After falling asleep in his wandering thoughts, Patrick awoke later in the day. He looked outside his window and noticed that the sun had already began to set. Surely, everyone had returned from Wentwater, he thought, as he followed the same path downstairs that he had taken earlier that morning.
He walked through the house until he came across his brother and their house elf, Merton. Merton was a very young elf with sparkling grey eyes and long bat-like ears. He wore a well-kept green vest that was a bit too large for him that contrast with the small bits of brown hair on his head. He had been scurrying back and forth fixing Paul a sandwich when he moved to usher Patrick through the door. The house-elf dragged Patrick by the wrist towards a chair next to his brother. Merton could be incredibly forceful especially when it came to doing things around the house. Every Thatcher could attest that whenever Merton was not offering food to the closest person, he was busy keeping everything in the house spic and span. Merton tended mostly to Patrick, making sure that his room was usually clean; which meant Patrick had a hard time finding things that Merton had rearranged.
“Please sit down, sir. Merton isn't wanting his newest wizard to be uncomfortable," the elf squeaked. Patrick shifted his eyes from the elf to his brother, who obviously had not bothered to inform Merton of the events that occurred earlier. Patrick dropped into a chair and once more looked at his brother; this time furtively.
“Thanks Merton,” he smiled, as the elf shuffled back to the half-made sandwich. “What happened to everyone? Did they come back?" He asked frantically, as if his whole life depended on his brother’s response.
“They all decided to move to Honduras. Said something about you being a disgrace and having to cut their losses," said Paul, licking mayonnaise off his fingers.
“Seriously, where are they?!" said Patrick, recognizing his brother's horrible habit to joke at the most uninviting time. His hand hit the table, almost knocking over the plate of sandwiches Merton had just put out for them.
“Don't blow a gasket, Patty! They straightened everything out.” Paul threw his hands up in the air pretending to surrender to his little brother. “They're probably out ‘buying stuff to celebrate,’” he finished in a high-pitched mock voice. "You're lucky. I didn't get half the attention you did."
Relieved, but still confused, Patrick took a chunk out of his sandwich and began to question. "Well, why did I get William's letter?"
“Heck, they don't even know," he mumbled between bites. "They said something like this is pretty rare, especially for a school with a reputation like Wentwater. Turns out that Quinn kid already got his letter a while back. They must have forgotten to cross him off the list."
It was definitely a possibility, albeit an unlikely one. Surely, the school would not be so reckless as to forget such a minute, yet simple, task. Maybe, Patrick thought, they had simply forgotten to write his letter, although this scenario was a far worse predicament than his previous one.
“Wentwater doesn’t make mistakes like that,” issued a gruff voice behind them. Grandpa Thatcher was tottering in the kitchen, wearing a look of disbelief. “Trust me, it’s unheard of.”
Patrick was surprised to see his grandfather still here.
“You didn’t go with everyone else?” he asked.
“They don’t need me there adding to all the bustle,” he growled. “They can take care of it without me. I don’t like leaving here unless I have to. Nowadays, these folk never stop hounding you.” He took a seat and grabbed one of the untouched sandwich halves from the platter sitting on the table. His white hair was brushed back out of his face and sat limply on his head. As he took a bite, his grizzly sideburns shifted up and down, right in time with his chewing.
“What do you think happened, Grandpa?” Patrick questioned.
“I’m not completely sure, Patrick,” he sighed, setting the sandwich down and wiping his face with a handkerchief. “I’ve never seen anything like this happen before, granted the school was much smaller when I attended. Less students, less mistakes.”
Neither Patrick nor Paul knew exactly how old their grandfather was. Whenever either of them asked, he would simply respond that he was old enough to be their grandfather, and due to the fact that the two of them could never come up with a good enough response, that usually ended the conversation. They continued to assume he was at least eighty and had served in the second Muggle World War.
“Of course, everyone was probably out fighting the war. No time for school.” interjected Paul. “That’s where I’d rather be.”
“You say that now. It not all glitz and glamour. It’s a lot different when you’re out on the field and the state of your country is at stake,” he said, looking right at Paul. “There is no way to pre-determine a winner when it comes to war. You can strategize all you can, but it comes down to instinct and luck. You better hope you’re lucky and your instincts are right. As for you,” he turned to Patrick, “my instincts tell me you have nothing to worry about. I’ll make sure you’re always on the right track. Once you get to Wentwater, you’ll just have to trust your instincts.”
Patrick smiled and tried to look reassured. He pondered several possibilities while stuffing his face with the large amount of food on his plate. Now that he was sure that he was going to Wentwater again, his appetite mirrored his growing excitement.
After a couple more refills of Merton's sandwiches and tea, the sounds of whooshing flames signaled the return of the Thatchers. Patrick raced out of the kitchen followed by Paul. One by one, they emerged from the giant brick fireplace in the Thatcher's living room dusting off the soot from their clothes. Merton wasted no time cleaning up the layers of ash the wizards had smuggled inside the house from their trip as Grandpa Thatcher finally entered the room from the kitchen. There were considerably less people now than there had been earlier today; Patrick assumed his other relatives had returned home after the commotion.
Patrick was greeted with hugs from those family members who had not yet left for home, all of which were eager to tell him the news. It was refreshing, this time, to meet their embraces and even their fingers (Aunt Ordna was able to reach his cheeks now). They sat around chatting as Merton once more carried in an arsenal of food and drinks to be devoured. Patrick’s relatives discussed which Residence Hall he might be assigned to when he finally arrives at Wentwater.
“Both Catherine and I were Allards, he’s bound to follow in our footsteps,” triumphed Mr. Thatcher.
“Nonsense,” croaked Patrick’s stocky Uncle Latimer. “I’ve watched the boy. He’s a Kinsey if I’ve ever seen one.”
Patrick shut his eyes, hardly listening to their words. Seeing his family roused with excitement confirmed his admittance; it was a great feeling that he could now share with them. While dozing off, his grandfather tapped him on the shoulder wearing a sly grin on his face.
“Over here, I have something for you."
He got up unnoticed, his family still fussing over his new home, and followed his grandfather down the hall. Grandpa Thatcher hustled around the corner and toward his bedroom door, pointing his wand at the door’s lock. Patrick heard a click and the door swung open. Patrick had just realized that he had rarely been in here as he shut the creaking door behind him. The previous occasions he had only been instructed to leave something on his grandfather's bed or another task where his time in the room was kept short. Otherwise, Grandpa Thatcher’s room was normally locked and he was rarely seen outside of his room for any extended period of time. Patrick used this opportunity to survey the room. It was decorated with numerous medals and several old pictures of his grandfather, some of them from his younger days, others more recent. Old banners of navy-blue hung on the walls and there were several old, odd objects scattered across his grandfather’s furniture. He focused on something that lay resting on his dresser.
“What is this?" Patrick inquired pointing to a picture of ten, twenty-something-year-old wizards, each of them wearing plus-fours and long, navy-blue, coat-like robes.
"That's one of my old regiments, but you’ll have no interest in that," he replied.
Patrick stared at their waving hands until his grandfather snatched it from his grandson’s view. Grandpa Thatcher was struggling to open a drawer with his wand and Judging by his difficulty opening it, the drawer had been sealed with a hefty bit of magic that even his grandfather had trouble conjuring.
Poking and prodding it over and over again he got past this obstacle and he finally jolted open the drawer, dropped in the photograph, then reached inside for something within its dusty contents. He searched around until his arm was half-way inside the small drawer. His grandfather’s arm disappeared inside it, reaching much farther inside the drawer than its outward appearance would have suggested one could reach. He frisked the edges, screwing up his face”presumably pushing aside other objects”until he pulled out a smooth, carved wooden box.
“Here, I want to give this to you," he said offering the box forward to Patrick. "It helped me when I was growing up and I want you to have it, too.” His grandfather’s face released a wide smile. Patrick had never seen him with any such expression. “I would have given it to your brother, but you know him. He was insistent that he could handle himself and didn’t want any help…so I saved it for you."
Patrick took the box and noticed a pair of hinges on one side of the wood. He tried to pry it open, but he had no luck.
His grandfather chuckled. "You can't open that box, just yet. It'll open when you need it."
"How will I know when I need it?" he asked.
“I don't think you'll have to worry about that, trust your instincts," he said with a smirk. "Now go on and get out of here, and don't show that to anyone, you hear?"
Patrick nodded, and hurried outside the room. He stared at it for a moment, shaking its contents. He could not hear anything, but the excitement brewing inside made up for momentary disappointment. Placing his present comfortably between his two hands, he ran up the stairs to tuck away his new gift. In his excitement he took the stairs two at a time. About halfway up, he was stopped, mid-jump, and was called by his mother.
“Patrick!"
He hastily hid the box behind his back and answered her.
"Yes mom?"
“Go to bed early, we're going to go out to the Square tomorrow and get your supplies for school."
Patrick nodded his head quickly and ran upstairs to his room, plowing through his clothes-strewn floor and straight to his dresser, placing the box directly underneath a jumble of socks. He surveyed his room greeting it much better than before, with a huge jump on his mattress and a face full of smiles. Not only was he admitted to his school, but he was no longer a disgrace to his family. With a new gift that was sure to help him if he needed it, he was more excited than ever for the start of the fall term. It was hard to believe that earlier today he had been worried at all.