Once he and Ivan reached the crackling flames of Diagon AlleyÕs regulation Floo powder fireplace, Deucalion suddenly realized he was still wearing his robes, something that had to change. And soon. Wizarding clothes were becoming less and less acceptable at Quidditch matches, presumably because it was becoming more difficult to maintain secrecy from all the prying Muggle eyes. His father often joked that pretty soon, the league regulators would start forcing the players to wear T-shirts and jeans.
The last time March Wilcott had been home, he ended his Muggle-dress rant by pretending to be a ministry official, which meant heÕd speak in his most pompous, greasy-sounding voice. ÒNever mind the flying broomsticks, folks. Those are completely normal, non-magic people up there.Ó
But Deucalion was suddenly struck with an important question: what was he wearing beneath his robes? He couldnÕt remember; after all, he had dressed hours ago.
Ivan already had a fistful of powder and was preparing to shout the name of the pitch (ÒThe Meadow!Ó), but Deucalion wasnÕt budging. ÒWhat are you waiting on, Duke? The folks behind us are usually pretty decent people, but they get impatient in a hurry when someone holds up the line.Ó
ÒMy clothes!Ó Deucalion blurted out.
ÒWhat about your clothes?Ó IvanÕs face morphed from his have-you-gone-mad to I-understand-but-youÕre-still-crazy expression. ÒJust take the robes off. Hopefully youÕre wearing something underneath, Duke.Ó
With that, Ivan tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and vanished into the green light. Deucalion struggled awkwardly out of his robes, only to discover that he was wearing some of his school things, including his green and silver Slytherin necktie. Clearly, he had selected his outfit that morning based on whatever was jammed at the top of his Hogwarts-bound trunk.
IvanÕs going to have a field day with this, Deucalion thought to himself as he jammed his robe Ñ his new one, the one his mother bought after he had taken the OWLs Ñ into his backpack and reached for the Floo powder.
ÒThe Meadow!Ó
******
After flying through a blur of colors and shapes, Deucalion stepped out from a crackling bonfire in the middle of a large field. Other witches and wizards were milling around the fire, waiting for friends or family members to arrive and talking excitedly to one another before walking down a narrow pathway that led to the pitch. The Wasps hadnÕt played a home match in ages, so Deucalion guessed the crowd would be even larger than normal even though the team was playing a pretty average American team.
Deucalion spotted Ivan a few steps away. Not surprisingly, his serious face was holding back a snicker. After a few moments, Ivan could suppress it no longer and let out a full-smiled chuckle.
ÒStarting school a day early, are we?Ó Ivan asked as the two of them began walking down the path.
Rolling his eyes, Deucalion began loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves so he could look a bit more casual. And a bit more like he was sixteen years old. ÒI just grabbed from the top of my trunk. Apparently, IÕm a pretty sharp dresser when IÕm only half awake! I really should try this more often.Ó
ÒForgive me, but IÕll avoid wearing my uniform for as long as possible,Ó Ivan said, looking very comfortable indeed in his jeans and light rain jacket.
ÒPerhaps the vendors will take me as a serious, young investor just off from a long day of work,Ó Deucalion said as he and Ivan pushed through the growing crowds. ÒI certainly hope they do and give me a discount. My Ôflying fundsÕ took a cut when I had to buy all my school stuff.Ó
Ivan smirked. ÒI trust youÕll be able to plead your way into a bargain. Or blackmail. Whichever.Ó
Once they had passed through a thicket of rather scrubby-looking trees, the Quidditch stadium was in full view, its massive stands rising clear into the sky like castle towers. Deucalion couldnÕt help but suppress the skip in his step as they approached the pitch, brushing shoulders with the hundreds of fans treating the day like some sort of pilgrimage. Nearly everyone had yellow and black buttons penned to their shirts or hats. A few had even painted their bodies in charmed, moving ink that rotated between phrases like ÒGo Wasps!Ó and ÒSting the Stars!Ó
The Meadow, as the fans had started calling it until officials pretended the name was their idea in the first place, was one of oldest professional fields in England. While The Meadow contained all the modern benefits like luxury box seats and advertising boards, the pitch had garnered its share of lore over the years. The Meadow was, after all, the site of EnglandÕs two pectacular runs for the World Cup during the 17th century. The Meadow also hosted a memorable game in 1947 when the Smyth Beater brothers knocked all their opponents unconscious at the same time with a few well-aimed Bludgers (needless to say, the SmythsÕ Apple Arrows team won by a stunning 1,080 to 30).
After a few minutes of walking behind a pair of torturously slow-moving witches gossiping about whether or not the WaspsÕ Seeker, Bradley Carrigan, had a love interest, Deucalion finally found what heÕd been waiting for all summer: Quidditch vendors. Most of the wares were just for fans, like a set of black-and-yellow gobstones that emitted a faint buzzing noise, but some shops were guaranteed to have useful stuff for Quidditch players.
Deucalion elbowed Ivan to get his attention, and the two of them squeezed past the women to the shops ahead. Dozens of vendors had set up in a clearing in the shadows of The Meadow. Some were just selling handmade Wimbourne crafts from a kitchen table theyÕd just summoned from home, but others were obviously professionals that had packed all their goods into small, colorful tents.
By experience, Deucalion and Ivan were excellent shoppers when it came to anything Quidditch. Neither one owned anything with team crests or playersÕ names, and that saved loads of Galleons. Deucalion figured that the only uniform he would ever wear was his own, and once he became world renowned, people could by clothing with his name on the back. It was that simple.
ÒSee anything good?Ó Deucalion craned his neck down a row of tables, nearly all of them were crammed with yellow-colored Wasp merchandise.
ÒMaybe weÕre just out of luck, Duke,Ó Ivan sounded disappointed. ÒI mean, whatÕs the point of coming if we canÕt Ñ look there!Ó
Ivan took off quickly for a broad, weather-beaten table that was squeezed in between two, colorful tents. Deucalion followed quickly behind, jostling his way through a rare group of Sweetwater All-Stars faithful. As he got closer, he was able to read the sign above the table: ÒSeeker Imports: The Fantastic, Unmatched Collection of Quidditch Goods from Around the Globe.Ó
Although Deucalion knew the claim probably stretched the truth, he was impressed as he examined the table. Seeker Imports had all sorts of racing brooms he had never seen before, as well as gloves promising everything from better Quaffle handling to a special charm that would attract the flittering Snitch right into the userÕs hands. He even saw a few boxes beneath the table that looked like full sets of Quidditch balls that were probably priced well out of DeucalionÕs range.
ÒFantastic,Ó Ivan mused as he carefully picked up a box that bucked and trembled beneath his fingers. A small sign on the box claimed that the Bludger inside had been responsible for the death of eight rather unlucky Seekers during the 15th century. ÒThough I canÕt imagine what youÕd do with it. You canÕt display it without having to carry around a bat at all times.Ó
ÒJust set it loose in the Gryffindor common room if one of them starts bragging about how good theyÕre going to win the House Cup,Ó Deucalion laughed, taking the box from Ivan to inspect it himself. Although there were very few people he truly disliked at Hogwarts, he secretly wouldnÕt mind seeing a few Gryffindors get their pride taken down a few notches, even by way of wayward Bludger.
A few moments later, the owner of Seeker Imports approached, and Deucalion immediately put the Bludger box down, fearing that the owner would get upset with two students handling potentially dangerous wares. Instead of becoming angry, the owner, a hefty, middle-aged man, belted out a laugh that shook his whole body.
ÒItÕs okay to pick up the box, so long as you donÕt let out whatÕs inside Ñ thatÕs a mistake IÕve only made once,Ó the owner said, pointing to the side of his bald head, which looked slightly dented. He then placed both hands, businesslike, on his table. ÒAnything in particular youÕre looking for? I can tell you boys mean business.Ó
Deucalion relaxed. The owner was the jolly sort, but more importantly, he was the kind who would take teenagers seriously. ÒYou knew I meant business when you saw how well I was dressed, right?Ó
ÒMaybe a little,Ó the owner chuckled. ÒBut I mainly noticed how you two look like you know what you need. But what is it? A special broomstick perhaps?Ó
ÒPrecisely,Ó Deucalion said and began to put on his salesman airs that his mother hated so. ÒIÕm looking for the perfect Chaser broom. Cleansweeps and Comets just canÕt do the job. ItÕs got to be fast. Maneuverable in any weather. Excellent at stopping.Ó
The owner began digging through a large chest marked ÒUnusual BroomsÓ and continued the conversation. ÒYou realize there isnÕt a perfect broom, right? A perfect broom for a Chaser is the perfect broom for any position on the pitch. To my knowledge, perfection hasnÕt been invented yet.Ó
ÒSomething has to come close to perfect,Ó Ivan said confidently, before admitting, ÒIt had better, because if Duke buys a new broom, heÕs promised me his old one.Ó
With a great sense of showmanship, the Seeker Imports owner removed a highly-polished, thin-handled broomstick from its box and set it out on the table. Deucalion picked it up eagerly, immediately impressed with its balance and streamlined tail. It was more lightweight than anything else in his collection, yet there was a certain stability to it. He read the meticulous writing etched in gold on the handle and felt a smile spread across his face.
ÒNo, seriously? This broom is called the Super Eagle?Ó
ÒUnfortunately, yes,Ó the owner said. ÒDespite the name, itÕs a great broom. Better than most ... maybe one of the best brooms IÕve ever sold. Super Eagles are crafted by an obscure American company. TheyÕre probably never going to be internationally renowned but ÑÓ
ÒIs that broom made of ash?Ó Ivan interjected. ÒNo one does that.Ó
Deucalion was surprised he hadnÕt noticed the wood, but when he turned the broom over in his hands, he saw that Ivan was right. Then again, unlike Ivan, he wasnÕt the son of wandmakers and was not always concerned with the ingredients of things.
ÒThis is one of the first brooms IÕve sold to use ash for the handle, but I wouldnÕt be surprised if it becomes the gold standard,Ó the owner answered. ÒOak is just too heavy for Quidditch anymore. ItÕs all about getting faster and more controllable, and the Super Eagle is proof of that. The Super Eagle is a touch slower than a Comet or Cleansweep, mind you, but itÕs much more reliable. A Chaser would never notice the speed difference.Ó
ÒCan I try it out?Ó Deucalion asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.
The ownerÕs eyebrow arched. ÒWith all these ministry officials out? No. But do we have a deal? Since you canÕt fly it, IÕll let it go for one hundred Galleons.Ó
All things considered, it seemed like a fair price for a new broom; heÕd paid more than that for his newest Comet. Deucalion turned to Ivan, who was always acted as his consultant when it came to purchasing. Ivan was a good judge of money because he was never afraid to call Deucalion an idiot, but on the other hand, he also understood DeucalionÕs irrational love for Quidditch.
Ivan took a deep breath; his dark eyes narrowed in concentration.
ÒBuy it.Ó
Grinning, Deucalion began counting coins out of his bag. ÒThat was the answer I wanted to hear!Ó
ÒOh, I know,Ó Ivan replied as he checked his watch. ÒWeÕve really got to find our seats, Duke, or weÕll miss the beginning of the match.Ó
The owner used his wand to sweep all the Galleons into a box and thanked the two of them for their business, especially since it looked as if the man had not sold much all afternoon judging by how much of his stock remained on the table. Deucalion hated to see that much of his gold leave his hand at once, but he was much more thrilled to be carrying a brand new broom with him to Hogwarts.
Someone needs to build a better broom, Deucalion thought as he threw the box over his shoulder as he and Ivan left Seeker Imports. The world needed a perfect broom. Something fast, yet controllable. Something that can start or go in a single motion. As he followed Ivan up the flights stairs to their seats, a sudden, all-important question struck him:
Why couldnÕt we build that?