckled once more and noticed that there appeared to be several small bloodstains at the bottom of the parchment. Luke’s hands were not quite as hardened to Edwin’s bites as Gordon’s. Gordon was about to scrawl out another reply, when he noticed another owl, this one an extremely handsome eagle owl, come sailing towards the window. Nearly knocking his plate of toast off the table, Gordon bolted over to the window as the owl came sailing down onto the sill. Attached to its leg was not a piece of parchment, but a sealed envelope.

As Gordon pulled off the letter the owl lifted its head rather loftily. Edwin briefly made to fly over to it, but the eagle owl chirped rather aggressively at him, and he seemed to think better of it. Before he had even sat back down, Gordon had torn open the letter, casting the wax seal somewhere onto the floor. The owl ruffled its feathers rather sharply, apparently in disgust at Gordon’s lack of care with its package, before flying back off.

‘I told you it would arrive soon,’ said Mrs Owen, though Gordon was far too busy reading the letter to pay full attention to what she said. They would be taking the train from platform nine and three quarters on the first of September, just as they had done last year. The letter also had details on the extra books they would need this year, and Gordon was pleased to see that this year they would only need two more. Hopefully, he thought to himself, that would leave plenty of money for a good broomstick.



Second-year students will require:



The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Physical and Mental Resistance to the Dark Arts by Haldeir Ripjaw



All students will also require a set of training robes.



Gordon paused as he read the end of the letter. He didn’t have any idea what the training robes were, but supposed they’d probably sell them on Diagon Alley with everything else. After checking he hadn’t missed any other details, he ran back upstairs and began digging around in his trunk for his quill and some parchment. As soon as he found it, he began scribbling down a letter to Oliver.



‘Just got the Reading List! Are we still going to Diagon Alley this weekend? Can’t wait to get myself a broom!’



Gordon read what he had just written. It looked a little short to send Edwin all the way to Oliver’s house, so Gordon tried to bulk it out a bit.



‘Hope you’re okay. Let us know as soon as possible!’



Gordon thought that made it sound a little better. Grabbing another piece of ribbon from his trunk he hurtled downstairs and dashed over to Edwin.

‘I need this taking as soon as possible to Oliver! Make sure you get a reply!’ said Gordon with a grin, leaving Edwin slightly aback with how quickly he tied the parchment to his leg. Edwin made to peck Gordon on the hand, but Gordon had already opened up the window again as was gesturing him to leave. Edwin blinked for a second.

‘Come on! You can peck me all you like when you get back! This is important!’

Edwin ruffled his feathers a little, before flying out of the window and out over the fields behind Gordon’s house. Gordon watched the owl fly off, until all he could see of him was a black dot above the horizon, before sitting back down at the table and re-reading the letter. He was halfway through the list of books when the phone rang.

‘Who could that be?’ said Mrs Owen, going through to the other room.

Gordon looked up from his letter at this and over to clock on the wall. It was only half-past eight. Gordon wondered who it was himself. It was extremely unusual for them to get a call off anyone at this time of day. He heard his mother pick up the phone in the other room.

‘Oh, hello! Yes, he is, I’ll just go and get him for you.’

Mr Owen and Michael had already set off for work, and since David rarely got any phone calls, Gordon presumed his mother was referring to him. Jumping up from his seat, and knocking over his toast in the process, he burst through into the hall. His mother smiled at him as he jumped past her to the phone, and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’ he said, with a rather sharp intake of breath.

‘Alrighty there!’ came the reply.

Gordon sat down in the armchair and breathed out, feeling a little more relaxed. The voice on the other end of the phone clearly belonged to Luke.

‘Have you had –’

‘– The letter? Just opened it now. Get Edwin sent over to Oliver, we can –’

‘– Way ahead of you,’ said Gordon, smiling to himself. ‘Sent it to him just a minute ago. I take it you’re still up for going to Diagon Alley then?’

‘Definitely,’ said Luke. ‘I almost went down myself last weekend. I’ve still got lots of the ingredients from last year, but I’ve been missing porcupine spines and I can’t make any enlargement potions without it.’

Gordon sighed and rather wished it were Oliver he was speaking to. Luke didn’t take nearly as much interest in Quidditch as he and Oliver did. In fact, Luke had been far more interesting in potion making, Gordon’s least favourite subject.

When Luke referred to “the ingredients from last year�, he was talking about the ingredients the Gryffindors had collectively stolen from Professor Snape’s classes in their previous year. Although Gordon and most of Gryffindor had no interest in Potions, stealing from Professor Snape was something they had been more than happy to do.

‘Enlargement potions? I don’t remember doing those,’ said Gordon, hoping the conversation could move onto the new broomstick he would be getting.

‘Well, you wouldn’t,’ replied Luke simply. ‘I managed to take some notes on them and some other potions before we left last year. I thought it would be a while before the new reading list was in, so I read up on what we’d be studying this year before we left.’

‘You’ve not been brewing potions at home? What if the Ministry find out?’

‘Well either they haven’t found me, or there’s a loophole for potions,’ laughed Luke. ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m sure they’d have let me know if anything would’ve been wrong with it!’

‘What if they throw you out of Hogwarts when you get there?’ blurted out Gordon. ‘You can’t be practicing! I haven’t done anything this summer!’

‘You know, I kind of guessed,’ said Luke, still chuckling. ‘They’re not going to throw me out of school for this, Giz, and you’ll get your chance to do some magic when we go over to Oliver’s.’

‘I guess,’ said Gordon, feeling rather annoyed that everyone else was getting ready for the upcoming year apart from him. ‘Have you asked your mum about that?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Luke. ‘She met Oliver’s mum and dad on platform nine and three-quarters, but I reminded her when I got my letter anyway. How do you reckon we’re going to get there?’

‘I dunno. I guess he’ll probably tell us when he replies to my owl,’ said Gordon, before seizing his chance to shift along the conversation. ‘You know he’s going to help me choose a broom to buy!’

‘Oh,’ said Luke, rather distractedly. ‘Yeah, I think you mentioned it the other day.’

‘Well Oliver said I might be able to find a cheap Nimbus or something. You know the Puddlemere United team all use Nimbuses!’ said Gordon, kicking his feet rather excitedly.

‘Really?’ said Luke rather dully. ‘Well you can tell us all about it if you come round later. I only really called to make sure you’d sent that owl to Oliver. Can you let us know when he replies?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ said Gordon, wishing Luke was as excited as he was about Nimbuses.

‘And do you think you could you call me this time?’ said Luke finally. ‘I don’t think my hand is ready for another one of Edwin’s greetings.’

Gordon smiled.



*



It was around Midday when a small tawny owl came flying in through the window Gordon had left open. Gordon recognised the owl as being Ledley, who belonged to Oliver’s parents. He had received most of Oliver’s letters through Ledley, and quickly poured out a mug of water for him to drink through. Ledley gratefully accepted, and Gordon untied the letter from his leg as he drank. Leaving the owl to its water, he ripped open the envelope and began reading the letter inside.



‘Dear Gordon,

The school booklist just arrived here, so I’m guessing you’ll have yours too by the time you read this. Are you still okay to go to Diagon Alley this weekend? We’ve got to get you a broom (and there’s some good news about that too) as well as our school stuff.

I’ve also been talking to my mum about you and Luke and she said you’d be welcome to stay over for a few nights next week if you’d like. Let me know if that’s okay, and could you ask Luke whether it’s all right for him as well. You and me need to get some Quidditch practice in if we’re to make the team this year! I haven’t had chance to play with anyone this summer, hope you can make it.

Let us know as soon as you can.

Oliver



P.S. I found this in the Daily Prophet, thought it might interest you.



Gordon picked up the envelope the letter had come in. In the bottom of it was a tiny, folded newspaper cutting. Gordon took it out and opened it up into front of him.



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The advertisement had several moving pictures of the relevant broomsticks, which were rotating around their frames. Each of them appeared to be more desperate than the last to get themselves noticed. Gordon spotted the Nimbus Curvehorn that Oliver’s brother had. Apparently it was half price at sixty Galleons, though that still sounded like quite a lot of money to Gordon. Elsewhere on the page Gordon was amused by an extra long broom that was meant to sit several people. The advertisement had written “unsuitable for Quidditch� just above the picture, Gordon laughed to himself trying to imagine a Quidditch team all on one broom.

Gordon didn’t suppose his mother would mind him staying over at Oliver’s, seeing as he spent most of last year away at Hogwarts, but he thought he better give Luke a call.

‘Could you wait there for a second?’ Gordon asked Ledley. ‘I just need to call Luke before I write back.’

Ledley chirped cheerily back, as if glad to have a moment to rest his wings, and Gordon went through to the living room and dialled in Luke’s number. It had not rung for more than a second or two before it was picked up.

‘Hello?’ came Luke’s voice down the phone.

‘Err… it’s me,’ said Gordon.

‘Alright mate!’ said Luke brightly. ‘I take it Oliver’s replied then?’

‘Yeah. Well, no. Sort of. I think he sent this letter before he received my owl, but he’s up for going to Diagon Alley this weekend anyway. He also wanted me to ask if you fancy staying over at his for a few days.’

‘That’d be great!’ said Luke. ‘Hold on, I’ll just ask my mum. MUM!’

Gordon was a bit surprised that Luke seemed so excited about staying over at Oliver’s, as he had never really thought the two of them had gotten on. Luke wasn’t interested in Quidditch enough for Oliver’s liking, and Oliver was far too interested in Quidditch for Luke’s liking. Gordon shrugged, supposing that maybe he was being a bit too judgemental, and began reading the broomstick ad again. As he read over the broomstick prices, he heard Luke talking to his mother on the other end of the phone. The sooner he was flying again the better.

‘Hello? My mum says it’s okay, but…’ he said, his voice taking a slightly exasperated tone. ‘…she says she wants to send Oliver’s parents a letter first.’

‘Oh,’ said Gordon. ‘Well if you could drop it off round here, I could send it with my reply.’

‘Okay,’ said Luke, somewhat dejectedly. ‘I’ll get her to write it as soon as she can. Could you send Edwin over? I’ll go and put on some gloves.’

‘He’s not back yet unfortunately, and Oliver’s owl looks like it’d collapse if it has another journey any time soon. Just bring it over.’

‘Oh! Okay,’ said Luke, sounding slightly relieved at not having to deal with Edwin. ‘See you in a bit.’

‘See you later,’ replied Gordon, and put the phone down.



*



By the time Luke came round, Gordon had already written a reply and was fidgeting with the ribbon to tie it round Ledley’s leg. Luke looked fairly crestfallen when he showed Gordon his mother’s letter.

‘Six pages! I told her we were sending it by owl! It’ll have died of exhaustion before it’s halfway there carrying this!’ moaned Luke.

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Gordon, sensing that Luke was more worried about the effect the letter would have on Oliver’s parents than his owl. ‘We’d better get it sent off.’

Gordon rolled up the letter and wrapped his covering letter around it. He tied them to Ledley’s leg, and the owl gave one more dignified hoot before flying out of the window.

‘How are we going to get to Oliver’s house, Giz? Did they say anything in the letter?’

‘Er…No, actually, they didn’t. I suppose they’ll probably send us another letter about it,’ said Gordon, slightly uncertainly. Luke raised an eyebrow.

Luke stayed at Gordon’s house until quite late that evening, but when Edwin finally did return, Gordon was disappointed to find that Oliver had not sent a letter with him. When the following day also passed without any sign of reply, he found himself feeling rather anxious. By half past five on Friday, Gordon was practically climbing the walls.

‘What on earth’s the matter, dear?’ said Mrs Owen, stopping Gordon as he prepared to pace around the dinner table for the hundredth time.

‘Oliver still hasn’t told us how we’re meant to get to his!’ said Gordon, irritably. ‘How does he expect us to get there when we don’t know where it is?’

Mrs Owen, looking a little worried herself, stared at him for a second.

‘You’re not expecting me to drive you, are you? I can’t just take the car off to the other end of the country at a day’s notice.’

Gordon made to respond but stalled. In truth, he had expected Oliver to produce some magic that would transport him down. What if he was supposed to find a way to get down there? When he had told his mother and father about going to Oliver’s, he had failed to mention exactly how he was meant to get there.

‘Erm,’ began Gordon, fidgeting with the zip on his coat and looking floorwards. ‘Well, I don’t know if that’s what we’re meant to do or not.’

‘Have you asked him?’ said Mrs Owen.

‘Err…no.’

Gordon looked up to see his mother staring at him bemusedly.

‘Well, don’t you think you better had?’ said Mrs Owen.

‘Well…err…I sort of sent the last letter, so it’s kind of his turn to write,’ said Gordon, as much to himself as his mother.

‘Well, can’t you get Luke to send one, then?’

Gordon sighed and began to explain that ordinarily that would be fine, but that the last letter had included a long one from Luke’s mother. Gordon had wondered all week if Mrs Oakshot’s letter had anything to do with the lack of news from Oliver. Maybe it really had been too much for Ledley to carry. Gordon was about to ask his mother if they had a map of England when the phone rang, and he almost fell over his own feet trying to get to it.

‘Hello?’ said Gordon.

‘Alright, mate. Just wondering what’s happening tomorrow.’

Every other week of the summer holidays Gordon had been glad to hear Luke’s voice on the phone, since it usually meant there was going to be something to do. This week Gordon found himself getting more and more aggravated at his phone calls. Luke had always been irritatingly impatient, and this week he had been more so than ever.

‘I still haven’t heard anything,’ said Gordon rather coldly. ‘I’d have called you if I had.’

‘Sorry, I just thought you might’ve forgotten about it, or something.’

Gordon found himself getting even more annoyed.

‘Well, I haven’t. I haven’t heard anything from him and if I did I would call you about it,’ said Gordon, though he was beginning to find the idea of not telling Luke quite appealing.

‘Okay,’ said Luke. ‘Do you –’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Gordon coldly.

‘Oh, alright. See you!’

Gordon put the phone down and ran his fingers through his thick ginger hair. For all he was looking forward to seeing Oliver, at this point he almost wished he could cancel the whole thing just to be done with it.

‘I think you should write Oliver a letter,’ said Mrs Owen, as Gordon walked back into the kitchen. ‘If you’re going to get a reply, now’s probably the last chance you’ve got to send it.’

‘I guess,’ said Gordon, fidgeting with his zip again. ‘But I still don’t know if –’

The phone rang again.

‘That better not be him, again,’ said Gordon, looking up at his mother as she went the phone.

‘Hello?’ said Mrs Owen. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. I’ll just go and see.’

Gordon cursed as she came back through.

‘It’s Luke,’ she whispered. ‘Do you want to come and get it?’

‘Can’t you tell him I’m up the garden or something?’ said Gordon coldly. Given the nature of the previous conversation he wasn’t in a hurry to speak to Luke again. Mrs Owen went back through to the living room.

‘I think he must be up the garden, Luke. Shall I get you to ring him back?’

Gordon was trying to listen in, but couldn’t hear Luke’s reply.

‘Okay. I’ll tell him that when he comes in,’ Mrs Owen said, and put the phone down.

‘Like I’m going to know any more since he last rang,’ said Gordon, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Well, he asked me to get you to call him back as soon as possible. I think he had something to tell you about Oliver.’

Gordon stopped shaking his head.

‘Did he say what?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Owen. ‘He just said that he said some news on it, though he didn’t seem that excited about it, to tell you the truth.’

Gordon’s stomach did a little jolt. That didn’t sound like good news at all.

‘I’d better call him back,’ said Gordon, going through and picking up the phone. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said, more to himself than his mother. The phone had not rung long before Luke answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Alright,’ said Gordon. ‘What’s going on?’

Gordon heard Luke pause and take a rather large intake of breath.

‘My mum’s taking us down to Oliver’s,’ he said eventually.

Gordon was at a loss as to why this was such a problem. This was the news they had been waiting for all week, but Luke didn’t seem to think so at all.

‘Did you get a letter from him?’ asked Gordon.

‘Yes,’ replied Luke. ‘Yesterday.’

It was Gordon’s turn to pause before replying.

‘Then how come you’ve been calling me –’

‘– It’s not my fault!’ said Luke desperately. ‘My mum got it, and she only just told me now. Apparently she thought we already knew,’ he concluded, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

‘Oh,’ said Gordon. Part of him wanted to tell Luke that maybe he should have spoken to his mother before calling him every five minutes, but Luke didn’t seem in the mood to hear it.

‘We’ll pick you up at about seven tomorrow morning. Make sure you’ve got everything packed.’

. ‘Alright,’ said Gordon, as another thought occurred to him. ‘How come it took so long for Oliver to reply?’

‘That,’ said Luke. ‘Is another story.’



*



Gordon found himself sitting in the living room at quarter to seven the next day, as his mother fried him some eggs and bacon.

‘Are you sure you don’t want some sausages?’ said Mrs Owen, cracking another egg into the pan.

‘I’m all right,’ replied Gordon, stuffing the newspaper cutting Oliver had sent him into his bag. As he sat down at the table he found himself staring at the clock on the wall. It was now ten to seven.

‘They’ll be here soon, don’t worry,’ said Mrs Owen, following his gaze and pushing his breakfast in front of him.

Gordon did not reply, but began wolfing down his bacon, his eyes still fixed on the clock. He couldn’t help but feel that the quicker he ate his breakfast the quicker Luke would arrive.

By five minutes to seven, Gordon had already finished his breakfast and was now sat on the arm of the sofa, his eyes darting back and forth from the window to the clock. Yet none of the cars that passed outside belonged to Luke’s parents, and Gordon began to find the sound of cars increasingly irritating. The clock now read four minutes to seven. After spending most of his summer waiting for this, it was as if time was now deliberately grinding to a halt. It seemed like an hour before the clock read three minutes to seven. Gordon watched the small hand trudge round once more and it was two minutes to. He fidgeted with the zip on his coat as the hand began making it’s way around to one minute. It passed twelve, then three, then six, then nine…

Gordon couldn’t help himself counting along with the clock as it reached the final fifteen seconds.

‘Five…four…three…two…one.’

The clock chimed as it struck seven. Gordon flung himself over to window and peered through to see. Flinching in surprise he stood back from the window, momentarily dumbfounded.

There was no sign of Luke.



*



Gordon had been pacing, fidgeting and worrying for about ten minutes before his mother pointed out that Luke was probably just running late and told him to sit down. After a further ten minutes, a red Vauxhall pulled up in the drive, and Luke and Mrs Oakshot got out.

‘Finally!’ said Gordon, pulling open the door and beaming towards Luke as he walked up the drive.

‘Hello to you, too!’ replied Luke, though he beamed back. ‘Sorry we’re a little late. Mum needed to triple check everything as always.’

‘And it’s a good job I did!’ said Mrs Oakshot, as she locked the car. ‘Hadn’t packed towels or a toothbrush! How are you, Gordon?’

Gordon nodded rather meekly, hoping that Mrs Oakshot would be here long enough for him to retrieve his toothbrush.

‘Is your mother about? I want to have a quick word with her before we set off,’ said Mrs Oakshot. Gordon nodded again and led them inside, dashing off to the bathroom to get his toothbrush when Mrs Oakshot spotted his mother.

As he picked up the brush from its cup, he found himself absent-mindedly running his fingers down its handle. Was there something else he had forgotten? He’d packed his clothes into his bag, and he had the newspaper article. What else did he need? His key for Gringotts was safely stowed in his wand box…

‘My wand!’ he blurted out, making Mrs Oakshot spill her tea in surprise. As he dashed upstairs he saw Luke give him a knowing look. He scrambled over his bed to retrieve the box from the hole in the wall, and after quickly checking that both his key and his wand were inside, headed back downstairs.

‘Got everything?’ said Luke, his features breaking into a smile. Gordon replied with a hand gesture.

‘Are we ready to go then?’ said Mrs Oakshot, who fortunately did not spot the gesture. ‘Right then, I’ll see you on Monday, Dot.’

‘Righteo,’ replied Mrs Owen, before turning to Gordon. ‘Behave yourself won’t you?’

Gordon rather mumbled his reply, but his mother smiled.

‘I’ll see you on Monday.’



*



Oliver had told them that he lived in the village of Ottery St Catchpole. He had been able to give them some vague directions, but they hadn’t been able to find it on any maps. One of Oliver’s last letters had suggested that this was probably because the village was unplottable, though he hadn’t explained how this was possible.

‘I wish they could have drawn us a map or something,’ said Mrs Oakshot, as they were stuck at some traffic lights. ‘Professor Dumbledore thought we’d be best to head on the M6 –’

‘You’ve been speaking with Dumbledore?’ said Gordon, somewhere between wonder and shock.

‘We’ve been in contact,’ said Mrs Oakshot, and Gordon thought he saw her smile in the rear view mirror. Luke, on the other hand, had turned a delicate shade of green. Gordon made to ask him what was wrong but Luke waved it away.

‘I’ll tell you later.’

While at first they had been talking wildly about what they would do when they got to Oliver’s and which broom Gordon would get, after an hour the excitement had begun to wear off, and the reality of being stuck in a car on a hot day had set in.

‘How’s about a game of I-spy?’ began Mrs Oakshot.

‘We’re alright,’ said Luke immediately, with no uncertain sulkiness to his voice.

‘You’ll have to find something to do, little ones. We’ve still got a long way to go. Can’t you read your textbooks or something?’

‘You know I get car-sick when I read, mum,’ said Luke. ‘Besides, I’ve not brought any of them with me.’

‘Well, maybe Gordon’s brought his,’ said Mrs Oakshot, into her mirror.

‘Er… no. Sorry,’ said Gordon, though Mrs Oakshot smiled.

‘Well, I suppose it would’ve been too much to ask for at least one of you to have thought about your school work all summer.’

Gordon laughed, but Luke seemed to feel a great injustice in what Mrs Oakshot had just said.

‘I have been working at it all summer! You’ve seen me! I had my cauldron –’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mrs Oakshot. ‘Last time you managed to fumigate the garage, I’m sure that’s what you were trying to do,’ she said jovially, but Luke was getting more wound up.

‘Well it would’ve been fine if I could have made the thing inside! You know that Garage is full of spiders –’

Mrs Oakshot gave a sudden twitch and for a horrible second Gordon thought she would let go of the steering wheel.

‘Not while I’m driving, Luke.’

She said this rather more coldly than everything else, and Luke had evidently decided that it was not a good idea to pursue the conversation. Gordon knew that Mrs Oakshot had a phobia of spiders, having seen her run from the bathroom to fetch Luke’s stepfather on several occasions. In the old days, Luke had found times like that quite funny, but these days he could be as touchy about the things as his mother. Trapped in a hot car with a rather chilly atmosphere, Gordon resigned himself to staring out of the window. Luke and his mother barely spoke for the rest of the journey. It was only when they came off the duel carriageway and began taking a winding country lane that Mrs Oakshot broke the silence.

‘This looks like the road Professor Dumbledore described,’ she said, slowing down and looking around at the hedges and houses. ‘We’re to take the first right after the church on our left…’

Gordon sat up in his seat with a twitch of excitement. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before they had passed the church and turned left. The scenery remained unremarkable, and but for the large hill to their left the area didn’t seem vastly different from the countryside they had set out from that morning.

‘Ah! This looks like us!’

Sure enough, an old stone sign bearing the legend Ottery St Catchpole. Rather expecting to see the flashes of colour that seemed to litter Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, Gordon was disappointed to see that there didn’t appear to be any sign of magic at all. None of the few inhabitants that were about seemed to be wearing anything resembling wizard’s robes, and the only shops they passed were a post office and a hairdresser’s.

‘This can’t be it, surely?’ said Luke, apparently feeling quite as disappointed as Gordon at the lack of magical surroundings.

‘Of course it is,’ said Mrs Oakshot, taking a left turn. ‘Didn’t you see the sign?’

‘Well, yeah –’

‘There we are then,’ said Mrs Oakshot simply. ‘Now, we have to find Rhandur Avenue, apparently. I thought that sounded like a rather peculiar name for a road. I suppose it’s something to do with magic, is it?’

Luke gave a murmur of assent, but continued to stare out of the window. Mrs Oakshot made several more turns, and with everyone looking out for the street names it seemed like several minutes before anyone said anything else. A creeping feeling of uncertainty seemed to be welling up inside Gordon. Oliver hadn’t said much about his home, but he had certainly mentioned playing Quidditch in the garden. Since wizards weren’t meant to do magic in front of Muggles, Gordon was beginning to feel they might have found the wrong Ottery St Catchpole.

‘Here we are! Rhandur Avenue,’ said Mrs Oakshot with unsuppressed triumph.

Gordon stared blankly through the window as they turned off onto a dirt track that could barely be considered a road, much less an Avenue. What was more, there were no houses here at all, and the only building was a small wooden barn at the end.

‘That’s where Oliver lives?’ said Luke incredulously.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Mrs Oakshot.

‘Well what are we doing here then?’ asked Luke, as Mrs Oakshot drove onwards. ‘And I’d slow down unless you’re planning on knocking down that shack. I can’t imagine the locals are going to take to kindly to you destroying their property.’

‘Apparently, we’re supposed to drive through it,’ said Mrs Oakshot calmly. ‘You know, like at platform nine-and-three-quarters? I do hope the door doesn’t scratch the paint though, Alan will be furious. Still, here goes nothing.’

Gordon watched in disbelief as Mrs Oakshot drove on, the barn door looking worryingly solid in front of them. Just at what should have been the moment of impact however, there was a brilliant white flash.

For a second Gordon became quite unaware of where he was, as all sound and light seemed to have been blocked out. Now he could hear the engine of the car, and felt it moving forwards. Someone was blowing a whistle.

‘MUM! STOP!!!!!!’ shouted Luke, and Gordon opened his eyes a split second before being jolted in his seat as Mrs Oakshot slammed the breaks on.

Apparently Mrs Oakshot had closed her eyes on passing through the barrier as well, as a rather disgruntled looking wizard was climbing up from the ground in front of them. He appeared to be dressed in some form of uniform and rubbed his back with the hand clutching his whistle, before walking over to them. Mrs Oakshot rolled down her window rather sheepishly.

‘Are you all right? I’m dreadfully sorry about that,’ began Mrs Oakshot. ‘We didn’t realise what would happen when we went –’

. ‘Are you the Muggles to see Barzalby?’ asked the wizard, without acknowledging anything Mrs Oakshot had just said. She replied with a simple ‘Yes’, before the wizard gave out some directions, and then walked off muttering about the state of drivers these days.

‘Well, now…er…now that’s sorted, we better follow those directions…er…yes,’ said Mrs Oakshot, apparently more to herself than Gordon or Luke.

At first glance the part of Ottery St Catchpole here didn’t appear to be greatly different from the part they had just left. The brickwork of the houses here was the same as the ones they had just left, although several had rather more chimneys than Gordon considered normal. The gardens were quite similar, although some contained plants that he was sure were not normal for the British climate, and several of the shops would not have looked out of place in Oldburgh, although closer inspection revealed that their contents would have been rather less inconspicuous.

As they drove down what they presumed to be the wizarding area’s main street, it soon became apparent that its inhabitants were not used to people driving cars. Most of them turned round and stared as they drove past, and some of the children were openly pointing at them. Gordon felt rather ill as the countless eyes on the vehicle occasionally focused on him. Apparently he wasn’t the only person in the car to feel this way.

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ said Luke, turning away from the window. ‘All that magic, and they stop and stare when they see a car.’

Gordon made to laugh back but found his voice rather stifled. Looking back out of his window, he saw a child of no more than four floating around one of the lawns on a toy broomstick. As they drove past Gordon saw the boy look up and point straight at him, and Gordon’s stomach sank. Was it the car that all those people had been pointing at, or was it them?

‘I guess we’re famous then,’ said Luke, quite out of the blue.

‘What?’ said Gordon, who had not been expecting that reaction at all. ‘How’re we famous?’

‘Well,’ said Luke simply. ‘Everyone saw us arrive in the village. From the way they were pointing I’d say we’re the talk of the town.’

Gordon didn’t really know what to say to this, and he was rather grateful when Mrs Oakshot interrupted.

‘Oliver’s house is number eleven,’ she said, looking round at the house numbers. ‘There’s number sixteen on our right so it should be just up here…number eleven…ah here we…oh I say!’

Gordon looked up and immediately saw what Mrs Oakshot was gaping at. Most of the houses of the street were several storeys tall, but number seven was another storey taller than the ones either side of it. The very brickwork seemed to make the house even more resplendent, and its tower was topped by a huge dome, under which sat a magnificent stone goblet, which looked big enough for a grown man to sit in.

‘Bloody hell…’ said Luke, staring up out of the window for a better look. Mrs Oakshot said nothing about him swearing, but continued to stare at the house.

‘I had no idea!’ said Mrs Oakshot to herself, shifting a little uneasily in her seat. ‘If I’d have known I’d have dressed in something a bit more proper.’

Gordon expected a curse or a least a shudder from Luke at this, but he did not say a word. Evidently he was just as surprised as his mother.

‘Well…er…well. I suppose we should get out, then,’ said Mrs Oakshot, her eyes still fixed on the house outside. Eventually, it was Gordon who first opened his door. Without thinking he looked round to see if any cars were coming before realising where he was. As he got out and walked over to the boot of the car, he tried to count how many storeys the house had, before becoming rather dizzy. Soon they had their rucksacks on, and Mrs Oakshot was nervously looking over to the door of the house.

‘Well…er…perhaps we’d better knock,’ she said eventually, before taking what she obviously thought to be her best stride up the garden path, with Luke and Gordon in tow.

The front door of the house had an oversized golden seven emblazoned across it, as if it’s occupants prided the number more than the door. Just above this was a rather more normally sized doorknocker, in the shape of what was unmistakable a Lion. Mrs Oakshot took one last breath as she examined the doorknocker, before knocking three times.

It was not more than a few moments before the door was answered. It was not, as Gordon had feared, opened by a snooty-nosed butler; instead, Oliver’s beaming face greeted them. Gordon felt a surge of relief wash over him.

‘Guys! You made it!’ beamed Oliver, looking quite as excited as Gordon once again felt.

‘We do our best,’ said Luke rather dryly. ‘How’s your summer been?’

‘Just about as bad as yours, I hear. It’s been so empty here since Calumn left,’ replied Oliver, as they walked inside.

Gordon had met Calumn, Oliver’s older brother, at Hogwarts the previous September. Calumn had now left school and was presently abroad working for the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, it was a very prestigious job for someone just out of school, but the work meant he had been forced to leave home, leaving Oliver to play Quidditch on his own. For Oliver, for whom Quidditch was more a matter of life and death than a sport, this had been hard to bear.

As they walked through the hallway, Gordon found himself admiring the many photos and pictures on the walls, most of which showed pictures of Oliver, Calumn and their father playing Quidditch. Gordon was staring at one of Calumn holding the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup aloft, when a slight woman with curly blonde hair walked in, who Gordon knew to be Oliver’s mother.

‘Jean! Good to see you! Sorry about the delay with the last letter, but I see it got there in the end. How are you?’ she said, extremely politely.

‘Oh I’m fine, Christine. I’m fine,’ replied Mrs Oakshot. ‘Sorry if my letter was a little confusing, I didn’t know what terms you’d be used to and which you wouldn’t. It’s taking me a while to get to grips with all this wizarding!’

‘And me a while to grips with Muggling!’ she chortled back, before taking what was unmistakably a small jump and quickly changing tack.

‘I expect you’re all thirsty,’ she said, in a slightly higher voice than she had used before. ‘I’ve just had Welby put a pot of tea on, but we’ve some pumpkin juice if you’d prefer that.’

‘Oh, I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Oakshot, now also examining the paintings. ‘I expect these two would prefer the, err, pumpkin juice.’

Luke replied with a “yes, please�, and Gordon nodded. Soon they found themselves whisked into a massive sitting room, where four very large and comfortable-looking cream sofas lined the walls. There were fewer photographs in this room, with just a handful of school pictures of Oliver’s parents and Calumn, as well as one massive picture of a Quidditch team above the huge stone mantelpiece.

‘How was the journey?’ asked Oliver’s mother, sitting down on one of the sofas and taking a sip of her tea. Gordon noticed her little finger sticking out as she raised the cup to her lips.

‘Well, we got here fine, but it’s a rather long journey to drive on a day like this,’ replied Mrs Oakshot, proceeding to take a sip of her tea with the same lifted finger as Oliver’s mother. ‘It’s far too hot to be stuck in the car.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more,’ replied Oliver’s mother, in a tone that suggested she had never been in a car in her life. ‘Of course, we usually take our brooms for journeys like that. If it was up to Barzalby, we’d probably fly everywhere.’

‘Do you like flying?’ said Mrs Oakshot plainly, although Gordon was sure that he had seen one of her eyebrows rise when broomsticks were mentioned.

‘Not particularly,’ sighed Oliver’s mother. ‘But I really can’t complain. If it hadn’t been for Quidditch we would never have been able to move here.’

‘I must say,’ began Mrs Oakshot, apparently seizing the opportunity to talk about something she was remotely familiar with, ‘that your house is quite magnificent.’

‘Oh, it’s home,’ said Oliver’s mother contentedly, looking up to the many portraits around them. ‘Barzalby bought it for the land, really.’

‘Did you do the decorating?’ asked Mrs Oakshot with interest. ‘I love these sofas, they really complement the …’

Gordon interest in the conversation began to wane as its focus shifted to Mrs Oakshot stating how wonderful the house was. Apparently, Luke had felt rather the same way, because he was now rapping his fingers on the sofa besides him. His mother shot him a sharp look as he did this, but Oliver’s mother seemed to understand.

‘Oliver, why don’t you show the boys where they’ll be sleeping? I’m sure they want to take their things up.’

. Oliver nodded and stood up, followed almost immediately by Luke. As Gordon pulled himself up from the sofa and got his bag, he spotted a smile flickering over his friend’s lips. Luke’s mother was apparently trying to catch her son’s eye, but as Oliver left the room he practically bounded after him. When they had gone up the first set of stairs onto the landing Oliver spoke.

‘I don’t want you get the impression that my mum’s snooty. She’s never normally –’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Luke, now beaming, ‘which room is yours?’

‘I’m on the fourth,’ said Oliver, looking rather bemusedly back at Luke. ‘Welby’s cleared out the two spare rooms. One’s on the fourth with me, and the other is on the fifth.’

‘I’ll take the one on the fifth,’ said Luke, before Gordon had chance to ask who Welby was. ‘Er… if that’s all right with you, Giz.’

Gordon shrugged. In truth, he’d rather have had the top floor, but he supposed it didn’t really matter.

‘Well I’ll take you up to the top one first, then. You can see most of the town from there.’

‘Your house is awesome,’ said Luke. Gordon rather agreed.



*



By the time Oliver had showed them their rooms, Gordon was quietly pleased to see that the top room, while having the better view, didn’t look nearly as cosy as his. For one, the massive window in the top one meant that the bed and wardrobes seemed rather crammed into all the space that remained, while his was a lot roomier. The top one also had some portraits of kittens and a rather lingering smell of flowers, that while Gordon was sure would please Mrs Oakshot, wasn’t really his thing.

Oliver’s room on the other hand, was much more to Gordon’s liking. In spite of it being far bigger than Gordon’s room back home, Oliver had managed to completely cover his walls in posters of his favourite Quidditch team (“Puddlemere United! They won the league when dad played for them!�), and seemed to have continued the Quidditch theme throughout. His duvet had several pictures of Quidditch players on it, now idly passing a Quaffle around, and the only space not taken up by posters was left for Oliver’s broomstick, which was held by a finely engraved hanger on the wall.

‘Wow,’ said Gordon, as he examined a picture of a rather battered looking beater. ‘Where did you get all this stuff?’

‘I got most of the posters with Quidditch Weekly,’ replied Oliver, sounding rather pleased with himself. ‘I don’t know where mum got the sheets.’

Gordon was wondering how many copies of Quidditch Weekly he would need to do this to his bedroom as Oliver sat down on his bed. Luke was looking out of the window, and didn’t seem to be nearly as impressed with Oliver’s room.

‘How come your garden is so small?’ asked Luke, peering through the window. ‘I thought your mother said you bought this place for the land?’

As Gordon looked out of the window, he saw what Luke meant. Oliver’s garden was a very thin strip of land, no bigger than Holly Cottage’s garden. Most of it was taken up by flowerbeds and flowering bushes that would’ve impressed even Oldburgh’s most hard-to-please gardeners. The lawn wasn’t much bigger than Gordon’s kitchen, and currently had a finely engraved wooden bench sitting in the middle of it. Gordon turned back to Oliver for an explanation, but he simply smiled and stood up.

‘That’s not our only garden,’ he said, a grin still spread across his face as he took his broom down from the wall. Gordon noticed that the handle had been polished so well that he could see his reflection in it.

‘We saw the front when we came in,’ said Luke, with a note of impatience in his voice. ‘And that didn’t look big enough to play Quidditch in either.’

The thought had crossed Gordon’s mind as well, though he wasn’t going to point it out quite as brazenly as Luke did. Oliver, however, simply smiled and opened his bedroom door.

‘Follow me.’

Gordon wasn’t entirely sure why, but he felt his stomach rather lurch as Oliver said this. In his previous year at Hogwarts, every time he had been asked to follow someone it was usually because he was either in trouble or about to be. As he followed Oliver out of the room he found the memory of his encounter with the wyvern very much at the front of his mind.

‘This way,’ said Oliver, heading upstairs.

Gordon exchanged a rather puzzled look with Luke, who was evidently as bemused as he was.

‘Upstairs?’ said Luke, who looked a little paler than usual. ‘I’m not going flying around the village with you if that’s what this is about.’

Oliver laughed again as they climbed onto the fifth floor landing. There were several doors leading off it, including the room Luke had chosen for himself, but Oliver walked purposely past them to a door on the far wall.

‘Oliver…’ said Luke, who was examining the door rather intrepidly. ‘…this door shouldn’t be here.’

At first Gordon didn’t understand what Luke meant. Admittedly, this was the only floor that had a door there, but he saw no reason why every floor of the house should be the same. For a second he looked at Luke for an explanation, before he realised what was concerning him so much. The house did not extend beyond that door; it could only lead outside.

‘Oliver, I should probably tell you now,’ began Luke, as Oliver placed his hand on the door handle. ‘I’m…I’m not very good with heights.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Oliver assured him with a smile. ‘Now I want you to both close your eyes –’

‘What??’ blurted out Luke. ‘If you think for a second –’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, who seemed to find Luke’s reaction far more surprising than Gordon did. ‘Just close –’

‘I’m not closing anything!’ snapped Luke, taking a step back from the door.

Oliver looked crestfallen at this, since he had apparently believed that Luke was in for quite a treat. He turned rather pleadingly to Gordon.

‘Will you close your eyes?’ he said, an edge of desperation in his voice.

As much as he didn’t want to upset Oliver, Gordon couldn’t help but feel that Luke’s objections to closing his eyes before opening a door to a five-storey drop were well founded. Yet with Oliver looking at him like that he felt it would’ve been cruel to refuse, and he reluctantly closed his eyes.

‘Great!’ said Oliver beside him. ‘I want you to keep them closed until I tell you…’

Gordon stood rooted to the spot for a second, as he heard Oliver twist the slightly creaky doorknob and open the door. Gordon felt a warm breeze wash over him, and tried not to imagine the huge drop just inches from where his feet were.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Luke’s voice behind him. Apparently, his fear of heights had not stopped his desire for a good view, because Gordon heard his footsteps beside him.

‘Alright then,’ said Oliver, who had now walked behind Gordon. ‘I want you to open your eyes in five…four…three…’

Gordon did not have chance to hear numbers two and one, because on three someone shoved him forwards through the doorway. Gordon tried to stop himself but tripped and fell forward. Gordon screwed his eyes even tighter shut and screamed as he fell forward through air…

And then with a thud, he hit soft ground; seemingly no lower than the floor he had just stepped off. He opened his eyes and saw thick green grass below him.

‘That wasn’t funny!’ said Oliver crossly. ‘What if he’d have died of shock?’

Gordon turned around to see Oliver staring daggers at Luke. He in turn was looking back to Gordon rather apologetically, though he was obviously still quite amused.

‘Sorry Giz,’ he managed eventually. ‘If I’d have known this place was on the other side, I’d have closed my eyes in a flash.’

‘And I’d have pushed you through the damn door!’ said Gordon angrily, pulling himself to his feet. ‘And you’d have ended up on the floor in this bloody…’

But as Gordon turned around the rest of his words crumbled in his mouth. They stood in a massive forest clearing as wide as the Great Hall was long. The weather was exactly the same as it had been when they had drove here, but they otherwise seemed to have left Ottery St Catchpole behind completely. Although there looked to be many different plants and flowers coming from the trees, the only things in the clearing were six brass hoops, three at either side, that were unmistakably for playing Quidditch.

‘How…?’ began Gordon.

‘It’s an enchanted room, basically,’ said Oliver, mounting his broom with a smile. ‘Dad says it’s really complex magic; there’s only a handful of other rooms like this in Britain.’

Gordon stared up at Oliver as he soared into the cloudless sky. Gordon laughed in disbelief and even Luke, who was now examining the doorway, seemed extremely impressed.

‘There’s a few spare brooms in there if you want,’ said Oliver, sweeping back down to their level and pointing to a rickety looking shed just outside the clearing. ‘I think there’s an old Nimbus in there somewhere, most of them are old Shooting Stars dad got from work.’

Gordon ran over to the shed, whose rickety appearance was continued by a healthy patch of turf growing on its roof, and pulled open the door. As well as several brooms there were also a number of spades and rakes inside, along with several wooden implements Gordon did not recognize and heaps of fat bodied spiders. Gordon began looking through the brooms until he found a light brown one with Nimbus emblazoned in gold letters on the handle. Picking up that and one of the Shooting Stars, Gordon wiped a handful of spiders off them before going back outside.

Luke had not followed Gordon into the shed, but was still examining the door they had come in through with great interest. The door was not mounted to any wall, but instead was standing quite on its own. Gordon watched Luke disappear from sight as he walked through it one way, then walked straight through it as he tried it from the other side.

‘Here’s your broom,’ said Gordon, passing Luke the Shooting Star and hoping he wouldn’t notice that he had taken the Nimbus. Luke didn’t even turn round.

‘Thanks, I’ll be up in a second, I just want to have another look at this door.’

Gordon shrugged and decided to leave Luke to it. Although he was amazed with the door and clearing, it had been far too long since he had been on a broomstick. He mounted the nimbus and took a deep breath, before pushing himself off the ground.

As soon as Gordon felt the air rushing through his hair, his face burst out into a huge smile. As he soared through the sky he wondered how he managed all summer without the thrill of being on a broom. Better yet, this time there was no Madam Hooch telling him not to fly too high, and Gordon found himself flying way up into the sky until Luke and the door were just spots on the ground. The forest around the clearing went on in every direction as far as Gordon could see. He was about to fly a little higher to see if he could see beyond it, when Oliver came shooting up beside him.

‘How’s it feel to be back in the air?’ said Oliver, grinning and turning in mid air before gracefully stopping beside him.

Gordon didn’t know what to say, so he simply smiled back. Oliver seemed to understand, and continued to smile.

‘Are you still serious about trying out for the house team? We’ve got a full Quidditch set here, I could go and grab the Quaffle if you like.’

Gordon nodded furiously and the pair of them dived back down towards the shed. Luke had now mounted his broom and was flying around rather uncertainly above the ground. Gordon pulled out of his dive and flew over to him.

‘How’s it going?’ beamed Gordon.

‘Fine,’ said Luke, as he nervously pulled his broom a little higher. ‘I’m not sure I should go too high on this broom; it doesn’t seem very safe.’

The Shooting Star Luke was riding didn’t seem to want to fly at all, and where Gordon’s Nimbus gracefully soared, the Shooting Star stopped and started with small clouds of smoke occasionally appearing from its tail.

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, as he came soaring up to them carrying a red, football-sized ball. ‘They’re not the quickest broom around, but it won’t cut out on you.’

Luke stared down at his broom, and stared back up to Oliver, looking distinctly unconvinced.

‘Here,’ said Oliver, throwing the Quaffle to Gordon, who had to drop a little to catch it. ‘I’ll be keeper. You two can take shots at me.’

Oliver flew off to hover in front of the hoops at one end of the clearing, and Gordon shrugged and flew after him, with Luke trundling along behind him.



*



The sun was setting in the enchanted sky by the time they finally stopped playing. Oliver was a brilliant keeper, and saved almost every shot they could throw at him. Gordon thought that for all Oliver had talked about wanting to practice, he could have walked onto the Gryffindor team.

Although Oliver had managed to save most of his shots, Gordon didn’t feel like he had done badly himself. Oliver had shown him a technique for really fast shots, where you pulled your broom to halt and let your arm jerk forward: Gordon had mastered it faster than any spell he had learnt.

‘I thought that went really well,’ said Oliver, as they walked back inside. ‘If we play like that in trials, we’ll all make it onto the team!’

Gordon paused for a second to think about the prospect. He had missed out on the school football team at Primary School, while Luke had been gifted a place in the b-team, and the very thought of representing Gryffindor made his stomach churn.

‘We did fly really well,’ said Gordon, more to himself than anyone else, ‘but if I don’t have chance to play before we go back….’

‘We’ve got another day to practice tomorrow,’ said Oliver, running his fingers along the dark wooden banister as they walked downstairs. ‘Maybe Monday too, depending on how long we’re in Diagon Alley. Hopefully we’ll get chance to have a game with your new broom.’

Gordon was still thinking about the Quidditch Cup as Oliver led them into the dining room. He had seen enough of the house to not be surprised that it was at least twice the size of most of the rooms in his house, and had walls adorned with more paintings of old family members playing Quidditch. Several of them were apparently examining him and Luke with great interest.

‘What about you?’ Oliver asked Luke, as he picked up a large decanter on the table and began pouring three beakers of pumpkin juice.

‘What about me?’ replied Luke, examining some large green-blue herbs that were hanging from the wall.

‘Are you going to try for the Quidditch team?’ asked Oliver, passing Gordon a beaker of juice.

Much to Oliver’s obvious irritation, Luke fell apart with laughter.

‘Are you kidding?’ he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got rather more important things to be doing this year.’

Gordon winced. For all his excitement at the prospect of coming over to Oliver’s, he couldn’t have expected the weekend to pass without Luke saying something that offended him. Their rather differing views on Quidditch meant it had been somewhat inevitable, although Gordon had been hoping they would have at least made it through the first night.

‘What then?’ said Oliver coldly.

‘Hmm?’ said Luke, now examining a set of crystal goblets that sat on a dresser. His voice had an air of deliberate calmness to it, and Gordon had a horrible feeling he was rather enjoying the experience.

‘What have you got to do that’s more important than Quidditch?’ asked Oliver, now staring daggers at Luke.

‘Let’s talk about this later,’ said Gordon, feeling there might be an argument brewing and eager to put a stop to it. ‘It’s too early to think about Hogwarts anyway. Do you fancy showing us around the village?’

Oliver gave Gordon a look that suggested he was not at all fooled by this ruse. Since almost every letter Gordon had written to him this summer had focused on Hogwarts he supposed he couldn’t really be surprised. Oliver looked as if he was going to pursue the point with Luke when his mother walked in with a bowl of steaming vegetables.

‘Tea’s ready, Olly,’ she said kindly, setting the vegetables down on the table and summoning several plates onto the table with a flick of her wand. ‘I’m at a loss as to where your father is though. He should’ve been back from work half an hour ago.’

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, though Gordon was sure he saw him shoot another look at Luke when his mother’s back was turned. Gordon’s attention was rather diverted by what happened next.

A platter with a huge roast chicken on it came hovering in out of the kitchen. At first Gordon was too caught up in the delicious smell to notice, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a tiny pair of legs beneath it.

‘What the –?’

Before Oliver could explain, the platter had risen up onto the table, revealing one of the strangest looking creatures Gordon had even seen. It had the look of a hairless monkey, with ears that looked far too big for its head, a long thin nose, and eyes the size of tennis balls. It was wearing what looked to be an immaculately ironed tea towel.

‘That’s Welby,’ said Oliver simply. ‘He’s our house-elf.’

‘Oh,’ said Gordon in disbelief. All his previous notions of elves had been of tall, graceful and beautiful creatures, but Welby, who was now bringing in several more plates of vegetables, seemed to be none of these things.

‘He’s a great cook,’ said Oliver. ‘Does everything around the house you could possibly need.’

‘Thanking you, Master Oliver,’ squeaked the elf, in a very high-pitched voice.

Gordon watched in fascination as the elf continued to bring in more and more food.

‘Will he be sitting with us?’ asked Gordon. Oliver shook his head.

‘No. Welby eats down in the cellar. He has a room down there. I used to play there when I was little, but to tell you the truth I haven’t been down there for years.’

Before long they were all sat at the table staring at several bowls full of different vegetables and the platter on which sat the biggest roast chicken Gordon had ever seen in his life. He hadn’t really noticed how hungry he was until the smell of the boiled potatoes washed over him, and his stomach grumbled rather loudly.

‘Well,’ said Oliver’s mother rather agitatedly. ‘Normally we’d wait for your father, but it seems a shame to let it go cold…’

Gordon was just about to reach over for a serving spoon when he heard a clattering in the living room. A moment later Oliver’s father walked in, brushing what looked to be dirt off his robes.

‘Scourgify!’ said Oliver’s mother with a flick of her wand, and the dirt on her husbands robes disappeared. ‘Where on earth have you been, Barzalby? I thought we’d have to start without you.’

‘Sorry, dear,’ he replied, seating his large frame at the table as Welby shot past towards the soot on the carpet. ‘Henry and I have been working overtime to find that referee, but he still hasn’t turned up. We’ve several witnesses saying it was McCoy again: He’ll be lucky to escape Azkaban this time.’

‘I thought you’d had him banned from attending games?’ replied Oliver’s mother, spooning several large pieces of broccoli onto Luke’s plate. ‘Wasn’t it him who cursed that Chaser last year?’

‘We think so,’ said Oliver’s father between mouthfuls. ‘But there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. We’ve had several stewards tailing him at every game since, hopefully this’ll be his last,’ he said thoughtfully, chewing on a mouthful of carrots. ‘And you two must be Gordon and Luke. How are you?’

‘What?’ said Luke, looking up from his plate. ‘Oh, yeah, we’re fine. Oliver’s been showing us your Quidditch pitch.’

Gordon, who had long got used to Luke speaking for the pair of them when they were addressed by adults, simply nodded and stuffed another forkful of potato into his mouth.

‘Ah yes! It’s quite something isn’t it! When I played with Puddlemere I used to be out there every day! I daresay my son’s following in my footsteps,’ he said, reaching over to Oliver and ruffling his hair. ‘Are you two training for the Gryffindor team too?’

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but Oliver cut him off.

‘Gordon and me are going for the team. But Luke doesn’t like Quidditch much.’

‘Well…’ began Luke, who obviously wasn’t keen to upset Oliver’s father. ‘I don’t mind it, but I’m not as good as Gordon or Oliver.’

Oliver’s father nodded rather sagely at this, and went back to his food.

‘You haven’t had any news about your mother, have you?’ asked Oliver’s mother conversationally. ‘Only Priscilla was saying that they’re going to close the ward completely.’

Oliver’s father pulled a rather frustrated looking expression, and put his fork back down on his plate. Gordon wasn’t sure if he should act interested or not.

‘I’m afraid Priscilla is right, dear. It seems the Minister wants to go ahead with it. I’m afraid she’ll have to come and live with us.’

‘Well you know I don’t mind, Barzalby. It’ll be nice to have some company while you’re at work.’

‘Come now, Christine dear, you know my mother isn’t much in the way of company these days.’

‘Well, I know –’

‘And anyway, it’s besides the point!’ said Oliver’s father rather sharply. ‘We’re lucky enough to be able to take care of her, but they’ll be countless more who can’t! I don’t know what Bagnold’s playing at!’

Oliver’s father stabbed a potato rather sharply with his fork, and began irritably cutting it in two. Gordon had no idea who this Bagnold was, but apparently Oliver’s father didn’t care for them much.

‘Now, dear, I’m sure Bagnold knows what she’s doing…’

‘You think so?’ replied Oliver’s father, now going slightly red in the face. ‘Hah! It’s all about getting her re-elected you know, trying to make out she’s all about the family. Of course, her own family don’t want anything to do with her, so that was out of the question. Honestly! The woman couldn’t organize a pi –’

‘Barzalby!’

‘Wha…? Oh! Yes, sorry, dear,’ replied Oliver’s father, going a rather different shade of red. ‘Got a little ahead of myself there.’

Oliver gave Gordon a quick smile, which he returned, feeling rather pleased that wizarding families weren’t quite as different from Muggles as he’d thought.



*



After several helpings of dinner and large bowl of ice cream each, Oliver’s mother decided that it was time for the boys to go to bed. Gordon, now feeling extremely full and quite tired as a result of having been up so early, felt quite ready to sleep. It was only Oliver who protested, with Luke still seeming quite distracted from what everyone else was talking about.

As they trudged up to bed, weighed down by the food in their stomachs, Oliver said goodnight to the both of them (though he was still noticeably colder with Luke) before turning into his own room, and Gordon followed Luke to the staircase before stopping him on the first step.

‘Listen,’ he said, taking in a deep breath and hoping Luke wouldn’t react too harshly to what he was about to say. ‘Do you think you could lay off Oliver a bit tomorrow? You knew you were winding him up before.’

Luke turned to Gordon rather tiredly, and stared into his eyes for a second.

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Really?’ said Gordon, who wasn’t entirely convinced by this.

‘Yeah. I didn’t mean to…well…you know how it is. Anyway, see you in the morning.’

Gordon wished Luke goodnight and watched him climb up the stairs and turn around the corner out of sight. Walking back to his own room and pulling the door behind him, he stared out of the window to see the many houses of Ottery St Catchpole. Normally, he would’ve closed the curtains when he went to bed, but tonight he left them open, finding the glow of the houses below quite soothing. Putting his head down on the pillow, he hoped he wouldn’t be stuck between Luke and Oliver’s opinions of Quidditch again tomorrow, and thinking of Oliver clattering Luke round the head with his broomstick, he fell asleep.

By the next morning, Oliver and Luke were speaking quite normally to each other. To Gordon’s relief, Luke had stopped antagonising Oliver about Quidditch, and did not complain in the slightest when Oliver suggested they practiced some more immediately after breakfast. He even managed to put two shots past Oliver today, although Gordon thought Oliver didn’t seem to try nearly so hard to save them as yesterday.

‘Oliver,’ said Luke, passing Gordon the Quaffle and pulling his broom to another stuttering halt. ‘Could we go for a walk around the village at some point today?’

‘What?’ asked Oliver, as Gordon’s shot sailed through the hoop on his right. ‘Why would you want to do that? There’s hardly any shops, and most of them are closed on Sunday anyway.’

Gordon, sensing that after four hours of Quidditch today Luke’s patience might be nearing an end, dived downwards to collect the Quaffle. When he flew back up to them, he was pleased to see that neither appeared as angry or red in the face as last night.

‘…and if we’re going to play any more Quidditch this afternoon, we could use a break,’ concluded Luke calmly. Gordon looked over to Oliver, who seemed to be thinking rather hard about this.

‘Well, I suppose if you really want to. I mean we could use a break,’ he said, repositioning himself in front of his centre hoop.

‘Well, that’s settled then!’ said Luke, stealing the Quaffle from under Gordon’s arm so quickly that Gordon nearly fell off his broom. ‘I’d like to see the main street first – I need to get some more rat’s liver from the apothecary, and I saw a rather interesting looking bookshop...’

Luke’s voice tailed off as he flew back down to the ground. Gordon rolled his eyes and exchanged a glance with Oliver, who also seemed a little annoyed that “some point today� had actually meant right now, but shrugged and flew down after Luke.



*



When Gordon had arrived in Ottery St Catchpole the previous day, he had seen relatively little of it, since he had preferred to keep his eyes fixed on his shoes than meet the gazes of the many wizards staring bemusedly at the car. Today they were as anonymous as anyone else however, and Gordon stared excitedly around him, trying to take in as much as he could.

The main street was, as Oliver had said, not nearly as laden with shops as Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, Oliver had also been quite correct to suggest that most of them were shut, and Luke seemed devastated when the apothecary turned out to be closed, too. In fact, Gordon was sure that Luke had expected the same looks and stares they had received when they arrived here.

‘I told you nothing would be open,’ said Oliver dully, as Luke walked rather dejectedly past a shop with a large crystal cauldron in the window. ‘We might as well go back home, and get back to practicing –’

‘That shop’s open!’ said Luke, drowning out the rest of Oliver’s words and pointing to a rather old and tatty looking shop just off the main street. He began making a beeline for it, when Oliver put his arm across him and they stopped.

‘That’s Talysts,’ he said rather warily. ‘It’s meant to be an antiques shop, but no one ever goes there. Dad said it’s been under investigation from the Ministry several times. I’m not allowed in there.’

Gordon stared across the street at the shop. The layer of grime on the windows made it rather difficult to see inside, and the front of it did not appear to have been painted in a very long time. The sign hanging by the door had a crest of a serpent being carried by a bird.

‘Well, your parents aren’t here now,’ said Luke, staring excitedly over at it. ‘No one would know –’

‘No way!’ replied Oliver quickly. ‘You might not be known around here, but I am! If anyone saw me going in there, they’d be speaking to my mum in a flash. Sorry, but we’re not going near it, and that’s final.’

Gordon did not question this, and followed as Oliver walked off past the shop. Luke appeared to be a little frustrated, but also followed after them, shooting a few furtive looks back to the shop. They walked for a while without saying anything, before Gordon decided to break the silence.

‘Luke?’ he said, trying to approach the question he had been denied an answer to for the last three days in a suitable way.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yesterday your mum said she’d spoken to Professor Dumbledore…’ began Gordon, but stopped when Luke let out a rather pronounced sigh.

‘Yeah. It was about her letter,’ he said eventually, appearing to suffer every word.

‘I was going to ask you about that!’ said Oliver. ‘Mum didn’t let me see the letter. How come Dumbledore got involved? What could your mum possibly have written that needed his help?’

Luke did not answer initially, but walked over to one of the many wooden benches on the main street, and took a seat. Gordon exchanged a look with Oliver, and they both sat down too.

‘Mum didn’t let me read it,’ said Luke, running his fingers through his hair. ‘But I saw Dumbledore’s reply, and I think I can guess what happened.’

‘What do you think it said?’ asked Oliver, as Luke stared skyward and began go a little pink in the cheeks.

‘A lot of rubbish about me not being able to take care of myself that you don’t need to worry about,’ said Luke, rattling this off with such speed that Gordon felt he might have been practicing it since the letter was written. ‘And, of course, the details of how and when we would be getting here.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Gordon, leaning forward as Oliver tried to suppress a grin beside him. ‘My mum always thought your mum’s letters were really funny.’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Luke. ‘Unfortunately, mum’s letters don’t appear to translate quite so well into the wizarding world.’

‘If you’re saying this is my parents' fault –’ began Oliver, but Luke waved away his protests.

‘I’m not saying that,’ said Luke firmly. ‘It just didn’t come across very well, that's all. In fact, I think most wizards would have found it a bit confusing.’

‘Ah,’ said Gordon with a smile. ‘Your mum sent a letter with loads of Muggle words in it.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt that,’ replied Luke instantly. ‘In fact, judging from Professor Dumbledore’s reply, pages two to five contained all of my mother’s funniest motorway stories,’ he groaned, as Gordon suppressed a chuckle. ‘But I believe that the icing on the cake would have been what she ended the letter with.’

‘Go on,’ said Gordon, as Luke’s face began to go red.

‘I believe she asked Oliver’s mother if she would make sure I got myself killed while I was here.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Oliver, as Gordon fell apart laughing beside him. ‘Why on earth would she say that? I didn’t think things between you were that bad.’

For a second Gordon managed to halt his laughter, but as he met Luke’s stony-faced look he fell apart again.

‘As you might have guessed from Giz’s reaction, my mum was joking,’ said Luke, without a trace of mirth in his voice.

‘That’s not funny!’ said Oliver, now staring at Gordon and looking appalled. ‘Why would she joke about that?’

‘Well, like I said,’ began Luke, now staring skywards again. ‘The humour didn’t translate very well. Apparently your parents were just as shocked as you were, and decided to write off to Professor Dumbledore. Apparently, he found the joke a great deal more amusing than your parents did, and apparently explained it all to them.’

‘Oh,’ said Oliver, as Gordon wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘So your mother doesn’t want you dead?’

‘No,’ replied Luke, still stony faced. Gordon burst into laughter again.



*



By the next morning, the dull aching in Gordon’s arms had spread through to his shoulders and into his legs. He pulled himself out of bed and nearly toppled over as he tried to stand. It felt as if someone had filled his thighs with rocks, and his arms seemed to have been inflated since he last looked. Eventually managing to steady himself, he dragged himself downstairs to the breakfast table.

As Gordon walked into the dining room, he found Oliver sitting at the table, deep in conversation with Luke. Judging by the fact that it was Oliver doing most of the talking, Gordon guessed that Luke wasn’t quite as interested in the conversation as Oliver was.

‘Ah!’ said Luke, noticing Gordon and interrupting Oliver. ‘You’re up at last!’

Gordon nodded and sat down, as Oliver began pouring him a large bowl of cornflakes. It was a rare day when Luke was up before he was, and seeing that Luke was fully dressed and had his trainers on, Gordon had a fairly good idea why this was.

‘So we’re going to Diagon Alley then?’ said Gordon, as Oliver passed him over his cornflakes.

‘You bet! We’ve got you a broom haven’t we?’ said a grinning Oliver. ‘Me and Luke have just been talking about it.’

‘Yes,’ said Luke dully. ‘It’s been fascinating.’

‘Mum says she’ll take us there in about an hour,’ continued Oliver, seemingly oblivious to Luke sarcasm. ‘Normally we’d fly, but since Dad’s not here mum says we might as well go by Floo Powder.’

Gordon exchanged a confused look with Luke. Evidently he had no more idea of what Floo powder was than Gordon did.

‘Neither of you have used Floo Powder before?’ said Oliver, seeing their expressions. ‘Well, there’s really nothing to it; you needn’t worry.’

Gordon rather felt that any new mode of wizarding transport probably deserved a healthy dose of worry, but the image of him holding the Quidditch cup and his new broom swam once more to the front of his mind, and he hurriedly began finishing his cornflakes.



*



It was nearly an hour later that Gordon found himself standing in the living room staring at Oliver, who was stood by the fireplace, and wondering what the hell was going on.

‘Right then,’ said Oliver’s mother, picking up a china box off the mantelpiece. ‘I’m going to let Oliver go first so you can see how it’s done, boys.’

Oliver gave them a quick smile and a nod, which Gordon tried to return. Oliver’s mother then took the lid off the china box and showed Gordon and Luke its contents. It seemed to be full of faintly glittering dirt.

‘This is Floo powder,’ said Oliver’s mother. ‘Now all you have to do is throw a handful in the fire, and then step into it and state your destination.’

‘Walk into the fire?’ said Gordon, treating himself to another healthy dose of worry.

‘It’s probably better if you just watch Oliver do it,’ she said, passing the china box over to him. ‘It’s really very simple.’

Oliver took a handful of the powder and cast it into the fire, which immediately sprung into huge green flames. Oliver walked into the hearth and amongst the flames as if they were not there. He gave Gordon and Luke one last look before shouting, ‘Diagon Alley!’ and disappearing.

‘You see, dears? Nothing to worry about. Now, which of you will go first?’

Gordon stepped forward without saying a word, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Oliver had stood a second ago.

‘Okay dear, now make sure you say where you’re going very clearly,’ she said, offering the box of dust to Gordon.

‘Why? What happens if you don’t?’ asked Luke. Gordon wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

‘Well, you can end up in the wrong grate,’ said Oliver’s mother plainly, pouring some powder into Gordon’s hand. ‘But if you can say “Diagon Alley� then you’ve nothing to worry about.’

Gordon looked from the glittering powder to the fire.

‘Just throw some in the fire, dear,’ said Oliver’s mother in an encouraging sort of voice. Gordon did as she said, and the flames roared higher than ever.

‘Right, now go!’

Gordon closed his eyes and stepped into the fire, though the flames seemed quite cool. He took one last deep breath before saying, as clearly as he could…

‘Di-a-gon A-lley!’

Gordon felt like something had grabbed him by the hair as he went spinning upwards. He didn’t dare open his eyes, and several times he felt his arms scrape against stone. The spinning feeling was beginning to make him feel sick, and he felt his cornflakes sloshing around in his stomach…

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, Gordon stopped spinning and once more felt ground beneath his feet. The shock caused him to stumble, and he fell forward onto a stone floor.

Gordon opened his eyes and looked around him, he seemed to have come out in some strange and absolutely filthy pub. No one seemed to have noticed Gordon yet, and Gordon wondered if he could get out before anyone saw him.

‘You all right?’ said a voice beside him. Gordon started for a second, but turned and was delighted to see Oliver stood beside him. As Gordon stood up, he realised that the grimy pub he was in was in fact the Leaky Cauldron, the gateway he had used to reach Diagon Alley last year.

‘You okay? Looks like you took a few knocks on the way,’ said Oliver, brushing the soot off Gordon’s shoulders.

‘I’m fine,’ said Gordon. ‘I guess Luke is in trouble, though.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I just can’t believe that we’d both make it through first time,’ said Gordon honestly. ‘Something’s bound to go wrong.’

‘What makes you say that?’ said Oliver curiously, taking a seat by one of the tables by the hearth. ‘You only have to say where you’re going.’

‘Oliver,’ said Gordon simply. ‘Do you know how many things that could go wrong last year did? It’s just bound to happen.’

At that moment, green flames roared in the fireplace and Luke stepped out, brushing soot off his robes.

‘Heh,’ said Gordon.

‘Well, it’s not exactly fun, but at least it’s fast,’ said Luke, looking round the Leaky Cauldron. Soon Oliver’s mother had followed him out of the fire.

‘There we go,’ she said, brushing some soot of the brim of the hat she was wearing. ‘That wasn’t too difficult was it?’

Gordon shrugged, still feeling that Floo Powder was an accident waiting to happen.



*



After they had all been to Gringotts to get their money, Oliver had hurriedly pointed out Quality Quidditch supplies, and was insisting that they go straight there.

‘Not until we’ve got all your school books,’ said his mother, as Oliver looked aghast. ‘We have to get the essentials first.’

Gordon thought Oliver was about to explain to his mother that there was nothing more essential than a new broomstick, but he seemed to think better of it.

‘We’ll go to Flourish and Blotts first,’ said Oliver’s mother, examining the reading list. ‘Then we’d better head onto Madam Malkins if we’re to get you a set of these training robes, whatever they’re for. Then we can have a look at new brooms.’

Gordon nodded, though Oliver still had a slightly mutinous look, and the three of them followed Oliver’s mother.

Flourish and Blotts seemed to be as busy as ever, and there were several other children in the shop buying their Hogwarts books as well. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 was sat with many of the books Gordon had bought in his first year on the table in centre of the shop. In the shop window stood countless copies of Physical and Mental Resistance to the Dark Arts, which appeared to have each been bound with red leather and steel. Gordon thought they looked extremely heavy.

‘Do you think I could have a look through the second-hand section while you buy those?’ said Luke, eyeing up a large bookshelf near the back of the shop. ‘I got some really good stuff off it last year.’

Oliver’s mother nodded, much to the outrage of Oliver, who wanted to know why he hadn’t been allowed to browse the Quidditch store.

‘Because your books are essential! That’s why!’ scolded Oliver’s mother. ‘You can just be patient!’

Oliver’s mother picked three books off the table and joined the rather long queue, as Luke strolled off to the second-hand section. Gordon and Oliver went over to the window.

Gordon picked up one of the Haldeir Ripjaw books and nearly fell over. The book weighed a ton, and seemed to be even heavier than its thickly bound cover suggested. Gordon had just managed to pull a second book up into his grasp, when he heard a familiar voice call from the shop stairs.

‘Hello!’

Gordon looked up to see Veronica Haremia, a Gryffindor girl in Gordon’s year, staring down at him and Oliver. Gordon was about to say hi, when the books tumbled out of his hands and clattered onto the floor, leaving some impressive dents in the floorboards.

‘Alright?’ asked Oliver, as Gordon began hauling the books back up into his grasp. ‘How’s your summer been?’

‘It’s been okay,’ said Veronica. ‘Alana and I have just been getting our stuff today. Have you seen those training robes they’re selling at Madam Malkins?’

Oliver shook his head. Gordon, feeling the conversation was going on fine without him, did not reply. He hadn’t spoken to Veronica much in first year; she would speak to him in Potions, if they were working together, but in the other classes she only seemed interested in Percy and Luke.

‘They’re like dressing gowns with trousers!’ said Veronica, pulling out what did indeed appear to be a plain white dressing gown out of one of her many bags.

‘Wow,’ said Oliver, dumping a third book into Gordon’s arms and examining the robes. ‘I wonder what they’re for?’

Veronica looked rather disdainfully at Oliver before reply.

‘I’d have thought that was obvious, Oliver,’ she said, with an air of supremacy that instantly reminded Gordon why he didn’t speak to her.

Oliver, who was evidently as in the dark about this as Gordon, blushed rather furiously at this, but was spared the task of replying by a small, mousy-haired girl, who appeared on staircase above them.

‘Alana!’ shouted Veronica, rather more loudly than Gordon thought was necessary. ‘Gordon and Oliver are here.’

The girl, another Gryffindor in Gordon’s year called Alana Thistlethwaite, did not reply, but instead waved rather weakly at Gordon and Oliver. Oliver waved back, and Gordon tried to nod without letting the books slide out of his arms. Eventually he decided it was not worth the effort, and he let them fall onto the shop floor, once again denting the floorboards.

‘It’s all right, Alana, it’s only them! Honestly!’

Alana came the stairs clutching a rather overfilled and tatty looking rucksack and a book called Particular Potions for Serious Situations. Now Gordon thought about it, he hadn’t really spoken to her much either last year, though Alana seemed to be pretty quiet anyway.

‘Tell me you’re not practicing for Potions as well!’ exclaimed Oliver. ‘It’s all Luke ever seems to go on about.’

‘What?’ said Alana. ‘Oh. Well, you know, I didn’t do very well last year. So this year I need to do, um, better.’

‘Well, speak to Luke about it,’ said Oliver. ‘He could use a Potions partner for sure.’

Alana did not reply to this, though Veronica seemed quite amused by it. In the end it was she who replied.

‘Isn’t he with you? I thought you and him always hung around together?’ she said, pointing a finger at Gordon.

‘I’m here,’ said Luke from the other side of the table, surprising Gordon and causing Alana to jump. ‘How’s your summer been?’

‘It’s been okay,’ said Veronica, who was still smiling. ‘Listen, we’d better be heading off…’

‘Oh,’ said Luke. ‘Well, suit yourself. See you later then.’

As Veronica strode out of the shop, Alana trailed after her, giving them all another meek wave before blushing and chasing off after Veronica.

‘Glad she’s gone,’ said Gordon, picking up one of the Ripjaw books.

‘Who? Veronica?’ said Luke, who seemed to be cradling half the second-hand section in his arms. ‘She’s alright. A bit full of herself, I guess.’

‘Nah, I’m with Gordon on this,’ said Oliver, heaving one of the books onto the table. ‘I was sat next to her in Charms all of last year and she never said a word to me.’

‘Did you say anything to her yourself?’ said Luke.

‘What? Well, no, not exactly…’ stuttered Oliver. ‘But still…’

Luke let out a chuckle as they heaved their books up to the front desk, where Oliver’s mother stood chatting with the assistant.

‘Okay,’ said the man behind the counter, examining the books and pulling out his wand. ‘I’m to put a simple lightening charm on these books before you take them. They should be light as a feather today, but by the time you get them to Hogwarts they’ll have resumed their normal weight.’

‘Couldn’t you make them stay light forever?’ said Gordon, but the assistant simply laughed.

‘I’m afraid you’re rather missing the point of them, young sir! Your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was very specific with the duration of the enchantment.’

Gordon shrugged as the assistant flicked his wand at each of the books in turn, and when Gordon picked up his textbook, it was as light as a feather. Gordon and Oliver paid for their books, and Luke put his second-hand selection down on the counter. There were several tatty old school books, and a couple of them had lost their covers completely.

‘I’ll take these,’ said Luke, as the assistant began inspecting the books disdainfully. ‘But I was also looking for a copy of Moste Potente Potions.’

The assistant looked up from the tattered copy of A Question of Tarot he was examining, and stared purposefully at Luke.

‘I’m afraid we don’t stock it,’ he replied, examining Luke with appraising eyes. ‘I take it you are buying it for an older friend?’

‘No,’ said Luke, puffing his chest out in an almost Percy-like manner. ‘It’s for me.’

The assistant continued to stare at him.

‘Er… he is very good at Potions,’ said Gordon.

‘Well,’ said the assistant, who was still examining Luke with a rather sceptical look on his face. ‘As I say, we do not stock it. That will be sixteen Galleons.’

‘Okay,’ said Luke, pulling some coins out of his pocket. ‘Do you know anywhere that would stock it?’

‘I can imagine a few places, but I would suggest you speak to your Potions teacher about it first; I think he would have a better idea of whether or not you are ready for something like that.’

Gordon felt he could see Luke’s heart sink as the assistant said this. As good as Luke was at Potions, he was still in Gryffindor, and that was enough for Professor Snape to be as unhelpful as possible. Gordon felt Luke was likely to get onto the Quidditch team before he got that book off Snape.

Oliver’s mother took them off to Madam Malkin’s next, to buy the training robes on their school list. The robes, all of which were white cotton, only came in five sizes, so they did not have to be measured for them in the same way as they had been for their school robes. This was music to Oliver’s ears however, since it meant they were only there for a few minutes and could head straight on to…

‘Quality Quidditch Supplies!’ said Oliver, grinning and staring through the window at an ornate oak broom in the window. ‘Let’s get you a broom!’ he said, dragging Gordon inside.

As soon as Gordon walked inside the doorway, it quickly became apparent that this was another shop whose inner dimensions did not match its outer ones. The floor space of the shop seemed to be nearly as big as Hogwarts’ Great Hall, and almost every inch of the walls seemed to have a broomstick hanging from it. Gordon saw the ridiculously oversized one he had seen in Oliver’s newspaper cutting, but fixed his eyes on the huge sign on the far wall of the shop, which read Quidditch Specials.

‘This place is amazing!’ said Gordon, barely able to take it all in. ‘Did you get your broom from here?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Oliver, grinning as he examined a set of professional standard Bludgers on a shelf. ‘Got my last two from here. Dad gave me a Shooting Star from work when I was about five.’

‘Wow!’ said Gordon, as he examined a Comet 150, apparently the broom of choice for the English national side.

‘You like those Comets?’ said Oliver, running his fingers over the handle with interest. ‘I’ve always preferred Nimbuses. Comet’s have always been about looks rather than speed.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ said Gordon, who wasn’t really listening and was instead looking at a very expensive looking broom in a glass case, marked as the Orion custom.

‘Fascinating as this place is,’ began Luke behind them. ‘I have a lot of other things I want to pick up. I could grab your potions supplies if you want.’

‘Would you?’ said Oliver, who had eyes only for the broomsticks. ‘If you could just get us a set of basic supplies, that would be great.’

‘Sure,’ said Luke, with a sly shake of his head. ‘I’ll see you back here in about an hour.’

‘Fine,’ said Oliver, who was far more interested in pointing out the Nimbus Curvehorn to Gordon.



*



An hour later, Gordon found himself walking out of Quality Quidditch Supplies with, as Oliver had so excitedly recommended, a brand new Nimbus Curvehorn under his arm, and he wondered if he had ever felt more excited in his life. Admittedly, he had managed to completely clear out his account at Gringotts, and had to borrow a couple of Galleons off Luke to afford it, but now he felt like his place on the Gryffindor team was guaranteed, and he couldn’t wait to get back to Oliver’s to try it out.

Luke, like Gordon, had also managed to spend a great deal, though his purchases seemed to be a considerably less interesting than Gordon’s. He had spent much of his money on very expensive potions ingredients and the books from Flourish and Blotts, and had apparently been sorely tempted to buy a crystal cauldron, which would mean he could check the consistency of his potions from all angles.

‘Come on then!’ said Gordon, as he stepped out of Oliver’s fireplace, and into the living room. ‘I want to test this broom out!’

‘You guys go on up,’ said Oliver. ‘There’s a something I want to do first. I’ll be up in about five minutes.’

Gordon found it hard to believe that after all of Oliver’s encouragement he now had something better to be doing than practicing Quidditch, but decided that the chance to try out his new broom could not wait. Grabbing Luke by the arm, he tore off up the stairs to try it out.

As Gordon pulled open the door to the Quidditch room, he was delighted to see that there was not a cloud in the sky, which he reminded himself was probably because it was artificial. Tearing off the brown paper his broom was wrapped in; he gave its highly polished surface a stroke, before mounting it, taking a deep breath, and kicking off from the ground.

As Gordon shot up into the sky, he could see exactly what Oliver had meant about the Curvehorn. It was considerably faster than the Nimbus he had flown yesterday, and enabled him to change direction so quickly he nearly fell off the first few times. Gordon spent several minutes pulling in and out of increasingly fast dives, before shooting back down to the ground, where Luke was sat reading one of his books.

‘Are you getting yourself a broom?’ asked Gordon, pulling himself to a halt only inches from Luke’s face.

‘I’m not getting it,’ said Luke, who looked pleasantly surprised that Gordon hadn’t crashed into him. ‘That shed has spiders that could take your arm off.’

‘They’re only spiders!’ said Gordon, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t be so soft!’

Luke cursed at Gordon as he pulled his broom up into a loop the loop.

‘You go and get it if you’re so desperate to play,’ said Luke, setting down his book and folding his arms. ‘You want the practice? You get the stuff.’

Gordon sighed and dismounted, wondering how many other people in the history of Gryffindor – the supposedly brave house – had been afraid of spiders. As he opened up the shed door, several of them fell from the ceiling and scuttled outside, causing Luke to jump to his feet and run back to the doorway.

‘For crying out loud!’ laughed Gordon, picking up the spare Nimbus and the Quaffle. ‘They’re only spiders!’

‘How on earth can you say that?’ exclaimed Luke. ‘What if they’re magic spiders that can kill you just by touch?’

Gordon looked at a spider that was presently sat, shaking, on the Quaffle. It looked to be a fairly ordinary house spider, but he supposed it wasn’t worth taking chances, and shook if off onto the floor.

‘Well, anyway,’ said Gordon, shutting the shed door behind him. ‘Here is your broom, which I assure you is quite spider free. Now are you playing or what?’

Luke took the broom off Gordon, and proceeded to give it a very thorough inspection for spiders at arms length, before apparently deciding it was safe and mounting it.

‘I’d just like to try some passing if that’s okay,’ said Gordon, clutching the Quaffle and kicking off from the ground. ‘I don’t know how well I’m going to do on something this fast.’

Luke nodded, and kicked off himself. He evidently wasn’t used to having a faster broom either, and bolted forward on the Nimbus far quicker than he had anticipated, leaving him hanging on for dear life.

‘You okay there?’ said Gordon, shooting alongside Luke with ease. Luke gave him a rude hand gesture, but seemed to be gaining control of the broom.

Gordon spent several more minutes passing the Quaffle back and forth with Luke, rather hoping that Oliver would show up soon. Luke was doing his best, but his passing was rather erratic at the best of times, and on an even quicker broom he was worse than ever. Still, Gordon thought as he dropped down several feet to catch another inaccurate pass, at least he was getting some good flying practice.

It was only as Luke fumbled another of Gordon’s high speed passes that the pair of them noticed Oliver come out. To Gordon’s surprise he was not alone, but was being closely followed by Charlie Weasley.

‘Alright, guys!’ said Charlie, soaring up towards them. ‘Olly tells me you’re thinking of trying out for the house team.’

Gordon didn’t know what to say. He had spoken to Charlie a couple of times last year, but hadn’t banked on seeing the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain until trials.

‘Er…yeah. If that’s okay. I’m not the greatest…’

‘Don’t listen to him, Charlie,’ said Oliver, beaming as he shot up to their level. ‘In a couple of years he’ll be better than my brother. I think he’ll be certain for the team.’

Gordon found himself going rather red in the face at Oliver’s words, but Charlie simply nodded and smiled.

‘Well, if you’re coaching him, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I take it you’re all set to be our keeper then, Olly? Why don’t you get in goal and we’ll see how hard you’ve been practicing.’

Oliver smiled and shot off to circle around the three hoops at one side of the pitch, while Charlie signalled for Gordon to throw him the Quaffle. Gordon threw it in front of him, and Charlie seized it midway through a roll, looking for a second like he might fall off, but pulling out of the roll with it gripped firmly under his arm, before releasing a shot that powered its way towards Oliver, who caught it with some difficulty.

‘I’m not going to be pulling any punches today, Olly,’ said Charlie with a smile. ‘If you want to get onto the team then you’re going to have prove you’re capable!’

Oliver nodded, and flung the Quaffle out towards Luke, who fumbled it. Gordon saw it falling through the air and shot down into a dive to catch it, snatching it into his grasp about ten feet off the ground.

‘Nicely done,’ said Charlie, as Gordon shot back up to his level and passed the Quaffle back over to Luke. ‘Oliver’s right; you’re not a bad flier at all.’



*



Charlie did not spare Oliver or Gordon a second’s flying time, and in a few hours Gordon felt he had covered a greater distance than in the previous two days. The only person Charlie seemed be letting off from the flying was Luke, who had spent the first hour dropping nearly everything that they had thrown at him, and had only really got into the flow towards the end.

In spite of the aching now coming back through his arms, Gordon could see why Charlie had been made Quidditch captain. As well as being an excellent flier, Charlie seemed to have a knowledge of tricks and moves that surpassed even Oliver’s, and had successfully managed to teach Gordon a reverse passing move called the Van-Haag turn. Even though Charlie was Gryffindor’s seeker, Gordon felt sure he could have been the best player in whatever position he had chosen.

‘How was Romania?’ asked Luke, as they flew back down to the ground after an exhausting game of first time passes and shots.

‘It was amazing,’ said Charlie, with a dreamy look on his face. ‘You remember that wyvern? Well, it was just a baby compared to some of the dragons they had there. You should have seen the King Shortsnout! You couldn’t have fitted the thing in the Great Hall!’

‘Did they play Quidditch at all?’ asked Oliver, who Gordon thought might have been far more impressed if he had seen the wyvern at the end of last year. ‘Romania got the quarter finals of the last World Cup.’

‘We had a game or two,’ said Charlie, as Oliver put the Quaffle and the Nimbus back into the broom shed. ‘Although there wasn’t much time to be honest. Do you remember Illie?’

‘The Romanian Captain?’ asked Oliver. ‘He was ancient! He’s played in every World Cup since –’

‘–1962. Yeah,’ replied Charlie, with another smile. ‘Well, he works there.’

‘No way!’ said Oliver, eyes and mouth wide open.

‘Yeah. He’s been a benefactor of the place for the last ten years. Got a lot of support for it amongst the Romanian wizards, which was no easy task.’

‘How come?’ asked Gordon, opening the door back to the house. ‘Are they difficult to keep?’

Charlie paused for a moment, as if looking for the words.

‘Sometimes, yeah,’ he managed eventually. ‘It depends on the dragon. Some of them have been in captivity all their lives, and rather see the whole thing as a hotel service. But there have been some difficult cases they captured in the wild. There was a female Hungarian Horntail they wouldn’t even let me see the enclosure of. Seemed to think it would scare me off!’

Charlie laughed as he said this, though Oliver and Gordon exchanged a nervous look.

‘Anyway,’ said Charlie, as they reached the fireplace. ‘I’d better get off home. I can’t really make any promises at this stage, because I don’t know what will happen in trials, but if you keep practicing you should both have a very good chance of making the team.’

Gordon and Oliver nodded back as Charlie cast some Floo powder into the fireplace, and with one cry of, ‘The Burrow!’ he disappeared.

‘You think we can make the team?’ asked Gordon.

‘If Charlie thinks so, then that’s good enough for me,’ said Oliver, grinning once more.

The last weeks of summer seemed to go on forever for Gordon. The three days spent playing Quidditch with Oliver only made the remaining time spent at home seem worse, and he hadn’t had chance to fly his new Nimbus Curvehorn since he had played Quidditch with Oliver and Charlie. On several occasions he considered going for a quick fly over to Luke’s in the middle of the night, but Oliver’s mother had been quick to explain that to do so in a Muggle area would be a serious breach of wizarding law, and Gordon had been forced to leave his broomstick in his trunk.

On the last evening of the holidays, Gordon and Luke found themselves staying once more in a Muggle hotel in London, counting the hours until they would be back at Hogwarts. By eleven o’clock the pair of them had long since turned off the lights and got tucked into bed, but it seemed like it was far later than that when Gordon finally got to sleep. When he did nod off, he dreamt he had forgotten his Nimbus, and Charlie and Oliver had both tried to have him expelled, and Luke had granted their wishes because Gordon wasn’t interested in Potions, which was unfair, because he wasn’t even a teacher anyway.

Gordon could hear the distant ringing of an alarm clock, when someone suddenly flooded the room with light.

‘Wake up!’ said the voice, but Gordon ignored it. He couldn’t wake up now, he had to talk to Luke about his expulsion, and that was far more important than anything else right now. Yet all the while the voice was getting louder, and Gordon was losing track of what he was meant to be doing…

Gordon bolted up in bed as something soft smacked him around the skull. He tried to grab whatever it was and found himself holding onto a pillow. Luke stood by his bed, holding the other end of it.

‘Are you awake?’ said Luke. ‘We’ve got to go.’

Gordon groaned as he came to his senses, and pulled his legs out of bed.

‘You all right? You look awful,’ said Luke, peering rather closely at Gordon’s face.

‘I’m fine,’ muttered Gordon, wiping the sleep from his eyes. ‘I dreamt you and Oliver had me expelled, or something.’

‘Well, I suggest you get a move on or you might find yourself expelled for real,’ replied Luke, who was now pulling on his trainers.

Gordon rubbed his head, and wondered when he had last felt as exhausted as this. It didn’t feel like he had been to sleep at all. He spent several minutes trying to put on his tracksuit bottoms before realising he had his feet in his t-shirt.

‘I’ll see you downstairs,’ said Luke, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder.

About fifteen minutes later Gordon found himself staring at a large plate of fried breakfast while Luke was wolfing down sausages opposite him. Beside them, their parents were talking excitedly about seeing Mr and Mrs Weasley again, and Mrs Oakshot was once more talking excitedly about Oliver’s house.

‘Do you want your black pudding?’ said Luke, staring over at Gordon’s plate.

‘What? Oh. No, you have it.’

Without another word Luke reached over and skewered the entire piece on his fork, before greedily shoving it in his mouth. Gordon began to nibble on some toast.

‘Was’up wi’choo?’ said Luke, his mouth still full of black pudding. ‘I fort u wanni to g’back.’

‘I do,’ replied Gordon. ‘But what if I don’t make it on the team? I mean, I’ve spent all this money on a broom, but I’ll be one of the youngest there.’

Luke swallowed and shrugged.

‘Well, I’m not going to get on the team,’ he replied simply, ‘and it isn’t ruining my morning.’

‘It’s not ruining my morning,’ said Gordon, miserably prodding a fried egg with his fork. ‘Anyway, it’s not like you even want to get on the team.’

‘No,’ said Luke thoughtfully. ‘I don’t. I want Professor Snape to get me a copy of Moste Potente Potions.’

‘Well, I hate to disappoint you –’ began Gordon.

‘Then don’t,’ snapped Luke, prodding a piece of bacon rather sharply with his fork. ‘I’ll find a way around it, and if I can do that I’m sure you can make it onto the Quidditch team.’



*



As they pushed their trolleys around Kings Cross station, Gordon wondered how he had managed to miss so many of the wizards there last time. This year it seemed there were people with owls and broomsticks (Gordon’s heart gave a leap) everywhere, and all of them were headed for the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

When Gordon, Luke and their parents found themselves by the barrier, they had to wait for a few minutes for a dotty group of pensioners to stop commenting on Gordon’s “wonderful ginger hair� before they could pass through unnoticed. As Gordon pushed his trolley through, he found himself once more on platform nine-and-three-quarters, surrounded by witches and wizards seeing their children onto the train.

It was not long after they had come through, that Mr Weasley had indeed struggled through the crowds of people to greet Gordon and Luke’s parents, followed by a Charlie, Bill and a beaming Percy.

‘Hello, Arthur!’ said Mrs Oakshot, before anyone else could get a word in. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, can’t complain.’ said Mr Weasley, in his usual genial fashion. ‘Not when we have a prefect and a head boy in the family!’

It became immediately apparent to Gordon why Percy was so happy. He had spent a great deal of last year lavishing praise upon Bill for being a prefect, and now it seemed Bill had become Hogwarts’ head boy, whatever that meant. It seemed Charlie had also been made a prefect. Gordon was sure he would’ve found the idea of both his older brothers making prefects quite daunting for his own future, but then he reminded himself that he wasn’t Percy.

Charlie gave Gordon a quick nod, which Gordon supposed was Charlie’s way of showing him that he hadn’t forgotten their game of Quidditch over summer. Now Gordon thought about it, Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything about becoming a prefect then. Presumably being a Quidditch captain and spending your summer chasing dragons made such things rather uninteresting.

‘You know, we should probably start loading our stuff onto the train,’ said Luke, as Percy made a beeline for them. Gordon caught on and they hauled their stuff on board, leaving a slightly disappointed-looking Percy behind them.

Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, the pair of them began searching for a compartment. Eventually, Gordon found them an empty one near the end of the train, and they loaded their luggage into it before going back outside to say goodbye to their parents.

Gordon was pleased to see that in spite of both his and Luke’s parents’ somewhat hysterical reaction last year, they both seemed a little more at ease this time around. Admittedly, Mrs Oakshot had still taken to kissing and hugging Luke for a little longer than was necessary, but after summer the whole experience seemed a lot less final.

There was a whistle from the guard, which Gordon took as a signal to get aboard the train. Luke managed to detach himself from his mother, and followed him back to the compartment, where they both waved goodbye to their parents as the train pulled away.

‘Feeling any better?’ said Luke with a smile, as he began digging around inside his rucksack.

Gordon stared out of the window for a second. Charlie had given him a nod before they got on the train, did that mean that he was going to put Gordon into the team? Maybe the dream was just a dream.

‘I guess,’ he replied eventually, as Luke pulled out Magical Drafts and Potions and began flicking through the index. ‘Did you see Oliver on the platform?’

‘He’ll be about,’ said Luke, without looking up from his book, ‘and I doubt we’ll have given Percy the slip for long. He and Kyle will be round here any second.’

As Luke had predicted, it wasn’t long before Oliver appeared at the compartment door, with Percy and Kyle in tow.

‘There you guys are! We’ve been looking for you in every compartment on the train!’ said Oliver, as he stepped inside. ‘Still reading up on your potions? I thought you’d have been aching to do some magic by now!’

‘It’ll come in,’ replied Luke, smiling and setting his book down on his knees. ‘Alright, Kyle. How was summer?’

‘Oh. It was okay,’ said Kyle, taking a seat next to Luke. ‘I didn’t really see anyone to be honest. It’s good to be back. What have you guys been up to?’

‘Practicing for the Quidditch team,’ said Oliver, positively beaming. ‘Me and Gordon are going to be leading the team out in our next match!’

Gordon’s stomach did another little jump at the thought.

‘That’s great!’ said Kyle, who seemed far more enthusiastic about the news than Gordon did. ‘You guys were always really good in flying last year.’

‘I dunno,’ began Gordon, ‘we’re going to try out for the team, whether or not we’ll get in…’

‘Well, we’ll come and cheer you on in trials,’ said Luke, before turning resignedly over to Percy. ‘What about you Perce? How was your summer?’

‘Well,’ began Percy, clasping his hands together, ‘I assume you know that my brother Bill has been made head boy?’

Luke nodded, apparently no more impressed than Gordon.

‘– And of course Charlie has also been made a prefect –’

‘Of course,’ said Gordon, who was beginning to feel that it might have been good manners to open Percy’s last four letters to him.

‘ – Well, I think really good things are coming for the both of them! I was delighted for Bill when he made prefect, but to be head boy? We Weasleys are carving a real name out for ourselves here, I do hope I can carry on in my brother’s footsteps –’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Oliver, retrieving a Quidditch magazine from his bag.

‘Mum and Dad were so pleased! As was I, of course! I read an article in one of my mother’s magazines about the history of head boys and, stop me if this gets boring, almost all of them went into high income –’

‘Stop,’ said Luke dully, sending Gordon and Kyle into fits of laughter. Percy looked rather affronted by this, but did not pursue the conversation, instead deciding to pull out a tattered spellbook from his bag. Gordon, who was still trying to hide his amusement from Percy, stared out of the window as London’s inner city gave way to the suburbs.

By the time the sweet trolley arrived, the houses had long since given way to fields. Gordon watched rather enviously as Luke and Oliver each helped themselves to a large box of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans. He wouldn’t have said no to pumpkin pasty, but unfortunately he had cleared out his Gringotts account to pay for his new Nimbus. He tried to remind himself of the feast that would greet them when they arrived, but it would be hours till then, and his stomach grumbled rather loudly.

‘You know,’ said Luke, thoughtfully chewing on a magenta coloured bean, ‘I’m sure the train is quieter this year. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone go past the compartment except you three and the trolley lady.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ said Oliver, looking up from his Quidditch magazine. ‘Filch has been threatening everyone who walks past his compartment with expulsion. He went ballistic when Kyle asked him if we could sit with him.’

‘Filch is on the train?’ exclaimed Luke, nearly dropping his box of beans in surprise.

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver. ‘I don’t know why, he wasn’t here last year. Maybe his broom broke or something.’

‘Filch on a broomstick?’ laughed Gordon. ‘The way he hobbles around he’d be lucky to get off the ground!’

Kyle laughed along with Gordon while Oliver, for whom flying and broomsticks were no laughing matter, looked on disapprovingly.

‘It’s a bit odd, though,’ said Luke. ‘What compartment is he in?’

‘He’s got one to himself a little further down that way,’ said Oliver, pointing towards the direction they had come from a few hours earlier, ‘why?’

‘Who was with him?’ asked Luke, ignoring Oliver’s question.

‘He was on his own,’ replied Kyle, ‘that was why I asked if we could sit with him; everywhere else was full.’

‘But he didn’t want you to?’

‘He seemed really on edge come to think of it,’ said Oliver, ‘the guy nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw us. Charlie said he’s been sitting there muttering to himself since we left platform nine-and-three-quarters. Well, when he hasn’t been threatening everyone who passes.’

‘Hmm,’ said Luke.

‘Well, go on then,’ Percy sighed.

‘Hmm?’

‘I don’t doubt for a second,’ began Percy, lowering his book for the first time since the conversation started, ‘that you are considering doing something that is going to get yourself, and most likely us all, into trouble.’

‘Percy!’ said Luke, grinning. ‘I can’t believe you’d say such a thing! When have I ever done anything that got us into trouble?’

Privately, as Percy responded to Luke with an icy stare, Gordon found himself compiling the amount of things Luke had so far done that had got them into trouble. Admittedly, some of the blame for much of these things could be apportioned to Kyle, whose decisions to poison himself had sparked Luke on a rather worrisome crusade to discover the culprit. All in all, however, Gordon felt Percy had a point.

‘All right, all right,’ said Luke, apparently spotting the concerned looks on their faces. ‘I was just wondering.’

Gordon noticed Luke give him a rather curious look before turning back to his Potions book, which Gordon did not return. The pair of them had encountered Filch the previous year, and Gordon hadn’t liked him one bit. It was a well-known fact that Filch hated the students, and Gordon felt that investigating an even more irritable Filch than usual was playing with fire.

The rest of the journey passed without event, and it didn’t seem like long before the sky began to grow dark. Gordon gave his grumbling stomach a rub as he thought of the feast that awaited their arrival. Last year they had arrived not long after dark, so it couldn’t be too long now before they reached Hogwarts. Gordon felt his stomach leap at the thought of the school, although it might just have been rumbling.

‘We should probably get changed into our robes,’ said Percy, looking up from his book for the first time in two hours. ‘It looks like we’re nearly there.’

There was a murmur of consensus, and the five of them began pulling on their uniforms. Gordon noticed that his trousers seemed to have several holes left in them from their time in the forest, while Luke had grown a little too much for his, and was showing a healthy amount of sock.

By the time the train ground to a halt by the platform, Gordon’s stomach grumbling was now loud enough for the whole compartment to hear, and he was aching to get up to the castle to get stuck into the feast. With the same mad rush as last year, almost everyone tried to get off the train as fast as they could, and Gordon found himself in the familiar tidal wave of people spilling out of the train and onto the platform. Gordon saw Hagrid’s familiar face appear on the far side of the platform, calling the first-years over to him.

‘What happens to us now?’ said Luke, as Hagrid began amassing first-years to their right.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Gordon, whose mind was still on the feast.

‘Well, if we don’t get to the castle with Hagrid, how do we get there?’

Gordon shrugged. In truth he hadn’t thought about how the rest of the school got up to Hogwarts, but some of the older students had begun heading up a rough mud track.

‘We follow them, I guess,’ said Oliver.

The five of them did not have long to go before they saw what looked like over a hundred stagecoaches. Each of them had the Hogwarts crest carved ornately into their sides, illuminated by the soft blue flame from the lanterns hanging from the front. The stagecoaches were apparently drawn, like the boats the first-years would now be getting into on the lake, by magic, since they didn’t seem to have any steeds to pull them along.

‘They’re weird things, aren’t they?’ said Luke, staring at the nearest carriage.

‘Since when has Hogwarts ever struck you as normal?’ replied Gordon with a shrug, before pulling himself aboard.

The coach had a rather musty smell about it, and its seats seemed a great deal tattier than those on the Hogwarts express. Gordon found himself budging up as Luke, Oliver, Kyle and eventually Percy climbed aboard, until they were all crammed rather tightly inside. Then, when Percy had shut the door, the carriage began to move forward.

Gordon felt that the first-years probably had the better deal. The magic that propelled the boats meant they were a perfectly smooth ride even when the lake was choppy. Yet the magic on these carriages seemed to have been designed to make it seem like they really were drawn by horses, and their carriage swayed along rather bumpily, squeaking ominously every few seconds.

The journey in the carriage was thankfully quite brief, and it wasn’t long before the huge wrought iron gates came into view, the winged boars on each side of them looking magnificent in the moonlight. Before long the carriage had come to a stop in front of the castle, and they all got out and began following the other students through the giant oak doors into the Entrance Hall, and then into the Great Hall.

Gordon nearly broke into a run as he saw the goblets and plates lined up on the tables, and eagerly took a seat on the Gryffindor table. Tonight the enchanted ceiling was clear and starry, and Gordon found himself trying to remember the constellations he had learned in Astronomy last year. Soon the tables had begun to fill up, until the only places left were for the first-years.

‘Where are the bloody first-years?’ said Gordon, rapping his fingers on the table and staring at the empty bowls in front of him, ‘I’m starving!’

‘They be here soon,’ said Luke, staring up towards the staff table. ‘Looks like they found another guy in the Hollowhorn-mould for Defence Against the Dark Arts.’

Gordon, more out of a desire to take his mind off his rumbling stomach than anything else, looked up at the staff table. In the place next to Professor Snape where Professor Hollowhorn had sat last year, there was now an old oriental gentleman, who appeared to have the same taste for wispy beards as his predecessor. Amusingly, the man also had his hair tied up in a strange sort of bun, and eyebrows with ends that draped down almost as far as his beard.

‘Yeah,’ replied Gordon. ‘You know when we got those books in Flourish and Blotts, I kind of thought the teacher would be a little more…’

‘– Young?’ interrupted Luke.

Gordon shrugged. Privately he didn’t know what he had expected, but it hadn’t been the teacher he was looking at now. The Defence Against the Dark Arts books they had bought were immensely heavy, and yet they once again had a teacher who looked like the strain of picking one up would kill him.

‘Strong,’ said Gordon eventually, ‘someone with a bit of muscle to him.’

Luke nodded thoughtfully to this as the final students traipsed in through the main doors. They were eventually followed in by Bill, much to Percy’s delight, who pulled the doors shut behind him, and took a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table. At the other end of the Great Hall, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat, his presence alone casting a wave of silence over the chattering crowds of students in front of him. He gave a faint nod to Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor house, who left through a small door by the staff table.

‘Are we expecting anyone?’ said Gordon, spotting the Sorting Hat sitting on the edge of the staff table.

‘No one I know,’ said Percy, who somehow seemed to be sitting up even straighter than normal. ‘Fred and George come to Hogwarts next year, if Professor Dumbledore accepts them. I must say the idea of the pair of them learning magic rather frightens me.’

Oliver looked over to Percy with quite a puzzled expression as Gordon stifled a laugh with his sleeve. Evidently Oliver had not read the parts in Percy’s letters about his younger twin brothers.

‘Yes, well,’ replied Percy, obviously spotting Gordon’s amusement. ‘They don’t seem to place quite as much importance on the rules as the rest of the family. I’d like to think it’s just their age, but I would never have done half the things they do. Ah! Here we are!’

Percy pointed up to the door by the staff table, where Professor McGonagall was silently leading out a line of apparently terrified first-years.

‘Look at the state of them!’ whispered Luke, pointing to a small brown haired boy who looked like he was in a state of shock. ‘I’m sure I we weren’t that small when we came here!’

Gordon thought back to the previous year, when he had stood at the front of the school waiting to be sorted. As Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the stool, he was reminded of what the hat had said to him before it had placed him in Gryffindor. His stomach seemed to tighten at the memory, before growling loudly to remind him how hungry he was. His mind was closer to the roast potatoes he would soon be eating when the tear near the brim of the hat opened, and it burst into song.



‘A wizard’s hat, it has been said,

holds strength beyond its threads.

A clever hat, it is remarked,

Does more than sit on heads.

No stronger crown, no smarter cap,

Will you find here than me,

For I do more than judge you all,

I tell you what you’ll be.

This Sorting Hat has seen some days,

And read many a mind.

Some became great, some remained meek,

But all I did define.

I take no pride in this, I say,

For choices you have still.

And rest assured I never have,

Forced men against their will.

Brave folks I’ve placed without a doubt,

In boldest Gryffindor.

To make wizards so fierce of heart,

To fight what lies in store.

In Ravenclaw I placed the few,

Those wise beyond the rest.

Where sharpened wit befits the wand,

And fit minds function best.

So many went to Hufflepuff,

Where hard work is so praised.

The kinder hearts, the humbler souls,

Sought far more peaceful days.

And those who went to Slytherin,

A house misunderstood.

For cunning praised, and less valour,

But still not without good.

Yet no house denies you strength,

No founder was a fool.

No student passed beneath my brim,

Has died thinking me cruel.

I cannot offer glory to,

All those who try me on.

But your desires I can show,

And the house where you belong!’



The entire hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song, although Gordon noticed many of the Gryffindors further up the table were still running over what it had said about Slytherin. Once again, Gordon found himself thinking of what the Hat had said to him last year.

‘I’m sure the song wasn’t as long last year,’ said Oliver, as Professor McGonagall began addressing the first-years, ‘that one seemed to go on forever.’

‘It probably just seems shorter when you’re up there,’ said Luke, once more examining the awaiting first-years with great interest. ‘Ready to boo those who get put in Slytherin?’

Percy was just about to utter a horrified reply, when Professor McGonagall called out the first name.

‘Aekwith, Melanie!’

Gordon watched a scared and rather pink-faced blonde-haired girl walk intrepidly over to the stool where the Hat was sat, before placing it upon her head. A few seconds passed before the tear in the Hat opened…

‘RAVENCLAW!’ belted out the Hat.

The girl ran off to join the Ravenclaw table, where she was greeted by several people in a rather Percy-like manner. Gordon, who hadn’t really spoken to the Ravenclaws much in his own first-year, wondered what the Hat had said to Percy to put him in Gryffindor.

‘Allbreck, Robert!’

A scrawny looking boy walked over to the Hat and put it on. A moment passed before…

‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ shouted the Hat, and the boy ran off to join the rest of the Hufflepuffs.

‘Brickerstaff, Boswell!’

This time a rather tubby-looking boy walked over to the Hat, seemingly uncomforted by the progress of the two first-years before him. As he nervously pulled the Hat onto his head, some of his blond curls poked through the tear, making the Sorting Hat look like it had a strange sort of beard.

‘GRYFFINDOR!’ shouted the Hat, although the boy’s hair slightly muffled the cry, much to the amusement of the Slytherins. Gordon applauded with the rest of the Gryffindors as he watched the boy tear up towards the table beside them. The boy took a seat next to Percy, who seized his hand and began shaking it vigorously.

‘Welcome to Gryffindor!’ began Percy, who still hadn’t let go of the boy’s hand. ‘I’m Percy Weasley! Jolly good to meet you!’

Gordon, exchanging a quick look with Luke, decided that it was probably his duty not to let the task of greeting the new Gryffindors rest solely with Percy, and leaned over.

‘My name’s Gordon, and don’t worry, we’re not all as polite as Percy here.’

Gordon gave the boy a wink as he said this, though the boy looked as nervous as ever. Oliver and Kyle had begun introducing themselves as Gordon heard the Hat yell out “SLYTHERIN!�. The boy then looked over towards Luke, who was staring vacantly in the direction of the Hat, apparently having taken very little notice that he had arrived.

‘Hey,’ said Gordon, reaching over and tugging Luke’s sleeve, ‘earth to Luke, earth to Luke, we’ve a new Gryffindor here.’

Luke’s features briefly twisted through a particularly stupid-looking expression as his eyes drifted over towards Gordon.

‘Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah that’s great,’ he replied, as another girl was put into Slytherin.

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ said Kyle, who seemed to be finding Luke’s ignorance far more amusing than the rest of them.

‘What?’ said Luke, turning round and apparently seeing the first-year for the first time. ‘Oh! Hi. Welcome to Gryffindor, and all that.’

Luke turned back towards the sorting and Gordon shook his head before applauding another first-year who came rushing towards the Gryffindor table.

Before long all of the first-years had been sorted into their various houses, and Gordon was twiddling his fork between his fingers, wondering how much longer he would have to wait before the food arrived.

‘Good evening!’ said Professor Dumbledore, beaming down at them all with arms wide open. ‘And so we find ourselves at the beginning of another year. I trust our newcomers will enjoy their stay…’

‘Come on…’ muttered Gordon under his breath, twirling his fork faster than ever.

‘…and I trust our old hands will do their very best to welcome them!’ beamed Dumbledore. ‘Let the feast begin!’

Almost immediately as the golden plates and bowls in front of him filled with food, Gordon launched himself fork first into the potatoes, spearing several in one go and shoving them all into his mouth. Without pausing to chew, he immediately began spooning carrots onto his plate, then several sausages, followed by some more potatoes and then a large spoonful of cabbage.

‘You got enough there, Giz?’ laughed Luke, helping himself to some chicken.

‘’m bw’d’sh ‘t’rv’n,’ said Gordon, through a mouthful of potato.

‘You know,’ began Percy. ‘We are meant to be setting a good example to the first-years, and in my books that would include good table manners.’

‘S’rry,’ said Gordon, before swallowing his mouthful. ‘Sorry. But I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’

‘Need I remind you –’

‘No, we’re okay thanks, Perce,’ said Luke, without looking up. Gordon laughed out loud, covering Percy in a mouthful of chewed carrot.

‘Scourgify!’ said Luke, removing most of the carrot from Percy with an idle flick of his wand and turning back to his own meal.

Gordon had managed to eat third helpings of just about everything by the time everybody else had finished. He was busy wrapping up several large pieces of cake in napkin, when the food vanished from the bowls and Professor Dumbledore stood up again.

‘Now that we’ve taken care of that,’ said Dumbledore with a smile, as Gordon hastily pocketed the cake, ‘I have a few start of term notices to give you all.

‘Firstly, I would like you all to welcome your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Shuan-Qu!’

The old oriental gentlemen next to Professor Snape stood up and gave a small bow, while most of the hall clapped rather unenthusiastically. Given their previous teacher, Gordon supposed most of them were reserving their judgement on him.

‘He has graciously offered his services to us this year,’ said Dumbledore jovially, his eyes twinkling quite as much as ever, ‘I trust you will all treat him with the respect you give all us.’

Luke snorted rather loudly at this, while Percy shot him a don’t-you-dare sort of look.

‘Quidditch trials are to take place in the second week of term, as I’m sure you’re all well accustomed to by now…’

Gordon’s stomach jolted as Professor Dumbledore said the word Quidditch. Opposite him Oliver gave him a sly wink.

‘…first-years should note that the Forest in the grounds is forbidden to all students…’

‘…and not without good reason,’ said Luke, as Gordon nodded. Their excursions into the forbidden forest last year had led them to run into a furious Hagrid, been choked by some Devil’s Snare, and nearly being eaten alive by a wyvern. From the stern talking to they had received from Professor McGonagall afterwards, Gordon guessed that was a relatively uneventful visit.

‘…but I think now we are all a little too full for any more notices, and I shall bid you all a very good night!’ said Dumbledore, with one last smile.

‘How long do you reckon they’ve had that Sorting Hat?’ said Gordon, as the near silence was broken by the sound of a hundred benches being scraped out from under their tables. ‘You’d have thought they could just ask people where they wanted to go.’

‘Oh, it’s a Hogwarts tradition,’ replied Percy, getting up. ‘I was talking to my father about it over summer. Apparently it’s been there since at least my great grandfather’s time. Probably a great deal longer than that.’

‘It does seem a little unnecessary though,’ said Luke, ‘half of the first-years looked absolutely petrified.’

‘Well, it’s their first day. You’d be surprised if they weren’t a little nervous,’ said Oliver, as the five of them walked through the Great Halls huge doors.

‘It’s not just that though. The whole thing with it talking in your ear, is it really fair to do that in front of the whole school?’ replied Luke.

Gordon found the memory of what the hat had said to him last year once again swimming to the front of his mind. For a moment he thought about telling them what it had said to him, but somehow the words got lost in his throat.

‘Well, it’s character building,’ said Percy, now leading them up the marble staircase. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t use it if they thought it did any harm.’

‘And since when have they given any thought to avoiding harm to students?’ said Luke. ‘Have you ever seen the hospital wing empty?’

‘So now you’re complaining about being allowed to get into dangerous situations are you?’ replied Percy, a smile twitching around the corners of his mouth.

‘No,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t know, it’s just –’

‘What it is,’ interrupted Percy, ‘is that once again you’re looking for faults where there aren’t any, because you want to be seen as more intelligent. Only once again, the very point you’re making is totally against what you seem to want. Why not accept for a change that you don’t have all the answers and that you’re actually wrong about some things?’

Gordon didn’t know what to say. In all the time he had known Percy he had never reacted to anything Luke had said, and to respond like that was most unlike him.

‘Get lost, Percy,’ muttered Luke, his face growing increasingly red.

‘What have you got against the Hat then?’ replied Percy, ignoring Luke’s last statement and carrying on the conversation.

‘Nothing!’ snapped Luke, his whole face now glowing red.

‘What did the Sorting Hat say to you?’ said Percy with a smile, reminding Gordon of Luke’s own way of pursuing such conversations.

‘That’s none of your business,’ said Luke coldly, who didn’t say another word on their way to the Gryffindor tower.

By the time they reached the common room, Gordon had been up for far longer than he would have liked and was ready for bed. Unfortunately, Luke was still fuming, and when Percy had decided to head off to the dormitories Luke had sat resolutely down at one of the common room tables. Feeling that it was rather his duty to stay with his friend, Gordon had reluctantly sat down too, rather wishing that the conversation could have taken place when he was a little more awake.

‘I can’t believe him!’ spat Luke, who was still quite red in the face, ‘like he’s Mr Bloody Perfect.’

‘Yeah,’ said Gordon, feeling it was probably best to just let Luke do the talking.

‘He’s just bitter that the Hat didn’t put him in Ravenclaw, I reckon. He must have been devastated when he ended up in Gryffindor.’

Gordon nodded, although he couldn’t agree completely with Luke. Percy had never seemed anything other than pleased that he ended up in Gryffindor, and all his brothers were there. Yet he wasn’t exactly the model Gryffindor student, and there was more than a hint of Ravenclaw about him.

‘I’ll get him back for this, mark my words!’ snapped Luke, bringing his fist forcefully down on the table. ‘He’ll be sorry!’

‘I don’t know what you’re planning,’ said Gordon with a sigh, ‘but it probably isn’t a good idea. If anyone was going to tell a teacher about you then it was Percy. Besides which, it’s not like he was completely wrong –’

Luke fixed Gordon with an icy stare that suggested any hint that Percy was right would be considered high treachery, and Gordon quickly changed tack.

‘– though I have to agree with you about the Hat. It’s unfair to have the whole school looking at you when it sorts you.’

Luke did not reply, but continued to stare rather fixedly at Gordon, who was desperately trying to find a way to bring the conversation to a conclusion so he could get to bed.

‘What did the Sorting Hat say to you?’ said Gordon eventually, thinking about what the hat had said to him, and how it had made him feel.

‘As I said,’ replied Luke coldly, ‘that is none of your business.’

‘You said that to Percy, not to me,’ said Gordon, who was beginning to wonder why he was having this conversation if Luke was going to be so insulting. ‘You can tell me, surely.’

Luke seemed to bite his lip for a second, as if weighing up his own response. Gordon waited for him to say something, but he didn’t seem to want to speak.

‘Only, well, don’t judge me on this,’ said Gordon nervously, ‘but I think it wanted to put me in Slytherin.’

‘What?’ asked Luke, dropping his icy tone immediately.

‘I know,’ sighed Gordon. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone, but it said I was cunning rather than brave, and…and it said I had a path littered with darkness, or something.’

Gordon found himself staring at his shoes. Now he had started he felt he had to get the whole thing out of his system, but a lump was rising in his throat, and it didn’t feel nearly as good talking about it as he at thought it would. In fact, considering he had only stayed in the common room to calm down Luke, he felt doubly aggrieved at the situation. He looked up to see how Luke was reacting to this, but to Gordon’s fury his face was a picture of joy.

‘Really?’ said Luke brightly, with an irritating lack of empathy.

‘How can you smile at that?’ snapped Gordon, feeling the lump grow in his throat, ‘you think I belong in Slytherin?’

‘And you think I do?’ chuckled Luke back.

‘Yeah! Sometimes I do!’ snapped Gordon. ‘Percy was right! It is all about you! You couldn’t give a damn what happens to anyone else…’

Gordon felt the last of the words die in his throat, though he was desperate to throw as many more at Luke as he could. At least Luke had stopped smiling now, but as far as Gordon was concerned it was too little too late…

‘It said the same thing to me,’ said Luke simply.

‘It…it did?’ said Gordon, who hadn’t expected this at all.

‘It said I was more cunning than brave, and that I’d see it again. And…’ Luke gritted his teeth as he spoke, ‘…Percy was right. That’s what bothered me about the Hat, or it did until now.’

Gordon felt his anger subside, but wasn’t entirely relieved at this.

‘So at least we’ll end up in Slytherin together,’ he said, despondently. Luke shook his head at this.

‘I think you’re rather missing the point,’ replied Luke. ‘I don’t think we’re the only ones that hat said that to. In fact I doubt there’s been too many Gryffindors it hasn’t said that to.’

‘What?’ said Gordon, who couldn’t see how Luke had arrived at this point.

‘Come on, Giz, think about it! The two houses don’t get on, and no Gryffindor would ever like to end up in Slytherin. It’s only saying that to make us proud to be here!’

Gordon stared at Luke for a second. His conclusion was all very well and good, but Gordon hadn’t managed to explain just how personal the hat had been. He was sure the reasons it had given for him to be put in Slytherin were more than just a practiced routine.

‘Look, I’ll prove it to you,’ said Luke, spotting Gordon’s scepticism and now looking around the common room. ‘Right, here we are. Bill! BILL!’

On the other side of the common room Bill Weasley looked up from his conversation. He was sat at a table with Emily Sturrock, a prefect and Gryffindor chaser. Bill looked rather irritated by the interruption, but said something to Emily and got up and walked over to them.

‘Can I help you with something?’ said Bill, with a note of impatience in his voice.

‘It’s just one quick thing,’ said Luke, ‘do people ever move houses at Hogwarts?’ Luke apparently tried to make the question quite normal, but Bill seemed to spot something was up, and raised an eyebrow.

‘What’s wrong? I thought you liked it in Gryffindor?’

‘Oh, we don’t want to move, we’re just wondering if anybody could, or if they ever make changes, you know.’

‘Ah,’ said Bill, ‘is this something to do with the Sorting Hat?’

‘How did you guess?’ said Luke.

‘I managed to catch half of your conversation before. You know, when you were shouting?’

Luke went rather red at this. Gordon thought he was rather overreacting, before realising that as well as being head boy, Bill was also Percy’s brother. Given the amount Percy had gone on about making him head boy, Gordon wondered how he and Luke could’ve forgotten.

‘Well, you’re not the first to get riled up by Percy,’ said Bill, smiling, ‘and I don’t suppose for a second you’ll be the last either. He’s a good kid at heart.’

Gordon, who rather felt being a “good kid� was Percy’s problem, exchanged a look with Luke. Bill shrugged and continued.

‘Anyway, the Sorting Hat said something you didn’t like?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Luke, ‘it said we could be in Slytherin.’

Gordon felt that considering he had been so secretive of this information before, it was rather reckless of him to go telling the head boy about it, but Bill did not seem in the least bit surprised.

‘You two, me and half of Gryffindor I guess,’ he replied, and shrugged his shoulders.

‘You nearly ended up in Slytherin?’ blurted out Gordon, in spite of himself.

‘It mentioned it, though I wouldn’t call that nearly. It seems to say that to a great deal of people. It’s just the way it works I guess.’

‘And no one moves houses?’ said Luke with a smile.

‘Well no one has in my time,’ replied Bill, ‘of course, the school is nearly over a thousand years old, so I guess someone might have transferred at some point, but it’s not something I’d worry about.’

‘Told you,’ said a grinning Luke to Gordon, who was now feeling considerably better about the situation.

‘Is that all?’ said Bill, ‘only I was talking to Emily and –’

‘Yeah that’s it,’ said Luke, turning away from Bill to Gordon. ‘So it looks like we’re going to be in Gryffindor for a long time yet.’

Gordon felt a wave of relief spread through him as he watched Bill turn and walk back to his table, muttering something about being head boy as his red ponytail bounced on his back behind him. Had he been stupid to worry about it? It seemed so obvious now, but all through the sorting it had felt like a shadow standing over him.

‘Well, I’m shattered,’ said Luke, failing to stifle a huge yawn. ‘We should probably get to bed.’

‘And do you think you’re going to forgive Percy?’ replied Gordon.

Luke turned to Gordon and responded with a grin that seemed to go from ear to ear.

‘Well, let’s not be too hasty…’

If Luke was still brooding over his argument with Percy the next morning, then he seemed to be doing a very good job of concealing it. While Percy was even more polite and pompous with Luke on the way to breakfast, Luke seemed quite content to offer his usual glib remarks. By the time they had arrived at the Great Hall and had sat themselves down to plates of kippers, Gordon had almost completely forgotten about yesterday’s conversation. He was also perked up by hearing Charlie talking to another fifth-year about the new crop of Quidditch players coming through, and was delighted to hear his own name mentioned.

Gordon’s good mood was not to last, however. Before long, Professor McGonagall had given them all their timetables for the year, and Gordon was mortified to see that…

‘We’re with the Slytherins all morning!’ said Kyle, aghast. ‘History of Magic and then double Potions!’

‘Well, at least we get a lie in,’ said Luke with a smile.

Gordon nodded. Both he and Luke had been known to drop off in History of Magic, since it was by far the most boring of the Hogwarts subjects. It was the only class to be taught by a ghost, Professor Binns, and most of the students agreed that the subject was as dead as its teacher.

After they had read their timetables, and finished their kippers, it was time to go to their first class. Gordon reluctantly swung his rucksack over his shoulder, and trudged off to the History of Magic classroom.

By twenty past nine Gordon found his eyes drooping as Professor Binns droned on about some Warlock convention in the Middle Ages. Gordon was trying to take notes, but found himself so distracted that he kept writing was he was thinking rather than what Professor Binns was dictating. Beside him Luke seemed to be slightly more on top of things, though Gordon was sure he saw him take several very long blinks. The Slytherins, in spite of their normal hostile attitude to the Gryffindors, seemed to be just as sedated by Professor Binns’ dull manner. Amongst them Gordon couldn’t mistake the huge frame of Marcus Flint, probably the biggest boy in the year, who to Gordon’s dismay seemed to have grown even taller over summer.

Although the Slytherins seemed to lack the effort to give the Gryffindors any grief in History of Magic, by the time they reached Potions it was business as usual. Almost as soon as they had sat at their desks in the cold classroom, Gordon heard the slimy voice of Lee Bracken ring over to them.

‘Well it’s good to finally be back. I’ve been working on my poisons over summer. I think they’ll be a lot more successful than last year.’

Although Bracken said this to Flint beside him, he said it quite loudly enough for everyone to hear. Last year Kyle had been taken to the hospital wing on several occasions, apparently poisoned. Although Luke and Gordon had found out that this was actually the work of Kyle himself, it was clear Bracken was attempting to take the credit for the act. Beside Percy, Kyle’s face had gone rather red.

‘I see you have improved,’ said Luke coldly. ‘The swelling solution you used on your head seems to have worked a treat.’

There was a murmur of amusement from the Gryffindors, and Bracken stared threateningly over at Luke. His stare was broken by the sound behind them of a door slamming, and Professor Snape, as bat-like as ever, swooped to the front of the class.

‘So,’ began Snape, examining them all with an icy stare, ‘I see that you have all chosen to return to me. I can only presume that you have all been studying particularly hard this summer.’

Gordon, who hadn’t touched his Potions book since he had last been in Snape’s class, felt his stomach jolt. Snape immediately seemed to meet his gaze, and a malevolent smile began flickering around the corners of his mouth. Gordon began to feel quite sick.

‘Last year we focused on some incredibly simple potions,’ continued Snape, looking away from Gordon; any trace of a smile now gone. ‘This year will be far more advanced, and we shall see which of you have done an adequate amount of study to prepare for it.’

Gordon shared a nervous glance with Oliver, who had apparently done no more work this summer than him. On another table he saw Eiko and Kyle looking worried, while Alana looked positively mortified. Only Luke seemed completely calm, and was staring dully over at Snape.

Snape then split them all into groups of two, and began scrawling the instructions to make a blemish-removing brew on the blackboard. Gordon found himself partnering Oliver, since Snape was continuing his habit of splitting up him and Luke. Since neither he nor Oliver were very good at Potions, it wasn’t long before thick black smoke started rising out of their cauldron.

‘Predictably,’ began Snape, vanishing the contents of their cauldron with an idle flick of his wand, ‘it seems that none of you have done the study required for this year. Five points from Gryffindor.’

As Snape walked back up to the front of the class, Gordon glanced round the classroom to see how everyone else had done. It seemed he and Oliver were not the only ones whose potions were unsatisfactory, as smoke was rising from many of the Slytherins’ cauldrons, too. Only Luke and Kyle’s potion seemed to be red mixture Snape had described, and Percy was anxiously flicking through his textbook while Eiko popped several of the bubbles forming on the top of their thick pink soup with her wand.

Snape gave them all a small mountain of homework to do for tomorrow, which Percy, Veronica and Alana immediately went to the library to do. Gordon, feeling that he’d had enough Potions for the time being, went with Luke to get some lunch. When they reached the Entrance Hall, however, they bumped into Charlie, who was sporting a black eye and a swollen lip, neither of which Gordon recalled him having at breakfast.

‘What happened to you?’ said Luke, evidently eyeing up Charlie’s lip and a splattering of what looked like blood on the front of his robes. ‘You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wyvern!’

Charlie laughed at this and shook his head.

‘Nah, just been to my first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and I’ve got to tell you, that Shuan-Qu guy is something else!’

‘He did that to you?’ blurted out Gordon, feeling that perhaps two hours of Potions wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on a Monday morning. Charlie beamed and shook his head.

‘Nah, he just had us practicing; he’s a damn site better than Hollowhorn ever was. I’ve never had a lesson like it.’

Gordon felt that the injuries Charlie was carrying spoke volumes about this, and felt his stomach do another little jolt.

‘You get to practice on each other?’ said Luke excitedly.

‘Damn right,’ replied Charlie, continuing to smile broadly, ‘and Bill says that even the sixth-years didn’t do that last year. Have you got him today?’

‘No, our first class with him is on Wednesday,’ said Luke rather gloomily. ‘Suppose I’d better start doing my homework for that in advance, though. Are you coming into lunch? I want to hear all about it.’

‘Can’t, I’ve gotta go to the hospital wing to check on Michael and Leia,’ said Charlie cheerily. ‘He caught her with a jinx that made her hair fall out and she did this, well, I guess it was a type of summoning or repulsing charm.’

Charlie seemed to shudder at the thought of this.

‘What happened?’ asked Gordon.

‘I think you can live without the details,’ said Charlie, who was still looking rather sickly. ‘Hopefully Madam Pomfrey will be able to grow her hair back, and dislodge Michael’s wand.’

Charlie waved goodbye and walked off towards the hospital wing, leaving Gordon stood there with Luke, wondering whether he should be excited or scared to death.



*



By the time they reached Wednesday morning it seemed all of the second-year Gryffindors had heard one story or another about the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. As a result of this, no one was particularly concentrating in Transfiguration that morning, much to Professor McGonagall’s annoyance.

‘Now, that just will not do!’ she said sharply, as Kyle accidentally sent the water goblet he was meant to be transfiguring flying over the heads of a few Hufflepuff girls. ‘What is wrong with you all? I’ve never seen a class so rowdy on their first week back.’

The second-years quietened down somewhat, but there were still people talking in the back rows. Professor McGonagall wasn’t used to anyone speaking in her classes other than her, and she continued to stare crossly at two of the Hufflepuffs in question. They were apparently reading something under the desk, oblivious to Professor McGonagall striding up to them.

‘What have you got there, Mr Ashley?’ she said shortly, causing both the boys to jump. The boy she had addressed, Carl Ashley, guiltily heaved up his copy of Physical and Mental Resistance to the Dark Arts.

‘Well!’ said Professor McGonagall rather crossly. ‘I would’ve thought that you could have done any revision for your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes in your own time, Mr Ashley! You will now kindly return to the subject of Transfiguration!’

Carl, now rather red in the face, began hastily stowing his book away. Gordon spotted several other people attempting to do the same while Professor McGonagall was not looking. Unfortunately it was Luke, who had the book open on the floor beneath him, that let the steel cover clang rather obviously shut.

‘Not you too, Mr Oakshot!’ she exclaimed, striding over to him and spotting Eiko also hastily stuffing hers into her bag. ‘Miss Iwai! Are you all using my class time as a homework session?’

Professor McGonagall stared furiously at them all, a slight tic going in her face as the many of the second-years stared determinedly at their feet.

‘I want everyone to return all the books that are not required for this subject to their bags,’ she said sharply, ‘and we will continue the rest of the lesson in absolute silence!’

After that no one dared to say a word, and Gordon was extremely glad when the bell went to signify the end of the lesson. By now most of the Gryffindors were itching to see what all the fuss was about, and headed straight to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom, where they found several Ravenclaws already filing inside.

As Gordon followed Luke inside, he saw that the classroom seemed unlike any of the others he had seen at Hogwarts. Gordon was sure that the room was larger than it had been the previous year, and there were no desks at all, though several long benches lined the walls. Hung above the benches was a collection of rather vicious looking weapons, including several extremely sharp looking swords and what appeared to be axes mounted on long sticks. At the far end of the classroom were two doors, which he presumed lead to two changing rooms.

‘Whoa!’ said Luke, examining his surroundings. ‘Where did he get all this stuff?’

Gordon shrugged, still trying to take it all in. Luke was examining a sword almost twice as long as he was, when Professor Shuan-Qu entered from his office door.

‘Welcome to your first Defence the Dark Arts class,’ he said, staring appraisingly at them all as they fell silent. ‘Normally, you shall should change into your training robes before we start, but today I want to make a few things clear first.

‘Firstly, I assume you all own the textbook I have issued.’

There was a murmur of assent from the class, and some people began rooting in their bags.

‘I am not asking you to retrieve them now. Indeed, it is unlikely that you should ever use them within this room. It is your responsibility to read them in your own time.’

Gordon thought he saw Luke glance over to him, though he kept his eyes fixed on Shuan-Qu.

‘I will not be setting homework for this class. If you wish to succeed in this subject you will do your own study. If you do not, then that is no concern of mine. I am sure alternative arrangements can be made for those not prepared to put in the effort.’

He looked around them as he said this, as if waiting for someone to object. No one responded, though Percy looked slightly perplexed.

‘I have discussed with Professor Dumbledore the methods used by your previous teacher in this subject. It would seem he focused greatly on the theoretical side of the subject. This may help you in an exam, but much of the theory is dependant on circumstances. I am going to teach you far more practical forms of defence.

‘I would concur with my predecessor that the best form of Defence is avoiding the situations where you require it. However, this is not always possible. My predecessor also believed that the next best thing is knowledge of your foe. While I do not disagree entirely, I believe this is less important than reactions and resistance. A great knowledge of spells is no advantage if your adversary’s first attack is deadly, and he is quicker than you. Equally, being able to cope with a blow that would fell your attacker gives you an advantage.’

Again Professor Shuan-Qu paused, as if waiting for someone to object. No one said a word.

‘Continuous practice of combat situations is, short of the real thing, the best training I can offer for your reactions. The resistance part is more complex, and comes down to two aspects.

‘Firstly, your own fitness is a factor. Strength and stamina are as useful a tool against the Dark Arts as the most powerful of shield spells. The difference is not absolute, but it may prove to be the difference between unconsciousness and death. When encountering threatening magical creatures, the difference is obviously far greater. You should also be aware that as key as your wand is to your survival, you may find yourself without it. A physically weak wizard will be more vulnerable to most spells than a strong wizard.’

‘What about Dumbledore,’ said Eiko, ‘he’s not exactly young and fit, and he’s just about the strongest wizard alive.’

Professor Shuan-Qu did not reply immediately, but instead fixed Eiko with a rather icy stare.

‘Who are you?’

His tone was as icy as his stare, and several of the students shifted rather uncomfortably. Like Gordon, they were apparently waiting to see how he would react to this interruption.

‘Eiko Iwai,’ she replied.

‘And your house?’

‘Gryffindor.’

‘Well then, Iwai,’ replied Professor Shuan-Qu, ‘I shall take five points from Gryffindor, and you will give me ten press ups.’

‘What? But you can’t make me do –’

‘Ten points from Gryffindor and twenty press ups. If you force me to tell you again it shall be a hundred of each.’

Eiko seemed to have trouble believing what he was asking her, but apparently not wishing to get herself or her house into further trouble, she got down and started doing some. As sorry as he felt for her, Gordon bit his lip. He couldn’t do twenty press-ups, and wasn’t keen on the rest of the class finding this out.

‘Your bad manners aside, you are quite wrong if you believe Professor Dumbledore to be unfit. Your headmaster is more than a physical match for any of you, whether you believe it or not. If you doubt the strength of old age, I invite any of you to attempt to beat me at any physical task. I will gladly prove you wrong.’

Again he waited for a response, but perhaps because Eiko was still struggling on press-up number thirteen in the corner, no one said a word.

‘The other side to resistance is more complex,’ he began, ‘that is the resistance of magic by the mind. Many spells require a certain willpower both to cast and to throw off. Spells that affect thought processes are particularly affected. Leglimency and Occlumency are obvious examples of this.’

Gordon, having never heard of either of those two obvious examples, felt rather embarrassed. Thankfully several of the other students seemed equally in the dark about them, and it was Luke who nervously raised his hand.

‘You are?’ said Professor Shuan-Qu, staring at Luke.

‘Luke Oakshot, sir,’ replied Luke rather nervously.

‘Very well. What is your question, Mr Oakshot?’

‘What are Leglimency and Occlumency, sir?’

Professor Shuan-Qu did not reply, and Gordon wondered if he was about to have Luke joining Eiko. Thankfully, he replied quite calmly.

‘In short, Leglimency is the art of detecting lies,’ he replied simply, ‘while Occlumency is the art of preventing the former. You will find Haldeir Ripjaw’s book gives a far more detailed description, which you can read in your own time. You need not concern yourself with either today.’

Luke nodded, but did not reply. Eiko meanwhile had just managed to complete her twentieth press-up, and had now sat back down next to Veronica. Professor Shuan-Qu did not respond to her, and continued to speak.

‘We shall focus on the mental resistance next term. For the time being it is necessary that we work on the physical side of things. You will now go and change into your training robes, then we shall begin.’

The second-years scrambled into the changing rooms and began pulling their training robes out of their bags. As Gordon slid his legs into the white cotton pants, he felt his stomach churn slightly, though he wasn’t sure if was excitement or fear. Looking up, he saw that everyone around him looked rather nervous too.

The second-years filed out of their changing room in silence, as Professor Shuan-Qu peered appraisingly at them all from the front.

‘Good,’ he said, as the last of them filed out. ‘To begin with we shall be doing some warm up exercises. I trust you all understand the purpose of such exercises?’

There was a murmur of affirmation from the second-years.

‘Then you will also understand why they will be crucial to these lessons. I have no desire to spend time casting unnecessary anti-cramp charms when such problems can be avoided with a bit of effort on your part.’

As he finished saying this Gordon felt some of the muscles in his legs twitch rather uncomfortably, as if they were waiting for the chance embarrass him.

‘To begin with,’ continued Professor Shuan-Qu, ‘I would like you all to separate yourselves out so that you are at least at arms length from the people in front and beside you.’

What followed this was fifteen minutes of seemingly aimless arm swinging and leg shaking, with a couple of jogs around the room for good measure. Considering what Charlie had said about the lesson, Gordon had expected rather more than a repeat of his primary school P.E. classes. Professor Shuan-Qu seemed a great deal more satisfied, however.

‘Good. We shall be repeating that at the end of the lesson to warm down. I want to all to remember what you’ve just done, because it will be your own responsibility to do that from now on. At the start of each class you will be given five minutes to do your own warm up, and it will be clear which of you have neglected to do so,’ he said, fixing them all with a piercing stare.

‘Today we shall be practicing the disarming curse, which should also serve as a foundation for later lessons on reaction time.’

With this Professor Shuan-Qu raised his walking stick and swung it at a pile of mats in the corner, which danced up into the air before coming to rest at his feet. Gordon heard the people on either side of him gasp somewhat. On the other side of the classroom Gordon could hear one of the Ravenclaws whispering excitedly to his the boy next him. Unfortunately for the boy Gordon was not the only one who noticed.

‘And you are?’ said Professor Shuan-Qu icily, turning the Ravenclaw quite pale with one irritable stare.

‘H…Henry Bostone sir,’ said the boy, attempting a winning smile that was obviously lost on Professor Shuan-Qu.

‘I have no objections to your attention to my staff, Mr Bostone, but I will not tolerate your speaking out of turn. I will take five points from Ravenclaw and you shall give me ten press-ups.’

‘Now,’ said Professor Shuan-Qu, as Henry trudged over to the corner, ‘the disarming charm is of most use when you are involved in combat with another wizard. Disarming your opponent of his means of attacking you is far more advantageous than being able to attempt to counter his spells. A particularly potent disarming charm may also be enough to knock your opponent off his feet, which is of particular use if you are fighting multiple opponents.

‘The incantation for the charm is Expelliarmus. Repeat with me.’

“Expelliarmus,� chorused the second-years, though Gordon was sure someone behind him had put an extra syllable in.

‘Expelliarmus,’ emphasised Professor Shuan-Qu. ‘It is most important that you should get the pronunciation correct. By the nature of the situations in which it was devised, the charm has a far less rigid wand movement than many other spells you will have learnt so far. Expelliarmus.’

“Expelliarmus,� chorused the second-years once more. To the relief of many of them Professor Shuan-Qu seemed rather more satisfied.

‘Good. Now as I said before, the wand movement for this spell is not quite as rigid. There is no absolute movement for it, and one wizard’s wand work for it may be very different from the next. It is up to you to discover your own wand work for the spell, for that is likely to be the most natural movement for you. Try to imagine what movement would seem most appropriate for disarming your opponent.’

Gordon blanched. How was he supposed to guess the wand movement for a spell he had never seen before? At least with every other charm he had learned he had been able to watch Professor Flitwick do it first. Or failing that there was always the chance to copy Veronica or Percy. For the first time all lesson he tried to share a confused look with Luke, who didn’t spot it and still seemed to be rehearsing the incantation.

‘I do not expect you all to get this at the first attempt, nor should you expect it of yourselves. It may take several different variations before you find the movement most comfortable for you,’ continued Professor Shuan-Qu, walking over to his desk and retrieving the register. ‘As I call out your names I want you to step forward onto the mats, and we will begin. Henry Bostone! Penelope Clearwater!’

A Ravenclaw girl from the front row with dark curly hair walked up to the front, followed by Henry Bostone, who was still rather red in the face. Professor Shuan-Qu gave them both an appraising glance, before walking over with the register.

‘Firstly,’ he began, ‘you shall both show me that the wand movement you are to use. A successful casting should be quite precise, so I would advise against any wild wand movements. You first, Mr Bostone.’

Henry Bostone, who evidently didn’t have much more idea of what to do than Gordon, gave his wand a bit of a flicking motion before looking over to Professor Shuan-Qu. If he was expecting a response or some advice it did not come, and Professor Shuan-Qu simply motioned for Penelope to attempt it. Her effort seemed to be slightly sharper than Henry’s, but Professor Shuan-Qu seemed no more impressed.

‘Now, I want the pair of you to both take five paces back and face each other. A little bit further, Miss Clearwater. That’s fine. On the count of three I want you both to attempt to disarm the other, using the Expelliarmus spell. Ready your wands. One…two…three!’

There was a flash of light, and Gordon felt his wand flip out of his hand. Henry had reacted quickest, but his spell had soared several feet wide of Penelope (whose spell was quite on target) and hit Gordon, much to the class’s amusement.

‘Silence!’ snapped Professor Shuan-Qu, and the second-years stopped laughing immediately. Henry, no doubt wondering how long he’d be in the corner this time, seemed to go quite pale.

‘Good,’ said Professor Shuan-Qu, to Henry and the class’s surprise. ‘Mr Bostone’s effort should act as an indication to you all of the importance of aiming your movement. Speed is nothing without accuracy, remember that. Now, Francis Cross! Joanna Fraser!’

As Professor Shuan-Qu continued down the register, the quality of people’s attempts seemed to improve somewhat, much to Professor Shuan-Qu’s satisfaction. Soon Carla Norris had disarmed her brother John, and it was Gordon and Luke’s turn.

The nervousness that had struck Gordon originally had rather subsided as he walked forward. Not having a wand movement to copy had at first seemed quite daunting, but it soon emerged that pretty much anything went. Gordon was also relieved to have Luke for a partner, since if anything went wrong, he was at least likely to forgive him.

The wand movement Luke adopted seemed to be a rather sharp looking slash, accompanied by an odd sort of foot shuffle that Gordon wasn’t sure was intentional. Gordon had decided that Eiko’s overhead stab was more to his liking, and figured that if he was going to disarm someone, he might as well avoid looking like a fool doing it.

‘Ready your wands,’ said Professor Shuan-Qu, as the pair of them took positions. Gordon readied his wand overhead and watched Luke prepare his stance, a mad look forming in his eyes. Gordon tried to do the same.

‘One…two…three!’

‘EXPELLIARMUS!!!’

Gordon felt the pulse of the spell leave his wand, before feeling like someone had just kicked him in the chest. Before he knew it he found himself falling back onto the mat, and hitting it with quite a thump. He tried to stand back up, but felt his arms and legs rather weak beneath him, and it was all he could do to sit up. Several feet away, Luke was on all fours.

‘Good! Good!’ said Professor Shuan-Qu, practically beaming. ‘That’s more like it! Can anyone tell me what they did differently?’

Gordon didn’t know what to say to this, but supposed it was a compliment. Luke was now making some rather hollow breathing sounds, but Professor Shuan-Qu remained unconcerned.

‘They shouted?’ said Kyle, who seemed rather more concerned with Luke’s health than the question.

‘They put force into it!’ said Professor Shuan-Qu. ‘Force into the action and force into the incantation! That’s how you achieve a truly successfully disarm! Not even the fourth-years managed anything as successful as that, have either of you disarmed anyone before?’

Gordon shook his head and tried to hide the grin that was threatening to burst out all over his face. Luke seemed to have finally got his breath back, but was too concerned with inhaling to reply.

‘Good accuracy as well! Though if I might suggest, Mr Owen, aiming your spell a little higher up would be kinder to your practice partners. Ten points to Gryffindor each! Kyle Pratchett! Alana Thistlethwaite!’

As he pulled himself up of the mat and helped up Luke, Gordon felt giddy with delight. Not only had he found something he was good at, it also looked like he was going to get house points for assaulting Luke.

As the next week went by, it became quite apparent that Luke was not keen on being shown up again. Although he was still spending a great deal of his spare time with his Potions studies, Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed to be coming a close second. Gordon found himself becoming equally competitive in the subject, however, and was putting all his efforts into his curses.

The trouble with all the extra work they were putting in was that it only seemed to raise Professor Shuan-Qu’s expectations. Unfortunately for Gordon, this not only applied to the curses they were practicing, but also to physical exercise. Gordon was not nearly so keen on the latter. To make things worse, as Gordon increasingly dedicated his studies to Defence Against the Dark Arts, he found it left very little time for his other subjects.

‘It’s no use,’ muttered Gordon, as the beetle he was trying to turn into a button went flying off the desk for the fifth time. ‘I’m not having any luck at all with this.’

‘You need to concentrate,’ said Percy, in an irritatingly matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s not difficult, if you put your mind to it.’

As if to prove this, Percy promptly tapped his own beetle with his wand, turning it immediately into a small black button. Gordon sighed and lifted his own beetle back onto the desk with a flick of his wand, his mind elsewhere. Tomorrow morning they would be holding trials for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Gordon found himself feeling nervous just thinking about it. Professor McGonagall, however, seemed perfectly unconcerned by this, and set him extra homework to make up for his lack of attention.

‘Two feet of parchment!’ moaned Gordon to Luke, as they trailed back to the common room. ‘It’s only our second week back!’

‘Well, we’ve all weekend to do it,’ shrugged Luke.

‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Gordon, the Quidditch trials very much at the front of his mind. Luke apparently guessed as much.

‘Don’t worry about it. If you get in then you get in. If not…well, all the more time to spend on your Transfiguration!’

Gordon wasn’t entirely sure he found the joke funny.



*



Gordon woke up the next morning feeling even more nervous. Even Oliver seemed more subdued than normal as they went down to breakfast. Today the enchanted ceiling seemed to be a particularly ominous shade of grey, and as Luke began shoving sausages onto his plate Gordon found himself staring down at his own empty dish.

‘I can’t do this,’ he said, as Luke reached over for the bacon.

‘You’re not giving up now!’ said Oliver, looking shocked. ‘What about the practice we did all summer? What about your Nimbus?’

‘I’m going to make a fool out of myself,’ muttered Gordon, feeling worse than ever. ‘I’m nowhere near good enough for the team. I –’

‘I doubt you’re the first person to think that Giz, and you probably won’t be the last,’ said Luke calmly, as he spooned some beans onto his plate. ‘Stop worrying.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, though he didn’t seem quite as calm as Luke. ‘Just have something to eat. An empty stomach isn’t going to help you.’

Gordon tried to reply but didn’t know what to say, and so busied himself by buttering a piece of toast. By the time they left breakfast, he hadn’t even finished that.

When the three of them arrived at the stands, Gordon was horrified to see that almost a quarter of Gryffindor house seemed to have turned up. Most worryingly of all, he seemed to be by far the smallest person there for trials. Feeling somehow more nervous than before, he and Oliver took a seat next to a very burly looking sixth-year, who looked like he could very easily pick Gordon up with one hand. After a few minutes Charlie Weasley arrived, clutching a clipboard and his broom, and addressed them all.

‘Alright, everyone!’ he beamed, looking quite as cheerful as ever. ‘Thanks for turning up! Last year we missed out on the cup by the narrowest of margins, so hopefully we’ll be going one better this year!’

Many of the people at the back of the crowd cheered wildly at this, though Gordon and most of the people trying out remained silent. Charlie seemed quite unperturbed by this, and continued.

‘Last year we had two of our team leave, so there’s space for a new keeper and a new chaser. But it only seems fair to let everyone have a shot at getting into the team, so no-one’s place on the team is certain.’

‘Except his,’ said Oliver, grinning.

‘Now,’ continued Charlie, ‘nine new people have signed up for these trials, plus the four from last year, so firstly I want to have a basic flying test before we start for places. I have eleven people marked here to try for positions, so I’d like all of you aiming to be chasers or beaters to step forward.’

‘Good luck!’ whispered Oliver, as Gordon came forward, feeling sick with nerves.

‘Right, everyone mount their brooms,’ said Charlie, and the Gryffindors did so. ‘I want you all to complete a circle of eight round both sets of hoops, then return back to me. This isn’t a race, strictly speaking, but don’t hold back. On your marks…’

Gordon wasn’t entirely sure what Charlie had asked them to do, but figured he’d just follow everyone else. On “Go!� he kicked himself off the ground with fury, accelerating so fast that he almost fell off his broom. It wasn’t long before Emily Sturrock, one of the chasers from last year, had taken the lead. Behind her Gordon could see the other chaser, Leia Maplefair, but there was only one other person in front of him. Delighted to find himself in fourth, he swooped around the first set of hoops after them. He even seemed to be gaining on them.

As they turned for the second set of hoops however, Gordon felt something clip his broom and found himself spinning off wildly. As he yanked up the handle to bring himself under control, he saw several other people on brooms shoot past him, and they were on the home straight! Gripping the front of his broom with all his strength he hurtled forward, before realising he was going too fast to stop in time, and soaring past Charlie and over the stands. Eventually, he pulled back round and came to a rather embarrassing halt. Charlie and the rest of the Gryffindors did not seem too bothered by this, though Gordon found himself trying to count who had arrived before him. By now most of them had stopped though, and he couldn’t really tell.

Charlie made a few scribbles on his clipboard, before announcing that of the ten people who had flown, eight had progressed – Gordon among them. Gordon felt a little better about this, but as he touched down he felt the nervousness rising up in him once again.

‘Okay,’ said Charlie. ‘Now, positions…how many beaters do we have?’

Of the eight people, only two raised their hands. Gordon recognized them as the previous year’s beaters, but no one seemed to want to challenge for their place. That meant there were…

‘…Six people trying out to be chasers,’ said Charlie, making another note on his clipboard, ‘and three keepers. That’s fine.

‘I should probably ask now if any of you do any extra-curricular activities that might clash with Quidditch,’ he continued. ‘I only want people who will be dedicated to the team, if you’re not sure, that probably means you’re not.’

None of the players said a word.

‘Okay. Well, firstly I’d like to try out for a keeper, so keepers come forward and the rest of you can sit back down.’

Gordon, feeling rather weak at the knees again, gladly took a seat, wishing Oliver good luck on the way. He needn’t have bothered. Charlie decided to take ten shots at each of the potential keepers. The first, a greasy haired fourth-year, managed to save just three of Charlie’s shots, and Gordon felt Charlie was holding back a little at that. The next boy was the burly looking sixth year they had sat next to before. Although his size meant he covered half the hoops anyway, Charlie managed to put four shots past him.

When Oliver flew up to the hoops he was greeted by loud cheers from much of the crowd. Particularly vocal were a bunch of seventh-year and sixth-year girls Gordon had not seen before. Gordon supposed they probably knew his brother, Calumn. Oliver managed to save nine of the shots Charlie hurled at him, and the only one that beat him was a terrific throw that seemed to swerve in the air. Gordon applauded with the rest when Oliver flew back down, and even the burly sixth-year seemed thoroughly impressed. Charlie flew back down happier than ever.

‘Great! Well we have our beaters and our keeper, all we need now is to sort out our chasers! Firstly, we’ll be practicing some passing movements. When you receive the Quaffle pass it on. Chasers, up!’

Gordon and the other five chasers mounted their brooms and rose up into the sky. Emily Sturrock looked slightly bored by the whole procedure, and was chatting to Leia, who was hovering beside her. As far as Gordon could tell the other two potential chasers were both fourth-years. The first was a thin boy with rather spiky blonde hair. He had oddly chosen to paint his broomstick red, but evidently hadn’t done a particularly good job of it, as it was peeling around the handle. The other was a girl with long blonde hair.

‘Ready chasers?’ beamed Charlie, and they nodded. ‘Let’s go!’

Given the ease of most of the exercises that had preceded it, Gordon had supposed this would be relatively similar. However, Charlie seemed to have taken the level of the tryouts up a notch, and was now swooping around at all heights and flicking passes at all angles. Emily and Leia seemed quite at ease with this, but both Gordon and the two fourth-years were really struggling. Gordon managed to make several great catches, but also dropped several easy ones. The girl was even worse at catching, but she seemed to be a better flier than Gordon and when she did hold the Quaffle made several intelligent passes. Meanwhile the spiky haired boy seemed to be getting more and more out of his depth, and his broom didn’t seem to be nearly good enough to cope. Eventually, Emily and Leia stopped passing to him altogether.

After this, Charlie swooped in front of the hoops and had them all take several shots at him each, though this only served to prove how talented he was. Of his five shots Gordon only managed to score one, but the girl did no better, and the boy didn’t score any at all. Eventually, Charlie seemed satisfied, and asked them all to fly back down.

‘Right then,’ he said, making some last notes on his clipboard and coming to rest in front of them. ‘Well, it looks like we have a team!’

‘Our two beaters, will be Rickson George and Michael Oldfield,’ said Charlie, as the crowd applauded, ‘and our new keeper, is Oliver Wood!’

There was far much more of a crowd reaction to this, either because they knew Oliver’s brother, or because he had clearly done so well. But for all his support for Oliver, Gordon was far more interested in the chasers.

‘Our chasers then…’ began Charlie, though Gordon buried his head in his hands.

‘Our first chaser…returning from last year…Emily Sturrock!’

The crowd burst into applause at this, and Gordon felt slightly sick. One space gone, two to go.

‘Our second chaser…also returning to the team…Leia Maplefair!’

Leia was cheered on to massive applause, perhaps because last year she had almost won the cup for Gryffindor, in a massively tense final. In his heart Gordon knew those two would make it back, but now there was just one space left. Had he done well enough? He was definitely better than the other boy, but that girl was pretty good. But he’d practiced with Charlie, over summer…

‘And our final chaser…’ began Charlie.

Just say it thought Gordon, feeling sick inside.

‘…and a new member of the team…’

Come on. Come on. Come on.

‘…Alyson Ridgebit!’

The crowd burst into applause and the girl stepped forward, beaming ear to ear. Gordon felt like someone had just shoved his head underwater. All that practicing, all the money he had spent on the Nimbus, it was all for nothing. Gordon felt a lump rising in his throat. Oliver was still celebrating with the rest of the team, and Gordon couldn’t bear to look in their direction.

‘Hard luck, mate,’ said Luke consolingly, as he took a seat beside him. ‘Still, you were easily the youngest person there, and you were miles better than that blonde lad.’

‘I still wasn’t good enough, though,’ replied Gordon miserably. As he said it he felt his eyes welling up. He tried to stop himself from crying, but that only seemed to make things worse. Feeling the first hot tear roll down his cheek, he buried his head back in his hands. Luke tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

‘Don’t be upset mate! You nearly beat someone two years older than you! That’s got to be worth something, surely.’

Gordon sniffed and dried his eyes on his robe sleeve. Maybe Luke had a point. He was the youngest there, and he hadn’t exactly done badly. Unfortunately, the thought wasn’t enough to stop the flow of tears now pouring embarrassingly down his face.

‘Shall we go back to common room?’ offered Luke, ‘I’m sure Percy would be grateful for a forceful disarming right now.’

Gordon let out a hollow chuckle but shook his head.

‘Nah,’ he said, wiping his eyes once more and feeling glad that the watering seemed to have subsided a little. ‘I should probably go and, you know, congratulate Oliver.’

Luke raised an eyebrow.

‘I think Oliver’s had quite enough congratulations,’ he said coldly, and Gordon was sure he was referring to the seventh-years who had cheered him on. ‘Besides, he can’t be surprised can he? He’s probably been practicing for today since he could first climb on a broom.’

Gordon shook his head and Luke let out a sigh.

‘All right then, if you must,’ he said, resignedly. ‘I suppose we’d better say something.’

They got up and walked over to where the new team was standing, and saw Oliver chatting excitedly to Emily. As soon as he saw them however, he broke off his conversation and came running over.

‘Congratulations,’ said Gordon, putting all his efforts into pulling his face into a smile. ‘You were absolutely brilliant!’

‘Thanks! So were you!’ replied Oliver. ‘I really thought you were going to make it in. You were great! That last pass you made to Leia was fantastic!’

Gordon didn’t know what to say to this. He had really expected Oliver to be talking about his own performance, and hadn’t prepared a response for this. In the end he just said a rather meek ‘Thanks’.

‘So,’ began Luke, apparently sensing Gordon’s awkwardness, ‘are we going to be seeing your name on the Quidditch cup this year then?’

‘I hope so,’ said Oliver, grinning. ‘I’m really going to have to train hard if we’re going to win it though. I should’ve saved that last shot by Charlie.’

‘What are you saying, Olly?’ said Charlie, as he walked over to them. ‘I hope you’re not implying I’ve forgotten how to put a good shot in?’

Charlie was smiling as he said this, but Oliver seemed quite as lost for words as Gordon. Charlie seemed rather amused by this, but then turned to Gordon.

‘Listen, mate, I thought you were brilliant out there, one of the best second-years I’ve seen turn up for trials.’

Gordon stuttered out an even meeker thanks. It was one thing for Oliver to tell you this, but quite another coming from Charlie.

‘Look, I’m sorry you didn’t make the team, but I couldn’t ignore Alyson. She was in pretty much the same position last year as you are now. If it hadn’t have been for Leia, she’d have walked onto the team. Same goes for you.’

Gordon felt his cheeks go rather red at this, but again felt rather lost for words.

‘Anyway,’ continued Charlie. ‘The point is you’ve got more than a bit of talent for this, and I really don’t want to see it go to waste. So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to put you in reserve.’

Gordon’s jaw dropped.

‘What? But I didn’t think you had reserves? I thought you just picked the team and that was it!’

‘Well…’ said Charlie rather awkwardly, ‘…sort of. You can’t change the team when you’ve picked it, but there’s nothing to stop us from having other people train with the team. I had a word with McGonagall and Madam Hooch after the final game last year about having a reserve. If we’d have had one then, we’d probably be defending the cup this year.’

Gordon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘So I make the team?’ he beamed. Again, Charlie looked rather awkward.

‘You’ll train with the team. I won’t lie and say you’ll play in any matches because it’s extremely unlikely you will. I’d need a note of resignation from one of the other members to let you in the first team, or someone would have to be pretty seriously injured during the game. To be honest, I can’t see either happening, and I have to admit I don’t really want to see either happen. I’ll also expect you to attend every Quidditch practice we have, as if you were in the team. A lot of people find that a bit frustrating, but –’

‘I’ll do it!’ blurted out Gordon.

‘You’re sure?’ said Charlie. ‘If you sign up there’s no quitting, so if you’ve any other extra curricular activities you might want –’

‘I don’t do any!’ said Gordon, grinning like his life depended upon it. ‘Sign me up!’

Charlie gave a broad smile, though it was nothing compared to Gordon’s own.

‘Well, that’s settled then. The first practice is on Wednesday night. I’ll see you there!’

Gordon felt better than he had felt all day. All right, he hadn’t directly made the team, but this was the next best thing!

‘All right!’ said Oliver. ‘I told you you’d make it!’

Gordon laughed as they walked back to the changing rooms, and started talking with excitedly to Oliver about what sort of tactics the team would use, and how often they would be practicing. Oliver had watched just about every Quidditch practice last year, and so seemed to know exactly how it worked. Gordon was only too eager to listen.

‘…Of course, Charlie’s bound to do things a little bit differently this year,’ continued Oliver, as they made their way back to the common room. ‘Last year Calumn was captain, and with O’Hattern as keeper he had to spend most of the practices appeasing him.’

Gordon nodded, and though Oliver was too modest to say anything, it was fairly obvious that this wasn’t going to be a problem this year. Gordon had already seen enough of Oliver to tell that he was a better keeper now than O’Hattern had been in his seventh-year.

‘In fact,’ said Oliver with a smile, ‘do you think we have time for a detour?’

‘Er…I guess,’ said Gordon, wondering where this was going. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve been to the school trophy cabinet?’ said Oliver.

‘Er…no,’ said Gordon, ‘but I saw the cup at the match last year.’

‘Oh, it’s not the cup I want to show you,’ said Oliver. ‘Come on, this will only take a minute.’

Oliver led Gordon up through a series of corridors before they reached one that was wider and longer than the rest. While the other corridors were lined with portraits of anything from ancient wizards to bowls of fruit, the walls of this corridor were laden with photographs of previous years of students and staff.

‘Here we are,’ said Oliver, as they reached a series of photos right by the cabinet. ‘Have a look at this one.’

Oliver pointed to a photograph marked 1986-87 Champions: Gryffindor. It was a photo of the last Gryffindor team to win the Quidditch Cup, and in the centre was Calumn, Oliver’s brother. Charlie and Emily were sat next to him, while O’Hattern and several other players Gordon didn’t know were stood behind them.

‘That’s wicked,’ said Gordon, as the figure of Emily in the photograph blushed terribly. As Oliver smiled Gordon began examining the photographs around it. Below was a photograph of the Ravenclaw team who had won last year, and a few spaces above it was a photograph of another winning Gryffindor team, this time with a younger version of Calumn.

‘That’s not all,’ said Oliver, smiling. ‘Have a look over here.’

Oliver pointed several rows along from the photographs that they had been looking at. The colour in these photographs was less bright than the ones of Calumn, as they were obviously older.

‘That’s dad,’ said Oliver, pointing at a photograph of a boy that looked very much like him, and positively beaming.

Gordon stood open mouthed as he looked at the photographs. Oliver’s father had not just been the Gryffindor Quidditch captain; he had won the cup several times.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Gordon.

That wasn’t it, however. Oliver also showed him a black and white photograph of his grandfather’s Quidditch Cup winning team, and began pointing out various other teams and players he knew who had won the cup. When they had looked at all the Quidditch photographs, Gordon got Oliver to point out his family on the full school photographs.

‘One day our photos will be on that wall,’ said Oliver.

‘Do you think we could win it this year?’ asked Gordon, getting rather giddy at the thought of getting his picture up. Oliver seemed to think about it for a second.

‘Maybe,’ he said eventually, running a finger down one of the frames. ‘It depends how good the other teams’ new players are. If Ravenclaw can find a keeper to match Leechwood, then they’re probably going to be favourites again. We’ll have to see.’

‘Well, if we get you to poison their keeper…’ began Gordon, turning to Luke.

But Luke wasn’t there.



*



In fact Gordon didn’t anything of Luke until that evening. Gordon had long since got back to the common room, and was attempting his Transfiguration homework. By now the excitement of becoming the new Gryffindor reserve had passed into the disinterest for a small mound of homework, and Oliver had already headed to bed early. Gordon was just trying to find the best way of explaining how hard it was to keep a beetle still while you tried to cast spells on it, when Luke crawled in from the portrait hole.

As he pulled himself to his feet, Gordon saw that Luke’s face was quite red, and he was evidently struggling under the weight of his rucksack. Sure enough, as he walked over to the table where Gordon was sitting, the bottom end fell out of the bag completely, and the Haldeir Ripjaw book fell with an almighty clang onto the common room floor.

‘Been at the library?’ said Gordon conversationally, as Luke heaved the book onto the nearest table.

‘There and around half the castle,’ moaned Luke, as he collapsed into a chair. ‘I was running round the third floor corridor and I ran straight into Filch. He looked like he was going to kill me, so I ran off. Only it’s not so easy when you’re carrying one of these,’ he said, pointing to the Ripjaw book and taking several more deep breaths.

‘I don’t see why you don’t just leave it in the dormitories,’ said Gordon, looking back down to his work. ‘It gives me enough backache dragging it down here. Don’t they have a copy in the library?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Luke, reaching over for a jug of pumpkin juice. ‘Most of the Defence Against the Dark Arts books they have there are on theory. I was looking at a couple of them today. Who’s that for?’

‘McGonagall,’ said Gordon, putting his quill back to his paper.

‘That’s not in until Thursday! Why are you bothering with it now?’ said Luke, taking another heavy breath before draining his glass of pumpkin juice in one.

‘Well, we’ve got Quidditch practice on Wednesday night, so I thought I might as well get it out of the way,’ said Gordon, as he finished the line he was writing. ‘Besides, Percy’s been going on about it all afternoon. He wouldn’t help me with it, but I just asked him how he thought he had done, and he ending up telling me most of the answers anyway.’

‘Oh,’ replied Luke, pouring himself another glass of juice. ‘Is he still around?’

‘I think he went to the library. You didn’t see him there, then?’

Luke took another deep swig of juice and shook his head.

‘No, and I’m sure I’d have seen him if he was. He has a habit of finding you when you’re least looking forward to seeing him.’

Gordon looked up from his work and set down his quill. He didn’t like the sound of that.

‘You two haven’t had another falling out have you?’ he said nervously.

‘You say that as if we were friends to begin with,’ said Luke, a sly smile cracking on his face. ‘But no, I just didn’t feel like having someone nag me about my Transfiguration homework. Still, if you’ve started it I might as well join you.’

‘I’ve almost finished, I think,’ said Gordon. ‘It’s still a bit short, about a foot and a half, but I might try and fill it out with a picture or something.’

‘Of yourself or Percy?’ asked Luke, with a smile.

‘I meant a diagram.’

‘I know what you meant,’ replied Luke, smiling even more evilly.

‘Mr Owen,’ sighed Professor McGonagall, ‘I would have thought by now you would have at least progressed a little. Are you really putting your best efforts into this?’

Truthfully, thought Gordon, as another beetle scuttled along his desk, the answer was probably no. Last year he had enjoyed at least a small amount of success in his Transfiguration classes. He might not have been the best in the class, but he certainly wasn’t the worst either. Yet in his first year he hadn’t had to worry about Quidditch practices, or an over-enthusiastic Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who seemed to award house points based on the extent of the injuries you gained in his class.

‘I think this class could benefit from a little bit of co-operation amongst its pupils,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘I’m not sure this air of competition is helpful.’

Gordon had no illusions as to where the gust of competition to which she referred had come from. Whether as a result of the lack of attention people paid in her own classes these days, or simply from the amount of people who had to miss it through injuries, it was no secret that Professor McGonagall was none too fond of Professor Shuan-Qu. Though she would never openly criticise another Hogwarts teacher, references to competition, aggression, and in one case glorified assault, had all been thinly veiled criticisms of their current Defence Against the Dark Arts regime.

Gordon enjoyed Professor Shuan-Qu’s classes, mainly because it was one of the few subjects these days he was good at, but he was also beginning to feel he was in the minority. Eiko seemed to spend at least a quarter of each class on her own in the corner, while Percy had stopped reading the Ripjaw book entirely, and was now reading another Defence Against the Dark Arts book he had gained from the library. Gordon was sure that he would not have done this without discussing it with Professor McGonagall first.

‘I think there would be a great deal to be gained from some group work. This week for homework I will be splitting you into pairs, and I will expect four feet of parchment –’

Almost as one the class broke into groans at the sound of this.

‘– I will have no complaints about this!’ snapped Professor McGonagall. ‘Almost all of you are below the level I expect from my second-year students, and Professor Flitwick tells me your marks in Charms have been noticeably poorer as well.’

Gordon sighed as Professor McGonagall began marking out on the blackboard the various topics she wanted covered in the essay. Apparently, they were going to have to read at least three different books for it, none of which looked particularly interesting.

‘Now, I expect all the work required for these essays to be split equally between the two of you. If I hear of any pair dividing the work unfairly, then the two people involved will be in serious trouble.’

Gordon gave another sigh. Luke had a lot more spare time on his hands than he did, and Gordon was sure Luke could’ve read the books a lot faster than him. His time was looking increasingly less free by the second.

‘You will be paired with people from your own houses, but I shall be choosing the pairs –’

‘Oh, no…’ muttered Gordon, a little too loudly.

‘Oh, yes, Mr Owen!’ exclaimed Professor McGonagall. ‘And you will be working with Mr Weasley! Hopefully he can encourage you to finally put some effort into your work!’

‘Unlucky,’ whispered Luke into Gordon’s ear. Gordon rather wished he was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and could wipe the smirk off Luke’s face.

‘You, Mr Oakshot, shall be working with Miss Haremia.’

Now it was Gordon’s turn to smirk. Of the two, he’d have probably rather worked with Percy. Luke, however, accepted this without comment, though Veronica was rather more vocal with her protests.

‘But Professor!’ she began, ‘I’d have thought it would have been better if –’

‘I will have no complaints, Miss Haremia. Mr Wood, you will be partnered with Miss Iwai…’

Gordon switched off as Professor McGonagall continued down her list, and began dividing up the Hufflepuffs. How he was going to cope with working with Percy, he did not know. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall gave them three weeks to complete the project, so at least he wouldn’t have to start immediately.



*



Unfortunately, as it turned out, Percy did desire to start immediately. Since Gordon thought it was very likely Percy would report him if he refused, that afternoon he found himself sitting in the library next to him, while he was sure everyone else was in the common room.

‘Let’s see,’ said Percy, as he poured over his copy of A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration. ‘Emeric Switch says that the fundamental difficulties of transfiguration are size, distance and elemental complexity…’

Gordon found himself staring dully out of the window, wondering if he had ever been more bored in his life. His copy of Magical Theory lay open in front of him, while there were several other books lying on the table that Percy had retrieved from the library shelves. Evidently Professor McGonagall’s recommendation that they read at least three books had not gone unnoticed by Percy, who presently had four books open in front of him.

‘…And you do the chapter’s about distance and size?’

‘Huh?’ said Gordon, briefly pulling the remnants of his consciousness back into the library.

‘Are you listening to anything I say?’ said Percy, disparagingly. ‘Gordon, if we expect to get a good mark at this we are going to have to do our best. I for one can not afford to drop marks in this subject if I’m to fo…’

On the library shelves behind Percy, Gordon noticed someone had taken the time to colour co-ordinate the various Herbology books. One’s dealing with water plants all seemed to have blue spines, while the one’s about flowers were…

‘Gordon!’ exclaimed Percy, who was now looking outraged. ‘Listen to me! If you’re not going to do this work, I’ll report you to Professor McGonagall!’

Gordon was about to suggest that he wouldn’t dare do such a thing, but the look in Percy’s eyes made him shut his mouth before the words came out. At the moment, he rather felt that whatever punishment Professor McGonagall issued couldn’t be worse than this.

‘Just read this!’ sighed Percy, passing over A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration. ‘Honestly…’

Gordon sighed and opened up the book. He had read bits of it last year, but generally found The Standard Book of Spells and practical classes to be more helpful. Switch’s book went on about theoretical things that didn’t really concern Gordon. As far as he was concerned, as long as you knew you could change a feather into a needle, there was no need to know why. Still, he supposed if staring at the book would keep Percy quiet, he might as well do it.

They had been in the library for nearly two hours by the time Percy finally decided to call it a day. The notes Percy had taken already totalled nearly three feet of parchment, and his writing was a great deal smaller than Gordon’s. For his part, Gordon had managed to take a foot of notes, though he didn’t know how much use they’d be. Much of his paper was taken up by a scribbled drawing of Percy falling out of one of the library windows.

‘I’ll take your notes, if you want,’ said Percy, as he stacked up the books. ‘I might start on the introduction before bed.’

‘Er…actually I’ll keep hold of them,’ said Gordon, quickly covering up the drawing. ‘I…I could do with re-writing mine; they’re a bit messy.’

Gordon wondered if Percy was going to believe this. Percy sat next to Gordon in several classes, and the notes he took there were as messy as could be. Thankfully, Percy seemed to find this quite acceptable.

‘Yes, that might be a good idea, actually. I’m sure Professor McGonagall would like to see all our working, and I always find things sink in better the second time I write them, don’t you?’

‘Er…sure,’ said Gordon, hastily stuffing the notes into his bag. ‘See you back at the common room!’

‘Hold on,’ said Percy, piling up the books. ‘I’ve just got to take these back to Madam Pince, then I’ll come with you.’

‘Er…no, I’ve got to go and see Professor Shuan-Qu,’ said Gordon, secretly congratulating himself on his improvisation. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Oh,’ said Percy, looking rather disappointed. ‘Well, see you later then.’

‘Bye,’ said Gordon, before hurrying out of the library.

Gordon managed to run down three sets of random corridors before he slowed to a walk. He was now beginning to think that it might’ve been a better idea to have gone up with Percy. It was nearly dark now and there was nowhere else to go but the common room, but he had been desperate to get away from him. His company was just unbearable.

And yet, Gordon thought as he trudged down another random corridor, why was Percy so annoying? He might always go on about schoolwork, but then you were lucky to get a conversation out of Oliver that wasn’t about Quidditch. Though admittedly Quidditch was great deal more interesting than Transfiguration.

Then there was Luke, Gordon thought, as he turned another corner, eyes now to the floor. Most of the time Gordon really enjoyed Luke’s company, but Gordon had met more sensitive rocks. All right, Percy wasn’t exactly the most responsive individual when it came to how you felt, as Gordon rather angrily thought the last two hours showed, but at least he wasn’t unpleasant.

Gordon felt a pang of guilt as he trudged down the staircase. Was Luke unpleasant? It seemed a fairly awful thing to think, but he did have a nasty habit of winding people up, more so than Oliver, Percy or Kyle anyway. No, Luke was funny, not nasty. He might say things to Percy or Oliver, but it was just his sense of humour. Gordon felt safe in the knowledge that Luke would never betray him.

Gordon’s train of thought came to a crashing halt as he reached the last step of the staircase.

He was at the end of a long, windowless corridor, whose jet-black walls were devoid of any paintings or torches. Gordon was sure that the corridor should be pitch black, yet from the stairs it was difficult to judge whether the corridor was dark or not. It seemed to be illuminated by the walls themselves. As Gordon stared at them he began to feel that they weren’t black at all, just an unfathomably dark green. He had never been to this part of the castle before.

Feeling rather unsettled, but needing to satisfy his curiosity, he peered down the corridor from the bottom step of the stairs. From where he was stood it was difficult to judge exactly how long the corridor was. The dark light made it difficult to see what was the wall at the far end, and what was shadow. Yet there wasn’t anything to cast a shadow, or anything to cast a light. Gordon did not need any further indication to guess that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and took a backwards step up the staircase.

It was then that Gordon became aware of a very faint sound echoing down the corridor. He could only just hear it, as it was impossible to tell what it was. Gordon felt a shiver go down his spine. Even though he couldn’t tell what it was, there was something about that sound that deeply unsettled him.

Then there was another sound, this louder than the first. Gordon felt a sickness growing in his stomach. He peered as far down the corridor as the darkness would allow, and desperately tried to listen. It was a faint wheezing sound, accompanied by scuffed footsteps, as though its owner’s legs were not entirely normal. The sound of footsteps grew louder, though Gordon still couldn’t see anything in the corridor. Whatever it was, it was definitely coming this way. Gordon began increasingly aware of that wheezing noise too. It sounded like whatever was making it hadn’t taken a good breath of air in a very long time. He became increasingly aware of how loud his own breathing was, but as he tried to quieten it, it only seemed to echo more.

Gordon wanted to run, but something kept him staring down that corridor. As a panic began to wash over him he reached into his robe and pulled out his wand. Gripping it tightly in front of him, he noticed his arm was now visibly shaking. The sound of dragging footsteps was very close now, but still he could see nothing. Gordon felt his heart pumping hard in his chest, as the footsteps came closer still. Whatever was making them could only be a few feet away.

Then they stopped.

Gordon desperately wanted to run, but his legs had turned to lead. Somehow he felt that any movement on his part would give himself away, though he was sure from the sound of the footsteps that the beast could only be feet away. If only he could see it! Gordon tried to think of everything Professor Shuan-Qu had told him, when a clammy hand reached onto his shoulder.

Gordon screamed at exactly the same moment as the figured slammed him into the staircase wall, and clamped his hand over Gordon’s mouth. It was Filch.

Gordon was overcome with relief. Granted, being caught by Filch was hardly a cause for celebration, but given the horrible images that had been in Gordon’s mind as he stared down that corridor, Filch was definitely his preferred option. Even as he had Gordon pinned to that wall, his furious face inches from his, Gordon felt relieved. Soon he would let him go, and doubtless have him serve detention polishing the school trophy cabinet. If he didn’t have his hand over Gordon’s mouth, he could’ve beamed a terrific smile at his enraged face.

After a few seconds though, Gordon started to feel something was wrong. At first Gordon had thought Filch was furious, but he seemed to be beyond fury. Gordon could seem a vein throbbing in his temple and his eyes were practically popping out of his skull. Gordon desperately waited for him to say something, even bellow at him, but his mouth just seemed to be trembling.

In fact Filch was completely trembling, and he hadn’t broken his eye contact with Gordon for what seemed like a minutes. His grip on Gordon’s shoulder was hurting quite terribly, and if he gripped any harder Gordon thought he would probably break the skin. Gordon realised his heart was beating as fast as ever. Why wasn’t he letting Gordon speak?

‘…y….y…I…’ wheezed Filch, letting his nails dig through Gordons robes.

Gordon didn’t know if Filch was trying to say something, but knew that he didn’t want to be here. His heart was pumping faster that ever. Filch looked like he was going to kill him. Maybe he was. Gordon would’ve cursed him if he didn’t have his hand over his mouth.

Gordon felt himself going weak under his bulging eyes. He desperately tried to recall everything he’d read from the Haldeir Ripjaw book; anything that would be of any use. He couldn’t speak to cast a spell, he couldn’t hit harder than Filch was holding him; he couldn’t do anything. As Filch’s fingernails dug into his shoulder Gordon winced in pain, and his leg spasmed into a kick.

Filch gave an almighty wheeze as Gordon’s knee caught him between the legs, and he doubled over. In a flash Gordon had already leapt up the first five sets of stairs, and before Filch had chance to look up was already tearing down the corridor he had come down. Run, his mind seemed to be screaming at him. Don’t look back just run. Gordon did nothing else. By the time he passed the library a stitch was burning in his side, but he did not stop. He tore up the steps towards the Gryffindor tower, sprinting with all his might until he reached the portrait of the fat lady.

‘Lunar Volaris! LUNAR VOLARIS!’ he screamed, making the fat lady jump considerably.

‘Calm down dear, there’s no need to sh…’

‘LUNAR VOLARIS!’ bellowed Gordon, and the portrait swung open. He dragged himself through, leaving the fat lady complaining to herself.

Gordon was delighted to see that the common room seemed fairly packed, and if Filch did come looking, he was sure the rest of Gryffindor wouldn’t give him up without a fight. Several third-years on a table looked up at him as he span round looking for someone he knew. It was a second or two before he spotted Luke sat on his own in the corner. Gordon practically leapt over to him, grabbed a high backed armchair, put its back to the door, and collapsed into it; taking possibly his first real breaths since he had left Filch’s grasp.

‘Hard time with Percy then?’ said Luke nonchalantly. ‘If you’re worried about him being around –’

‘I just kicked Filch in the balls,’ blurted out Gordon, trying to look as small as possible in the chair. This information seemed to wash over Luke for a second, before he responded.

‘Congratulations!’ laughed Luke. ‘You know, I didn’t think you had it in you! I’ll get the celebrations –’

‘I’m serious!’ winced Gordon urgently. ‘I thought he was going to kill me!’ Luke laughed again.

‘Filch has never been known for his kind punishments, Giz, and if you were expecting lines after kicking him in the –’

‘I’M SERIOUS!’ bellowed Gordon, so loud that the rest of the common room fell silent. Luke stared at him for a second as he shrunk further into the armchair, desperately aware of how everyone must be looking at him. Luke did not respond until everyone had gone back to their conversations, which Gordon was most grateful for.

‘What happened?’ asked Luke curiously, heaving shut the Haldeir Ripjaw book in front of him.

‘I…I…don’t know,’ said Gordon, who was genuinely unsure where to begin. ‘I found this corridor. It was really weird, not like all the other ones. It’s walls were all black and…what?’

It was Luke’s turn to go pale.

‘…a…a greenish black, if that makes sense?’ Luke offered. His nervousness seemed to convey that Gordon was not the first to find that corridor.

‘Yeah! The one at the bottom of those steps. I was there when Filch…Luke?’

Luke was staring into space, much in the way Gordon had done when Percy was talking in the library. Yet there was something about the look on Luke’s face that Gordon found quite disconcerting.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. Gordon felt he had said this rather too quickly for it to be true.

‘Have you been down that corridor?’

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Gordon felt himself horribly reminded of how Filch had been a few moments before.

‘…it…what did Filch do?’ said Luke, quickly changing the point.

‘He slammed me into the wall, and wouldn’t let go,’ said Gordon, his shoulder hurting at the thought. ‘And he clamped his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t speak. I’ve never seen him so angry.’

Gordon found himself nursing his shoulder as he said this. In the back of his mind he was still wondering how Luke’s knew about that corridor, but Luke didn’t seem keen to let on.

‘Yeah, well, he’s been a bit like that all year,’ said Luke, some colour returning to his face.

‘Not like that,’ shuddered Gordon. ‘I mean he was really, really angry. I think he’d have killed me if I’d have let stayed there.’

‘Look,’ said Luke matter-of-factly, ‘you’re not the first to be grabbed hold of by Filch, I’m sure. He’ll have just been in a bad mood. You know what he’s like.’

Gordon stared at his friend, wondering who his calmness was directed at. If he had have been there he wouldn’t be talking like this. When Filches fingers were digging into his shoulder…

Gordon pulled his robe collar to the side and looked at his shoulder, where several unmistakable cuts were bleeding slightly, and a large bruise was forming.

‘That angry?’ he said, showing Luke.

Luke’s eyebrows nearly got lost in his hair as he examined Gordon’s shoulder.

‘Oh, my God…Giz, he isn’t allowed to do that!’

‘I know! He was furious –’

‘No. No, really! He isn’t allowed to do that!’ said Luke, staring in disbelief. ‘Giz, you’ve got to report this!’

‘What?’

‘You’ve got to report this!’ exclaimed Luke. ‘That’s like, I don’t know, assault or something! He can’t do that!’

‘Yeah, but I kicked him in the stones, didn’t I? Who am I going to tell that would believe me over him?’ said Gordon, feeling rather conscious and buttoning up his collar. Luke’s eyes were still resting on his shoulder.

‘McGonagall? Maybe even Dumbledore? You can’t let him get away with that!’

‘They’re not going to take my word over Filch’s! He’s a member of staff!’

‘What about your shoulder! What can he say to that?’

‘That someone else did it maybe?’ said Gordon, feeling like he’d rather discuss this away from the rest of the common room. ‘I could’ve got it in Defence Against the Dark Arts, he’ll turn it against Professor Shuan-Qu!’

Luke was about to speak, but seemed to stop at this. Whether it was because he didn’t want Professor Shuan-Qu to get into trouble either, or because he finally realised that Gordon wasn’t budging, he didn’t press the point.

‘You’re going to have to be careful, then,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know why the hell he did that, but I think you should stay clear of Filch for a while. Stay out of his sight.’

‘Well, thank you, sir-thinks-a-lot, but if you thought I was going to go and pay him a visit –’

‘No,’ said Luke, ‘I mean really stay out of his sight. If he did want to kill you, kicking him where it hurts probably didn’t help.’

‘I can’t skip classes!’ said Gordon, mournfully. ‘He’s always prowling the corridors, he’s bound to spot me at some point.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Luke.

‘So what? You’re going to conjure up a potion to disguise me or something?’

Luke let out a rather long sigh.

‘I don’t know any potion that’ll change your appearance – or at least none that wouldn’t create more attention than normal – but I think you could do some minor alterations with Transfiguration.’

Luke looked up at Gordon’s hair as he said this. Gordon caught the drift.

‘Well, that’s all well and good,’ he replied miserably, ‘but I couldn’t transfigure my way out of a paper bag, and you’re not exactly a dab hand at it either.’

For a moment Luke stared back with an incredulous look on his face, before calming himself and replying.

‘Well, all right, maybe I’m a bit off form,’ said Luke uncomfortably, ‘but you might be able to use some outside help.’

Gordon stared at his friend for a second, before uttering a rather lengthy groan.

‘Hold still!’ said Percy, as Gordon found himself sat cross-legged on his bed, Percy occasionally prodding his scalp with his wand. ‘I’ve been looking through the theory of this, and it will be a lot easier if you don’t move so much.’

When Luke and Gordon had reluctantly gone to ask Percy for help the next morning, he had been only too happy to oblige. Gordon and Luke had agreed that it was probably best not to let Percy know exactly why they needed it doing, and had managed to convince him it was research for the Transfiguration project. For all it had been his idea, Luke had left most of the asking to Gordon, and had largely confined himself to a disgusted-looking silence.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to dye it?’ sighed Gordon, who rather felt he had to spend enough time with Percy as it was.

‘Are you planning on dyeing it at the end of every class?’ said Luke shortly, staring fixedly at the wall as if the very act offended his being. ‘Trust me. This is by far your best bet.’

Gordon let out another sigh. If he was going to hope to use this trick to keep out of sight of Filch, then Luke was right. If the teachers saw him doing it, then Filch was bound to find out.

‘Okay,’ said Percy. ‘Now according to Emeric Switch –’

‘For God’s sake, just do it!’ snapped Luke.

Percy looked rather affronted at this, but did not respond. Instead he placed one hand on Gordon’s shoulder, and waved his wand.

‘Mallia Follicate.’

Gordon was aware of a white light spreading from the end of Percy’s wand, and felt a rather chilly sensation run through his hair. He nervously brought his hand up to his scalp, and was pleased to feel he still had a head of hair. Percy seemed to be quite pleased with himself, while Luke was now staring at him, mouth wide open.

‘Well?’ said Gordon. ‘Did it work?’

‘I would say so,’ said Percy, with a smile, ‘although since you’ll doubtless find some reason to criticise it, I suggest you have a look for yourself.’

Gordon shot Luke a look, but he was still wearing an expression of disbelief. Gordon walked over to the mirror, feeling rather ill at ease, and stared into it.

Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw his reflection. His face was quite the same as ever, but the messy ginger hair that covered his brow was gone. Instead, he found himself looking at a small boy with straight black hair.

‘I thought black might be the most simple colour to begin with,’ said Percy, putting his wand away. ‘I could make an attempt at some other colours if you’d like, but the incantations are rather more difficult for those. It’s easier to transfigure a shade than a colour, though with a little bit of reading I’m sure I could work it out.’

Gordon didn’t know what to say. Filch was never going to recognise him like this. In fact, he didn’t really recognise himself.

‘Percy, that’s absolutely brilliant.’

Percy’s ears went pink.



*



Gordon had wanted to show everyone in the Gryffindor common room his new hair. Somehow it felt like he was a whole different person with it. Unfortunately, Luke had decided that this was a bad idea, since he felt it was best to keep it as secret as possible. Gordon disagreed with this, since he felt that his fellow Gryffindors were hardly likely to tell Filch, but Luke wouldn’t budge. In the end they spent most of the day down there doing homework, with Gordon waiting anxiously till Monday morning. On the plus side of things, there had been no sign of Professor McGonagall, so at least it didn’t look like he was going to be expelled.

By the time Monday did arrive, Gordon was feeling extremely grateful. Not only would he be able to try out his new hairstyle at breakfast, but it also meant he could get away from Percy, who had insisted on helping him with his homework. Gordon was also feeling a little sick of Luke by that time, too.

‘Will you stop smiling at everyone you see?’ snapped Luke, as they passed some Hufflepuffs on the way to breakfast. ‘You’re meant to be keeping a low profile! That’s the whole point of you having this done!’

Gordon stopped smiling, though more from irritation than his friend’s instruction.

‘Does that mean I can’t smile? Since when has a disguise meant you had to be miserable?’

‘I’m not asking you to be miserable, I’m just saying be careful,’ sighed Luke. ‘If Filch hears people talking about this, then the game is up.’

Gordon found himself rubbing his shoulder again, aware that the marks from Friday were still there.

‘Right,’ said Luke as they reached the Entrance Hall. ‘Filch is bound to be at the staff table, so stay behind me when we go in, and whatever you do don’t make eye contact.’

Gordon nodded, and followed Luke in. Keeping his head down, they took a seat near to the doors, hoping Filch wouldn’t see them. Gordon kept his head down, hoping Filch wouldn’t see him.

‘He’s not there,’ said Luke, ignoring his own advice and staring straight up at the staff table, much to Gordon’s irritation.

‘Where is he then?’ whispered Gordon, who having been caught by Professor Snape at the breakfast table last year, felt he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Luke had another look around.

‘He doesn’t seem to be here at all,’ he said eventually. ‘Giz, mate, just how hard did you kick him?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t stop to turn around, you don’t think…’ began Gordon, only to see Luke chuckling to himself.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ he said with a grin.



*



Gordon maintained his disguise until he got to History of Magic, and then had Percy apply it again on the way to Potions. He was sure to get Percy to wipe it off before he went in, though, since he was sure that if any teacher as going to give him detention for Transfiguring his hair, it was Snape.

Potions was quite as dreadful as ever. Professor Snape spent the first half hour explaining the various shortcomings of the Gryffindors’ homework to the class, while typically saying nothing of the Slytherins’ work. Thankfully, this year they had grown a little more resilient to Snape’s attitude towards them, and not even Kyle or Alana seemed particularly fazed these days.

The lesson proved fairly uneventful, in a miserable sort of way. Gordon managed to refrain from answering back to Snape’s criticisms, Kyle melted another cauldron, and Percy was frantically pacing around his cauldron trying to understand what had gone wrong. In fact, the only thing of any interest came as they were packing up their equipment.

‘I want two feet of parchment from all of you by this time next week on where you have gone wrong today!’ snapped Snape. ‘Your other teachers may be prepared to accept sub-standard work, but I am not!’

In any other lesson the class might have groaned, but two feet of parchment was routine for Snape’s classes, and no one ever did it all anyway. As the class filed out, however, Luke walked straight up to Snape, who was now marking a piece of work at his desk, his face an inch from the paper.

‘Sir. There wasn’t anything incorrect with my elevating elixir, but I don’t want to fall behind, so can is there any other homework I can do?’

Gordon felt his jaw drop. It was enough to complete the homework Snape set, but to ask for more seemed like suicide. Snape looked up slowly from his work.

‘Are you suggesting your elixir was perfect Mr Oakshot?’ he said, fixing Luke with a cold unblinking stare. Gordon feared the worst.

‘Well,’ said Luke, evidently mulling it over and in Gordon’s view only making matters worse. ‘Yes, I believe it was.’

Snape did not respond, but continued to stare coldly at Luke. Gordon could only presume his mind was plotting as severe a detention as possible.

‘I see,’ said Snape icily, ‘and you would prefer something a little more challenging?’

Gordon felt he would have dropped dead with fright if Snape had been staring at him like that, but Luke simply nodded. Snape’s lip seemed to curl, but he did not break his stare. Gordon jumped when he addressed him.

‘Mr Owen, if you have packed your things away I see no reason for you to further contaminate my classroom with your presence, you are dismissed.’

Gordon mumbled a ‘sorry’ and made for the door. On his way out he shot Luke one last look, but Luke was still staring at Snape, so he shut the door behind him.

As he made his way to the Great Hall for lunch, Gordon couldn’t help wondering if Luke was going to ever get out of detention. Then again, Snape hadn’t docked him points for asking, which might have been a good sign.

He had been walking for a few minutes before it dawned on him that Percy had not used the spell on his hair. Most of the students would be in the Great Hall by now, and there were few people about in the corridors. Gordon suddenly felt rather vulnerable. Did he wait for Luke, or should he just run to the Great Hall?

Then, to his utter horror, he heard footsteps coming down a corridor to his left. Without thinking he broke into a run, determined to get to the Great Hall before Filch could catch him.

Then a thought occurred to him. What if it wasn’t Filch behind him? If Filch was having lunch he’d run straight into him, and he might be prowling the corridors ahead. Feeling his heart pump in his chest, he stopped and tried to listen for any footsteps, but couldn’t hear any over his own breathing. The library was only two corridors away, and he could at least hide from Filch amongst the shelves. Listening out at every corner along the way, he finally reached the library doors and popped his head inside.

There was no sign of Filch, which delighted Gordon, but there didn’t seem to be anyone he knew either. Several Ravenclaw girls were sat at a table by the door, and there were a few people trailing about the shelves, but no one Gordon knew. He sat down at the table where he had worked with Percy on Friday, and began examining the Herbology books again. Right now he really wished Luke, Kyle or Oliver were around, even Percy, but they were bound to be at lunch. Gordon pulled out one of the books on water plants and began reading it, hoping that if Filch did come in he could at least bury his head in it.

‘Hi, Gordon,’ said a soft voice behind him, causing him to jump with surprise and completely drop the book he was holding, much to Madam Pince’s disapproval. He turned round in shock to see Alana stood in front of him, her arms full of books.

‘Er… sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you here for the Transfiguration essay?’

‘What?’ said Gordon, picking up his book and feeling relieved that at least it wasn’t Filch. ‘Oh, err…no. Percy’s already had me working on that all weekend, I’m just reading, um…’

Gordon, who had picked up the book at random, turned it to the front cover.

‘…Water Plants of the Highland Locks,’ he finished rather lamely.

‘Oh! Are we studying them in Herbology this year?’ said Alana brightly. ‘I like Herbology, my grandfather used to show me all the different magical herbs when I was little.’

Gordon wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that statement, so he tried to change tack.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ he said, one eye still looking at the door in case Filch came in.

‘Well, I thought I’d start our Transfiguration essay,’ she said, indicating to the books in her arms. ‘Kyle said he’d be here in a second, I think he’s gone to Professor McGonagall to try and repair his cauldron.’

‘Ah,’ said Gordon, now with both eyes on the door.

‘What are you doing?’ said Alana.

‘What?’

‘Gordon you’ve been staring at the door since I came over here,’ she said simply. ‘Is something wrong?’

Gordon felt rather uneasy. Luke had said that the less people who knew about this the better, and he didn’t really know Alana all that well. Still, he reasoned, if he didn’t tell her he was likely to still be stood here if Filch did walk in.

‘Gordon?’

‘I’m…I’m kind of in trouble with Filch,’ said Gordon, feeling that half the truth would be enough to be going on with. ‘I really can’t afford to get caught by him, or else I’m… well, I’m in trouble.’

‘Oh!’ said Alana. ‘Yeah, I’ve never liked him, he’s shouted at me and Veronica loads of times. Threatened us with detention for walking down a corridor last week.’

Gordon’s eyes snapped from the doorway back to Alana.

‘Which corridor?’

‘What?’ said Alana, looking rather taken aback by the question.

‘Which corridor was it?’ said Gordon desperately. Alana opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted before she could speak.

‘Ah! You’re already here, Giz!’ said Luke brightly as he walked in, causing Alana to drop the books she was carrying. ‘Hi, Alana! You alright?’

Alana, whose face had already gone scarlet as she picked up her books, nodded.

‘Oh…yeah, I’m…I’m fine. Listen I’ll see you both later,’ she said, before promptly running out of the library.

‘Well, I’ve got some fairly good news,’ said Luke, smiling. ‘Snape didn’t –’

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ snapped Gordon. ‘She was just telling me about that corridor and Filch, and you scared her off!’

‘What? What did I do?’ said Luke, appearing momentarily shocked before changing to a much more severe expression. ‘Wait. You’ve not been telling people about Filch –’

‘It’s my business to tell who I like!’ said Gordon sharply, feeling incredibly irritated that he had been cheated out of that piece of information. ‘And she knew something! She said that Filch had shouted at her for walking down a certain corridor! It’s bound to be the same one!’

‘Boys!’ snapped Madam Pince from her desk. ‘If you wish to have a conversation you can take it elsewhere! I won’t have chatter in my library!’

Gordon slammed the book down on a nearby table and stormed out, wondering if he would be able to question Alana in the common room later. He had not got far, when Luke caught up with him.

‘Hey! Look, I’m sorry!’ said Luke. ‘I didn’t mean to chase her away. What did she say anyway?’

Gordon shot his friend another sharp look, but then sighed and slowed down. Maybe he was being a little unfair on Luke.

‘All right, I know it’s not your fault she’s a bag of bloody nerves. Apparently her and Veronica had been walking down a corridor, and Filch had threatened them with detention just for being there. She didn’t say which, but what other corridor is he likely to have been so angry about?’

Luke didn’t respond immediately, and seemed to think about this for a second.

‘Well…I don’t think it’s the same one, to be honest,’ he said eventually.

‘Oh, come on!’ blurted out Gordon, amazed that his friend couldn’t make the connection. ‘You weren’t there when he caught me!’

‘I know, but…well. He’s not been in the best of moods anyway, this year.’

Gordon couldn’t believe it.

‘Have you forgotten about my shoulder?’ he said rather coldly.

‘No,’ said Luke calmly, ‘but that’s another thing. Filch threatens everyone with detention, but he doesn’t seem to be making a habit of grabbing hold of people.’

‘Well, he probably wouldn’t do that to a girl…’ said Gordon, though he was beginning to see his friend’s point.

‘And anyway, Alana? In that corridor? I can’t imagine she’d have been there for a second. She gets heart failure when someone speaks to her, let alone places like that. Can you honestly picture her there?’

Gordon was going to respond, but in truth the answer was no. He was still pretty sure that what Alana had told him was no co-incidence, yet Luke didn’t seem interested, so he decided to give up.

‘How many detentions did Snape give you?’ he said eventually.

‘Oh! Well, that’s the thing!’ said Luke, his expression lightening. ‘I think I might be making progress on getting that book!’

‘So basically, he said no, then?’

‘I didn’t ask him,’ said Luke simply. ‘It’s going to take more work than that. He wants me to start reading another book, I was going to get it from the library when I saw you.’

‘And your extra homework?’ asked Gordon.

‘He said he wanted four feet of parchment on it,’ sighed Luke, ‘but if I do that, I’m sure I can convince him!’

For the first time that day, Gordon roared with laughter.



*



When Gordon arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, having first sent Luke in to confirm Filch was not there, they sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Oliver and Percy. Percy was eating his lunch with a copy of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper, laid open in front of him. Beside him Oliver was looking rather nervous.

‘Alright, guys,’ said Luke as they walked over. Percy responded with his normal ‘Hello!’ and Oliver gave a rather irritable looking nod, which Gordon supposed came from spending your lunch hour alone with Percy. Gordon sat down facing Oliver, leaving Luke to sit down next to Percy, and began serving himself a bowl of tomato soup.

‘Dear me,’ said Percy, as he took a sip of his coffee, ‘it would seem Millicent Bagnold is looking at her last year in power.’

Percy’s subscription to the Daily Prophet was, Gordon suspected, purely so he could utter more useless but intelligent-sounding comments at lunchtimes. Occasionally, Oliver would take it off him to look at the Quidditch league tables, but that was about the extent of the useful information to be gained from it.

‘I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to regret asking this,’ began Luke, getting himself a bowl of minestrone, ‘but what are you going on about?’

Percy looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet.

‘Millicent Bagnold,’ replied Percy simply. ‘I suppose you are unfamiliar with our current Minister for Magic?’

‘There a Ministry for Magic?’ asked Luke, for whom it had obviously never really occurred to that wizards might have a place in government.

‘You don’t know about the Ministry?’ said Percy, looking somewhat disappointed. ‘Don’t you read the paper?’

Gordon shook his head with Luke. He didn’t really read the Muggle newspapers, so he hadn’t seen the need to bother with the Wizarding ones. Percy sighed.

‘Well, I think you should consider reading it a little more often if you’re going to find things like that out,’ sighed Percy. ‘Still, I think I can give you a brief summary of what’s going on. You really need to read these articles for yourselves though.’

‘Get on with it, Perce,’ said Luke rather coldly.

‘I should also point out that when it comes to the Ministry, I have quite a bit of inside information,’ said Percy, tapping the side of his nose ridiculously. ‘You know my father works in the Ministry, as it happens, so I hear a great deal more about it than the Daily Prophet prints.’

Percy followed this with a chuckle. Gordon felt he had obviously missed the joke.

‘Fascinating,’ said Luke. ‘Although I don’t suppose I could tempt you to get to the point. Ideally, while we’re still young.’

Percy looked a little affronted at this, but carried on.

‘The Wizarding elections are in May, and Father says he’ll be surprised if Bagnold manages to stay on another term. She used to command quite a lot of support a few years back, but recently things haven’t been going so well for her. She’s lost the support of the Prophet for one thing, and lots of people have been displeased with the things she’s done to St Mungos, closing wards and firing people left and right.’

‘Oh,’ said Gordon, who felt obliged to offer something to the conversation. ‘So, erm, what happens then?’

‘If she were to lose the election?’ said Percy, who was showing a disappointing amount of vigour for the subject.

‘Yeah,’ said Gordon, stirring his soup and feeling that another long answer was on its way.

‘I suppose it depends on who gets in after her,’ said Percy thoughtfully. ‘The candidates put their names down in February, but typically the Prophet’s already been speculating on who will get in. It’s giving most of its support to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magical Transport, though he used to work for the Prophet, so that’s hardly a surprise. Dumbledore himself has got more than a few mentions, but father says that he’d rather stay here. Then you still have Crouch as an outsider…’

‘Thank you, Percy,’ said Luke sarcastically. ‘You have been far too informative as usual, and I remind myself not to ask questions again.’

Gordon noticed Percy’s ears going rather red, and decided it might be best to change the topic of conversation.

‘Are you all right, Oliver?’ he said, as brightly as he could. ‘How’s your Transfiguration homework coming along?’

Oliver moaned and put his head in his hands, narrowly avoiding putting his elbow in Luke’s soup.

‘We haven’t started it,’ he sighed from behind his hands. ‘I’ve not even spoken to Eiko about meeting up about it yet.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, mate,’ said Luke, swiftly moving his soup. ‘I’ve not spoken to Veronica either, it’s still early days.’

Gordon, having been working at the project solidly for several days now, felt that such an attitude was rather unjust.

‘You’ll need to start work on that soon,’ said Percy, matter-of-factly. ‘We’ve already been putting a couple of hours a day in, haven’t we Gordon?’

Gordon nodded glumly, which at least seemed to cheer Oliver up.

‘Eiko and Veronica should be here for lunch soon anyway,’ said Luke. ‘We could ask them if they want to do some work tonight for it when they come in.’

‘Oh, I can’t start it tonight,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s our first Quidditch practice this evening, and I –’

Gordon dropped his spoon.

‘Quidditch practice?’

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver, looking rather concerned at Gordon’s apparent shock. ‘Charlie told us our first one is this Wednesday, remember? We have the Ravenclaw game in a few weeks time.’

Gordon sat back. With Filch and all the time he and Percy were spending on the Transfiguration project, he had completely forgotten about Quidditch. When Charlie had mentioned the date of the first practice, it had seemed a long way away.

‘I forgot,’ said Gordon apologetically. ‘We’ve been really busy, and…well.’

‘Well, at least you know now,’ said Oliver. ‘What about you two? Are you coming down to watch?’

For what must have been the first time since the pair of them had arrived at Hogwarts, Percy and Luke exchanged an embarrassed look. Gordon would have been amused, had he not wanted Luke to come and see him.

‘Well,’ said Percy, going back to his paper. ‘I rather hoped to do some reading for Charms tomorrow, but I suppose it can wait. I might not stay to the end, though.’

Oliver nodded, and looked over to Luke, who looked mortified.

‘I, erm, I can’t make it,’ he said nervously, ‘I’m kind of busy.’

‘Busy?’ blurted out Gordon. ‘Come on, mate! This is our first practice, surely you can make it to this one!’

Luke looked increasingly uneasy at this, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘I’m sorry. I just…I’ve got to see Professor McGonagall about something.’

‘About what?’ said Percy, who seemed to have regained interest in the conversation now a teacher’s name had been mentioned.

Luke mumbled something about the word “private�, that didn’t leave Gordon entirely convinced. After all, what would he be talking to McGonagall about that he wouldn’t say to him?

In spite of Luke’s absence and Gordon’s concerns over his place as a reserve, the Quidditch practice that followed turned out to be a breath of fresh air after hours stuck doing homework with Percy. In fact, it might have been the practices that seemed to make things go a little easier over the next couple of weeks. The Quidditch team were all optimistic about winning the cup this year, Gordon and Percy received full marks for their Transfiguration essay (and had even managed to convince Professor McGonagall of Gordon’s participation), and there had been no sign of Filch whatsoever.

In fact, as the days counted down to Halloween, and the Great Hall’s decorations changed appropriately, Gordon had a nasty suspicion that this last blessing had more serious implications. In his first-year, Gordon didn’t recall Filch as having taken a single day off, and yet this year he had been almost completely absent. No one seemed to have seen him at all.

‘Maybe you did him an injury,’ offered a grinning Luke, as the pair of them chatted about it in Herbology, while collecting nectar from the large Mertovian Minderslall flowers at the end of Greenhouse three. ‘It would serve him right, too.’

Gordon chuckled rather nervously, pulling on one of the anthers of the flowers and sending a gush of deliciously sweet smelling nectar into the bowl in front of him. Yet the thought that he had managed to hospitalise Filch, and that the worst was yet to come, was one he was taking rather more seriously than he liked to admit.

‘Where do you think he’s gone?’ asked Gordon, pouring his bowl of thick bright-red nectar into a bucket by his feet. ‘He’s been off for weeks now, do you think he’s coming back?’

‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ said Luke, still smiling. ‘Though it might be possible of course, although Dumbledore would probably have said something about him leaving, unless…’

Luke broke off from what he was saying and began staring into space, allowing the nectar from the flower he was holding to miss his bowl completely, and flood over his shoes.

‘What?’ said Gordon.

‘Well,’ began Luke quietly, as he moved his bowl back under the stream of nectar. ‘This is just a thought, but what if Dumbledore had found out what happened?’

‘That’s not a thought I’d like to dwell on, if you don’t mind,’ replied Gordon nervously, replacing his bowl under the flow of nectar.

‘Yeah, but what if he fired Filch?’

It was Gordon’s turn to stare into space.

‘Fire him?’ he said eventually, surprised the thought hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

‘Well, it’s a possibility, isn’t it? Or what if Filch resigned? Maybe you were the last straw for him, Giz!’

Gordon thought about that for several more minutes without saying a word. Maybe Filch had been fired. It would certainly explain why they hadn’t seen anything of him, but why had no one asked him about it? Surely they would have needed to at least listen to what he said. Unless Filch resigned…

‘I think we have enough there, second-years,’ said Professor Sprout jovially. ‘Put your buckets in the centre of the table, and we’ll go through the properties of Minderslall nectar.’

Gordon picked up his bucket and pushed it to the centre of the table. Soon everyone had done this, though Luke seemed to take longer than anyone else while he fiddled with his.

‘Now, who can tell me what Minderslall nectar’s primary function is?’

Veronica, Percy and Alana’s hands immediately shot up into the air.

‘Miss Thistlethwaite?’

‘Minderslall nectar is mainly used in medicine for healing wounds,’ answered Alana. ‘It also has anaesthetic properties.’

‘Very good,’ said Professor Sprout. ‘But what problems does this mean we have with using Minderslall nectar?’

‘In large doses,’ continued Alana, ‘It can also be a powerful sedative.’

‘Indeed,’ nodded Professor Sprout. ‘The Minderslall has been used in centuries past as a form of poison because of this. While it may not be as potent as many other poisons, the healing effects of the nectar mean that it is extremely difficult to detect Minderslall poisoning. Unless taken in large quantities, the unfortunate recipient may well wake up feeling better than they did before. This has, however, given it another function. Anyone?’

The same three hands went back up into the air.

‘Miss Haremia?’

‘The Minderslalls anaesthetic properties mean it has also been used in the past as a…um…’

‘…intoxicant, yes,’ said Professor Sprout, rather more coldly than usual. ‘Unfortunately the nectar’s healing nature means this is rather ill-advised. Continuous use of it leaves the body dependant upon it to heal itself, and has meant that many Minderslall users have died from what seemed like innocuous cuts.’

Several of the students seemed to shuffle uncomfortably at this, and Gordon had to admit that the idea of bleeding to death from a pinprick didn’t sound particularly appealing. After that, the sweet smell of the nectar didn’t seem quite so seductive.

‘Good,’ said Professor Sprout. ‘I’ll give five points to Gryffindor for your answers, girls. Class dismissed.’

The class filed out of the greenhouse rather more quietly than it usually did, with Luke and Gordon bringing up the rear.

‘Why would anyone want to take something that does that to you?’ said Gordon. ‘It’s crazy.’

‘Well,’ began Luke, ‘that’s not to say it’s not useful, or else they wouldn’t of had us collect it. I’ll admit the idea of dying from something like that doesn’t sound appealing, but on the other hand, having it seal a life threatening wound rather does.’

‘Well, I suppose,’ said Gordon, though he was still having trouble getting the image out of his mind.

‘It’s got its uses with potions, too, I think,’ continued Luke.

‘Professor Sprout didn’t say anything about that,’ said Gordon, wondering just how pleasant a potion Luke was talking about, ‘and I’m pretty sure I haven’t smelled Minderslall nectar in Snape’s classes before.’

‘You’re right, you haven’t,’ said Luke, as they headed up the main staircase to Gryffindor tower. ‘Even that new book I got out from the Library from Snape only mentioned it briefly.’

‘So what sort of potion are you talking about? A bleeding-to-death brew?’

‘Lovely,’ said Luke coldly. ‘But it’s not actually…well, I suppose you could say it’s a potion…in a sense.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Gordon, who was having trouble following what his friend meant.

‘Well, some of the more advanced potions in the book have foundations written in their instructions. Only a couple of potions use them, but I’m guessing they’re really powerful ones. I think they’re mean to absorb stuff out of the potion you’re making, or something like that. I need to go to the library and do some more reading on it before I try it out.’

‘Try it out? You didn’t…’ spluttered Gordon, but he quickly realised that Luke had.

‘Well, Snape isn’t going to give any to me, is he?’ said Luke, smiling and clinking what sounded like several full vials of Minderslall nectar in his pocket. Gordon groaned.

‘You know that stuff’s probably illegal,’ he said quietly.

‘How many times do you need to be told? It’s a medicine!’ sighed Luke.

‘It’s still probably illegal,’ said Gordon, as they reached the Gryffindor Common room. ‘Lunar Volaris.’

‘Well, yes, it might be illegal,’ said Luke, as they climbed though the portrait hole, ‘but you’re not going to tell anyone, and neither am I, so forget about it. Are you ready for the game tomorrow? Not feeling nervous?’

Gordon shook his head in disbelief as the recklessness of his friend, but decided it would be best to just leave the subject well alone.

‘A little bit, though I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ll be playing, after all.’

‘What a positive mental attitude you have,’ said Luke dryly.

‘Well, I’m the reserve, aren’t I? It’s Oliver you need to worry about; he’s the one who’s playing.’

Luke let out a sigh.



*



By the next morning however, Gordon was feeling rather more nervous. Charlie had got the team sitting together at breakfast to try and invoke some team spirit, and in spite of everyone’s excitement at practices, most of them looked as nervous as Gordon felt.

This team bonding session seemed to be fairly pointless, given that Charlie was refusing to discuss tactics in any way in case someone from Ravenclaw might be listening in. Eventually, it was time to head down to the dressing rooms.

‘All right, team,’ said Charlie brightly, ‘Ravenclaw are the holders, so while this game might be our first, we should be looking at it like it’s the final.’

Gordon was wondering if these were quite the right words to use on a team containing two new players, but Charlie continued.

‘Ravenclaw won last year because they had the best defence in the school, but this year they’re going to be without Leechwood or Ven Hesseleine; so their team isn’t nearly as strong this time around.’

‘And we’ve got ourselves a keeper to rival Leechwood,’ said Emily, causing Oliver to blush.

‘You won’t find me arguing with you there,’ said Charlie with a grin, ‘and none of the Ravenclaw chasers have got anything on your brother, Oliver, so this should be easy going compared to what you’re used to.’

Gordon thought Oliver was going to disagree with this for a moment, but said nothing, and Charlie continued.

‘The only thing we really have to worry about is their passing. Amott’s had the same chaser line-up for three years now, so they’ve plenty of experience playing together. Emily and Rickson, I want you two you concentrate on breaking up that line when they get the Quaffle. Alyson, you’ll need to cut back as well, try and force one of them out wide. Leia will wait for the counter attack. Michael, you keep your eye on O’Tule. Ven Hesseleine might have been the better of their two beaters last year, but she’s no mug either, so don’t let her influence the game too much.’

Michael twirled his bat in his hand and nodded.

‘Right then! We have a Quidditch Cup to win!’ said Charlie. ‘And believe me, with our team we’ve practically won the cup already!’

The team stood up, looking considerably more roused for the game than they had done at the breakfast table, and began walking out onto the pitch. Gordon, feeling slightly upset that he had not been included in the game plan, followed them out.

The stadium erupted into cheers as the Gryffindors made their way out onto the field, and one by one shot up into the air. Feeling elated at being cheered on by what seemed like half the school, Gordon was about to fly up to join them, when Madam Hooch came over.

‘Ah! I see you made Gryffindor reserve, Mr Owen. Congratulations!’ she said, with a rather warming smile.

‘Thanks!’ said Gordon, who was feeling increasingly like a member of the team under the cheering of the stands. ‘Can I fly up with them?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Madam Hooch. ‘You’re not allowed more than seven people per team airborne at a time, not even before kick off. You’ll need to sit yourself down here.’

She indicated to a small wooden bench by the changing room doors, which Gordon recognised as being the one Bill had been sat on last year. Reluctantly, Gordon sat down, as the Ravenclaws began pouring out of their changing rooms to more applause and cheers.

‘Welcome to the first match of the Quidditch season!’ boomed the commentator’s voice from directly above Gordon, making him jump considerably. ‘Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw!’

Gordon watched the Ravenclaws take to the air, while the Ravenclaw captain Amott and Charlie met in the middle, next to Madam Hooch.

‘This match features the two favourite teams for the Quidditch Cup this year,’ continued the commentator, ‘and it is likely that the winner today may well be the team who end up holding the trophy at the end of the year!’

Gordon watched Madam Hooch talk to both captains, and then blow her whistle.

‘And they’re off!’ said the commentator, barely audible over the cheers. ‘Amott takes the Quaffle! He passes it inside to Roberts…nice turn by Roberts to avoid Ridgebit…she passes it out to…no! Excellent feint by Roberts…she shoots…great save by Wood!’

Oliver pulled off a fantastic first save to deny the Ravenclaw chaser, and the Gryffindor stands burst into cheers. Without thinking, Gordon found himself on his feet applauding.

‘A great save by Oliver Wood, the brother of Gryffindor’s ex-captain Calumn, who left last year. Wood passes it out to Sturrock…Sturrock bursts down the left hand side…flicks it inside to Maplefair…Maplefair shoots! GRYFFINDOR SCORE!’

Gordon could hear the Gryffindor stands going wild, and clapped along with them until his hands were sore.

‘Maplefair puts one past the new Ravenclaw keeper Dale Crover…Now he passes it out it Marrowhite…takes it forward…looks to pass to Amott…Great interception by R…oh, she drops it…but Sturrock picks it up and Gryffindor are back on the attack…Sturrock comes forward…dodges a bludger from O’Tule…Sturrock shoots! GRYFFINDOR SCORE!’

As the stands burst into cheers again, Gordon rocked back and forth on his bench in delight. For a second he almost turned to his side to talk to Oliver about it, before realising that he was playing.

‘Crover puts it out again…Amott picks up…passes to Marrowhite…who puts it back to Amott…who throws it out wide to Roberts, who’s being closely marked by Ridgebit…but Roberts gets it back in to Amott…Amott shoots…O’Tule releases a bludger! Wood s…oh dear!’

The Ravenclaw beater fired a bludger over Amott’s shoulder as he shot, sending both hurtling towards Oliver. Flinging himself over to save the shot, Oliver palmed it away, only to be hit square in the temple by the bludger, knocking him clean off his broom.

Gordon was about to shout for someone to catch Oliver, but as he opened his mouth Oliver’s fall began to slow down. Something was stopping him from falling, something coming from the box above Gordon’s head. The staff box.

‘Wood takes a very nasty looking bludger to the head!’ gasped the commentator, as Oliver’s limp body glided to the ground. ‘That’s one of the worst hits I’ve seen!’

Sure enough, no sooner had Oliver reached the ground, than the entire Gryffindor team had flown down to him, and Gordon ran over to him.

By the time Gordon reached the Gryffindor hoops, Oliver was being examined by Charlie and Madam Hooch. His eyes were shut, and he wasn’t moving.

‘Is he okay?’ exclaimed Gordon to Emily, as Madam Hooch began casting some form of incantation on Oliver.

‘I…I don’t know,’ said Emily, who seemed quite shaken. ‘I think he’s just been knocked out…but…well…I guess Madam Pomfrey will take care of him.’

As she spoke, Professor McGonagall came running over to them, and started speaking with Madam Hooch and examining Oliver herself. Within moments she had conjured up a stretcher, and Madam Hooch and Charlie had lifted Oliver onto it, and Professor McGonagall was levitating it off to the hospital wing.

‘I think we need to call a time out,’ said Charlie resignedly to Madam Hooch, ‘and we’ll bring on Gordon for Oliver.’

Madam Hooch nodded and flew back up into the air to reprimand the Ravenclaw beater. Charlie pulled everyone together, and began talking animatedly.

‘Okay. We might have lost Oliver –’

‘Is he going to be okay?’ blurted out Gordon, who was presently more interested in his friend’s health than the game.

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Charlie bitterly, ‘which is more than can be said for you, Michael! Where the hell were you? I told you keep your eye on O’Tule!’

‘Well, I thought…’ began Michael, who seemed rather taken aback by this less-than-friendly version of Charlie.

‘Keep your eye on her constantly!’ said Charlie frantically. ‘Now, look, guys, we might have lost Oliver, and I know that’s not ideal, but this isn’t a repeat of last year. This year we’ll be playing with a full compliment, and that’s still more than enough to beat these lot. Gordon…I know you’re a chaser, but have you ever played as keeper before?’

‘No,’ said Gordon truthfully. ‘I’ve always played with Oliver.’

‘Right…right…’ said Charlie resignedly, before looking at each member of the team in turn. ‘Okay. I’ll take over as keeper. Leia, you –’

‘You’re not going to go keeper!’ said Emily, looking outraged. ‘You’re our best seeker! How are we supposed to win the game without you?’

‘Well, someone’s got to do it!’ said Charlie, looking increasingly frustrated. ‘Neither of you have played there, and we can’t afford to sacrifice Rickson or Michael –’

‘I’ll play keeper,’ said Alyson simply. Charlie looked around at her as if he had never seen her before.

‘Er…look, Alyson,’ began Charlie. ‘You’re not exactly the…er…mould for keeper –’

‘Well, I’ve done it before,’ replied Alyson. ‘I’d rather play chaser, but I can give it a go.’

‘Er…’

‘Go on, Charlie,’ said Emily, ‘our best hope lies in you getting the snitch.’

‘Well, yeah. I suppose so,’ said Charlie, though he looked less than enthusiastic about the idea. ‘All right, Alyson, you go keeper. Gordon, take over from Alyson. Don’t stray too far forward and try to keep Roberts out wide.’

‘Er…right,’ said Gordon, who was beginning to feel that finding his way onto the team might not have been such a bright idea after all. The team put their heads together once more, and they flew back up into the air.

In fact, as Gordon left the ground, and the Gryffindor stand erupted into cheers, he felt his stomach do some very uncomfortable somersaults. At first he tried to look for Luke and Kyle in the stands, but thinking about what Oliver would have said, quickly span back round to face the Quaffle.

‘It looks like Gryffindor are ready to resume! Oliver Wood will take no more part in the game, so Gryffindor have brought on new reserve chaser Gordon Owen. Alyson Ridgebit, the third new addition to the Gryffindor team, moves in as keeper. Gryffindor have a penalty, which will be taken by Emily Sturrock…and she puts it past Crover! GRYFFINDOR SCORE!’

Gordon grinned, and his stomach seemed to settle a little. This was it…he was in at the deep end, but here was as good a place to start as anywhere.

‘The score is now Gryffindor 30 Ravenclaw 0, Crover puts the Quaffle back out to Amott…he comes forward…nice bludger from Rickson forces him off course…he passes back to Marrowhite…Sturrock makes the interception…she passes it forward to Owen…Owen makes the simple pass to Maplefield…she dodges the bludger from Linson…Maplefield shoots! Just wide!’

Gordon watched the Quaffle soar agonizingly past the third hoop. Now Amott had picked it up and…

‘Gordon! Keep your eye on Roberts!’ shouted Emily from the other side of the pitch, and Gordon immediately saw Roberts shoot past him as Amott hurled a long pass…

‘…to Roberts…Owen’s rising for the interception…will he get there…no! Misses by inches and Roberts takes it up in acres of space! Roberts comes forward…shoots! RAVENCLAW SCORE!’

Gordon cursed openly, and immediately shot further back the pitch to where he would be able to keep an eye on the Ravenclaw chasers. He shot a quick glance over to Emily, but she had her eyes on the Quaffle as…

‘…Ridgebit puts it out to Sturrock…she passes it sideways to Owen…throws it back to Sturrock…Sturrock comes forward…cuts inside…looks for Maplefair…Amott Intercepts! All three Ravenclaw chasers are on the attack now…Amott dodges a bludger from Rickson…’

As Amott came storming forward, Gordon bolted from his position at him. Gordon knew Amott would have to make the pass, but if he could get there quick enough he might just be able to put him off…

‘Amott reverse passes it to Marrowhite! Marrowhite is through on goal with Roberts in support…Marrowhite passes to the far post…Roberts takes it first time…RAVENCLAW SCORE!’

For the next twenty minutes Ravenclaw continued to dominate, and Gordon found himself hoping that either seeker would catch the snitch just so he could get off the pitch. Granted, he had managed to set up Leia several times and she had scored three of them, but Gordon had never really practiced marking anyone before, and Roberts was a far better flier than he was. Gordon tried to remind himself that it was his first game, and that all three Ravenclaw chasers had won the cup last year, but it didn’t make him feel any better. It was also evident that Alyson was not a born keeper, as she was letting in more shots than she was saving.

‘As Ridgebit passes the Quaffle out to Owen, the scores stand at Gryffindor 70 Ravenclaw 180…Owen passes it long over to Maplefair…she comes forward with Sturrock in support…’

Still, Gordon thought that things could be worse. Witherfall was never going to beat a fit Charlie to the snitch, and they were holding out. Though the situation was deteriorating, if Charlie hurried up, they could still win it.

‘…Maplefair shoots! Crover saves! Marrowhite picks up the Quaffle and delivers it straight up to Amott…Owen on the intercept…Whoa! Almost takes a bludger from his own beater! Amott’s clean through and shoots! RAVENCLAW SCORE!’

On the other hand, thought Gordon, if this kept up maybe Charlie really was running out of time. Michael Oldfield seem to be getting worse with every second that went by, and was spraying his bludgers around seemingly at random. Rickson seemed to have taken over from him for watching O’Tule, which Gordon was quite grateful for. On several occasions he saw a bludger come flying at him only for Rickson to beat it away. Yet Michael had…

‘It looks like Weasley has seen the snitch!’ boomed the commentator. ‘Witherfall is in pursuit.’

Gordon looked up and saw Charlie dive at the other end of the pitch, and both Ravenclaw beaters swooped around to take a shot at him. At that moment Emily flung the Quaffle over to him, and with a rush of blood to the head, Gordon shot forward straight at O’Tule.

‘Weasley’s reaching out…but O’Tule lines up a shot with a bl…Whoa!’

Gordon shot past O’Tule causing her to miss her bludger completely in surprise, but then to his surprise…

‘…and Owen is one on one with Crover! Owen comes forward…’

Sod it, thought Gordon. The far hoop as hard as I bloody well can…

‘…Owen shoots! GRYFFINDOR SCORE! …and Weasley’s reaching out for the snitch…he’s got it! GRYFFINDOR WIN!’

As Gordon watched the Quaffle tumble to the ground behind the hoops, and heard the crowd screaming applause, he could have sworn it was all for him. Perched on his broom surrounded by a cheering school, he felt this was about the happiest he had ever felt in his life.



*



By the time they had got back to the common room however, it seemed most of the Gryffindors felt that Charlie was the one most deserving of praise. While several different pupils took time to congratulate him on his game, including all of the rest of second-years, very few of them seemed to have noticed he had actually scored.

‘You were great!’ beamed Kyle, to Gordon’s delight. ‘I thought we were going to lose for sure when Oliver got hit by that bludger, but you kept going and…well, it looks like we might win the cup this year!’

‘Yeah,’ said Luke, with a smile. ‘Congratulations mate, you deserved that goal at the end!’

‘You saw it?’ beamed Gordon. ‘I just thought “I can do this!� and bam! Straight through the far hoop!’

‘I’m sure Oliver will be proud of you,’ said Luke. ‘We’d better head up to the hospital wing in a bit to check up on him. Professor McGonagall said we should let him rest, but I suppose he’d want to know.’

‘I’ll tell him myself!’ said Gordon animatedly. ‘Hold on while I get the rest of the team!’



*



Oliver, it transpired, was well awake when they reached the hospital wing, though Madam Pomfrey’s best efforts had still left him with a lump the size of a snitch on the side of his head.

‘What happened?’ he asked, as soon as he saw Gordon and Luke lead the team over to him.

‘We won, mate! We won!’ exclaimed Gordon, who couldn’t help but burst into a terrific grin. ‘It was probably the best moment of my life! I…well…we couldn’t have done it without you!’

Oliver did not seem to be particularly enthralled by this at all, and in fact seemed rather confused by the whole proceedings. As Gordon sat on his bed to give him a blow-by-blow account of the match, Oliver seemed none-the-wiser.

‘…and when we heard that Charlie had seen the snitch, well I knew I could get on the score sheet after our summer practices, so I –’

‘Er…look,’ interrupted Oliver. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but what happened?’

‘I…what?’ laughed Gordon. ‘Aren’t you listening? We won!’

‘Yeah, I’m very pleased for you,’ said Oliver, ‘but what happened to me?’

‘Oh! You took a bit of a nasty bludger to the head early on.’

‘Oh…’ said Oliver, who still looked rather bemused with the answer he had been given. ‘Were we playing Quidditch, then?’

Gordon stopped talking at once, and beside him Luke burst into a fit of laughter that earned him glares from Gordon and the rest of the Quidditch team, though Oliver seemed thoroughly confused.

‘Don’t you remember?’ said Gordon, his joy at winning passing into concern. ‘It was your first game for the Gryffindor Quidditch team –’

‘Oh. Oh!’ said Oliver, a look of comprehension finally dawning. ‘That’s right! I’m on the team this year! God, I’d completely forgotten! Listen, you’d better check with Madam Pomfrey if I’m going to be ready to play for the Ravenclaw game. It’s coming up soon and I can’t miss it! It’s probably the most important match of the season.’

Luke positively roared with laughter. Gordon felt rather pleased when Madam Pomfrey shouted at him and threw him out of the hospital wing. For one thing his amusement seemed distinctly inappropriate, and most of the Gryffindor team were looking like they might want to put him in here themselves.

‘It happened today, we won it,’ said Gordon calmly.

‘You played it without me?’ said Oliver, looking aghast.

‘You played,’ said Charlie, sitting down on the other side of Oliver’s bed. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘D…did I?’ said Oliver, his expression utterly blank.

‘You took a bludger to the head early on,’ said Gordon. ‘It knocked you clean out and Professor McGonagall brought you up here, but you were playing for at least two minutes before it happened.’

‘I was?’ said Oliver, looking more confused than ever.

‘And didn’t let a shot past you.’ said Charlie cheerily. ‘You’ve no memory of it?’

‘Not a thing,’ said Oliver, apparently still unsure if he should be taking them seriously. ‘But we won?’

‘We did,’ said Gordon. ‘Can you remember who you are?’

‘Oliver Wood,’ said Oliver simply. ‘Unless I’ve missed a meeting.’

‘You haven’t missed a meeting,’ sighed Gordon. ‘Just your first Quidditch match.’