Luke stayed at Gordon’s house until quite late that evening, but when Edwin finally did return, Gordon was disappointed to find that Oliver had not sent a letter with him. When the following day also passed without any sign of reply, he found himself feeling rather anxious. By half past five on Friday, Gordon was practically climbing the walls.
‘What on earth’s the matter, dear?’ said Mrs Owen, stopping Gordon as he prepared to pace around the dinner table for the hundredth time.
‘Oliver still hasn’t told us how we’re meant to get to his!’ said Gordon, irritably. ‘How does he expect us to get there when we don’t know where it is?’
Mrs Owen, looking a little worried herself, stared at him for a second.
‘You’re not expecting me to drive you, are you? I can’t just take the car off to the other end of the country at a day’s notice.’
Gordon made to respond but stalled. In truth, he had expected Oliver to produce some magic that would transport him down. What if he was supposed to find a way to get down there? When he had told his mother and father about going to Oliver’s, he had failed to mention exactly how he was meant to get there.
‘Erm,’ began Gordon, fidgeting with the zip on his coat and looking floorwards. ‘Well, I don’t know if that’s what we’re meant to do or not.’
‘Have you asked him?’ said Mrs Owen.
‘Err…no.’
Gordon looked up to see his mother staring at him bemusedly.
‘Well, don’t you think you better had?’ said Mrs Owen.
‘Well…err…I sort of sent the last letter, so it’s kind of his turn to write,’ said Gordon, as much to himself as his mother.
‘Well, can’t you get Luke to send one, then?’
Gordon sighed and began to explain that ordinarily that would be fine, but that the last letter had included a long one from Luke’s mother. Gordon had wondered all week if Mrs Oakshot’s letter had anything to do with the lack of news from Oliver. Maybe it really had been too much for Ledley to carry. Gordon was about to ask his mother if they had a map of England when the phone rang, and he almost fell over his own feet trying to get to it.
‘Hello?’ said Gordon.
‘Alright, mate. Just wondering what’s happening tomorrow.’
Every other week of the summer holidays Gordon had been glad to hear Luke’s voice on the phone, since it usually meant there was going to be something to do. This week Gordon found himself getting more and more aggravated at his phone calls. Luke had always been irritatingly impatient, and this week he had been more so than ever.
‘I still haven’t heard anything,’ said Gordon rather coldly. ‘I’d have called you if I had.’
‘Sorry, I just thought you might’ve forgotten about it, or something.’
Gordon found himself getting even more annoyed.
‘Well, I haven’t. I haven’t heard anything from him and if I did I would call you about it,’ said Gordon, though he was beginning to find the idea of not telling Luke quite appealing.
‘Okay,’ said Luke. ‘Do you –’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Gordon coldly.
‘Oh, alright. See you!’
Gordon put the phone down and ran his fingers through his thick ginger hair. For all he was looking forward to seeing Oliver, at this point he almost wished he could cancel the whole thing just to be done with it.
‘I think you should write Oliver a letter,’ said Mrs Owen, as Gordon walked back into the kitchen. ‘If you’re going to get a reply, now’s probably the last chance you’ve got to send it.’
‘I guess,’ said Gordon, fidgeting with his zip again. ‘But I still don’t know if –’
The phone rang again.
‘That better not be him, again,’ said Gordon, looking up at his mother as she went the phone.
‘Hello?’ said Mrs Owen. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. I’ll just go and see.’
Gordon cursed as she came back through.
‘It’s Luke,’ she whispered. ‘Do you want to come and get it?’
‘Can’t you tell him I’m up the garden or something?’ said Gordon coldly. Given the nature of the previous conversation he wasn’t in a hurry to speak to Luke again. Mrs Owen went back through to the living room.
‘I think he must be up the garden, Luke. Shall I get you to ring him back?’
Gordon was trying to listen in, but couldn’t hear Luke’s reply.
‘Okay. I’ll tell him that when he comes in,’ Mrs Owen said, and put the phone down.
‘Like I’m going to know any more since he last rang,’ said Gordon, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Well, he asked me to get you to call him back as soon as possible. I think he had something to tell you about Oliver.’
Gordon stopped shaking his head.
‘Did he say what?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Owen. ‘He just said that he said some news on it, though he didn’t seem that excited about it, to tell you the truth.’
Gordon’s stomach did a little jolt. That didn’t sound like good news at all.
‘I’d better call him back,’ said Gordon, going through and picking up the phone. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said, more to himself than his mother. The phone had not rung long before Luke answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Alright,’ said Gordon. ‘What’s going on?’
Gordon heard Luke pause and take a rather large intake of breath.
‘My mum’s taking us down to Oliver’s,’ he said eventually.
Gordon was at a loss as to why this was such a problem. This was the news they had been waiting for all week, but Luke didn’t seem to think so at all.
‘Did you get a letter from him?’ asked Gordon.
‘Yes,’ replied Luke. ‘Yesterday.’
It was Gordon’s turn to pause before replying.
‘Then how come you’ve been calling me –’
‘– It’s not my fault!’ said Luke desperately. ‘My mum got it, and she only just told me now. Apparently she thought we already knew,’ he concluded, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.
‘Oh,’ said Gordon. Part of him wanted to tell Luke that maybe he should have spoken to his mother before calling him every five minutes, but Luke didn’t seem in the mood to hear it.
‘We’ll pick you up at about seven tomorrow morning. Make sure you’ve got everything packed.’
.
‘Alright,’ said Gordon, as another thought occurred to him. ‘How come it took so long for Oliver to reply?’
‘That,’ said Luke. ‘Is another story.’
*
Gordon found himself sitting in the living room at quarter to seven the next day, as his mother fried him some eggs and bacon.
‘Are you sure you don’t want some sausages?’ said Mrs Owen, cracking another egg into the pan.
‘I’m all right,’ replied Gordon, stuffing the newspaper cutting Oliver had sent him into his bag. As he sat down at the table he found himself staring at the clock on the wall. It was now ten to seven.
‘They’ll be here soon, don’t worry,’ said Mrs Owen, following his gaze and pushing his breakfast in front of him.
Gordon did not reply, but began wolfing down his bacon, his eyes still fixed on the clock. He couldn’t help but feel that the quicker he ate his breakfast the quicker Luke would arrive.
By five minutes to seven, Gordon had already finished his breakfast and was now sat on the arm of the sofa, his eyes darting back and forth from the window to the clock. Yet none of the cars that passed outside belonged to Luke’s parents, and Gordon began to find the sound of cars increasingly irritating. The clock now read four minutes to seven. After spending most of his summer waiting for this, it was as if time was now deliberately grinding to a halt. It seemed like an hour before the clock read three minutes to seven. Gordon watched the small hand trudge round once more and it was two minutes to. He fidgeted with the zip on his coat as the hand began making it’s way around to one minute. It passed twelve, then three, then six, then nine…
Gordon couldn’t help himself counting along with the clock as it reached the final fifteen seconds.
‘Five…four…three…two…one.’
The clock chimed as it struck seven. Gordon flung himself over to window and peered through to see. Flinching in surprise he stood back from the window, momentarily dumbfounded.
There was no sign of Luke.
*
Gordon had been pacing, fidgeting and worrying for about ten minutes before his mother pointed out that Luke was probably just running late and told him to sit down. After a further ten minutes, a red Vauxhall pulled up in the drive, and Luke and Mrs Oakshot got out.
‘Finally!’ said Gordon, pulling open the door and beaming towards Luke as he walked up the drive.
‘Hello to you, too!’ replied Luke, though he beamed back. ‘Sorry we’re a little late. Mum needed to triple check everything as always.’
‘And it’s a good job I did!’ said Mrs Oakshot, as she locked the car. ‘Hadn’t packed towels or a toothbrush! How are you, Gordon?’
Gordon nodded rather meekly, hoping that Mrs Oakshot would be here long enough for him to retrieve his toothbrush.
‘Is your mother about? I want to have a quick word with her before we set off,’ said Mrs Oakshot. Gordon nodded again and led them inside, dashing off to the bathroom to get his toothbrush when Mrs Oakshot spotted his mother.
As he picked up the brush from its cup, he found himself absent-mindedly running his fingers down its handle. Was there something else he had forgotten? He’d packed his clothes into his bag, and he had the newspaper article. What else did he need? His key for Gringotts was safely stowed in his wand box…
‘My wand!’ he blurted out, making Mrs Oakshot spill her tea in surprise. As he dashed upstairs he saw Luke give him a knowing look. He scrambled over his bed to retrieve the box from the hole in the wall, and after quickly checking that both his key and his wand were inside, headed back downstairs.
‘Got everything?’ said Luke, his features breaking into a smile. Gordon replied with a hand gesture.
‘Are we ready to go then?’ said Mrs Oakshot, who fortunately did not spot the gesture. ‘Right then, I’ll see you on Monday, Dot.’
‘Righteo,’ replied Mrs Owen, before turning to Gordon. ‘Behave yourself won’t you?’
Gordon rather mumbled his reply, but his mother smiled.
‘I’ll see you on Monday.’
*
Oliver had told them that he lived in the village of Ottery St Catchpole. He had been able to give them some vague directions, but they hadn’t been able to find it on any maps. One of Oliver’s last letters had suggested that this was probably because the village was unplottable, though he hadn’t explained how this was possible.
‘I wish they could have drawn us a map or something,’ said Mrs Oakshot, as they were stuck at some traffic lights. ‘Professor Dumbledore thought we’d be best to head on the M6 –’
‘You’ve been speaking with Dumbledore?’ said Gordon, somewhere between wonder and shock.
‘We’ve been in contact,’ said Mrs Oakshot, and Gordon thought he saw her smile in the rear view mirror. Luke, on the other hand, had turned a delicate shade of green. Gordon made to ask him what was wrong but Luke waved it away.
‘I’ll tell you later.’
While at first they had been talking wildly about what they would do when they got to Oliver’s and which broom Gordon would get, after an hour the excitement had begun to wear off, and the reality of being stuck in a car on a hot day had set in.
‘How’s about a game of I-spy?’ began Mrs Oakshot.
‘We’re alright,’ said Luke immediately, with no uncertain sulkiness to his voice.
‘You’ll have to find something to do, little ones. We’ve still got a long way to go. Can’t you read your textbooks or something?’
‘You know I get car-sick when I read, mum,’ said Luke. ‘Besides, I’ve not brought any of them with me.’
‘Well, maybe Gordon’s brought his,’ said Mrs Oakshot, into her mirror.
‘Er… no. Sorry,’ said Gordon, though Mrs Oakshot smiled.
‘Well, I suppose it would’ve been too much to ask for at least one of you to have thought about your school work all summer.’
Gordon laughed, but Luke seemed to feel a great injustice in what Mrs Oakshot had just said.
‘I have been working at it all summer! You’ve seen me! I had my cauldron –’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mrs Oakshot. ‘Last time you managed to fumigate the garage, I’m sure that’s what you were trying to do,’ she said jovially, but Luke was getting more wound up.
‘Well it would’ve been fine if I could have made the thing inside! You know that Garage is full of spiders –’
Mrs Oakshot gave a sudden twitch and for a horrible second Gordon thought she would let go of the steering wheel.
‘Not while I’m driving, Luke.’
She said this rather more coldly than everything else, and Luke had evidently decided that it was not a good idea to pursue the conversation. Gordon knew that Mrs Oakshot had a phobia of spiders, having seen her run from the bathroom to fetch Luke’s stepfather on several occasions. In the old days, Luke had found times like that quite funny, but these days he could be as touchy about the things as his mother. Trapped in a hot car with a rather chilly atmosphere, Gordon resigned himself to staring out of the window. Luke and his mother barely spoke for the rest of the journey. It was only when they came off the duel carriageway and began taking a winding country lane that Mrs Oakshot broke the silence.
‘This looks like the road Professor Dumbledore described,’ she said, slowing down and looking around at the hedges and houses. ‘We’re to take the first right after the church on our left…’
Gordon sat up in his seat with a twitch of excitement. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before they had passed the church and turned left. The scenery remained unremarkable, and but for the large hill to their left the area didn’t seem vastly different from the countryside they had set out from that morning.
‘Ah! This looks like us!’
Sure enough, an old stone sign bearing the legend Ottery St Catchpole. Rather expecting to see the flashes of colour that seemed to litter Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, Gordon was disappointed to see that there didn’t appear to be any sign of magic at all. None of the few inhabitants that were about seemed to be wearing anything resembling wizard’s robes, and the only shops they passed were a post office and a hairdresser’s.
‘This can’t be it, surely?’ said Luke, apparently feeling quite as disappointed as Gordon at the lack of magical surroundings.
‘Of course it is,’ said Mrs Oakshot, taking a left turn. ‘Didn’t you see the sign?’
‘Well, yeah –’
‘There we are then,’ said Mrs Oakshot simply. ‘Now, we have to find Rhandur Avenue, apparently. I thought that sounded like a rather peculiar name for a road. I suppose it’s something to do with magic, is it?’
Luke gave a murmur of assent, but continued to stare out of the window. Mrs Oakshot made several more turns, and with everyone looking out for the street names it seemed like several minutes before anyone said anything else. A creeping feeling of uncertainty seemed to be welling up inside Gordon. Oliver hadn’t said much about his home, but he had certainly mentioned playing Quidditch in the garden. Since wizards weren’t meant to do magic in front of Muggles, Gordon was beginning to feel they might have found the wrong Ottery St Catchpole.
‘Here we are! Rhandur Avenue,’ said Mrs Oakshot with unsuppressed triumph.
Gordon stared blankly through the window as they turned off onto a dirt track that could barely be considered a road, much less an Avenue. What was more, there were no houses here at all, and the only building was a small wooden barn at the end.
‘That’s where Oliver lives?’ said Luke incredulously.
‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Mrs Oakshot.
‘Well what are we doing here then?’ asked Luke, as Mrs Oakshot drove onwards. ‘And I’d slow down unless you’re planning on knocking down that shack. I can’t imagine the locals are going to take to kindly to you destroying their property.’
‘Apparently, we’re supposed to drive through it,’ said Mrs Oakshot calmly. ‘You know, like at platform nine-and-three-quarters? I do hope the door doesn’t scratch the paint though, Alan will be furious. Still, here goes nothing.’
Gordon watched in disbelief as Mrs Oakshot drove on, the barn door looking worryingly solid in front of them. Just at what should have been the moment of impact however, there was a brilliant white flash.
For a second Gordon became quite unaware of where he was, as all sound and light seemed to have been blocked out. Now he could hear the engine of the car, and felt it moving forwards. Someone was blowing a whistle.
‘MUM! STOP!!!!!!’ shouted Luke, and Gordon opened his eyes a split second before being jolted in his seat as Mrs Oakshot slammed the breaks on.
Apparently Mrs Oakshot had closed her eyes on passing through the barrier as well, as a rather disgruntled looking wizard was climbing up from the ground in front of them. He appeared to be dressed in some form of uniform and rubbed his back with the hand clutching his whistle, before walking over to them. Mrs Oakshot rolled down her window rather sheepishly.
‘Are you all right? I’m dreadfully sorry about that,’ began Mrs Oakshot. ‘We didn’t realise what would happen when we went –’
.
‘Are you the Muggles to see Barzalby?’ asked the wizard, without acknowledging anything Mrs Oakshot had just said. She replied with a simple ‘Yes’, before the wizard gave out some directions, and then walked off muttering about the state of drivers these days.
‘Well, now…er…now that’s sorted, we better follow those directions…er…yes,’ said Mrs Oakshot, apparently more to herself than Gordon or Luke.
At first glance the part of Ottery St Catchpole here didn’t appear to be greatly different from the part they had just left. The brickwork of the houses here was the same as the ones they had just left, although several had rather more chimneys than Gordon considered normal. The gardens were quite similar, although some contained plants that he was sure were not normal for the British climate, and several of the shops would not have looked out of place in Oldburgh, although closer inspection revealed that their contents would have been rather less inconspicuous.
As they drove down what they presumed to be the wizarding area’s main street, it soon became apparent that its inhabitants were not used to people driving cars. Most of them turned round and stared as they drove past, and some of the children were openly pointing at them. Gordon felt rather ill as the countless eyes on the vehicle occasionally focused on him. Apparently he wasn’t the only person in the car to feel this way.
‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ said Luke, turning away from the window. ‘All that magic, and they stop and stare when they see a car.’
Gordon made to laugh back but found his voice rather stifled. Looking back out of his window, he saw a child of no more than four floating around one of the lawns on a toy broomstick. As they drove past Gordon saw the boy look up and point straight at him, and Gordon’s stomach sank. Was it the car that all those people had been pointing at, or was it them?
‘I guess we’re famous then,’ said Luke, quite out of the blue.
‘What?’ said Gordon, who had not been expecting that reaction at all. ‘How’re we famous?’
‘Well,’ said Luke simply. ‘Everyone saw us arrive in the village. From the way they were pointing I’d say we’re the talk of the town.’
Gordon didn’t really know what to say to this, and he was rather grateful when Mrs Oakshot interrupted.
‘Oliver’s house is number eleven,’ she said, looking round at the house numbers. ‘There’s number sixteen on our right so it should be just up here…number eleven…ah here we…oh I say!’
Gordon looked up and immediately saw what Mrs Oakshot was gaping at. Most of the houses of the street were several storeys tall, but number seven was another storey taller than the ones either side of it. The very brickwork seemed to make the house even more resplendent, and its tower was topped by a huge dome, under which sat a magnificent stone goblet, which looked big enough for a grown man to sit in.
‘Bloody hell…’ said Luke, staring up out of the window for a better look. Mrs Oakshot said nothing about him swearing, but continued to stare at the house.
‘I had no idea!’ said Mrs Oakshot to herself, shifting a little uneasily in her seat. ‘If I’d have known I’d have dressed in something a bit more proper.’
Gordon expected a curse or a least a shudder from Luke at this, but he did not say a word. Evidently he was just as surprised as his mother.
‘Well…er…well. I suppose we should get out, then,’ said Mrs Oakshot, her eyes still fixed on the house outside. Eventually, it was Gordon who first opened his door. Without thinking he looked round to see if any cars were coming before realising where he was. As he got out and walked over to the boot of the car, he tried to count how many storeys the house had, before becoming rather dizzy. Soon they had their rucksacks on, and Mrs Oakshot was nervously looking over to the door of the house.
‘Well…er…perhaps we’d better knock,’ she said eventually, before taking what she obviously thought to be her best stride up the garden path, with Luke and Gordon in tow.
The front door of the house had an oversized golden seven emblazoned across it, as if it’s occupants prided the number more than the door. Just above this was a rather more normally sized doorknocker, in the shape of what was unmistakable a Lion. Mrs Oakshot took one last breath as she examined the doorknocker, before knocking three times.
Gordon Owen and the Eastern Warrior - Book Two of the Evil Kneazle Series by AurorKeefy
Chapter Notes: Thanks to Snape's Talon, again, for her work on this chapter. Sorry about the recent delay in uploading!
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