The rest of the break was much more enjoyable now that Grandpa Thatcher was home and there were no more questions that Patrick and William had to ask him. New Year’s Eve was celebrated with a massive, neighborhood display of Raucous Rocket Fireworks that filled the sky and ears of Arbridge, Virginia.
When it came time to return to school, it was quite a few days into January. With Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher having to go to work and Grandpa Thatcher with his strange habit of wanting to always stay inside, Patrick, Paul, and William departed back to the Portkey unattended. It was only moments before they trekked their way to Nortwick Corner and were joined again by Myra Pudderly. She looked much chipper than usual, as if she had received everything she wanted for Christmas and more. She smiled at them as she approached.
“Hello,” she greeted, still carrying a dash of timidity in her voice. “How was your holiday?” she asked the three of them.
“Great,” replied Patrick, who seemed to be the only one interested in responding to Myra. William was standing the farthest away from her, clearly still hurt that she hadn’t listened to his Quidditch recommendations. “I had lots of fun.”
“Ooh, you must have read something good then!” Myra said, looking suddenly more fascinated
“Er…not really,” said Patrick, thinking of his owl book, which he had barely skimmed since receiving. “Haven’t done much of that.”
“That’s too bad.”
Patrick’s words seemed to have taken a little bit of spark out of her. She relaxed back into the Myra Patrick was used to seeing, the one that would spend most of her time staring at the ground when around other people. Paul, meanwhile, who had been glancing at his watch eyeing the time, set his trunk down and went rifling through it.
“Hey, you like books right?” he questioned. “You can have this one.”
He stopped digging around and handed her the book he had gotten from his mother. Patrick watched the fire once again ignite as Myra’s head tilted up from the snow at her feet and toward the book that now rested in her hands.
“Do you really mean it? I can have it?” asked Myra, unbelievingly.
“It’s yours. Trust me I won’t be using it,” Paul said, fastening the latches to close his trunk. “I’ll no sooner read that book than become President of Magic.” Paul looked at his watch again and instructed the three first-years to grab hold of a tattered shoe. The feeling of being jerked forward was all too familiar now, as Patrick’s feet lifted of the soft white snow and stumbled upon the hard concrete of the Summer Street alley.
“Getting better, almost there…” said Mr. Ipswich, picking up the shoe and hurling it into a bag. He was still wearing the same grey ball-cap that he had now been known for wearing. “Go on, then, I can’t have this alley cluttered up with wizards. Might land on each other.”
Heeding Mr. Ipswich’s words, the four of them exited the alley and headed toward the granite building of South Station. Inside, it was very much crowded and it appeared that there were hardly enough seats to accommodate all of the travelers. Paul, however, did not seem to have been paying them any attention as he strode right to the elevator, whose ‘Out of Order’ sign was still hanging across the door. Patrick thought that they would easily be spotted now that more people were present to witness, but the four of them stepped into the elevator without another traveler so much as sending them a glance. Patrick continued to stare at the Muggles in the station as the doors were closing and as Paul poked his wand through the button-hole, starting the elevator down to the track.
They followed the usual routine of handing the attendant their tickets and finding a place on the train. Neither Patrick nor William was surprised to see Paul abandon them after finding his friend Douglas Pickett in one of the train’s compartments. Nor were they surprised that Myra decided to stick with them for the train ride back. Patrick and William still didn’t feel particularly comfortable around Myra and followed her lead, by spending most of the ride reading the books they got for Christmas. Patrick was flipping through the pages, learning about the appropriate claw length for a Great Horned Owl. The compartment was for the most part silent, being interrupted only by the continual sound of pages turning or of Myra mentioning a career that she found interesting out of the book Paul had given her.
By the time the train pulled into Wentwater Conservatory, William had read his copy of Quidditch Greats of the Twentieth Century three times and was more than ready to exit the train. Patrick quite agreed with him, having spent the latter portion of the trip staring blankly at the inked letters on the page of his book, tired of reading about effective owl care. The three of them pulled their trunks off the train, to the setting sun, and rolled them all the way back to the Allard Hall building and to the portrait of Admiral Polk.
“Poppycock,” said Patrick. His hand was gripped tightly to his trunk handle as he walked forward to step through the picture. His knee, however, went no farther than the paint-covered canvas and Patrick was still standing on the outside of the common room, rubbing at his knee.
“What gives?” asked William stepping in front of Admiral Polk. “Do we have to recite poetry after every break?”
“The password has probably changed,” said Patrick, whose knee felt slightly better now.
“Right you are, young man,” spoke Admiral Polk. “I’m sure you are well-acquainted with the rules. No one is permitted through without””
“Apple Tonic.”
The three of them swirled around to find Elizabeth strolling toward them, her Alice-band placed firmly atop her head, parting her strawberry red hair.
“Very well,” Admiral Polk said, “the holidays have come to a close, you may now return to your educational woes.”
The four of them quickly passed through the portrait, its cool canvas no warmer than it was outside. Myra continued down to the hall to the girls’ dorms while Patrick and William plopped down on a pair of armchairs leaving their belongings to lie randomly across the floor. Elizabeth, after watching them take a seat, remained standing.
“I don’t get a thank you?” she shot at them.
Patrick and William replied at the same time, but Patrick’s “Thanks” was cut off by William’s response.
“If you hadn’t have done it someone else would have,” replied William. “You just got to us first. Anyway, it’s not like you really had a choice, unless you wanted to be stuck outside, too.”
“Well, next time I see you stranded in the hall, I’ll just turn back and not bother to mention anything that happened over the break,” she said, haughtily.
The two boys sprung off the backs of the armchairs, looking attentively at Elizabeth.
“Things happened? What happened?” asked Patrick. He almost forgot the fact that there might have been a great deal of activity going on at school while most of the students were away.
“All kinds, although,” started Elizabeth, “this place gets really lonely over the break, even lonelier since I didn’t have Henri to talk to.”
“He’s still mad at you?” questioned Patrick further.
“Yeah, he didn’t even sit near me at breakfast and there’re only about twenty students in all of Allard Hall eating!” She was clearly still upset about her argument with Henri and Patrick had hoped for nothing more than their reconciliation over the break. As of now, it seemed that Patrick would not get his wish.
“Enough with that, don’t you have anything important? Something about Professor Snerkin?” interrupted William, looking as though listening to Elizabeth and Henri’s story was not worth tearing himself from his comfortable slouching position. Elizabeth shot him a very angry look. She turned to face Patrick, whom she apparently decided she would direct the remainder of her comments.
“Well, the only teachers I saw here were Professors Montgomery, Sumpton, Pennipot and Obelus. I guess all the other teachers went home for the holiday.”
“What about Professor Pennipot?” asked William. “Did you see he””
“I rarely saw Professor Montgomery,” continued Elizabeth, cutting off William’s sentence and completely ignoring the furrowed expression on his face. “And I ran into Professor Obelus more often than I liked, but I saw Professor Pennipot once while leaving the Allard Hall, and she was being followed around by Professor Sumpton. Not just once, either. Most of the time that I saw Professor Pennipot, she was with Professor Sumpton.”
“Bet, he’s following up on the Quidditch incident. With everyone gone he’s got””
“What do you think that means, Patrick?” Elizabeth said, breaking up William’s comments again. Patrick looked over at William who was hinting back, trying to get Patrick to finish his sentences for him. Patrick thought he understood, replying to Elizabeth while still focusing on William.
“Well, was he following her every time you saw her?” asked Patrick.
“Mostly. Professor Pennipot seemed to be talking back to him, but she always looked like she was in a hurry.”
“He’s probably asking her about my Quidditch accident. Having everyone gone for the break…” Patrick paused, trying to read William’s lips, “…w-would make it easier…t-to question her?” William nodded rapidly. “But why would she be in a hurry? What’s there to do during the break that’s so important?”
“Dunno,” said Elizabeth. “I bet the Republic is asking him to get as much info as he can. Speaking of info,” she said, slightly turning her head toward William and glancing at him from the corner of her eye, “what did you two find out?”
“Loads,” Patrick said. He and William described all the things they had discovered over the break. How Grandpa Thatcher had used the compass that lead to his fame, how he told them he found it, and even the real story about his grandmother that he never knew.
By the time Patrick and William relinquished all the information that they knew, two hours had passed and they had talked right through dinner. They did not realize how long they had talked until the common room began to fill up with other Allards returning from the Dining Hall. Patrick clenched his stomach as he watched the well-fed faces of his hall-mates toddle through Admiral Polk’s portrait and amble into the room. William had his face buried in a pillow and Elizabeth sat uncomfortably in the armchair she had been occupying during their discussion. It was not long before Patrick spotted Henri stepping into the common room, his hand shoved in his robe pockets. Henri approached the three of them slowly, looking at Patrick and William, while sparingly tossing an eye at Elizabeth.
“Hello, Henri. How was your break?” asked Patrick uncomfortably, feeling the tension growing between Henri and Elizabeth.
“Eet was fine, Patrick. I-I didn’t see you three at dinner, so I thought you might want these.” He began removing his hands from their spot in his robe pockets, pulling out two handfuls of dinner rolls from within them. “Zey might be a lizzle smashed and I had to sneak some from ze uzzer tables, but…” he didn’t finish his sentence, but merely offered forward the bread to Patrick, before walking through the hall toward the boys dormitory.
“Er…thanks,” Patrick said, quietly; Henri had already disappeared around the corner. William lunged off his seat and grabbed a couple rolls taking only a second before tearing into them. Patrick tossed two rolls to Elizabeth, saving two for himself, and bit into the moist bread. While nowhere near sustaining as a full meal, this roll tasted better than any other piece of bread he had had before.
“I guess that’s a good sign,” said Elizabeth, ripping off a piece of bread and putting it in her mouth. “Even though he barely looked at me, at least he brought me some bread.” The edge of her mouth bended up, optimistically. She put another chunk of roll in her mouth before uttering more words.
“Well, now that you’ve talked to your grandpa, what are you going to do now?”
“We can always go back to my idea and get a dragon,” said William, scarfing down the last bit of bread. Both Patrick and Elizabeth rolled their eyes.
“Where would you get a dragon?” asked Elizabeth, interestedly.
“That’s not important,” Patrick said, before William could finish chewing and reply. “We’ve just got to find out whatever my grandfather doesn't know about this compass."
"Which is?" asked Elizabeth.
"A lot," answered William.
The problem was, neither Patrick nor William knew how to gather that information. They resorted to their usual brainstorming techniques of whispering through Magic History class, although Patrick attempted to pay attention only to be diverted by William’s wild ideas. Professor Mott, who clearly had not made a new year’s resolution to stop concealing her face behind the class textbook, looked up only once as Patrick scoffed loudly at William’s suggestion to use Merton to stand watch in the library should the book suddenly turn up.
“I’m not going to do that to him!” whispered Patrick. “Who knows how long it could take for Gregory to return that book. He probably keeps renewing it so we can’t get to it.”
William had spent all of Monday trying to come up with a solution, giving up finally on Tuesday, just before their Charms lesson.
“It really is no use,” conceded William. “I guess the only choice you’ve got now, Patrick, is to protect the compass and make sure no one gets to it.”
“You’re right,” agreed Patrick, adjusting his book bag on his shoulder on their way to Professor Montgomery’s substitute class. “It’s probably better for me to have it and not know how to use it, then for someone else to have it and do horrible things with it.”
Patrick and William took their regular seats together while Elizabeth, noticing Henri sitting next to Jonathan Hiller, grabbed a spot behind him with Miranda Pinsley in the second row.
Professor Montgomery had placed a basket of apples on the desk in the front of the classroom. He looked eager to partake in today’s lesson and even rapidly twiddled his thumbs as he described what today’s class would entail.
“Today, we will be attempting the Severing Charm on the fruit you see here in front of me.” He pointed to the basket. “The Severing Charm, as its name suggests, cuts objects.” He took an apple from the basket, placed it on the desk, and pointed his wand firmly at it speaking clearly through the room.
“Diffindo!”
The apple fell on the desk in two neatly sliced portions in front of Professor Montgomery. Many of the students gave impressed murmurs as the professor held up the two halves. “This charm is particularly useful for any wizard and it’s just a good spell to know.” He pointed his wand at the apples again, this time causing them to levitate above the class, each one landing in front of a student. “Just as I have done, you are to point your wand at the apple and say, ‘Diffindo’.”
Professor Montgomery walked to the back of the room to observe the class while the room filled with cries of first-years trying to sever their apples. Patrick was focusing carefully on his apple, trying to mimic exactly what he saw Professor Montgomery doing. He pointed his wand closely at it saying, “Diffindo!”, but he only saw a slight tear in his apple’s polished red skin. He turned to William who appeared to be having the same difficulty with his. He was moving his wand all around the apple, as if trying to find a spot that the Severing Charm would work best. His efforts were to no avail, although, Patrick did notice that his apple stem managed to be sliced almost completely off, hanging only by a thin, sinewy thread.
Half of the class period passed and at that point there were quite a few successes on both the Allard and Mendel ends. Mendel boy, Nathan Wilde was the first to slice his apple in two, much to the pleasure of Professor Montgomery. Once Myra managed the feat, she continued to cut them into eights, as though preparing snacks for a party. William became frustrated as Patrick finally separated his fruit into equal parts.
“Not you, too,” William said, dishearteningly. “Maybe, it’s this apple.” He picked it up and tossed it between his hands trying to check if it had been tampered with.
“You’re not the only one struggling,” offered Patrick, hopefully. It was true. A greater portion of the class still had their apples completely whole. One of the Mendel boys, Arturo Rivas, had his wand tucked back in his robes, determined not to finish the assignment. “You’re just going to have to keep trying it. Like everyone else.”
At that moment, both Patrick and William turned back to Elizabeth who released a sound of intense frustration. She, also, had not managed to split her apple apart and looked truly angry at her ability to do so. Elizabeth was pointing her wand furiously at the apple, determined to cut it in half. Miranda, whose own attempts had grazed shards off her fruit, slid away from her partner cautiously. Professor Montgomery, noticing her aggravation, moved from assisting Edwin Lawley in the back, over to Elizabeth and Miranda’s table.
“Diffindo!”
“Ms. Crane.” He began to reason over her continuing shouts of the incantation, which still had resulted in nothing.
“Diffindo!”
“Ms. Crane, frustration will not help your understanding of the Charm. And, frankly, it isn’t safe,” he reached down to grab her apple off the desk.
“Diffindo!”
The fruit made it securely in his hands, but it seemed that Elizabeth’s determination to sever the apple came too late. As Professor Montgomery snatched up the apple, Elizabeth’s wand finally gave in to her resolve, performing the Severing Charm, not on the apple as she was intending, but on the student in front of her; Henri.
“Ahhhh!” he cried, as he jumped up from his seat his hands reaching for his back, but unable to find it. “What did you do zat for?” The class behind them stood up to get a better look at what was going on.
Elizabeth looked even more hurt than she did before Christmas break.
“I…I-I didn’t mean…I wouldn’t…”
“Mr. Bellew, keep still,” Professor Montgomery shouted, trying to speak over Henri’s howls and get him to stay still in order to get a good look at his injury. The professor managed to halt him long enough to see that there, where his robes had been split, was a long gash. Blood was trickling from the cut and moving down Henri’s back.
“Oh, this isn’t good.” Professor Montgomery shot a quick look up, his eyes resting suddenly on Patrick. “Quickly! Mr. Thatcher, look in Professor Snerkin’s desk for a vial with a green liquid. It should be in one of the drawers.”
Patrick leapt immediately from his desk with William over to the one Professor Montgomery used during his earlier demonstration at the beginning of class. The sight of seeing his friend in pain was too much for Patrick to bare, increasing his want to locate the vial quickly.
There were three drawers on each side of the desk, making Patrick wish that there were only one in order to help assist quicker. Henri’s yelps of pain continued to fill the room, stifling the words of the other students making them incomprehensible. Nonetheless, Patrick began rummaging quickly through the drawers on the left, opening and closing them one by one, shifting aside the contents in search of the vial.
Finding nothing but quills and parchment, he began looking through the drawers on the right. First drawer held nothing but useless items. Wizard cards, feathers, candy, Apple Tonic caps; these were all objects Professor Snerkin had probably confiscated or found laying around in his room after class. He quickly shut the first drawer while jarring open the second. Patrick looked down and he simply couldn’t believe his eyes.
Laying in the drawer, visible above all other contents beside it, was a book; the book: Muggle Influences on the Wizarding World. The book they had been searching for since September was sitting boldly right in front of his face, and at such an inconvenient time. More overwhelming was the fact that it was resting right in Professor Snerkin’s desk. Patrick’s astonishment momentarily impaired his senses, leaving him to forget exactly what he was supposed to be doing, allowing another of Henri’s yells to jolt him back into the task at hand. He shut it in the desk, concealing the book he had so desperately sought, and searched through the last remaining drawer. It only took but a second to find the vial resting next to a pile of broken watches and several more to carry it over to Professor Montgomery so that he could administer it to Henri.
“Here you go, Professor,” Patrick said, carefully placing the vial in his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Thatcher. Now,” he said, uncorking the vial, his voice much louder than a normal tone. “Mr. Bellew, I’m going to need you to drink this. It’s a long walk to the Hospital Ward from here and this will help ease the pain until Mrs. Hortshorne can fix you up.”
Henri quickly guzzled the contents of the vial. When he was done, he did not begin to scream again. Now that Henri had stopped yelling, Patrick was able to get a good look at his face and could see that his eyes were very red and puffy. Needless to say, he was in a great deal of pain.
“That small dose should wear off pretty quickly. We need to get you to the Hospital Wing,” said Professor Montgomery. He led the way out of the classroom with Henri hunched over beside him. “Class dismissed,” he called behind him. “Go on, off to lunch.”
The Allards and Mendels followed closely behind Professor Montgomery and Henri as they made their way out of the classroom. Patrick, however, stayed behind. He did not forget the book sitting in Professor Snerkin’s desk.
“Geez, I know Henri was ignoring her, but cutting his back? That’s kind of extreme,” said William, scratching his head and picking up his book bag. “Hey, what are you doing behind Professor Snerkin’s desk?”
“Getting this,” Patrick replied, holding up the copy of the book they believed to be in Gregory Huntington’s possession. William’s eyes did the same thing Patrick’s did. He stared at the book in Patrick’s hand with wide eyes and a dumbfounded expression.
“You mean that jerk Huntington didn’t have it after all?!” he exclaimed.
“I guess not,” Patrick said. “Come on, let’s go.” He shoved the book in his bag and quickly left the room, William tailing behind him.
“Hurry,” pushed William, “open it up.”
“Hold on, let’s get inside first,” Patrick said. “I’m not going to carry it out in the open.”
They turned out of Professor Snerkin’s classroom and headed down the stairs toward their common room instead of heading to lunch like the rest of his classmates.
The two of them made it into the Allard Common Room and, noticing quite a few students filling the chairs, made their way down the hall and to their dormitory. After realizing it was empty, Patrick hopped on his bed and quickly removed the book from his bag. Finding a place on the edge of the four poster, William peered over Patrick’s shoulder as he flipped to the back of the book, presumably to search the index.
“Hmm…,” Patrick mumbled, while running his finger down the list of names. “Ortelius…Ortelius…Page thirty-one.” He gripped the pages in a thick stack and picked through them until he landed on page thirty-one. There in the middle of the page was a short paragraph. He read the passage:
Ortelius, Abraham: (1527 “ 1598)
Born on April 2, Flemish Cartographer Abraham Ortelius is widely regarded as the father of the modern atlas. His contributions to the Wizarding world stem from his unrivalled and unparalleled achievements in cartography, that have led many Wizarding scholars to believe that magic may have provided a helping hand in his geographic expertise. His exploits brought him to countries all over Europe, including, Italy, France, Germany, and England.
Patrick turned the page over looking to find more information on the following page, but came across none. No way was that the only information available on him. This was what they had been given detentions to find? What they had sneaked into another common room to search for? Patrick’s face was arranged in an expression of utter befuddlement.
“This is what we got in trouble for? It didn’t tell us anything! We could have found this in a Muggle book!” said Patrick, frustrated.
“Well, it’s a book about Muggles. There couldn’t be much about actual magic in there,” offered William. “Plus, if there were anything specific about your compass written in that book, your grandpa wouldn’t have you worry about keeping it a secret. It’d already be out in the open.”
The book was resting open on the bed, right on the page of useless information. Patrick, irritated, pushed himself off his bed and went to open his trunk. He removed the wooden box from underneath several folds of clothes, looking all around the outside of the compass trying to find something”anything”to help make sense of the worthless dribble he and William just read.
“So, according to that book they think Abraham Ortelius had magical help,” said Patrick, examining the box like he had so many times before. “It’s obvious what that means.”
“What does that mean?” asked William.
“Well, this thing had to have belonged to him before the captain of the Peregrine gave it to Professor Allard, and before grandpa found it.”
William was flipping through the pages. “Makes sense,” he started. “There’s just got to be more in here than that. Maybe there’s another person in here that might help. A partner that worked with him or something,” said William, hopefully.
“Doubt it.”
Patrick gazed at his compass. This book was their only lead. Now that they recovered it and found nothing more than a brief biography, there was nowhere else to turn to find information about the compass.
The thing that puzzled Patrick even more was how long they had gone in the dark. Why had Professor Snerkin kept the book for so long if it only gave a short blurb on the man they were searching for? Patrick couldn’t help but feel that he had wasted the past four months looking for something that really held no value.
That was it. It was a ploy. Nothing more than something to distract Patrick and William from discovering what Professor Snerkin was really up to. With Patrick looking for the book, he couldn’t possibility discover Professor Snerkin’s plans to steal the compass for himself. It was such a simple and easy idea, Patrick couldn’t believe he so easily fell for it. For the first time, Patrick finally realized that he shouldn’t have underestimated the Assistant Dean of Wentwater Conservatory of Magic.
“Patrick,” said William, snapping him from his thoughts. “I knew there was something else in here!”
William was holding up an envelope that he apparently found between two of the pages in the book. Patrick dropped the compass on the pile of clothes in his trunk and hopped around to his bed. William pulled out the letter from the envelope, and they both read, now, with even more enthusiasm than they had while reading the Ortelius excerpt.
Everything is falling into place. Since I’ve put the Thatcher boy on the Quidditch team, we shouldn’t have any trouble with getting the Quod into play. You just do your part and I’ll take care of the rest. Before you know it, the boy will be out of our way and the compass will be ours.
“I told you!” shouted William, having finished the letter. “It’s Professor Snerkin! I knew he was in on it. He tried to stop you from getting your letter and he tried to blow you off your broom after putting you on the team! I bet it was his idea to switch from Quodpot to Quidditch this year, too!”
Patrick just couldn’t believe it, but there was no denying the facts; it was all too convenient for Professor Snerkin. Was it merely a coincidence that Patrick was placed in Allard Hall under Professor Snerkin? Or was it by chance that he was selected to be a Chaser for Allard? After all, as far as he knew he was the only first-year student on any of the Hall Quidditch teams. Moreover, how fitting for the Quod accident to occur during the match that any normal Hall Master would have restricted him from playing. Patrick was even beginning to question the validity of Professor Snerkin’s Wickenburg Warbler collection. As adamant as William had been against accusing Professor Snerkin, before now, none of it appeared to be anything more than wild speculation. This letter, however, seemed to have confirmed any and all suspicions William had against their Charms teacher.
“I didn’t think it was possible…,” Patrick said, staring back down at the letter in William’s hand. “He’s just always been so nice. I don’t understand…why?”
William slipped the letter back in the envelope and shut it in the front cover of the book.
“It’s obvious. He knows more about that compass than anyone else does.”
“Well, how would stopping me from coming to school help him get it?” asked Patrick.
William thought for a second.
“It’s got to have something to do with how it’s used. What if Professor Snerkin is hiding something from everyone and your compass will tell us what it is? If we found out how to use it, we might have found something he doesn’t want us to know, and he could get in a lot of trouble. Who knows? He’s just lucky that we haven’t figured it out yet, and you’re lucky you survived that Quidditch fall.”
“I don’t think it’s just him who’s lucky,” said Patrick, thinking critically about the letter. “Look, he’s obviously writing to someone else about this. This other guy must have something to do with it, too.”
“It can’t be a guy. It’s got to be Professor Pennipot, probably,” William accused, promptly. “You said it yourself, only she and Professor Snerkin have keys to that shed. Professor Pennipot would seem like the person who needs help with something like this,” William said, rubbing his chin. “She couldn’t do it all on her own and probably wouldn’t feel comfortable taking all the blame. With Professor Snerkin up at the Republic, she can’t get around anything anymore, that’s why Professor Sumpton was asking her what she’s up to.”
If there was one thing that Patrick, now, wanted to know, it’s what Professor Snerkin is, and was, up to. He had been gone ever since the beginning of November and very little word had been given about his status at the Republic.
“If Professor Snerkin is really behind all of this,” started Patrick. He stepped off the bed and paced around the front of the room. “We need to know what’s been going on with him since he left Wentwater. If we find out that he’s locked up, then maybe I won’t have too much to worry about from now on.”
“I suppose you’re right. You know, Patrick,” William said, his voice swinging in a you-better-be-careful tone. “You’ve got another Quidditch match next Saturday, so, you might still want to look out for Professor Pennipot during the game. Sure, Professor Snerkin is gone, but that doesn’t mean she won’t pull out a trick if no one is looking.”
“I’ll be careful,” responded Patrick. He now needed to find out what was going on and there weren’t many people at Wentwater who could help him the way he needed without getting furrowed brows or squinted eyes in return. Patrick decided he should turn to the one person, well, creature who could assist him the best.
“Merton!” he called, his voice slightly louder than one he would usually use to speak. There was a loud crack and the grey-eyed, floppy-eared house-elf appeared before Patrick and William’s eyes. He bowed magnificently, nearly burying his face in the blue carpet on the floor.
“Master has called Merton?” the elf squeaked.
William looked stunned, as though he never knew that house-elves could be summoned directly. Patrick proceeded to answer the elf’s question, unaware of William’s amazed expression.
“Merton, I need your help. I need to know what’s been going on with Professor Snerkin.”
The elf looked eager to help. He clasped his hands tightly together, staring directly at Patrick.
“Whatever Merton can do to help, master, Merton will do, sir. Merton is very bored at home. He is always having to find things that he has already cleaned before!”
William, his mouth now closed, looked to still be astounded at the helpfulness of Patrick’s house-elf. Patrick, on the other hand, knelt down to speak closely to Merton.
“Merton, you know that closet of newspapers my dad keeps?” Merton nodded. “I’m going to need you to bring them to me. All of them.” His father’s habit of saving every newspaper finally proved to be an asset. Patrick was lucky that his parents managed to compromise on keeping them in the closet instead of his mother’s original idea to transfigure them into napkins for dinnertime.
The house-elf’s eyes were suddenly lit with excitement. He looked extremely eager to carry out his new task.
“Oh, right away, Master Patrick…right away.”
Merton raised his hand and started to snap his fingers.
“Not”so fast,” Patrick said, quickly grabbing hold of the elf’s wrist, preventing him from summoning a closet-full of newspapers. “You can’t bring them now, the others are probably coming back soon. Just make sure you’re ready to bring them the next time I call, okay?”
“Anything Master Thatcher, sir. Merton will be waiting for his master to call him.”
“Thanks, Merton,” said Patrick, smiling at him. “You should probably get back home now.”
The house-elf nodded, once again took a deep bow, then snapped his fingers and disappeared with the same cracking sound he had made when he entered.
Patrick stood up from the floor, carrying his weight confidently as he strode over to pick up the book from his bed.
“So, whenever you call him…he comes?” asked William, apparently still bewildered at Merton’s enthusiasm.
“Pretty much, but I’ve never really had to call him before. My mom’s done it sometimes when she’s at work and she forgets something at home and can’t leave the store.” Patrick took the book, Muggle Influences on the Wizarding World, and opened his trunk, grabbing his compass that was resting on top of his clothes, and buried them deep inside. When the two items were hidden well enough, he shut the trunk. “Other than that, he usually never leaves the house.”
“So, that’s why he’s so crazy. He’s cooped up inside the house all the time. He’s got to be dying for someone to call him and get him out.”
“Probably,” said Patrick. “He’s home with grandpa all day, so who knows what kind of work he’s doing around the house.”
Whatever that work may have been it was nothing compared to the work Patrick, William, and the other first-years had to deal with on the days leading up to the second Allard Quidditch match against Kinsey Hall. Professor Wiggins and Litmus, both, assigned essays due a few days before Quidditch. Patrick and William also came to the realization that Professor Mott had assigned double the amount of pages she normally did for the upcoming Monday; pages she would surely only re-read in class. With all the work piling up and the growing rarity of finding a moment alone, Patrick couldn’t find much spare time to summon Merton.
Once released from the hospital ward after what Mrs. Hortshorne called, “a dirty mess”, Henri and Elizabeth’s feud only grew. Even though Elizabeth had attempted to calm down Henri by visiting him while under Mrs. Hortshorne’s care, he did not soon forget that it was Elizabeth’s fault that he had a large gash on his back in the first place. He and Jonathan Hiller decided to take the farthest possible seats from Elizabeth in every class, to ensure there were no other accidents aimed at Henri’s way.
“You both know it was an accident, right?” Elizabeth asked of Patrick and William as they left Dark Arts Defense class after they turned in their essays to Professor Wiggins.
“It’s been over a week, Elizabeth!”said William, pushing open the doors to a chilly Wednesday afternoon. “If you keep asking I really am going to think you did it on purpose.”
“I-I’m…just making sure.”
“You shouldn’t be trying to convince us,” began Patrick. “It’s Henri you need to talk to. It won’t matter if we believe you or not, if Henri doesn’t.”
Patrick was right and Elizabeth obviously agreed. She didn’t bother Patrick or William for the rest of the week. The same couldn’t be said of the other Allards, though. On the morning of Saturday’s match, Patrick became very nervous after having to field numerous questions from his hall-mates about whether or not he was ready for the day’s game. He nodded quickly to their questions and tried to be on his way.
After reading Professor Snerkin’s letter he couldn’t help but be a little bit worried about how today’s match would go. All of his Quidditch practices this past week had gone fine and after asking Harvey to check their Quaffle (at the request of Kyle and Josephine, as well) he had no trouble reverting back to the level of play that he had achieved in his trials. Nonetheless, buried in the back of Patrick’s mind was the stinging suspicion that Professor Pennipot may make a harmful shot at him with Professor Snerkin gone.
“She wouldn’t dare…then there’d be no one here to keep an eye on you and then they’d never get the compass,” offered William, trying to give a word of support.
“I hope so,” admitted Patrick, realizing that it was about time for him to head off to the Quidditch field. His stomach was beginning to tighten and his feet starting tingling as Patrick stood up from his bed and opened the door to his dormitory. When they reached the entrance to the common room Elizabeth was standing alongside the wall, as if guarding it from intruders.
“Patrick! William! Is Henri in there?” she asked.
“No. Why didn’t you just go look yourself?” replied Patrick, his stomach loosening up a bit from his short walk own the hall.
“I didn’t want to barge in on him or anything. He’s already mad at me. I don’t want him to hate me, too.”
“Well, you’d have to perform a couple more Severing Charms on him to do that,” quipped William.
“Stop it!” shouted Elizabeth, not finding the slightest bit of humor in William’s remark. “Do you mind if I walk with you guys to the game, instead?”
“Sure,” said Patrick. “Let’s just keep walking.” Patrick’s hands were gently massaging his stomach.
The three of them exited the common room and walked down the hall. The building remained quiet, for the most part, except for a whisper ahead of them. It grew louder as Patrick, William, and Elizabeth approached.
“Will we be seeing you in a stretcher again, Thatcher?” cackled the annoying voice of Mr. Vexing. “I have never much been entertained at the talk of Quidditch, but word of your blunders and well…pitfalls, have made the subject bearable, as of late.”
“Not, now…” said Patrick. Stopping in front of the portrait. He was staring right into the heavily-wrinkled face of Mr. Vexing, who was throwing Patrick an amused look through his squinty eyes.
“Going to be late for another accident, are you? Excuse me, then. I’d rather not intrude. I can’t hear about it unless it happens. Go on, then!”
Patrick walked past the frame, not without wishing he had said something more substantial, had his stomach permitted him.
“There aren’t going to be any accidents, Patrick,” said William, further attempting to keep his mind off of any Quidditch disasters. “Professor Snerkin is nowhere to be found.”
The three of them were rounding the corner out of the Allard Hall building before someone spoke from inside the building.
“You shouldn’t pay him any mind,” a voice behind Patrick called. It was much too far behind him to belong to either William or Elizabeth. The three of them turned around to see Professor Sumpton descending the stairs from the second floor of Allard Hall.
“We don’t, really,” replied Elizabeth. “It just gets annoying sometimes.”
Professor Sumpton chuckled.
“Yes, he can be a handful. He was never one to play the role of the silent portrait.” His eyes glanced at Patrick and William. “Ah, heading off to the Quidditch match are you?”
The three of them nodded.
“Well, I’ll wish the best of luck to both teams, but since you’re the students that are here now, I’ll tell you that I hope Allard wins.” He said smiling.
Patrick tried to force out a “thanks”, but his stomach once again held him back.
“Thanks,” William said, relieving any further attempts for Patrick to utter the word, himself. They continued out the hall up toward the Quidditch field.
“See? All that talk about him earlier. He’s a much better teacher than Professor Snerkin. They should have got him to take over Charms, too,” said William.
“I think so, too,” added Elizabeth. “He gives us the least homework of all the teachers.”
Patrick didn’t join in their conversation. He was now focused on his match. Luckily, his muscles began to loosen up again and by the time he reached the locker room, his stomach no longer felt as though it was constricting him.
He waved goodbye to William and Elizabeth as he stepped through the curtains of the locker room, gathered his broom, and changed into his robes. The sense of impending doom was beginning to die away as the roar of the crowd filled the room from Eric Stilley’s introduction of the Kinsey team.
Gerald, as usual, approached Patrick before it was time to head out on the field.
“Feeling good, Patrick?” he asked.
Patrick shuffled his feet a bit in place and took a deep breath.
“I think I’ll be fine.”