The day began as any other day: Charlie and I walked down to breakfast together. But it wasn't any other day - today was the day of the Hogsmeade trip.
We sat down, and I poured us some coffee. I was about to set Charlie's cup down in front of him when a small snowy owl suddenly swooped down and landed right in front of Charlie. Caught off guard, I jerked the cup up, spilled a good portion of coffee on my breakfast. I caught Charlie rolling his eyes.
"Gee, thanks for your sympathy," I remarked testily while glaring at my coffee-drenched breakfast. The owl looked at me with large, unblinking eyes. I pushed my plate towards him, which he automatically began pecking at.
"It wasn't about you," explained Charlie, "it's about the owl." Before I could question further, he took a piece of parchment from the owl's leg. He read it quietly, and tossed the note on the table. I pulled it towards me and read:
Dear Charlie,
I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to Hogsmeade today. If you agree to, I'll be standing by the doors of the Great Hall.
Emily Rey
I raised my eyebrows. "Who's Emily Rey?" I asked.
Charlie shook his head. "No clue."
Before breakfast was finished, there were no less than four owl pecking at my soggy meal, and no less than four notes inviting, pleading, and (in one case) threatening Charlie to go to Hogsmeade with them.
"Well, look on the bright side," I told him. "You'll be hunting in broomstick shops all day, and they can't find you there!"
After about half an hour, I found myself walking the busy streets of a small village. Charlie pointed out the first broomstick shop. I wasn't worried about which model I was going to ride - I really didn't care for designer labels. I cared about prices. I didn't have too much to spend on a broomstick, and it turned out that they were more expensive than I thought.
"We're going to have to go to a secondhand shop," I whispered to Charlie. "I don't think I have enough money for a new one."
He nodded. "I know some small shops that sell broomsticks." He led me away from the large shops. We turned from the main street to some smaller ones that were littered with secondhand shops.
I pushed the door open, and the bell on the door rang softly. It was dusty, dark, and smelled like no one had cleaned it in many years. A squat witch appeared from behind a curtain. "Looking for something, dearies?" she cackled softly.
"Yes. Erm, do you have any broomsticks?" I asked.
The old woman pointed with her stubby finger. "In the back."
Charlie and I went through the broomsticks, but they were all rather worn out. The handles were chipped or broken, and several of the twigs were missing. "We can always fix it up a bit." I suggested. Charlie raised his eyebrows at me. "All right, we can't." I admitted. They were too beat up. We walked quickly out of the shop.
An hour or two passed, and I still didn't have a broomstick I even remotely wanted to buy. My hopes of buying a broomsticks were quickly dropping. We made our way back to the the first shop we visited on the main street. Checking the prices again, I mused over what to do. I could always write to my parents and explain the situation to them. I didn't like that idea, but it looked as it I would have to. The shopkeeper, a young man of about twenty, came over to where I was looking at the broomsticks. "Do you need some help, miss?" he asked.
I was about to say no, but then Charlie cut in. "Do you sell secondhand broomsticks?" he asked casually.
The salesman gestured. "Follow me," he ordered. We followed him to the back of the store, where there were broomsticks in less-than-desirable condition laying on two tables. "Poke around as much as you need to, and call me if you need some assistance," he said.
I turned to Charlie. "Now these broomsticks we can fix up." I pointed out. "You take one table, and I'll take the other."
I sifted through the broomsticks, making mental notes of which ones could be a possible purchase. One caught my eye: it was maple, with the twigs in respectable condition and peeling letters spelling out "Silver Arrow". It would need a bit of polishing, but nothing worse than that. I picked it up to examine it further - and that's when it happened.
My hand snapped to it like a magnet. Suddenly, I wasn't in the shop anymore. I had a sort of vision, and in it, I was flying, soaring high about the ground. I felt my heart pumping a sudden adrenalin rush through my veins. I felt like I was climbing higher, higher, higher, and then plummeting to the ground in a stomach-wrenching dive.
As suddenly as it started, it stopped. I was wondering why my hand was suddenly on the table and not on the Silver Arrow, until I heard Charlie apologizing for bumping into me. I didn't look up - I was still staring at the broomstick, my heart still pounding. Charlie walked over to my side and looked at the broomstick, and then looked at me. "You felt it, didn't you?" he asked.
He didn't have to explain what 'it' was. I nodded
slowly. "Yeah."
Charlie smiled. "Broomsticks are often like wands. They choose their owner." Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Sometimes," he confided, "they tell us if we're destined to be great."
My vision saw me preforming heart-stopping tricks like a professional. Did that mean that I was destined to be great? I shook the idea out of my head. I picked up the Silver Arrow, chose a broomstick-repair kit, and paid for the two. It felt rather strange - the Silver Arrow and the kit were about the third of the price of a new broomstick. However, the Silver Arrow was worth its weight in gold, or at least it seemed like it to me. I paid a smaller price for a greater broomstick. Sometimes, I thought, the price of raw goods doesn't match the price of adrenalin.