Patrick glanced over to where Professor Marigold had been earlier, hoping to focus on something else for a portion of his walk. She, however, was no longer kneeling by the trees and had apparently found what she was looking for.
By the time they reached Allard Hall, Mr. Vexing had beaten them there, cackling. His finger was pointing at the cheerless faces of Patrick, William, and Elizabeth.
“Foolish children. Hang ‘em from the top of the Allard Tower, I say. They’ll never forget where””
“Julius,” Professor Snerkin hushed calmly, “I will handle this. If you please, you have already done enough for tonight.”
Mr. Vexing’s wide grin dwindled into a pair of thin lips as he stalked off back to his own portrait. Professor Snerkin continued to walk forward bringing the three of them to a staircase that wound up to the left onto the second floor. Professor Snerkin approached a large tapestry of an American flag that had only thirteen stars, before speaking aloud the word, “Warbler.” The thick cloth sprang up, rolling itself into a tight bundle above a bare wall. Professor Snerkin reached out, turning his hand on what seemed like nothing. Before he could open his mouth to point out the fact that his hall master was trying to walk through a wall, Patrick saw a shiny brass knob appear in Professor Snerkin’s hand, attached to a door that, too, had just appeared before the four of them. Professor Snerkin walked in first, moving around his large desk scattered with papers, to his chair.
“Please, sit down,” he said, looking at the group of Allards he had just apprehended. Patrick crept down into his chair, William on his left and Elizabeth to his right, all of their eyes were shifting around the room in an effort to avoid having to face Professor Snerkin. The only thing of immediate interest was his collection of Wickenburg Warblers memorabilia, which Patrick would have liked to look at more closely had he not been in the circumstances that he was currently in.
He fixed his eyes on an immobile, navy-blue bird which appeared to be the same warbler that could be seen chirping and flying around Professor Snerkin’s head from time to time. Patrick thought that now would have been as good a time as any for it to ring out into its usual outbursts of tweeting, but it remained still and the growing silence prompted Professor Snerkin to speak.
“I don’t believe one of you can explain what you were doing in the Templeton Common Room?” he asked.
Patrick did not remove his gaze from the bird. He did not even bother to look to William or Elizabeth for help, figuring that neither of them could possibly come up with a suitable excuse.
“Needless to say,” he continued, “I’m very disappointed. Mr. Vexing didn’t hesitate to inform me that he had seen a group of Allards headed toward the Templeton Common Room. You can imagine my disbelief at his words and how I felt when I saw you three exiting the very place Mr. Vexing had warned me about.”
“It’s just someone stole our book and”” William, who had been the first one brave enough to speak, was quickly cut off.
“”and you didn’t think enough to inform me or Professor Dextra concerning the matter?” William slouched a little into his seat; defeated.
“Are you even sure that the book you’re looking for is in the possession of one of the Templeton students?”
Patrick continued to avoid eye contact. He, William, or Elizabeth could not give a definitive answer to that question. Professor watched them as none of the Allards opened their mouth to speak.
“Just as I thought. You know, I have every reason to give each of you detention until Christmas break,” he said.
“But you three have never given me reason to do so or demonstrated any prior example of such behavior. And you,” he said, turning to Patrick whose eyes were now looking up past Professor Snerkin’s ear, “with a match in just three days. I hope whatever event possessed the three of you to do this will not interfere again,” he finished, still looking at his Allard Chaser.
Patrick finally moved his eyes to land on his hall master. Professor Snerkin’s face did not seem as angered or as fierce as it could have been for a person in this situation. He was instead staring at Patrick with a concerned look as though worried about him. Professor Snerkin broke their eye contact and waved them out of his office.
“You may return to your dormitories.”
The three of them sat perplexed, not budging an inch from their spots, relieved and confused at the same time.
“Excuse me, sir, d-does that mean I can still play on Saturday?” Patrick asked.
“Fortunately, for you, yes. It would be much too late for us to bring in a reserve player this close to a game. Besides, the first game usually sets the mood for the season. If we don’t start off strong then it’ll be hard to finish strong.”
Patrick tried to contain himself. Somehow, he not only managed to avoid detention, but he was not going to miss his first Quidditch match. It was the most fortunate venture of law-breaking he had ever taken part in.
The three of them quickly left without another word wanting to exit the room before Professor Snerkin could overturn his own decision. The old flag rapidly unraveled, falling back to the ground as the door slammed behind them.
“What just happened?” asked Elizabeth, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly gaped.
“I think we just got off easy,” William said. “Thanks to Patrick, I think.”
“Huh? What did I do?”
William looked at him as though he had not heard a word Professor Snerkin said. “You’ve got a Quidditch match on Saturday. He can’t pull you out three days before then. There’s no way Allard would be able to win. People would start asking questions and””
He was cut off once again, this time by Elizabeth. “I have a question. What book were you two talking about? Is that what you were looking for in that room?”
Patrick glanced over at her, temporarily forgetting that she did not know about the book they were looking for or the compass. “We might as well tell her,” he said to William.
“Why should we?” William asked, rudely.
“I don’t know, perhaps she could help us. You’ve seen where both of your bright ideas have landed us.”
“Is it my fault that the stupid portrait can’t mind his own business?” retorted William.
“You just have to promise you won’t mention this to anyone,” said Patrick.
They walked slowly back to their common room. Patrick and William gave Elizabeth a full account of everything that had happened since Patrick received William’s letter. Their meeting with Professor Allard, how Patrick’s grandfather suggested they look for a certain book and how Gregory bailed in the hidden library during the search.
“Wait, so you mean you have a compass that the founder of this school once owned?” They were crammed in a corner of the common room, speaking as soft as they could. “If Gregory knows you have that you can bet he’ll want it. Do you know how much something like that could go for?”
“Enough Galleons to fill the Quidditch stadium, probably,” William said.
“If he has that book,” Elizabeth pondered, “he might be able to figure out what it does and then all he’ll need is to take it from you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Patrick placed his hand on his forehead trying to find out how he could possibly retrieve the book from Gregory.
“Don’t worry about it Patrick, you’ve got Quidditch soon. You heard what Professor Snerkin said, the first match sets the mood.”
Patrick agreed with her. It was probably better to keep focused on the upcoming match; he did not want Professor Snerkin to regret his decision to allow him to play against Templeton. The golden-yellow lanterns were the only image Patrick could picture in his head before he finally fell asleep.
The three of them were relieved to find that none of their peers seemed to know about their exploits in Transfiguration class the next day. Professor Sumpton gave Patrick an early wish of luck upon leaving class without so much as mentioning the Templeton Common Room. In Potions, Gregory did not even hint at the idea of someone breaking into his room. Apparently, Elizabeth had done an adequate job of placing Gregory’s things back in his trunk.
Friday rushed by until Saturday finally rolled around, making Patrick more anxious than ever. The Dining Hall was louder than it had ever been; even louder than it had been during the placement ceremony. The students eating were uttering words inaudible to Patrick, obviously waiting for the first ever Wentwater Quidditch match to begin. Patrick could hardly focus on eating breakfast thanks to the Allard and Templeton tables that were already carrying around large banners and shooting confetti from their wands. He found himself unable to finish his hash browns, watching as the shredded potatoes slid down the edge of his fork and back onto his plate next to a pile of red steamers.
“What’s wrong, Patrick?” Elizabeth asked. “It’s not like you aren’t ready. You had plenty of practice.”
Patrick twirled his fork on the hash browns, the fork clanging against the silver plate. “It’s different. I’ve never actually played against another team before. I might not even be good in games, just practices.”
The rest of the Allard Quidditch team appeared behind Patrick. Gerald grabbed him by the shoulders, “Are you ready to go?”
“I suppose,” Patrick shot a uneasy glance at William.
“Just watch out…everyone isn’t used to playing Quidditch, they’ll try and get away with as much as they can,” William warned, as Patrick stood up from his seat and nodded, hastily joining his teammates.
Patrick walked along cautiously to the Quidditch stadium, stepping over the grounds littered with fallen yellow, red, and orange November leaves. The collective sound of the Allards walking together over the foliage could easily be mistaken for hundreds of tiny bones cracking. Gerald turned to Patrick, whose hands were tucked nervously into his robe pockets.
“You excited for our first match?”
“Yeah…excited, that’s the word,” he said, uneasily. “Aren’t you scared at all?”
Gerald’s lips stretched into a large smile. “Yes and no. I’ve played Quodpot so I’m not afraid of playing,” he started, “it’s the new competition you never know what to expect the first time so there’s always a little fear, but there’s no sense in thinking like that. If you go in thinking the worst, you’ll usually get it.”
Gerald was right. Patrick began thinking of the best scenarios he could has they finished the walk to the locker room. Ideas like the Allards winning by three-hundred points, or Harvey catching the Snitch within the first two minutes of the game.
Once he reached the locker room, Patrick changed quickly, ideas still floating around in his mind. He stood pacing around, his broomstick shouldered in his hand, as their captain Harvey stood to address the team.
“Okay, now the Templetons have an older team, but we’ll have a good chance against their Keeper, Hodges, since she’s only a second year. Gerald, Ben…I want you keep those Bludgers flying away from Patrick. They’re going to be gunning for him because he’s a first year. I’ll do my best to take care of McLendon.”
Harvey’s speech wasn’t entirely reassuring. Patrick’s grip on the broom started to loosen as he and the rest of the team walked toward the entrance to the stadium.
“Thatcher!” called a boastful voice from behind him. Gregory Huntington was swaggering over to Patrick. “I just wanted to say goodbye before Templeton blows you right on your back.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes. He waited, but there was no sudden burst of courage as he had hoped. There was a match to be played and he instead turned quickly to join behind the other Allard players, his back against the derisive laughs of Gregory.
They walked out on the field to raucous cheers and applause as they moved toward Professor Pennipot, who was dressed in black and white robes, holding her own broomstick and wearing a shiny silver whistle around her neck. The stands were filled with students waving flags, looking through binoculars, or shooting more rounds of confetti and streamers.
“And here’s the Allard Quidditch team walking onto the field. Emmert, Argenbright, Thatcher, Sinclair, Speckley, Flynn, and Pinniger! They’re the team Professor Snerkin decided to go with. Even though I’d make a great Chaser, I’d much rather play Quodpot, anyhow.”
Patrick squinted up to the stands to see an older boy, who he remembered as Eric Stilley from the Allard tryouts. Eric was commentating the match while Simon Thornfield and Travis Sweeney occupied two of the seats around him, both noticeable from the large hats they were sporting, each with a huge dangling crown-feather from, presumably, the Quinby Quails Quodpot team.
“Now there’s the Templeton team: Barnes, Swoppins, Bannock, Murphy, Greene, Hodges, and McLendon!”
The Templetons, uniformed in yellow, met the Allards in the middle of the field. They certainly did look a great deal older than the Allards. Their youngest players were a second year, Hodges, a short girl with mild curls in her brown hair, and a fourth year, Greene, a bald and somewhat robust black boy, the rest all looked at least fifth year or older.
Professor Snerkin emerged from the storage room levitating the game trunk over to Professor Pennipot, before leaving the field. He shot Patrick a glance as he swished the curtains closed.
“All right, let’s get this game on the road,” Professor Pennipot began. “You all should know the rules and I’m not going to be lenient if any of you try and be sneaky. So, that means no blagging, no blatching, no blurting, no bumphing, no cobbing, and no skinning. Got it?”
The teams gave a collective murmur of assent.
“Now, mount your brooms.” Patrick heaved a leg over his Cleansweep and Professor Pennipot unlocked the trunk. She released the Golden Snitch and two iron Bludgers which zoomed around the field without so much as a second’s hesitance. Fifteen brooms rose into the air as Professor Pennipot clutched the red, leather Quaffle. She gave a great blow on her whistle and heaved the ball upward, starting the match.
“And Bannock’s got it! Look at him go!” cried Eric, over the cheering stands. Josephine and Kyle were already positioned to block potential passes to the other Templeton players. The match had just begun, but Patrick had barely moved.
“Patrick, come on!” called Josephine. She was struggling to yell at Patrick and intercept the Quaffle which had just been thrown to another Templeton Chaser, Barnes. Patrick sped off looking for an opportunity to steal.
“Anita Barnes has the Quaffle…a quick throw to Bannock…Templeton scores!” The cheers from the Templeton side were earsplitting. It was less than a minute in and Allard was already losing. Patrick turned his head upward looking for Harvey. Please just grab the Snitch, he thought; hoping that the game would be over before he could screw up.
“Get open, Thatcher!” Allison was hovering around the goal posts looking to pass. After noticing Kyle flying high and unguarded, she hurled the ball at his direction. Patrick raced next to him, waving a hand in the air to signal a pass. The only male Templeton Chaser, Bannock, a Native American boy with dark brown hair, missed a potential steal as he swerved close by just as Kyle pitched the Quaffle to Patrick. The red leather felt soft, almost moist, to the touch as Patrick made his first possession of the game ball. He cradled it under his arm and made his way toward the hoops.
“Jeremy Greene, with a great Bludger hit…and it’s coming Thatcher’s way!”
Patrick forced his head behind him to find a single iron Bludger following behind him. He was just outside the scoring area before he was struck with an idea. Lining his broom up with the center hoop and the Templeton Keeper, Hodges, Patrick kept flying straight. Taking a quick look back, he bolted right and chucked the Quaffle into the rightmost hoop. His eyes glanced back to the Templeton Keeper to see the Bludger heading straight for her.
“Allard scores! Smart move by Thatcher, forcing the Bludger onto Hodges. Although Melinda should probably let go of the goal post now…” Melinda dove out of the way of the Bludger and was now clutching both of her hands around the post of the goal, her brown hair tossed about her face. She finally regrouped enough to put the ball in play; her body was quaking as though a Bludger might strike her down for merely thinking of throwing the Quaffle. Melinda hastily tossed the ball, and instead of landing in the intended hands of her Chaser, Swoppins, the ball carried itself back into the possession of Patrick.
Dumbstruck, he made a dash for another goal, he felt more confident this time, having already made one. Patrick tucked the ball safely in front of his stomach, dodging a swipe from Barnes. He looked over to see Josephine flying wide-open.
“Looks like Thatcher is tossing it off to Emmert an--oh no…”
No sooner had the thought to pass came, had Patrick felt so much pain. The Quaffle he had been holding exploded, shaking violently and knocking him from his comfortable seat on his Cleansweep. Patrick was clinging onto his borrowed broom as it veered sharply downward to the ground.
“Thatcher takes a tumble! It looks like we’re going to get a Quodpot match after all.”
The once roaring crowd diminished into a group of scattered whispers. The fall seemed like forever and the closer Patrick came to the ground, the fainter the sounds of the stadium became. One hand still gripping the wooden handle of his broom, Patrick finally hit the ground, his back scraping along the grass until he came to a sudden stop, motionless and unconscious.
Patrick could no longer smell the scent of fresh grass. Instead, his nose was blocked as though thick rags had been stuffed inside his nostrils. All of his senses felt smothered by the sudden change in environment; he couldn’t open his eyes, feel, or hear anything. He was lying still until his arm began to tingle. Patrick tried to wiggle it, but stopped when he heard a calming voice pierce through his inaudible surroundings.
“Please, you’ll have to stop fidgeting if you want me to help.” Patrick’s eyelids were heavy, he strained as he attempted to wrench them open. A witch, wearing robes as white and as pure as pearls, was crouched over beside him. Her voice was poised, but it rang of a Southern accent so evident, that it was unmistakable even in Patrick’s current state of awareness.
“Wh”who are you?” Patrick managed to force out.
“You can call me Ms. Altricks, but I’m,” she said, pushing down Patrick as he tried to sit up, “going to have to insist that you lie down and don’t move. You’ve taken a great fall.”
Ms. Altricks grabbed a vial filled with blue liquid off of the nearby table, lowered Patrick’s chin, and tipped the contents of the vial into Patrick’s mouth. It tasted sweet momentarily, but left a horrible aftertaste of stale bread. Five minutes had passed before Patrick fully recovered his senses, strong enough to sit up.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed. His side, amplified by the sudden recovery of the ability to feel, ached.
“I suggest you don’t make any sudden movements, it may take a while before all that pain goes away.”
William and Elizabeth rushed in side-by-side from the far end of the Hospital Ward. Their echoing footsteps thrashed against Patrick’s ear drums.
“Patrick! Are you okay?” asked William.
Ms. Altricks set the vial back on the table. “I’ll just let you three alone.”
“All that practicing you did,” Elizabeth added. “You barely got to play.”
Patrick had not gotten a chance to rerun the events in his head. “What happened?”
“That Qwiffle thing you were playing with exploded,” explained Elizabeth.
“Quaffle”” William corrected, “and that wasn’t a Quaffle, it was a Quod. Quaffles don’t explode.”
“How did we end up playing with a Quod? Only Professor Snerkin and Pennipot have the key to that shed,” Patrick wondered. “No one else could have entered in there.”
“It’s simple,” William continued, as if it suddenly made perfect sense. “Why else do you think Professor Snerkin let us off so easy? Because he needed you to play today and make it look like an accident.”
Patrick could not have been more confused than he was now. Professor Snerkin had always been more than pleasant to Patrick. “Why though? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, he is the Hall Master of Allard Hall. We know that your compass used to belong to Professor Allard. Don’t you think that he would know some things about that? He probably knows more about it than we do,” offered Elizabeth.
“You mean you think he wants it, too?” Patrick asked, growing frustrated. “If everyone knows about it, how come we’re the only ones that can’t figure out what it does?”
William and Elizabeth shrugged. At that moment, the rest of the Allard Quidditch team came bustling through the two large Hospital Ward doors, hastily walking over to surround Patrick’s bed. Kyle and Josephine were squeezed next to each other and Gerald was standing in the forefront. Patrick had almost forgotten that he was part of a team, a team that had to finish the match.
“What happened? Did we win?” he asked Gerald.
“Yeah, luckily,” he responded. “Harvey caught the Snitch just over five minutes after you left. No one else scored, they were afraid that the new Quaffle Professor Pennipot brought out would explode again.” He shot an eye over at Josephine and Kyle.
“Well? Who knows what happened to that first one?” Josephine began. “I didn’t want to be the next victim!” William gave her a sharp poke with his elbow.
“Ahem…sorry, Patrick.”
Through the same doors, a squat, black woman approached the group fussing under her breath. Irritation could be seen carved in the wrinkles of her broad face as Ms. Altricks followed behind, trying to calm her down. The woman had the presence of someone who had cared for and tended to hundreds, even thousands, of people during her lifetime. The other Allard team members backed away from Patrick, while William and Elizabeth stood pressed against his bed.
“Listen here, I can’t have this place swarmin’ with chil’ren,” she said, circling the group, her hands seemingly attached to her hips.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hortshorne,” Ms. Altricks said, apologetically, standng close behind. “I only let two in. I didn’t know this many people would follow.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you’all are gonna have to go. This boy needs his rest, and Merlin knows how he’ll get it with all this ruckus about. Shoo! G’on…Shoo!”
The remainder of the Quidditch team hurried out glancing between each other and Mrs. Hortshorne cautiously.
“We’ll visit you again later, Patrick,” Elizabeth said, stepping backwards.
“And don’t worry,” William spoke, his voice dropping low to a whisper as he approached Patrick’s bed, “we’ll find out what’s going on with Professor Snerk”Okay! Okay! I’m going! We’re going!”
Mrs. Hortshorne had reached out her fingers and clenched them to William’s ear. Elizabeth shot for the door just out of reach of Mrs. Hortshorne’s free hand and William, who was being dragged out of the Hospital Ward while Mrs. Hortshorne muttered to him about respecting his elders. Patrick chuckled silently before plopping back down on his bed. Mrs. Hortshorne closed the door behind them and turned around to address Patrick.
“If your friends come back you can tell them you’ll see them tomorrow. Ya got nothin’ I can’t fix up in a bit and I don’t need to be bumpin’ elbows with any other chil’ren. I’ve already got a mess on my hands with Ms. Altricks. Always fiddling around with things….”
Mrs. Hortshorne’s words faded away like smoke billowing into the air. Patrick suspected that the blue liquid Ms. Altricks gave him was beginning to take effect, lulling his mind away from Mrs. Hortshorne’s voice and the rest of the room. He was back in the air hovering over the Quidditch field just as he had earlier that day.
“Allard scores! Smart move by Thatcher forcing the Bludger onto Hodges. Although Melinda should probably let go of the goal post now…”
He looked over at Eric Stilley who was providing the same commentary as he had earlier. Patrick could not have been more confused than he was now. He saw Melinda Hodges dive out of the way of an oncoming Bludger clinging tightly to the goalpost exactly as before. Patrick found his situation very convenient owning to the fact that this same incident lead to his current injury. He had gone back in time! He watched Melinda stammer back onto her broom and force a half-hearted pass to put the Quaffle in play. Patrick tried as hard as he could to steer out of the way, but his hands outstretched to seize hold of the ball. He soon became a spectator to his own actions, sitting helpless as he rushed underneath Barnes, the Quod tucked safely in front of his stomach. The scene replayed exactly as it had before, except this time it moved by much faster.
“Thatcher takes a tumble! Looks like we’re going…”
Patrick did not bother to pay attention to Eric this time. He was falling just as rapidly, his body automatically performing its previous motions. He had fallen halfway until he was suddenly suspended mid-air. Professor Snerkin had flown up beside him staring right into Patrick’s frightened blue eyes. Professor Snerkin’s face was wrapped with beaming white teeth.
“You don’t belong here, Thatcher…perhaps you could join us next fall.” Professor Snerkin zoomed away on his broom cackling as Patrick resumed his plunge toward the ground. His stomach was twisting as he let out a loud scream. Patrick’s eyes ripped open and he was sitting bolt upright in his Hospital Ward bed.
“What’s the matter with you? I knew you couldn’t handle Quidditch, but I figured with over eleven years of experience you’d have figured out how sleeping works by now.”
Paul was walking coolly up to Patrick’s bed, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets. Mrs. Hortshorne was hunched over a several beds away tending to a girl whose hands had swelled to twice their normal size.
“Shut up, I was having a bad dream.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right, Patty,” Paul started, scrunching up his lips and cooing his voice, “…the dream’s over now and, apparently, so is your stay here…Mrs. Hortshorne told me you can go now.” Patrick had only just begun to realize that he was sitting up without feeling any pain at all. As severe as Mrs. Hortshorne was, she was a good healer.
“Did you come to visit me?” asked Patrick, in awe.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Not so much because I wanted to as it was mom’s doing. She heard about your little tumble from Professor Obelus and practically begged me to check up on you. She’s already got your ticket to come home for Christmas.” Paul started toward the door, his hands never leaving his pockets. “Oh, she said you can invite your little William friend, too,” he added, quickly. Patrick leaped out of bed and grabbed his brother by the cuff of his robes. “Well, it looks like you’re all better…”
Mrs. Hortshorne had seen Patrick’s bound from his bed. She turned from the girl she was treating and called across the room at him. “Don’ be jumpin’ outta beds like that. I can’t be havin’ chil’ren fillin’ up this ward ‘cause they wan’ to be foolish,” she reprimanded.
Patrick looked at her, nodded rapidly and turned back to Paul, his excitement never leaving his face. “She said William can come, too?!”
“Yes,” Paul responded, haughtily, yanking his sleeve from Patrick’s grip. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
The two of them walked back to the Allard Hall Building, Paul taking large steps and Patrick short, rapid ones. Patrick was very excited and kept badgering Paul until Admiral Polk interrupted him for the password.
“Ah, the young one arrives from a great and mighty fall, speak the password and you may return to your hall.”
“Poppycock,” piped Patrick.
“In and make haste, there is no time to waste!” shooed Admiral Polk. His voice echoed as the two of them passed through his rippling picture. Patrick walked along the passageway into the common room and noticed William, Elizabeth, and Henri huddled at one of the tables playing a game of Sizzling Flip. Henri was holding up a single, flashing card, triumphantly. He slammed the piece of paper down on a pile of cards, also flashing, before the entire stack went whizzing and whirring into the air releasing several fits of blinding light. Tiny flecks of color sparkled over their side of the common room. Patrick had covered his eyes to protect them from the bright beams and found a single card resting in his hair after the strobes of light subsided. He grabbed the card from under his tresses and shook off the fizzling sparks remaining on it.
“Patrick!” Henri’s eyes had been the first to recover and quickly found their way to Patrick. William and Elizabeth turned to look while feverishly rubbing at their eyes, obviously trying to regain their sight.
Henri jumped from his chair toward Patrick. “Do you want to play ‘Zizzling Flip wizz us?” he asked, holding up a handful of cards that, upon closer inspection, showed no signs of being able to burst into large flashes of light.
Patrick waved his hands, afraid the cards may blow up in his face. “No, no thanks Henri. I’m not exactly in the mood for games where things explode.”
Henri moved to one of the armchairs away from the table and was quickly joined by Jonathan Hiller who apparently had seen the flashes from across the room. Patrick slumped down into a chair next to Elizabeth and William, finally happy to be back in the Allard common room.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, leaning in and speaking slowly, almost as if she thought the accident had affected his ability to listen.
“I’m fine,” he responded, “What about you two? Did you learn anything?”
“Nothing,” Elizabeth sighed. “We haven’t even seen him since the match yesterday.”
“Yeah, and everyone thinks Professor Pennipot is in on it, too. How else could Professor Snerkin have managed to get a Quod into play?” William added.
Patrick could not understand why, of all the people at Wentwater, he was the one that was being targeted. He thought back to his mother’s prediction that his teachers would be great. He was becoming unsure of whether her assessment was anywhere near accurate.
“Well, if he isn’t around for a while I can take a bit more time on my Wind Charm,” Elizabeth confessed. She stood up behind Henri and pointed her wand at the stack of cards.
“Flabra!.” Three cards flew off the top of the deck leaving the remaining cards untouched. Henri and Jonathan were furious and spun their heads around to yell at Elizabeth.
“What did you do that for? I was about to beat him,” shouted Jonathan.”
No you weren’!” defended Henri.
Elizabeth had placed one hand over her ear and was repeatedly trying to blow more cards off of the top of their deck. Elizabeth’s screams of “Flabra!” could barely be heard over Henri and Jonathan’s collective yells.
Patrick, suddenly remembering his earlier excitement, shifted upright in his chair. “I almost forgot. If you want, my mom said that you can join us for Christmas this year.”
“Really? At your house? With your grandpa?”
“Yes,” Patrick said, “my brother told me this morning.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d have to let my dad know, but I’m sure he’d let me.” William said, his face beaming. “Then we can ask him about your compass and see if he knows why the whole school is breathing down your neck.”
“Right,” he said, uneasily at William’s last few words. “Maybe we can actually learn what’s going on.”
Over the next two weeks, Patrick was greeted by students and staff in many different ways. With matches looming ahead, various members of the Garrison, Mendel, Rylan, and Kinsey Hall Quidditch Teams approached him with questions of what to do should their Quaffle suddenly explode. Most of his teachers were very concerned about his well being. Professor Marigold, in particular, decided that Patrick was too disoriented to work on their Puffapod lesson and gave him a list of plants in the Invigoration Draught that would assist in bringing him back to a “tolerable” state.
While many acted with concern for Patrick’s safety, others gathered quite a laugh from that Saturday’s match. Gregory Huntington would periodically sneak around corners shooting sparks into Patrick’s face when he least expected it. It did not bother Patrick very much, as Gregory’s sparks tended to miss their target. It was Gregory’s buddies who would fire their sparks at William and Elizabeth whenever their paths crossed. Marcus Lickspittle was the smallest of the three. His head was covered in messy, light brown hair and his front teeth stuck out to give the impression that he was snickering whenever he opened his mouth. The boy presumably second in command, was Clarence Middling. He was a black boy, roughly the same height as Gregory who was usually the least enthusiastic of the bunch when playing pranks on other students. The three of them together were perhaps the most unlikely bunch of friends Patrick had ever seen.
Professor Snerkin’s class had taken the most noticeable change. His classes had been taken over by none other than Professor Montgomery, himself, which sent Elizabeth frantically searching through Common Charms and Enchantments trying to find the proper way to fix her faulty Wind Charm.
“Good Morning, students,” Professor Montgomery started. He was cleaning his wand against his sapphire blue robes before he looked up at his temporary class. “Professor Snerkin will be on leave for quite a while and I will be taking over until he returns.’ He waved his wand, magicking a textbook out of thin air, and sighed. “Ah, it feels great to be teaching again,” he confessed, “it just so happens that I used to be a Charms teacher. Can anyone tell me which lesson you were on?”
A Mendel boy in the front of the room with dirty blonde hair and a thin face raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr….”
“Lawley, sir. Edwin Lawley. We were working on Wind Charms,” he said, while sorting through his notes.
“Very good, Mr. Lawley.” Professor Montgomery instructed each student to perform the charm on a pile of books in the front of the room.
The whole class period passed without anyone mentioning Professor Snerkin’s absence again. Simon Thornfield attempted to raise his hand before it was quickly yanked down by Travis Sweeney. Patrick and William kept looking back to Jonathan Hiller for another loud outbreak, but they supposed he had more manners than to direct such a feat at their school dean.
By the time the Thanksgiving feast rolled around, the remaining four halls had successfully completed their Quidditch matches without a report of as much as a broken twig. Although none of the matches suffered from any mishaps, talk still had not subsided due to the fact that Professor Snerkin was still absent from the school’s premises.
This did not put a damper on Henri’s appetite, which seemed to have grown instantly as the silver plates filled with large turkeys, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes.
“I’m soo zhankful for Zhanksgiving,” Henri said, grabbing his fork and eyeing a turkey leg in front of him.
Patrick, William and Elizabeth followed shortly joined him, taking their share of the Thanksgiving meal. Patrick, however, was still concerned about the whereabouts of Professor Snerkin and had taken to glancing up at the staff table during bites. He was watching Professor Wiggins slice his turkey up with his wand in sharp jabs, while Professor Marigold sat beside him mixing her gravy in her mashed potatoes.
“Doesn’t anyone care that he’s gone?” Patrick asked William. “He is the assistant dean.”
“Probably not. They must have known something was wrong with him. They’re probably happy that he’s away.”
Professor Sumpton and Professor Obelus were chatting casually amongst themselves. Professor Sumpton was occupying Professor Snerkin’s old chair and looked as though he was enjoying both the food and conversation. Patrick looked down at his plate still half full of food and sighed. He would be home soon enough and could finally get a break from everything that has happened at school. He could finally get some of the answers he was looking for. He could finally be just an eleven year-old boy, again.