It was not more than a few moments before the door was answered. It was not, as Gordon had feared, opened by a snooty-nosed butler; instead, Oliver’s beaming face greeted them. Gordon felt a surge of relief wash over him.
‘Guys! You made it!’ beamed Oliver, looking quite as excited as Gordon once again felt.
‘We do our best,’ said Luke rather dryly. ‘How’s your summer been?’
‘Just about as bad as yours, I hear. It’s been so empty here since Calumn left,’ replied Oliver, as they walked inside.
Gordon had met Calumn, Oliver’s older brother, at Hogwarts the previous September. Calumn had now left school and was presently abroad working for the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, it was a very prestigious job for someone just out of school, but the work meant he had been forced to leave home, leaving Oliver to play Quidditch on his own. For Oliver, for whom Quidditch was more a matter of life and death than a sport, this had been hard to bear.
As they walked through the hallway, Gordon found himself admiring the many photos and pictures on the walls, most of which showed pictures of Oliver, Calumn and their father playing Quidditch. Gordon was staring at one of Calumn holding the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup aloft, when a slight woman with curly blonde hair walked in, who Gordon knew to be Oliver’s mother.
‘Jean! Good to see you! Sorry about the delay with the last letter, but I see it got there in the end. How are you?’ she said, extremely politely.
‘Oh I’m fine, Christine. I’m fine,’ replied Mrs Oakshot. ‘Sorry if my letter was a little confusing, I didn’t know what terms you’d be used to and which you wouldn’t. It’s taking me a while to get to grips with all this wizarding!’
‘And me a while to grips with Muggling!’ she chortled back, before taking what was unmistakably a small jump and quickly changing tack.
‘I expect you’re all thirsty,’ she said, in a slightly higher voice than she had used before. ‘I’ve just had Welby put a pot of tea on, but we’ve some pumpkin juice if you’d prefer that.’
‘Oh, I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Oakshot, now also examining the paintings. ‘I expect these two would prefer the, err, pumpkin juice.’
Luke replied with a “yes, please”, and Gordon nodded. Soon they found themselves whisked into a massive sitting room, where four very large and comfortable-looking cream sofas lined the walls. There were fewer photographs in this room, with just a handful of school pictures of Oliver’s parents and Calumn, as well as one massive picture of a Quidditch team above the huge stone mantelpiece.
‘How was the journey?’ asked Oliver’s mother, sitting down on one of the sofas and taking a sip of her tea. Gordon noticed her little finger sticking out as she raised the cup to her lips.
‘Well, we got here fine, but it’s a rather long journey to drive on a day like this,’ replied Mrs Oakshot, proceeding to take a sip of her tea with the same lifted finger as Oliver’s mother. ‘It’s far too hot to be stuck in the car.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more,’ replied Oliver’s mother, in a tone that suggested she had never been in a car in her life. ‘Of course, we usually take our brooms for journeys like that. If it was up to Barzalby, we’d probably fly everywhere.’
‘Do you like flying?’ said Mrs Oakshot plainly, although Gordon was sure that he had seen one of her eyebrows rise when broomsticks were mentioned.
‘Not particularly,’ sighed Oliver’s mother. ‘But I really can’t complain. If it hadn’t been for Quidditch we would never have been able to move here.’
‘I must say,’ began Mrs Oakshot, apparently seizing the opportunity to talk about something she was remotely familiar with, ‘that your house is quite magnificent.’
‘Oh, it’s home,’ said Oliver’s mother contentedly, looking up to the many portraits around them. ‘Barzalby bought it for the land, really.’
‘Did you do the decorating?’ asked Mrs Oakshot with interest. ‘I love these sofas, they really complement the …’
Gordon interest in the conversation began to wane as its focus shifted to Mrs Oakshot stating how wonderful the house was. Apparently, Luke had felt rather the same way, because he was now rapping his fingers on the sofa besides him. His mother shot him a sharp look as he did this, but Oliver’s mother seemed to understand.
‘Oliver, why don’t you show the boys where they’ll be sleeping? I’m sure they want to take their things up.’
.
Oliver nodded and stood up, followed almost immediately by Luke. As Gordon pulled himself up from the sofa and got his bag, he spotted a smile flickering over his friend’s lips. Luke’s mother was apparently trying to catch her son’s eye, but as Oliver left the room he practically bounded after him. When they had gone up the first set of stairs onto the landing Oliver spoke.
‘I don’t want you get the impression that my mum’s snooty. She’s never normally “’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Luke, now beaming, ‘which room is yours?’
‘I’m on the fourth,’ said Oliver, looking rather bemusedly back at Luke. ‘Welby’s cleared out the two spare rooms. One’s on the fourth with me, and the other is on the fifth.’
‘I’ll take the one on the fifth,’ said Luke, before Gordon had chance to ask who Welby was. ‘Er… if that’s all right with you, Giz.’
Gordon shrugged. In truth, he’d rather have had the top floor, but he supposed it didn’t really matter.
‘Well I’ll take you up to the top one first, then. You can see most of the town from there.’
‘Your house is awesome,’ said Luke. Gordon rather agreed.
*
By the time Oliver had showed them their rooms, Gordon was quietly pleased to see that the top room, while having the better view, didn’t look nearly as cosy as his. For one, the massive window in the top one meant that the bed and wardrobes seemed rather crammed into all the space that remained, while his was a lot roomier. The top one also had some portraits of kittens and a rather lingering smell of flowers, that while Gordon was sure would please Mrs Oakshot, wasn’t really his thing.
Oliver’s room on the other hand, was much more to Gordon’s liking. In spite of it being far bigger than Gordon’s room back home, Oliver had managed to completely cover his walls in posters of his favourite Quidditch team (“Puddlemere United! They won the league when dad played for them!”), and seemed to have continued the Quidditch theme throughout. His duvet had several pictures of Quidditch players on it, now idly passing a Quaffle around, and the only space not taken up by posters was left for Oliver’s broomstick, which was held by a finely engraved hanger on the wall.
‘Wow,’ said Gordon, as he examined a picture of a rather battered looking beater. ‘Where did you get all this stuff?’
‘I got most of the posters with Quidditch Weekly,’ replied Oliver, sounding rather pleased with himself. ‘I don’t know where mum got the sheets.’
Gordon was wondering how many copies of Quidditch Weekly he would need to do this to his bedroom as Oliver sat down on his bed. Luke was looking out of the window, and didn’t seem to be nearly as impressed with Oliver’s room.
‘How come your garden is so small?’ asked Luke, peering through the window. ‘I thought your mother said you bought this place for the land?’
As Gordon looked out of the window, he saw what Luke meant. Oliver’s garden was a very thin strip of land, no bigger than Holly Cottage’s garden. Most of it was taken up by flowerbeds and flowering bushes that would’ve impressed even Oldburgh’s most hard-to-please gardeners. The lawn wasn’t much bigger than Gordon’s kitchen, and currently had a finely engraved wooden bench sitting in the middle of it. Gordon turned back to Oliver for an explanation, but he simply smiled and stood up.
‘That’s not our only garden,’ he said, a grin still spread across his face as he took his broom down from the wall. Gordon noticed that the handle had been polished so well that he could see his reflection in it.
‘We saw the front when we came in,’ said Luke, with a note of impatience in his voice. ‘And that didn’t look big enough to play Quidditch in either.’
The thought had crossed Gordon’s mind as well, though he wasn’t going to point it out quite as brazenly as Luke did. Oliver, however, simply smiled and opened his bedroom door.
‘Follow me.’
Gordon wasn’t entirely sure why, but he felt his stomach rather lurch as Oliver said this. In his previous year at Hogwarts, every time he had been asked to follow someone it was usually because he was either in trouble or about to be. As he followed Oliver out of the room he found the memory of his encounter with the wyvern very much at the front of his mind.
‘This way,’ said Oliver, heading upstairs.
Gordon exchanged a rather puzzled look with Luke, who was evidently as bemused as he was.
‘Upstairs?’ said Luke, who looked a little paler than usual. ‘I’m not going flying around the village with you if that’s what this is about.’
Oliver laughed again as they climbed onto the fifth floor landing. There were several doors leading off it, including the room Luke had chosen for himself, but Oliver walked purposely past them to a door on the far wall.
‘Oliver…’ said Luke, who was examining the door rather intrepidly. ‘…this door shouldn’t be here.’
At first Gordon didn’t understand what Luke meant. Admittedly, this was the only floor that had a door there, but he saw no reason why every floor of the house should be the same. For a second he looked at Luke for an explanation, before he realised what was concerning him so much. The house did not extend beyond that door; it could only lead outside.
‘Oliver, I should probably tell you now,’ began Luke, as Oliver placed his hand on the door handle. ‘I’m…I’m not very good with heights.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Oliver assured him with a smile. ‘Now I want you to both close your eyes “’
‘What??’ blurted out Luke. ‘If you think for a second “’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, who seemed to find Luke’s reaction far more surprising than Gordon did. ‘Just close “’
‘I’m not closing anything!’ snapped Luke, taking a step back from the door.
Oliver looked crestfallen at this, since he had apparently believed that Luke was in for quite a treat. He turned rather pleadingly to Gordon.
‘Will you close your eyes?’ he said, an edge of desperation in his voice.
As much as he didn’t want to upset Oliver, Gordon couldn’t help but feel that Luke’s objections to closing his eyes before opening a door to a five-storey drop were well founded. Yet with Oliver looking at him like that he felt it would’ve been cruel to refuse, and he reluctantly closed his eyes.
‘Great!’ said Oliver beside him. ‘I want you to keep them closed until I tell you…’
Gordon stood rooted to the spot for a second, as he heard Oliver twist the slightly creaky doorknob and open the door. Gordon felt a warm breeze wash over him, and tried not to imagine the huge drop just inches from where his feet were.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Luke’s voice behind him. Apparently, his fear of heights had not stopped his desire for a good view, because Gordon heard his footsteps beside him.
‘Alright then,’ said Oliver, who had now walked behind Gordon. ‘I want you to open your eyes in five…four…three…’
Gordon did not have chance to hear numbers two and one, because on three someone shoved him forwards through the doorway. Gordon tried to stop himself but tripped and fell forward. Gordon screwed his eyes even tighter shut and screamed as he fell forward through air…
And then with a thud, he hit soft ground; seemingly no lower than the floor he had just stepped off. He opened his eyes and saw thick green grass below him.
‘That wasn’t funny!’ said Oliver crossly. ‘What if he’d have died of shock?’
Gordon turned around to see Oliver staring daggers at Luke. He in turn was looking back to Gordon rather apologetically, though he was obviously still quite amused.
‘Sorry Giz,’ he managed eventually. ‘If I’d have known this place was on the other side, I’d have closed my eyes in a flash.’
‘And I’d have pushed you through the damn door!’ said Gordon angrily, pulling himself to his feet. ‘And you’d have ended up on the floor in this bloody…’
But as Gordon turned around the rest of his words crumbled in his mouth. They stood in a massive forest clearing as wide as the Great Hall was long. The weather was exactly the same as it had been when they had drove here, but they otherwise seemed to have left Ottery St Catchpole behind completely. Although there looked to be many different plants and flowers coming from the trees, the only things in the clearing were six brass hoops, three at either side, that were unmistakably for playing Quidditch.
‘How…?’ began Gordon.
‘It’s an enchanted room, basically,’ said Oliver, mounting his broom with a smile. ‘Dad says it’s really complex magic; there’s only a handful of other rooms like this in Britain.’
Gordon stared up at Oliver as he soared into the cloudless sky. Gordon laughed in disbelief and even Luke, who was now examining the doorway, seemed extremely impressed.
‘There’s a few spare brooms in there if you want,’ said Oliver, sweeping back down to their level and pointing to a rickety looking shed just outside the clearing. ‘I think there’s an old Nimbus in there somewhere, most of them are old Shooting Stars dad got from work.’
Gordon ran over to the shed, whose rickety appearance was continued by a healthy patch of turf growing on its roof, and pulled open the door. As well as several brooms there were also a number of spades and rakes inside, along with several wooden implements Gordon did not recognize and heaps of fat bodied spiders. Gordon began looking through the brooms until he found a light brown one with Nimbus emblazoned in gold letters on the handle. Picking up that and one of the Shooting Stars, Gordon wiped a handful of spiders off them before going back outside.
Luke had not followed Gordon into the shed, but was still examining the door they had come in through with great interest. The door was not mounted to any wall, but instead was standing quite on its own. Gordon watched Luke disappear from sight as he walked through it one way, then walked straight through it as he tried it from the other side.
‘Here’s your broom,’ said Gordon, passing Luke the Shooting Star and hoping he wouldn’t notice that he had taken the Nimbus. Luke didn’t even turn round.
‘Thanks, I’ll be up in a second, I just want to have another look at this door.’
Gordon shrugged and decided to leave Luke to it. Although he was amazed with the door and clearing, it had been far too long since he had been on a broomstick. He mounted the nimbus and took a deep breath, before pushing himself off the ground.
As soon as Gordon felt the air rushing through his hair, his face burst out into a huge smile. As he soared through the sky he wondered how he managed all summer without the thrill of being on a broom. Better yet, this time there was no Madam Hooch telling him not to fly too high, and Gordon found himself flying way up into the sky until Luke and the door were just spots on the ground. The forest around the clearing went on in every direction as far as Gordon could see. He was about to fly a little higher to see if he could see beyond it, when Oliver came shooting up beside him.
‘How’s it feel to be back in the air?’ said Oliver, grinning and turning in mid air before gracefully stopping beside him.
Gordon didn’t know what to say, so he simply smiled back. Oliver seemed to understand, and continued to smile.
‘Are you still serious about trying out for the house team? We’ve got a full Quidditch set here, I could go and grab the Quaffle if you like.’
Gordon nodded furiously and the pair of them dived back down towards the shed. Luke had now mounted his broom and was flying around rather uncertainly above the ground. Gordon pulled out of his dive and flew over to him.
‘How’s it going?’ beamed Gordon.
‘Fine,’ said Luke, as he nervously pulled his broom a little higher. ‘I’m not sure I should go too high on this broom; it doesn’t seem very safe.’
The Shooting Star Luke was riding didn’t seem to want to fly at all, and where Gordon’s Nimbus gracefully soared, the Shooting Star stopped and started with small clouds of smoke occasionally appearing from its tail.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, as he came soaring up to them carrying a red, football-sized ball. ‘They’re not the quickest broom around, but it won’t cut out on you.’
Luke stared down at his broom, and stared back up to Oliver, looking distinctly unconvinced.
‘Here,’ said Oliver, throwing the Quaffle to Gordon, who had to drop a little to catch it. ‘I’ll be keeper. You two can take shots at me.’
Oliver flew off to hover in front of the hoops at one end of the clearing, and Gordon shrugged and flew after him, with Luke trundling along behind him.
*
The sun was setting in the enchanted sky by the time they finally stopped playing. Oliver was a brilliant keeper, and saved almost every shot they could throw at him. Gordon thought that for all Oliver had talked about wanting to practice, he could have walked onto the Gryffindor team.
Although Oliver had managed to save most of his shots, Gordon didn’t feel like he had done badly himself. Oliver had shown him a technique for really fast shots, where you pulled your broom to halt and let your arm jerk forward: Gordon had mastered it faster than any spell he had learnt.
‘I thought that went really well,’ said Oliver, as they walked back inside. ‘If we play like that in trials, we’ll all make it onto the team!’
Gordon paused for a second to think about the prospect. He had missed out on the school football team at Primary School, while Luke had been gifted a place in the b-team, and the very thought of representing Gryffindor made his stomach churn.
‘We did fly really well,’ said Gordon, more to himself than anyone else, ‘but if I don’t have chance to play before we go back….’
‘We’ve got another day to practice tomorrow,’ said Oliver, running his fingers along the dark wooden banister as they walked downstairs. ‘Maybe Monday too, depending on how long we’re in Diagon Alley. Hopefully we’ll get chance to have a game with your new broom.’
Gordon was still thinking about the Quidditch Cup as Oliver led them into the dining room. He had seen enough of the house to not be surprised that it was at least twice the size of most of the rooms in his house, and had walls adorned with more paintings of old family members playing Quidditch. Several of them were apparently examining him and Luke with great interest.
‘What about you?’ Oliver asked Luke, as he picked up a large decanter on the table and began pouring three beakers of pumpkin juice.
‘What about me?’ replied Luke, examining some large green-blue herbs that were hanging from the wall.
‘Are you going to try for the Quidditch team?’ asked Oliver, passing Gordon a beaker of juice.
Much to Oliver’s obvious irritation, Luke fell apart with laughter.
‘Are you kidding?’ he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got rather more important things to be doing this year.’
Gordon winced. For all his excitement at the prospect of coming over to Oliver’s, he couldn’t have expected the weekend to pass without Luke saying something that offended him. Their rather differing views on Quidditch meant it had been somewhat inevitable, although Gordon had been hoping they would have at least made it through the first night.
‘What then?’ said Oliver coldly.
‘Hmm?’ said Luke, now examining a set of crystal goblets that sat on a dresser. His voice had an air of deliberate calmness to it, and Gordon had a horrible feeling he was rather enjoying the experience.
‘What have you got to do that’s more important than Quidditch?’ asked Oliver, now staring daggers at Luke.
‘Let’s talk about this later,’ said Gordon, feeling there might be an argument brewing and eager to put a stop to it. ‘It’s too early to think about Hogwarts anyway. Do you fancy showing us around the village?’
Oliver gave Gordon a look that suggested he was not at all fooled by this ruse. Since almost every letter Gordon had written to him this summer had focused on Hogwarts he supposed he couldn’t really be surprised. Oliver looked as if he was going to pursue the point with Luke when his mother walked in with a bowl of steaming vegetables.
‘Tea’s ready, Olly,’ she said kindly, setting the vegetables down on the table and summoning several plates onto the table with a flick of her wand. ‘I’m at a loss as to where your father is though. He should’ve been back from work half an hour ago.’
Oliver shrugged his shoulders, though Gordon was sure he saw him shoot another look at Luke when his mother’s back was turned. Gordon’s attention was rather diverted by what happened next.
A platter with a huge roast chicken on it came hovering in out of the kitchen. At first Gordon was too caught up in the delicious smell to notice, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a tiny pair of legs beneath it.
‘What the “?’
Before Oliver could explain, the platter had risen up onto the table, revealing one of the strangest looking creatures Gordon had even seen. It had the look of a hairless monkey, with ears that looked far too big for its head, a long thin nose, and eyes the size of tennis balls. It was wearing what looked to be an immaculately ironed tea towel.
‘That’s Welby,’ said Oliver simply. ‘He’s our house-elf.’
‘Oh,’ said Gordon in disbelief. All his previous notions of elves had been of tall, graceful and beautiful creatures, but Welby, who was now bringing in several more plates of vegetables, seemed to be none of these things.
‘He’s a great cook,’ said Oliver. ‘Does everything around the house you could possibly need.’
‘Thanking you, Master Oliver,’ squeaked the elf, in a very high-pitched voice.
Gordon watched in fascination as the elf continued to bring in more and more food.
‘Will he be sitting with us?’ asked Gordon. Oliver shook his head.
‘No. Welby eats down in the cellar. He has a room down there. I used to play there when I was little, but to tell you the truth I haven’t been down there for years.’
Before long they were all sat at the table staring at several bowls full of different vegetables and the platter on which sat the biggest roast chicken Gordon had ever seen in his life. He hadn’t really noticed how hungry he was until the smell of the boiled potatoes washed over him, and his stomach grumbled rather loudly.
‘Well,’ said Oliver’s mother rather agitatedly. ‘Normally we’d wait for your father, but it seems a shame to let it go cold…’
Gordon was just about to reach over for a serving spoon when he heard a clattering in the living room. A moment later Oliver’s father walked in, brushing what looked to be dirt off his robes.
‘Scourgify!’ said Oliver’s mother with a flick of her wand, and the dirt on her husbands robes disappeared. ‘Where on earth have you been, Barzalby? I thought we’d have to start without you.’
‘Sorry, dear,’ he replied, seating his large frame at the table as Welby shot past towards the soot on the carpet. ‘Henry and I have been working overtime to find that referee, but he still hasn’t turned up. We’ve several witnesses saying it was McCoy again: He’ll be lucky to escape Azkaban this time.’
‘I thought you’d had him banned from attending games?’ replied Oliver’s mother, spooning several large pieces of broccoli onto Luke’s plate. ‘Wasn’t it him who cursed that Chaser last year?’
‘We think so,’ said Oliver’s father between mouthfuls. ‘But there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. We’ve had several stewards tailing him at every game since, hopefully this’ll be his last,’ he said thoughtfully, chewing on a mouthful of carrots. ‘And you two must be Gordon and Luke. How are you?’
‘What?’ said Luke, looking up from his plate. ‘Oh, yeah, we’re fine. Oliver’s been showing us your Quidditch pitch.’
Gordon, who had long got used to Luke speaking for the pair of them when they were addressed by adults, simply nodded and stuffed another forkful of potato into his mouth.
‘Ah yes! It’s quite something isn’t it! When I played with Puddlemere I used to be out there every day! I daresay my son’s following in my footsteps,’ he said, reaching over to Oliver and ruffling his hair. ‘Are you two training for the Gryffindor team too?’
Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but Oliver cut him off.
‘Gordon and me are going for the team. But Luke doesn’t like Quidditch much.’
‘Well…’ began Luke, who obviously wasn’t keen to upset Oliver’s father. ‘I don’t mind it, but I’m not as good as Gordon or Oliver.’
Oliver’s father nodded rather sagely at this, and went back to his food.
‘You haven’t had any news about your mother, have you?’ asked Oliver’s mother conversationally. ‘Only Priscilla was saying that they’re going to close the ward completely.’
Oliver’s father pulled a rather frustrated looking expression, and put his fork back down on his plate. Gordon wasn’t sure if he should act interested or not.
‘I’m afraid Priscilla is right, dear. It seems the Minister wants to go ahead with it. I’m afraid she’ll have to come and live with us.’
‘Well you know I don’t mind, Barzalby. It’ll be nice to have some company while you’re at work.’
‘Come now, Christine dear, you know my mother isn’t much in the way of company these days.’
‘Well, I know “’
‘And anyway, it’s besides the point!’ said Oliver’s father rather sharply. ‘We’re lucky enough to be able to take care of her, but they’ll be countless more who can’t! I don’t know what Bagnold’s playing at!’
Oliver’s father stabbed a potato rather sharply with his fork, and began irritably cutting it in two. Gordon had no idea who this Bagnold was, but apparently Oliver’s father didn’t care for them much.
‘Now, dear, I’m sure Bagnold knows what she’s doing…’
‘You think so?’ replied Oliver’s father, now going slightly red in the face. ‘Hah! It’s all about getting her re-elected you know, trying to make out she’s all about the family. Of course, her own family don’t want anything to do with her, so that was out of the question. Honestly! The woman couldn’t organize a pi “’
‘Barzalby!’
‘Wha…? Oh! Yes, sorry, dear,’ replied Oliver’s father, going a rather different shade of red. ‘Got a little ahead of myself there.’
Oliver gave Gordon a quick smile, which he returned, feeling rather pleased that wizarding families weren’t quite as different from Muggles as he’d thought.
*
After several helpings of dinner and large bowl of ice cream each, Oliver’s mother decided that it was time for the boys to go to bed. Gordon, now feeling extremely full and quite tired as a result of having been up so early, felt quite ready to sleep. It was only Oliver who protested, with Luke still seeming quite distracted from what everyone else was talking about.
As they trudged up to bed, weighed down by the food in their stomachs, Oliver said goodnight to the both of them (though he was still noticeably colder with Luke) before turning into his own room, and Gordon followed Luke to the staircase before stopping him on the first step.
‘Listen,’ he said, taking in a deep breath and hoping Luke wouldn’t react too harshly to what he was about to say. ‘Do you think you could lay off Oliver a bit tomorrow? You knew you were winding him up before.’
Luke turned to Gordon rather tiredly, and stared into his eyes for a second.
‘Yeah, okay.’
‘Really?’ said Gordon, who wasn’t entirely convinced by this.
‘Yeah. I didn’t mean to…well…you know how it is. Anyway, see you in the morning.’
Gordon wished Luke goodnight and watched him climb up the stairs and turn around the corner out of sight. Walking back to his own room and pulling the door behind him, he stared out of the window to see the many houses of Ottery St Catchpole. Normally, he would’ve closed the curtains when he went to bed, but tonight he left them open, finding the glow of the houses below quite soothing. Putting his head down on the pillow, he hoped he wouldn’t be stuck between Luke and Oliver’s opinions of Quidditch again tomorrow, and thinking of Oliver clattering Luke round the head with his broomstick, he fell asleep.
Gordon Owen and the Eastern Warrior - Book Two of the Evil Kneazle Series by AurorKeefy
Chapter Notes: Hmm. I seem to be picking up speed again with the uploading process. The Beta thanks for this chapter rest at the feet of A.H., aka Ari!
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