Wet and foggy, a chilly breeze blows in across the swells, carrying with it the pungent smells of dew and stale bread. The bustle of peasants pushed against one another like sardines packed tightly inside of a small can. Many of the people wore old pointed hats, woolen cloaks, and hooded capes. The chatter was less than enthusiastic. It was a very chilly day and they all seemed to want to get their work and trading out of the way so that they could return home for the day.
A particularly stocky young man around the age of eighteen however, was scurrying triumphetly down the village streets; holding in his grip a rather thin and ordinary looking broomstick. His vivid green eyes were lit up as though it were made of pure gold and he made special care not to drop his new possession. He took a left, storming into a shabby old bakery despite the bold 'closed' sign on the front door. He entered the warmth of the bread house, taking in a strong whif of dinner rolls, cinnamon buns and nature, for plants of many sorts were potted and placed on many shelves and window sills. There were fresh lavanders, onions, mandrakes, and sprouts. The boy rubbed his hands together, grinning as he listened to the crackeling of the fire that warmed the place.
Before he could say a word, he felt the hard bang of something hit him hard across the head, knocking him to the floor of the bakery. He let out a yowl of pain, holding onto his sore head, tears brimming in his eyes.
"Godric?! OH! Godric! I'm so sorry!" a shrill shriek exclaimed. She looked on the verge of tears.
Godric opened his eyes to see Helga Hufflepuff, a bright eyed girl with straggly blonde hair and a flour splotched face, holding onto the handle of the skillet for dear life. She was dressed in her usual pale yellow dress with a plain black apron. It was the only clothing she owned. She was staring at Godric, her jaw dropped to the creaky wooden floor board. She had obviously mistaken him for a burglar and took action by hitting him with the skillet. Typical Helga.
It was also typical of her to be too hard on herself and coddle people as though they were fragile children. She was on her knee's, apologizing profusely and smothering Godric with pats and hugs.
"Helga! Helg-" Godric started, as his friend dotted over him with teary kisses amongst his forehead. "Gerroffme-Helga-stop!"
Helga backed off, composing herself a little. "I'm so sorry."
Godric rubbed his ginger head, dazed from all of the stimuli after the hit to the head. He recovered quickly, though. He had to with all of the falls he had. He was rather clumsy and daring, so many falls had prepared him for this inevitable moment. "S'ok. I have great news!"
"What is it?" Helga inquired.
"This broomstick is-" Godric went to pick up his broom, only to see that it was now splintered from the fall. "No! No! I hate my life!" Godric kicked at the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
Helga looked at him with stern disapproval. "Now, Godric Gryffindor, it's simply a broomstick."
"No! No, Helga! It was not simply a broomstick! It was in fact, the most amazing Broomstick in the world!" Godric's eyes watered ever so slightly slightly. Helga's concerned eyes shifted from left to right. It was clear that she thought he was going mad. Godric sighed heavilly with disdain. "It could fly."
Helga stared at him for a long time before sighing with resignation. "Oh dear. Let's take you to Rowena. I'm sure the hit with the skillet has driven you bonkers. I'm sure she'll have a concoction-"
"No! I'm serious! I got it off a bloke named Salazar Slytherin. He let me trade it for my dagger." Godric revealed to her.
Helga gasped, "The one crafted by Goblins?" He nodded sullenly. "You mean the one your father passed down to you from your ancestors?! Godric! That's highly disrespectful and-"
"It was for a flying broomstick! I doubt he'd mind." Godric rolled his eyes. He doubted Helga would truly understand where he was coming from. Nobody did. He had odd obsessions that were often frowned upon by society. Helga was a very understanding young lady, but she had a good head on her shoulders most of the time and would likely worry for Godric's family matters. She would hate to see a row between him and his father occur over a dagger. She just wanted what was best for anyone she came across and beyond.
"That's not the point-"
Godric stood to his feet, wobbling slightly. "I've got to fix it. Perhaps Rowena can help."
Helga still looked unconvinced. Godric sighed heavily.
"Look, do you remember that muggle story that you read to me when we were kids called Jack and the been stock?" he asked her.
"Of course." Helga smiled fondly.
"Well, that's what this is like. Jack's mum got angry at him for trading valuables for a bean, but the bean ended up being really special. This is the same. This broom is my bean and it's going to take me high up into the clouds. It's adventure!" Godric grinned, his fantasies running wild.
Helga looked at him, her blue eyes weary. "So, it's true? They've finally achieved flying broomsticks and I broke it?" She looked like a kicked puppy now, guilt devouring her.
"D-Don't worry about it, Helga. We'll fix it." Godric assured her and himself. He didn't want to be angry at his friend, but he couldn't help but to feel a sting of resentment at the fact that his prized possession was broken already because of her.
A noise by the shelves made the pair turn their heads. A group of brown little critters were scurrying along the wooden utinsels and banana nut muffins.
Godric stared back at his friend with utter disbelief, "You've let the badgers in again?"