Kinsey’s Quidditch team didn’t seem to be very worried about any accidents that could happen. In much of the early minutes of the game, the Allards allowed Kinsey to make several goals, mostly because Patrick, Kyle, and Josephine didn’t want to take any chances on another exploding Quaffle. Patrick’s only activity early in the match were lackadaisical attempts at defending the Kinsey Chasers from getting near the hoops that even Allison was having a hard time protecting. For much of the match, the Allards didn’t perform with the same ferocity as they did in the opening minutes of their first match, making the game less enjoyable for those rooting for the Allard side.
As a result, the Allards couldn’t stop Kinsey from taking a commanding win, outscoring them 260-50. The Kinsey Seeker, Stewart Dubbs, managed to grab the Snitch with ease, since Harvey Pinniger was too concerned with the performance of his Chasers to search for the tiny winged ball. He had easily spent more time trying to direct the team’s cautious play than trying to salvage the match by grabbing one-hundred and fity points for the team.
After the match, the Allards wasted no time putting their brooms away and changing out of their Quidditch robes while Harvey tried to cheer up the somber mood of his team.
“Let’s face it,” he began, “this wasn’t our best match. We didn’t play anything like we normally do. Especially,” he was directing his eyes at his three Chasers now, “since we seemed too scared play any actual Quidditch.”
“How are we supposed to know if that Quaffle is going to explode or not?” asked Josephine.
“You aren’t, but that shouldn’t stop you from playing the game. It sure didn’t stop Kinsey from making eleven goals,” responded Harvey.
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one throwing it around,” said Josephine. “Patrick was lucky last time that he was able to hold onto his broom. What if we weren’t so lucky this time?”
Patrick didn’t want to make excuses, but there was no denying the risk involved in another piece of exploding equipment. He would have felt even more terrible if another one of his teammates were attacked in an attempt to deliver another blow intended for himself.
Harvey sighed, looking as though trying to avoid a potentially serious debate.
“Look, that’s not the point. What happened was unfortunate, but we can’t let that hold us back from winning. Just get used to the fact that we’re playing with a Quaffle before our match against Mendel, and I’ll be happy.”
The team departed the Quidditch stadium no happier than they were after the game had ended. As expected, Patrick was joined by William and Elizabeth outside the locker room for the walk back to Allard Hall.
“I’m sure you were just thinking about Professor Pennipot and that’s why you barely touched the Quaffle, right?” asked William, as if checking to make sure that was the real reason and he hadn’t just forgotten how to play Quidditch. He, too, looked just as disappointed with the Allards’ performance as Harvey did.
“Yeah,” Patrick replied, softly. “I mean, I knew that nothing was probably going to happen, but that’s what I thought the last time.” He tilted his head down, staring at the cobblestones as they walked. “By the time I knew that there was nothing wrong with the Quaffle, I couldn’t get focused again.”
“Well, I think you did a good job. You’ll just have to make sure you win next time,” said Elizabeth. William looked at her as if she knew nothing about Quidditch at all, and seemed bothered by her “get ‘em next time” attitude.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said William, assuredly. “He’ll win the next game, for sure. If we don’t, we might be out of the running to win the championship.”
Not being able to be a contender for the first Inter-Hall Quidditch Cup wasn’t something Patrick wanted to think about at the moment. He promised himself that he would try not to let his fear prevent him from playing to his fullest in their third match.
Regardless of his Quidditch performance, Patrick had the rest of the day to relax. Once in the common room, Elizabeth departed back to her room and Patrick and William decided to do the same. Patrick wanted to do nothing more than to plop, face-first, onto his bed and bury his head in his sheets. He could already feel his head lying down on his soft pillow and drifting off into a wondrous slumber.
His hand was a mere inches from the door, but before he could turn the knob to the dormitory room, he heard the mumblings of two voices. One was a young voice that was splashed with a French accent, which was unmistakably Henri’s. The other instantly recognizable from the short harps of squeaking that filled every sentence of Patrick’s house-elf, Merton. Patrick quickly opened the door to his dormitory, swinging it wide open to survey the scene inside.
“Master is back!”
Patrick was especially surprised to see Merton waiting in his dormitory, since he had not called him to come back. That was, however, not the only surprise.
Sitting on every bed in the room and resting on several spaces of the floor were numerous stacks of thick newspapers that stood quite a few feet off the ground. Many of the heaps of paper reached up to Patrick’s chin, the ones on the beds towering well over his head. Henri was sitting just a ways behind Merton, the stacks on his own bed leaving just enough room for him to take a place on the edge. Merton was staring earnestly up at Patrick, who now had no choice but to question the house-elf’s intentions.
“Merton, what are you doing here? I didn’t summon you. At least, I don’t think I did,” Patrick said, bringing his hand up to his head, scratching it.
“Oh, but master, sir…Merton waited for almost two weeks. He thought, surely master has forgotten he needed his newspapers. So, here they are…all of them. Just like master said.”
Merton was grinning wildly from one batty ear to the other. Perhaps, he should have been clearer, Patrick thought. He didn’t need every newspaper his dad had collected. He looked around at all the stacks piled in the room. They probably dated back several years and Patrick figured that the ones he wanted couldn’t have been more than three months old.
“Merton, how did you get all of these papers out of the house without my dad seeing?” asked Patrick, knowing that the weekend was a very popular time for Mr. Thatcher to catch up on articles that he might not have had the chance to read during the week.
“It was very easy, sir. Master Charles is away at the Quodpot Final. He has been gone all morning. Merton is knowing he would not be back soon, so he brought master what he was asking for. Merton couldn’t wait any longer.”
Patrick didn’t know what to say to him. If there was one thing that always got the best of Merton, it was his eagerness. It was hardly one of his weaknesses, but his willingness to take on a task coupled with his monotonous daily routine made Merton practically the most motivated house-elf, whether you wanted him to be or not.
“Do you remember which newspapers are which?” asked Patrick.
Merton nodded.
“Good, I need you to take back all the ones that are older than November, okay?”
“Right away, Master Patrick, sir.” Merton turned around on the spot and gave a loud snap of his fingers. All of the newspaper stacks except for one disappeared from the room, leaving the beds and the floor clear, once again. “Is Master Patrick needing anything else?”
“No thanks, Merton. I’ll be fine,” Patrick said, walking toward the single pile of newspapers remaining in the room. “Thanks.”
Patrick smiled back at the elf, as Merton bowed once more then snapped his fingers, disappearing from sight.
“Patrick,” called Henri, now lying comfortably on his bed, “what was your ‘ouse-el’ve doing in ze room?”
“He was bringing me some newspapers,” Patrick said, truthfully. “I just want to know what’s been going on lately.” It didn’t seem to be a good idea to lie to Henri, but Patrick decided to try and cut off their conversation before Henri started to ask more questions. Patrick picked up one of the newspapers from the single stack and tried to bury his face in its pages, but Henri wasn’t as willing to end their chat.
“I wish I knew what was going on, too!” Henri said, sitting up. “First, Elizabeth doesn’t want me as a partner, and zen she cuts me? I don’t understand.”
“Calm down,” William said, who had also grabbed a paper and was sitting on his own bed reading it, his head completely concealed behind the large pages. “So, she hates you…big deal. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll stop cutting you soon enough.”
Hearing William’s playful comments engaged Patrick more into the conversation and less from the paper. He was afraid that Henri might actually take William’s advice seriously.
“It was all an accident, Henri. She still wants to be your friend and you should really stop ignoring her and give her a chance,” reasoned Patrick.
Henri looked torn between the idea of reconciliation and his own pride. He laid himself back down on his bed, folding his arms behind his head to prop it up.
“Maybe.”
It wasn’t long before Henri was fast asleep and the room was filled with the sound of soft snoring. Patrick and William had searched through half of the newspapers in the pile and were having difficulty in finding many articles about Professor Snerkin or the Quodpot incident. Many of the stories pertaining to them were keep short or had omitted vital information.
“‘Professor Snerkin, Assistant Dean at Wentwater Conservatory of Magic,’” William read aloud, “‘is being questioned at the United States Republic of Magic regarding an incident during an early November Quidditch match. The incident marked the almost tragic beginning of a promising Wentwater Quidditch league that led to the injury of a first-year student, Patrick Thatcher.’ At least they’ve got your name in here,” said William bending down a corner of the page to speak to Patrick. “‘The accidental switch of the Quidditch-standard Quaffle, for Quodpot’s own Quod, not only caused a lot of confusion, but accounted for an unwanted inquiry on the part of Snerkin.’”
“So, all we know is he’s being questioned? How old is that paper,” asked Patrick.
“December 15th,” said William, from behind the periodical. “If they’re only questioning him then they probably think he’s going to help them find out what happened.” William scoffed. “What they don’t know is, he’s not going to help anyone, unless it’ll help him get that compass.”
Patrick quite agreed, but more than understood where they would easily be fooled.
“It makes sense, though. Think about it. You’re the assistant dean to the best Wizarding school in the country. Everyone thinks you’re the best at what you do. There’s no way anyone is going to think he did it.”
William looked as though he was going to attempt to come up with another theory to counter Patrick’s, but he simply flipped another page.
The two of them searched through more of the newspapers finding the references to Professor Snerkin dwindling the closer to the present date they ca. Subsequently, William began turning his focus away from their Allard Hall Master to the sports section, reading articles about the Greenley Gales’ seventh Quodpot Championship win.
Patrick, however, continued to look throughout The Warlock Examiner for more information, but after reading nothing even remotely about the Quodpot incident, he, too, became sidetracked. His attention, unlike William’s, was centered on an article surrounding the United States Republic of Magic and its various agencies.
“William, listen to this,” he said, lowering the newspaper so that his voice could be heard across the room where his best friend was sitting. “‘Several adjustments have been made by President Filibuster regarding many of the employees in numerous sections of the United States Republic of Magic. Areas such as the Wizarding Justice Department and the Agency of Magical Transportation have seen a dramatic shift in the amount of workers and the same departments have even resulted in the replacement of Republic officials. The latest of these replacements has, most notably, forced the substitution of former Wizarding Justice Department Head, Algamus Fairweather with that of Polonius Babbage, senior officer of the Magical Enforcement Office. The switch was approved with a resounding seventy-seven percent majority of the Magical Congress, making it one of the quickest department approvals in years.’”
“That Fairweather guy must not have been very good,” deduced William. “You usually never see a guy fired that’s doing his job.”
“Right, but this isn’t the only article like this. Listen to this one,” said Patrick, setting down the newspaper he was holding and picking up another one. “‘Since the removal of long-employed wizards in many divisions of the United States Republic of Magic, numerous departments are requesting to be informed of changes within the Republic in order to prevent any further losses from their sections,’ finished Patrick, folding the paper in half. “I guess, President Filibuster isn’t worrying about all those articles anymore.”
“He’s got to do his job sometime,” reasoned William. “If he’d just get around to locking up Professor Snerkin, then maybe more wizards would like him.”
Regardless of the articles about President Filibuster’s decisions to remove and replace workers, The Warlock Examiner seemed to have been swayed in favor of news dealing with the president. Patrick and William searched through the remaining papers and couldn’t find a single sentence regarding Professor Snerkin.
Even though their search had returned little by the way of actual information, Patrick still thought it would be a good idea to stay informed should the media suddenly decide they want to actually cover the news. When Merton came to take the stack of newspapers back, Patrick asked whether it would be too much trouble to have the elf sneak the Sunday edition to him and William, in case any big news stories were to break.
Week after week, Patrick found nothing notable in the papers about his hall master. Other than the regular habit of attending classes, Quidditch was the other subject occupying Patrick’s mind. After the other teams completed their matches, Allard Hall managed to take fifth place. Patrick and rest of the team had their work cut out for them in their February match against Mendel, who was only one goal ahead of them in the rankings.
When that Saturday came, it appeared that the match would be an easy win for Mendel, as one of their Chasers, Laverne Spinks, easily scored three goals in the early minutes of the game.
“And that’s three for Spinks! She sure is on fire today!” shouted Eric Stilley from the stands where he was commentating.
Patrick, not wanting to fall into the same hesitance that plagued him in his second match, became more attentive, after catching a falling Quaffle that had been knocked loose from Kyle’s arms.
By the time the match was over, Patrick, Kyle and Josephine had all scored a goal each, all the while allowing Laverne Spinks to add another twenty points to Mendel’s score.
Luckily, Harvey Pinniger’s capture of the Snitch ensured not only an Allard win, but that the team would move up at least one spot in the overall rankings.
Henri and Elizabeth, who were both making efforts, albeit minimal ones, to patch things up, had been able to use Allard’s Quidditch win as a common interest to help bring unity between themselves. They had even managed to sit next to each other in that Thursday’s Transfiguration class. Both Miranda and Jonathan seemed to be pleased with their decision, as they both took a seat together in the back of the classroom.
The class had been diligently working for half-an-hour, concentrating on transfiguring a blue sock into a red boot.
“No, no, Mr. Bartlett,” interrupted Professor Sumpton, as Jacob Bartlett’s sock morphed into a tiny, frilly sock. “A boot, not a bootie.” Professor Sumpton crossed in front of Jacob and made his way to the front of the classroom, passing by Stephanie Topkins who managed to turn her sock orange. Morgan Crowder tried to stuff her unchanged red sock in her text book noticing the frustrated look on Professor Sumpton’s face as he turned around to sit on the edge of his desk. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes.
“In order to perform complete Transfigurations you need to really concentrate on what you’re trying to change. This same principle should be applied in anything you do. You cannot accomplish any of your goals unless you are truly dedicated to what you want to achieve.”
“That didn’t work for Professor Snerkin, did it?” questioned Jonathan from the back of the room. Professor Sumpton looked amused.
“What was that, Mr. Hiller?”
“It’s just,” began Jonathan shakily, apparently thinking that no one other than Miranda had heard his comment. “Professor Snerkin seemed pretty dedicated to knocking Patrick off his broom. He must not have concentrated enough because he was found out and he’s been gone from school for four months.”
“You see, Mr. Hiller,” said Professor Sumpton confidently, “our government has the ability to detect those persons who wish harm onto others, even if they are the most dedicated in their endeavors. To be honest, as dedicated as Mr. Snerkin may have been, he and his accomplice lacked the intelligence to carry-out a plan as complex as his. Fortunately,” he turned his eyes to Patrick, inertly, “Mr. Thatcher’s reflexes were a lot better than, perhaps, anyone had expected. How he managed to maintain his grip is beyond me.”
Professor Sumpton remained rigidly still as he spoke, the topic seeming to be a private subject for him to discuss. It was no secret that Professor Sumpton was the son of a prominent figure in the Republic of Magic and Patrick imagined that whatever information he knew about Professor Snerkin had to have been both important and confidential.
“Patrick iz incredible,” defended Henri. “He’s the only first-year to make a hall Quidditch team.”
The Garrisons began to mutter quietly from around the room. Patrick started to slump a little in his chair. As flattering as Henri’s comment was, he couldn’t help thinking back to the letter suggesting that he had been placed on the Allard Hall team for the sole purpose of being a target of Professor Snerkin.
“And,” continued Elizabeth, “he’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Patrick blushed, being able to humbly take credit for Elizabeth’s comment.
“Well, it seems that Mr. Thatcher is also very fortunate to have acquired a bit of a fan club,” commented Professor Sumpton, his eyebrow raised. “And, I’m sure he’s most pleased to have such supportive friends. However, you will not be tested on the admirable qualities that Mr. Bellew and Ms. Crane have so graciously pointed out.” His voice was becoming slightly irritated. “If they could, perhaps, demonstrate the proper way to transfigure their socks, our time would be more valuably spent.”
Henri and Elizabeth, both unable to perform the current assignment, did not respond to Professor Sumpton’s question.
“Right,” he continued, moving stiffly toward Henri. “As I was saying, it takes extreme concentration for one to accomplish their task. Or else, it may turn….” Professor Sumpton picked up Henri’s sock, waved his wand over it turning it into a large boot. Instead of turning a perfect blue as the class had been instructed to do, the shoe remained red. Even more curious still, the boot didn’t bear any of the familiar exterior aspects one would expect from a shoe. It looked as though it had been engulfed entirely by the red cotton sock that Professor Sumpton had just transfigured.
“It may turn into something like this,” he said holding up the cotton boot. “Now, unless you’re purposely trying to sabotage your daily assignments or are just looking to fail my class, I’d advise you to stay away from continuing to produce items of this nature. Understand?”
The class nodded their heads and Professor Sumpton waved his wand over the boot, turning it back into a sock and setting before Henri, on his desk. For the remaining half an hour, the Allards and Garrisons tried harder than before at trying to transfigure their socks. None of them wanted to find out exactly what would happen should they continue to present lackluster transformations to Professor Sumpton.
The Allards continued to give their best efforts in class, as the weeks in February passed by. The remaining four halls completed their Quidditch matches and all of the Allard team was overjoyed to discover that they were now only forty points from taking second place from Kinsey Hall.
“Our next match against Rylan, isn’t for a few weeks, but as long as we buckle down we’ll be able to take them down said Harvey, addressing the Allard team at the end of one of their Quidditch practices. “They had a bit of trouble against Templeton, and even though we had our own troubles with them,” he said trying not to turn an eye at Patrick, “we shouldn’t have a problem taking second place.”
The thought of winning the first ever Wentwater Quidditch Cup ran through Patrick’s mind, like it had taken to doing every so often since he had made the team, as he tucked away his Cleansweep in his locker and left the Quidditch field. Patrick had only walked for a few minutes when he noticed Professor Obelus shuffling toward him, his flurry of white hair waving about in the faint breeze.
“Ah, Mr. Thatcher, so glad I’ve found you,” breathed Professor Obelus, adjusting his oval-shaped glasses.
“Do you need something, professor?” Patrick asked, wondering what business Professor Obelus could possibly have with him.
“Oh no, not me,” he laughed. “Professor Montgomery. He’s been meaning to speak with you and he asked if I could fetch you for him. Naturally, I obliged.”
What had happened that was so important that Professor Montgomery needed to see him about? Had he finally heard word of Patrick’s escapades in the Templeton Common Room and decided to ignore Professor Snerkin’s decision and punish him? That would have meant that he would have also called for William and Elizabeth and Patrick guessed that Professor Obelus would have surely mentioned them had they also been needed by their school dean.
Maybe someone finally noticed Professor Snerkin’s book had gone missing from his desk and traced it back to Patrick. There must be some policy against taking something from the possession of a teacher, whether he was at school or not. It seemed completely unfathomable for Patrick to come up with a reason that didn’t involve him being punished in some form or another.
“Well, you should be on your way, then,” he said, cheerily. He began to turn away to walk back to the grounds before Patrick stopped him.
“Excuse me, professor,” Patrick started, “but, I…I don’t know where Professor Montgomery’s office is.”
“Oh hoh, of course you don’t. You wouldn’t be going there unless you had gotten yourself into some kind of trouble. Not,” he paused suddenly, looking entirely serious at this point, “that you’re in any sort of trouble now, I don’t think.”
Patrick didn’t feel very reassured. The sun had already begun to set as they began walking back to the grounds.
“You know, your grandfather is quite the remarkable wizard,” Professor Obelus said, airily. “What a story his is, eh, Patrick? Just amazing!”
“Yeah,” Patrick said, quietly. With his mind on Professor Montgomery’s business, Patrick wasn’t particularly interested in discussing the accomplishments of his grandfather.
Professor Obelus had led Patrick inside the Allard Hall Building, taking an immediate right to the Garrison side of the building.
“He’s gone through so much, it’s just so amazing that he’s been able to keep himself from going insane.”
“Right,” Patrick said, guffawing softly underneath his breath. Judging by his last sentence, Patrick was beginning to wonder if Professor Obelus was talking about the same Grandpa Thatcher that Patrick grew up with.
“Goodness, I feel like I’m babbling on…it isn’t much farther, anyhow.” The pair of them took a series of turns down several halls, finally coming to a thin and narrow one with a wall covered from top to bottom in a large parchment at the far end. As they stepped closer, Patrick noticed an inkwell and quill sitting on the columns that surrounded the parchment on both sides.
“The password should be,” Professor Obelus thought aloud, as he reached for the quill, scraping off the excess ink on the edge of the well. He lifted the feather up to the wall and quickly scribbled something in thin, slanted writing. Patrick managed to read the word, “Crup” before the black ink dissolved completely into the paper. What Patrick saw next took him by surprise.
Where Professor Snerkin’s tapestry simply rolled up to reveal a hidden door, the parchment leading to Professor Montgomery’s office began to slowly fold itself like an accordion down to the floor, revealing an even narrower hall than the one Professor Obelus and Patrick were currently standing in. Patrick peered inside the walls, looking down to find a seemingly bottomless depth. Professor Obelus placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder preventing him from coming any closer; and for good reason, too. Once the parchment finally finished folding, it slid up the hall forming a stairway, at least forty-feet high, leading up the hidden hall. Patrick was standing, cautiously, in front of the newly created stairway, unsure of whether it was safe to continue.
“Go on, go on,” prodded Professor Obelus. “Just give the door a knock, he’ll answer.”
He winked and smiled before turning around and heading back out the building. Patrick waved, halfheartedly, and started to ascend the stairs up to Professor Montgomery’s office. The narrow hall was rather dark, the only light coming from a pair of lanterns at the top of the stairs. As he approached the door, Patrick made one last attempt to figure out why he was being summoned. He couldn’t tell if it was due to his building nervousness or the heat from the lanterns as he climbed, but there was something about meeting Professor Montgomery that was making Patrick sweat.
Patrick stood at the top of the stairs, his nose inches from the white wooden door. He tapped feebly three times, figuring it was no use prolonging whatever business he was needed for and perhaps, if he knocked quiet enough, he wouldn’t have to enter. He stood in silence for a second, before the door flung open. Patrick stepped inside, craning his neck around to appraise the office.
It was a very large, rectangular room. Arranged all around the highest portion of the wall were what Patrick could only have imagined were portraits of previous Wentwater Deans. They were sitting gracefully; about fifteen to twenty of them. The setting sun’s waning light was entering through a window to Patrick’s left and there was another to his right, situated behind an old desk where Professor Montgomery was sitting.
“Ah, Patrick you’re here!” called Professor Montgomery, noticing Patrick’s head peering from outside the doorway. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy.”
Patrick stepped inside the office a bit more confidently. Judging by his tone, Professor Montgomery didn’t seem as though he invited Patrick to his office for punishment, which helped somewhat to ease Patrick’s mind.
“Come over here and have a seat,” waved Montgomery.
As he advanced to one of the seats in front of Montgomery’s desk, Patrick couldn’t help noticing the large globe on his left and the various maps that adorned the walls. Resting on a column behind Professor Montgomery, Patrick recognized the case used to hold the Placement Ball as he took a seat in one of the two chairs set before the dean’s desk.
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time now,” Professor Montgomery began, adjusting himself in his seat. “If I recall correctly, there was a bit of a letter mix up between you and your friend Mr. Quinn.”
Patrick relaxed even more. He wasn’t here to be punished at all; he was here to discuss his letter. Patrick perked up a bit, hoping that through this conversation he would be able to gather some answers.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Luckily, it seems that you and Mr. Quinn have become rather close since the incident.”
Patrick nodded. His curiosity was beginning to get the best of him again.
“Do you know what happened, professor?” asked Patrick, earnestly. “With my letter?"
Professor Montgomery, sighed and rubbed at his eyes.
“I wish I knew what happened, Mr. Thatcher. Professor Snerkin is most efficient when to comes to things of that nature. No one has been able to figure out exactly what happened and when word reached Pennsylvania of your family’s visit to inquire about your letter, the Republic of Magic practically insisted that a Republic member fill the Transfiguration position.”
“So, Professor Sumpton was hired because the Republic was worried about me?” asked Patrick incredulously.
“Well, in a sense yes,” started Montgomery, leaning forward on his desk. “Professor Goodstock resigned from his position rather abruptly during the summer and I was already scrambling to find a suitable teacher to take his place.” He paused for a moment, just long enough to chuckle to himself. “To be honest, the suggestion of Professor Sumpton made my job much easier. Time was winding down and there was no way I could refuse the son of Timothy Sumpton to join our staff. Such an upstanding father could only produce a son of similar magical ability and I was very glad to add him.”
“So,” said Patrick, trying to understand, “other than needing another teacher why was Professor Sumpton brought here?”
“Like I said, Mr. Thatcher, the Republic was concerned after your family came to the school, especially with the history your family has.” Patrick knew Professor Montgomery was, no doubt, referring to his grandpa. “But yes, In addition to monitoring any similar occurrences, Professor Sumpton was to make sure that nothing further jeopardized your first year at Wentwater. And well,” Professor Montgomery tugged at the collar of his robes, “he wasn’t able to completely prevent you from harm in your first Quidditch match, I’m afraid.”
Patrick wondered just what Professor Sumpton was doing when Patrick was spiraling down toward the ground at that same Quidditch match. How exactly was Professor Sumpton supposed to protect Patrick if he couldn’t prevent him from plunging hundreds of feet?
“Um…Professor?” Patrick said, unsure of how Professor Montgomery would respond to his question.
“Yes? Go on.”
“What’s going on with Professor Snerkin?” If the newspapers couldn’t tell him anything, the dean of the school surely could.
“Ah, funny you should mention that.” Professor Montgomery reached for one of the drawers in his desk and withdrew a group of envelopes. He pulled out a pair of tiny spectacles, placing them on the edge of his nose and riffled through the stack until he lifted one out and placed the rest back into the drawer.
“I’ve just been informed that he is ready to come back and join us here at Wentwater.”
Patrick was in disbelief. Professor Snerkin was getting off scot-free? Professor Snerkin couldn’t have been deemed prepared enough to return to teach. No, they didn’t question him enough. They just didn’t have enough evidence, that’s all. Patrick pondered for a second about turning over the letter he found, but explaining how he took it from a book in Professor Snerkin’s desk might not help his case. It also didn’t help that Professor Snerkin deliberately left his name off the letter which, from an outsider’s view, might have seem to be forged.
“Are you sure he’s”he’s ready to come back?” asked Patrick, hoping that somehow Snerkin’s name was mentioned by mistake.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s more than ready and eager to return And,” he said, handing the envelope he was holding toward Patrick. “If you could do me a favor and take this letter to the Owlery, on his behalf, he should be able to return in time for classes on Monday,” he finished, smiling.
Patrick took the envelope in his hands, reading the inked words “Polonius Babbage, United States Republic of Magic” across it.
“Um…sure, professor,” Patrick said, meekly.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Thatcher, I appreciate it. Hopefully the rest of your school year will be pleasant.”
Patrick gave a weak smile, rose from his seat and made his way out the office. As he walked he realized what he was holding in his hands. He had the power to see that the letter he was holding never got sent. It could have been very easy to toss the envelope in the lanterns just outside Montgomery’s office and forget entirely about Professor Snerkin’s return, but it was much easier said than done. Professor Montgomery entrusted the task to him and if for whatever reason the letter didn’t get sent, Montgomery would know that Patrick was to blame.
Patrick tucked the letter in his robe pocket, following the same route out of the hall that Professor Obelus had shown him. Regardless of the logic he already discovered, the temptation to somehow destroy the envelope grew, the closer he came to the Owlery. Once he finally made it to the tall building behind the Historic Hall, he reluctantly tied the letter to the leg of one of Wentwater’s barn owls. He stepped cautiously over the owl droppings that littered the straw floor of the building to release the bird out one of the glassless windows. Patrick watched the bird’s large wings flap rhythmically and couldn’t help but think that he would be responsible for releasing the man who could attack him upon returning to the post of Charms.
Before he left the Owlery, Patrick browsed the hundreds of owls, looking up high trying to find his own owl, Icarus. Seeing no sign of him, he simply figured that he was out looking for food to eat, since Patrick had kept the bag of owl treats unopened in his trunk.
By now, it was dinnertime and Patrick was in no rush to get to the Dining Hall. He couldn’t imagine what William would say after he found out that Patrick would be responsible for bring Professor Snerkin back. William, Elizabeth, and Henri were sitting in the middle of the Allard Hall table, already chomping down on a fillet of beef and corn, when Patrick plopped down and began to fill his own silver plate with food.
“How was practice, Patrick,” asked Elizabeth, from across the table.
“Fine,” he said, shooting a quick look at Elizabeth. “Fine, we’ve still got a good chance at winning the cup.”
“I ‘ope so. Jason MacDuffie ‘as been bozzering me in Herbology about how the Rylans will win ze championship,” muttered Henri, obviously annoyed.
William took a second from devouring the mashed potatoes on his plate resting the fork idly between his fingers.
“What took you so long? Gerald and the rest of the team got here almost thirty minutes ago.
Patrick didn’t want to break the news to William so soon, at least not here in the Dining Hall. After all, the rest of the Allards would find out soon enough once Professor Snerkin returned, and it wasn’t as though they needed to know immediately. The one person who really needed to know about Professor Snerkin’s return was the same one who had been asked to send off a letter to bring him back.
“I ran into Professor Obelus,” Patrick said aloud. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he continued to William, under his breath.
“I know what you mean,” ranted Elizabeth. “Once he starts talking, you can’t get him to stop.”
At this point, Patrick wished that the owl would somehow get lost on the way to the Republic of Magic, otherwise, Professor Sumpton’s job of protecting Patrick would be far from over.