Gordon Owen and the Eastern Warrior - Book Two of the Evil Kneazle Series by AurorKeefy
Chapter Notes: A quick spot of thanks to both the ever-patient moderators and also to all the people still reading! It's a delight to see people still clicking!
On another note, I never mentioned this before, but I feel I might as well state that this book predates Deathly Hallows, although it doesn't disregard it. That doesn't particularly matter for this chapter, but it may come in later. It should still be canon.
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As the next week went by, it became quite apparent that Luke was not keen on being shown up again. Although he was still spending a great deal of his spare time with his Potions studies, Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed to be coming a close second. Gordon found himself becoming equally competitive in the subject, however, and was putting all his efforts into his curses.
The trouble with all the extra work they were putting in was that it only seemed to raise Professor Shuan-Qu’s expectations. Unfortunately for Gordon, this not only applied to the curses they were practicing, but also to physical exercise. Gordon was not nearly so keen on the latter. To make things worse, as Gordon increasingly dedicated his studies to Defence Against the Dark Arts, he found it left very little time for his other subjects.
‘It’s no use,’ muttered Gordon, as the beetle he was trying to turn into a button went flying off the desk for the fifth time. ‘I’m not having any luck at all with this.’
‘You need to concentrate,’ said Percy, in an irritatingly matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s not difficult, if you put your mind to it.’
As if to prove this, Percy promptly tapped his own beetle with his wand, turning it immediately into a small black button. Gordon sighed and lifted his own beetle back onto the desk with a flick of his wand, his mind elsewhere. Tomorrow morning they would be holding trials for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Gordon found himself feeling nervous just thinking about it. Professor McGonagall, however, seemed perfectly unconcerned by this, and set him extra homework to make up for his lack of attention.
‘Two feet of parchment!’ moaned Gordon to Luke, as they trailed back to the common room. ‘It’s only our second week back!’
‘Well, we’ve all weekend to do it,’ shrugged Luke.
‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Gordon, the Quidditch trials very much at the front of his mind. Luke apparently guessed as much.
‘Don’t worry about it. If you get in then you get in. If not…well, all the more time to spend on your Transfiguration!’
Gordon wasn’t entirely sure he found the joke funny.
*
Gordon woke up the next morning feeling even more nervous. Even Oliver seemed more subdued than normal as they went down to breakfast. Today the enchanted ceiling seemed to be a particularly ominous shade of grey, and as Luke began shoving sausages onto his plate Gordon found himself staring down at his own empty dish.
‘I can’t do this,’ he said, as Luke reached over for the bacon.
‘You’re not giving up now!’ said Oliver, looking shocked. ‘What about the practice we did all summer? What about your Nimbus?’
‘I’m going to make a fool out of myself,’ muttered Gordon, feeling worse than ever. ‘I’m nowhere near good enough for the team. I “’
‘I doubt you’re the first person to think that Giz, and you probably won’t be the last,’ said Luke calmly, as he spooned some beans onto his plate. ‘Stop worrying.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Oliver, though he didn’t seem quite as calm as Luke. ‘Just have something to eat. An empty stomach isn’t going to help you.’
Gordon tried to reply but didn’t know what to say, and so busied himself by buttering a piece of toast. By the time they left breakfast, he hadn’t even finished that.
When the three of them arrived at the stands, Gordon was horrified to see that almost a quarter of Gryffindor house seemed to have turned up. Most worryingly of all, he seemed to be by far the smallest person there for trials. Feeling somehow more nervous than before, he and Oliver took a seat next to a very burly looking sixth-year, who looked like he could very easily pick Gordon up with one hand. After a few minutes Charlie Weasley arrived, clutching a clipboard and his broom, and addressed them all.
‘Alright, everyone!’ he beamed, looking quite as cheerful as ever. ‘Thanks for turning up! Last year we missed out on the cup by the narrowest of margins, so hopefully we’ll be going one better this year!’
Many of the people at the back of the crowd cheered wildly at this, though Gordon and most of the people trying out remained silent. Charlie seemed quite unperturbed by this, and continued.
‘Last year we had two of our team leave, so there’s space for a new keeper and a new chaser. But it only seems fair to let everyone have a shot at getting into the team, so no-one’s place on the team is certain.’
‘Except his,’ said Oliver, grinning.
‘Now,’ continued Charlie, ‘nine new people have signed up for these trials, plus the four from last year, so firstly I want to have a basic flying test before we start for places. I have eleven people marked here to try for positions, so I’d like all of you aiming to be chasers or beaters to step forward.’
‘Good luck!’ whispered Oliver, as Gordon came forward, feeling sick with nerves.
‘Right, everyone mount their brooms,’ said Charlie, and the Gryffindors did so. ‘I want you all to complete a circle of eight round both sets of hoops, then return back to me. This isn’t a race, strictly speaking, but don’t hold back. On your marks…’
Gordon wasn’t entirely sure what Charlie had asked them to do, but figured he’d just follow everyone else. On “Go!” he kicked himself off the ground with fury, accelerating so fast that he almost fell off his broom. It wasn’t long before Emily Sturrock, one of the chasers from last year, had taken the lead. Behind her Gordon could see the other chaser, Leia Maplefair, but there was only one other person in front of him. Delighted to find himself in fourth, he swooped around the first set of hoops after them. He even seemed to be gaining on them.
As they turned for the second set of hoops however, Gordon felt something clip his broom and found himself spinning off wildly. As he yanked up the handle to bring himself under control, he saw several other people on brooms shoot past him, and they were on the home straight! Gripping the front of his broom with all his strength he hurtled forward, before realising he was going too fast to stop in time, and soaring past Charlie and over the stands. Eventually, he pulled back round and came to a rather embarrassing halt. Charlie and the rest of the Gryffindors did not seem too bothered by this, though Gordon found himself trying to count who had arrived before him. By now most of them had stopped though, and he couldn’t really tell.
Charlie made a few scribbles on his clipboard, before announcing that of the ten people who had flown, eight had progressed “ Gordon among them. Gordon felt a little better about this, but as he touched down he felt the nervousness rising up in him once again.
‘Okay,’ said Charlie. ‘Now, positions…how many beaters do we have?’
Of the eight people, only two raised their hands. Gordon recognized them as the previous year’s beaters, but no one seemed to want to challenge for their place. That meant there were…
‘…Six people trying out to be chasers,’ said Charlie, making another note on his clipboard, ‘and three keepers. That’s fine.
‘I should probably ask now if any of you do any extra-curricular activities that might clash with Quidditch,’ he continued. ‘I only want people who will be dedicated to the team, if you’re not sure, that probably means you’re not.’
None of the players said a word.
‘Okay. Well, firstly I’d like to try out for a keeper, so keepers come forward and the rest of you can sit back down.’
Gordon, feeling rather weak at the knees again, gladly took a seat, wishing Oliver good luck on the way. He needn’t have bothered. Charlie decided to take ten shots at each of the potential keepers. The first, a greasy haired fourth-year, managed to save just three of Charlie’s shots, and Gordon felt Charlie was holding back a little at that. The next boy was the burly looking sixth year they had sat next to before. Although his size meant he covered half the hoops anyway, Charlie managed to put four shots past him.
When Oliver flew up to the hoops he was greeted by loud cheers from much of the crowd. Particularly vocal were a bunch of seventh-year and sixth-year girls Gordon had not seen before. Gordon supposed they probably knew his brother, Calumn. Oliver managed to save nine of the shots Charlie hurled at him, and the only one that beat him was a terrific throw that seemed to swerve in the air. Gordon applauded with the rest when Oliver flew back down, and even the burly sixth-year seemed thoroughly impressed. Charlie flew back down happier than ever.
‘Great! Well we have our beaters and our keeper, all we need now is to sort out our chasers! Firstly, we’ll be practicing some passing movements. When you receive the Quaffle pass it on. Chasers, up!’
Gordon and the other five chasers mounted their brooms and rose up into the sky. Emily Sturrock looked slightly bored by the whole procedure, and was chatting to Leia, who was hovering beside her. As far as Gordon could tell the other two potential chasers were both fourth-years. The first was a thin boy with rather spiky blonde hair. He had oddly chosen to paint his broomstick red, but evidently hadn’t done a particularly good job of it, as it was peeling around the handle. The other was a girl with long blonde hair.
‘Ready chasers?’ beamed Charlie, and they nodded. ‘Let’s go!’
Given the ease of most of the exercises that had preceded it, Gordon had supposed this would be relatively similar. However, Charlie seemed to have taken the level of the tryouts up a notch, and was now swooping around at all heights and flicking passes at all angles. Emily and Leia seemed quite at ease with this, but both Gordon and the two fourth-years were really struggling. Gordon managed to make several great catches, but also dropped several easy ones. The girl was even worse at catching, but she seemed to be a better flier than Gordon and when she did hold the Quaffle made several intelligent passes. Meanwhile the spiky haired boy seemed to be getting more and more out of his depth, and his broom didn’t seem to be nearly good enough to cope. Eventually, Emily and Leia stopped passing to him altogether.
After this, Charlie swooped in front of the hoops and had them all take several shots at him each, though this only served to prove how talented he was. Of his five shots Gordon only managed to score one, but the girl did no better, and the boy didn’t score any at all. Eventually, Charlie seemed satisfied, and asked them all to fly back down.
‘Right then,’ he said, making some last notes on his clipboard and coming to rest in front of them. ‘Well, it looks like we have a team!’
‘Our two beaters, will be Rickson George and Michael Oldfield,’ said Charlie, as the crowd applauded, ‘and our new keeper, is Oliver Wood!’
There was far much more of a crowd reaction to this, either because they knew Oliver’s brother, or because he had clearly done so well. But for all his support for Oliver, Gordon was far more interested in the chasers.
‘Our chasers then…’ began Charlie, though Gordon buried his head in his hands.
‘Our first chaser…returning from last year…Emily Sturrock!’
The crowd burst into applause at this, and Gordon felt slightly sick. One space gone, two to go.
‘Our second chaser…also returning to the team…Leia Maplefair!’
Leia was cheered on to massive applause, perhaps because last year she had almost won the cup for Gryffindor, in a massively tense final. In his heart Gordon knew those two would make it back, but now there was just one space left. Had he done well enough? He was definitely better than the other boy, but that girl was pretty good. But he’d practiced with Charlie, over summer…
‘And our final chaser…’ began Charlie.
Just say it thought Gordon, feeling sick inside.
‘…and a new member of the team…’
Come on. Come on. Come on.
‘…Alyson Ridgebit!’
The crowd burst into applause and the girl stepped forward, beaming ear to ear. Gordon felt like someone had just shoved his head underwater. All that practicing, all the money he had spent on the Nimbus, it was all for nothing. Gordon felt a lump rising in his throat. Oliver was still celebrating with the rest of the team, and Gordon couldn’t bear to look in their direction.
‘Hard luck, mate,’ said Luke consolingly, as he took a seat beside him. ‘Still, you were easily the youngest person there, and you were miles better than that blonde lad.’
‘I still wasn’t good enough, though,’ replied Gordon miserably. As he said it he felt his eyes welling up. He tried to stop himself from crying, but that only seemed to make things worse. Feeling the first hot tear roll down his cheek, he buried his head back in his hands. Luke tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
‘Don’t be upset mate! You nearly beat someone two years older than you! That’s got to be worth something, surely.’
Gordon sniffed and dried his eyes on his robe sleeve. Maybe Luke had a point. He was the youngest there, and he hadn’t exactly done badly. Unfortunately, the thought wasn’t enough to stop the flow of tears now pouring embarrassingly down his face.
‘Shall we go back to common room?’ offered Luke, ‘I’m sure Percy would be grateful for a forceful disarming right now.’
Gordon let out a hollow chuckle but shook his head.
‘Nah,’ he said, wiping his eyes once more and feeling glad that the watering seemed to have subsided a little. ‘I should probably go and, you know, congratulate Oliver.’
Luke raised an eyebrow.
‘I think Oliver’s had quite enough congratulations,’ he said coldly, and Gordon was sure he was referring to the seventh-years who had cheered him on. ‘Besides, he can’t be surprised can he? He’s probably been practicing for today since he could first climb on a broom.’
Gordon shook his head and Luke let out a sigh.
‘All right then, if you must,’ he said, resignedly. ‘I suppose we’d better say something.’
They got up and walked over to where the new team was standing, and saw Oliver chatting excitedly to Emily. As soon as he saw them however, he broke off his conversation and came running over.
‘Congratulations,’ said Gordon, putting all his efforts into pulling his face into a smile. ‘You were absolutely brilliant!’
‘Thanks! So were you!’ replied Oliver. ‘I really thought you were going to make it in. You were great! That last pass you made to Leia was fantastic!’
Gordon didn’t know what to say to this. He had really expected Oliver to be talking about his own performance, and hadn’t prepared a response for this. In the end he just said a rather meek ‘Thanks’.
‘So,’ began Luke, apparently sensing Gordon’s awkwardness, ‘are we going to be seeing your name on the Quidditch cup this year then?’
‘I hope so,’ said Oliver, grinning. ‘I’m really going to have to train hard if we’re going to win it though. I should’ve saved that last shot by Charlie.’
‘What are you saying, Olly?’ said Charlie, as he walked over to them. ‘I hope you’re not implying I’ve forgotten how to put a good shot in?’
Charlie was smiling as he said this, but Oliver seemed quite as lost for words as Gordon. Charlie seemed rather amused by this, but then turned to Gordon.
‘Listen, mate, I thought you were brilliant out there, one of the best second-years I’ve seen turn up for trials.’
Gordon stuttered out an even meeker thanks. It was one thing for Oliver to tell you this, but quite another coming from Charlie.
‘Look, I’m sorry you didn’t make the team, but I couldn’t ignore Alyson. She was in pretty much the same position last year as you are now. If it hadn’t have been for Leia, she’d have walked onto the team. Same goes for you.’
Gordon felt his cheeks go rather red at this, but again felt rather lost for words.
‘Anyway,’ continued Charlie. ‘The point is you’ve got more than a bit of talent for this, and I really don’t want to see it go to waste. So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to put you in reserve.’
Gordon’s jaw dropped.
‘What? But I didn’t think you had reserves? I thought you just picked the team and that was it!’
‘Well…’ said Charlie rather awkwardly, ‘…sort of. You can’t change the team when you’ve picked it, but there’s nothing to stop us from having other people train with the team. I had a word with McGonagall and Madam Hooch after the final game last year about having a reserve. If we’d have had one then, we’d probably be defending the cup this year.’
Gordon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘So I make the team?’ he beamed. Again, Charlie looked rather awkward.
‘You’ll train with the team. I won’t lie and say you’ll play in any matches because it’s extremely unlikely you will. I’d need a note of resignation from one of the other members to let you in the first team, or someone would have to be pretty seriously injured during the game. To be honest, I can’t see either happening, and I have to admit I don’t really want to see either happen. I’ll also expect you to attend every Quidditch practice we have, as if you were in the team. A lot of people find that a bit frustrating, but “’
‘I’ll do it!’ blurted out Gordon.
‘You’re sure?’ said Charlie. ‘If you sign up there’s no quitting, so if you’ve any other extra curricular activities you might want “’
‘I don’t do any!’ said Gordon, grinning like his life depended upon it. ‘Sign me up!’
Charlie gave a broad smile, though it was nothing compared to Gordon’s own.
‘Well, that’s settled then. The first practice is on Wednesday night. I’ll see you there!’
Gordon felt better than he had felt all day. All right, he hadn’t directly made the team, but this was the next best thing!
‘All right!’ said Oliver. ‘I told you you’d make it!’
Gordon laughed as they walked back to the changing rooms, and started talking with excitedly to Oliver about what sort of tactics the team would use, and how often they would be practicing. Oliver had watched just about every Quidditch practice last year, and so seemed to know exactly how it worked. Gordon was only too eager to listen.
‘…Of course, Charlie’s bound to do things a little bit differently this year,’ continued Oliver, as they made their way back to the common room. ‘Last year Calumn was captain, and with O’Hattern as keeper he had to spend most of the practices appeasing him.’
Gordon nodded, and though Oliver was too modest to say anything, it was fairly obvious that this wasn’t going to be a problem this year. Gordon had already seen enough of Oliver to tell that he was a better keeper now than O’Hattern had been in his seventh-year.
‘In fact,’ said Oliver with a smile, ‘do you think we have time for a detour?’
‘Er…I guess,’ said Gordon, wondering where this was going. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve been to the school trophy cabinet?’ said Oliver.
‘Er…no,’ said Gordon, ‘but I saw the cup at the match last year.’
‘Oh, it’s not the cup I want to show you,’ said Oliver. ‘Come on, this will only take a minute.’
Oliver led Gordon up through a series of corridors before they reached one that was wider and longer than the rest. While the other corridors were lined with portraits of anything from ancient wizards to bowls of fruit, the walls of this corridor were laden with photographs of previous years of students and staff.
‘Here we are,’ said Oliver, as they reached a series of photos right by the cabinet. ‘Have a look at this one.’
Oliver pointed to a photograph marked 1986-87 Champions: Gryffindor. It was a photo of the last Gryffindor team to win the Quidditch Cup, and in the centre was Calumn, Oliver’s brother. Charlie and Emily were sat next to him, while O’Hattern and several other players Gordon didn’t know were stood behind them.
‘That’s wicked,’ said Gordon, as the figure of Emily in the photograph blushed terribly. As Oliver smiled Gordon began examining the photographs around it. Below was a photograph of the Ravenclaw team who had won last year, and a few spaces above it was a photograph of another winning Gryffindor team, this time with a younger version of Calumn.
‘That’s not all,’ said Oliver, smiling. ‘Have a look over here.’
Oliver pointed several rows along from the photographs that they had been looking at. The colour in these photographs was less bright than the ones of Calumn, as they were obviously older.
‘That’s dad,’ said Oliver, pointing at a photograph of a boy that looked very much like him, and positively beaming.
Gordon stood open mouthed as he looked at the photographs. Oliver’s father had not just been the Gryffindor Quidditch captain; he had won the cup several times.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Gordon.
That wasn’t it, however. Oliver also showed him a black and white photograph of his grandfather’s Quidditch Cup winning team, and began pointing out various other teams and players he knew who had won the cup. When they had looked at all the Quidditch photographs, Gordon got Oliver to point out his family on the full school photographs.
‘One day our photos will be on that wall,’ said Oliver.
‘Do you think we could win it this year?’ asked Gordon, getting rather giddy at the thought of getting his picture up. Oliver seemed to think about it for a second.
‘Maybe,’ he said eventually, running a finger down one of the frames. ‘It depends how good the other teams’ new players are. If Ravenclaw can find a keeper to match Leechwood, then they’re probably going to be favourites again. We’ll have to see.’
‘Well, if we get you to poison their keeper…’ began Gordon, turning to Luke.
But Luke wasn’t there.
*
In fact Gordon didn’t anything of Luke until that evening. Gordon had long since got back to the common room, and was attempting his Transfiguration homework. By now the excitement of becoming the new Gryffindor reserve had passed into the disinterest for a small mound of homework, and Oliver had already headed to bed early. Gordon was just trying to find the best way of explaining how hard it was to keep a beetle still while you tried to cast spells on it, when Luke crawled in from the portrait hole.
As he pulled himself to his feet, Gordon saw that Luke’s face was quite red, and he was evidently struggling under the weight of his rucksack. Sure enough, as he walked over to the table where Gordon was sitting, the bottom end fell out of the bag completely, and the Haldeir Ripjaw book fell with an almighty clang onto the common room floor.
‘Been at the library?’ said Gordon conversationally, as Luke heaved the book onto the nearest table.
‘There and around half the castle,’ moaned Luke, as he collapsed into a chair. ‘I was running round the third floor corridor and I ran straight into Filch. He looked like he was going to kill me, so I ran off. Only it’s not so easy when you’re carrying one of these,’ he said, pointing to the Ripjaw book and taking several more deep breaths.
‘I don’t see why you don’t just leave it in the dormitories,’ said Gordon, looking back down to his work. ‘It gives me enough backache dragging it down here. Don’t they have a copy in the library?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Luke, reaching over for a jug of pumpkin juice. ‘Most of the Defence Against the Dark Arts books they have there are on theory. I was looking at a couple of them today. Who’s that for?’
‘McGonagall,’ said Gordon, putting his quill back to his paper.
‘That’s not in until Thursday! Why are you bothering with it now?’ said Luke, taking another heavy breath before draining his glass of pumpkin juice in one.
‘Well, we’ve got Quidditch practice on Wednesday night, so I thought I might as well get it out of the way,’ said Gordon, as he finished the line he was writing. ‘Besides, Percy’s been going on about it all afternoon. He wouldn’t help me with it, but I just asked him how he thought he had done, and he ending up telling me most of the answers anyway.’
‘Oh,’ replied Luke, pouring himself another glass of juice. ‘Is he still around?’
‘I think he went to the library. You didn’t see him there, then?’
Luke took another deep swig of juice and shook his head.
‘No, and I’m sure I’d have seen him if he was. He has a habit of finding you when you’re least looking forward to seeing him.’
Gordon looked up from his work and set down his quill. He didn’t like the sound of that.
‘You two haven’t had another falling out have you?’ he said nervously.
‘You say that as if we were friends to begin with,’ said Luke, a sly smile cracking on his face. ‘But no, I just didn’t feel like having someone nag me about my Transfiguration homework. Still, if you’ve started it I might as well join you.’
‘I’ve almost finished, I think,’ said Gordon. ‘It’s still a bit short, about a foot and a half, but I might try and fill it out with a picture or something.’
‘Of yourself or Percy?’ asked Luke, with a smile.
‘I meant a diagram.’
‘I know what you meant,’ replied Luke, smiling even more evilly.