Chapter One: The Burst Birthday (Balloon)

Not for the first, (nor the last, nor even the middleth, for that matter,) time, and argument had broken out at the home of the Gorssons. Mr. Bungo Gorsson, an austere-looking man with business-like hair and large ears, had tried, unsuccessfully yet again, to persuade his son, Mungo Gorsson, to try out for the post of Beater that year at Hogwarts, School of Wtchcraft and Wizardry.

"Mungo, its about time you overcame this foolish fear of heights. When you're on a broom, it doesn't even matter." Mr. Gorsson wheedled. "And the medical staff there is exceptionally fine, even if by some wild chance you fell."

"I'm noot gooin' t' goo careering off into th' sky, just to pursue murderous black balls." Mungo retorted. "An', yes, th' bat is a vera nice one, but I doon't want to play Beater."

It was Mungo's birthday, on July 15, and everything had been going fine until he had unwrapped a Beater's bat and a set of Practice Bludgers ("Wouldn't knock a cherry off a cake!" the advertisement claimed.) and the news that his father fully intended him to play Beater for the Hufflepuff team, overlooking Mungo's fear of heights and his fear of having extremely heavy,iron objects hurtling at him. He was, he felt, not the right build for a Beater. He was very tall and thin, the kind of person Aristotle or whatever his name was would point at and say, "There, see, that's what I mean about a line having length but no breadth." He wore glasses, and had very long hair that was generally tied back into a ponytail, but these facts were irrelevant to good Beatering.

"But… But… Janice, tell Mungo what I need to say." Bungo stuttered, turning to Mrs. Gorsson.

"It really is quite silly, Mungo. You should at least give it a try. I played Beater myself, when I was at school, and I never get hit. In fact, the Beaters never get hit, as they're the ones doing the hitting." Mrs. Gorsson said. To Mungo, this was rather odd news, as his mother was dreadfully thin, and looked nearly dystrophic.

"That's right, Mungo. You should give it a chance." Mr. Gorsson said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

Mungo sighed. It would serve him right if they got their son back from term with his nose broken twice, like Professor Dumbledore.

"Besides, it'll build a brave character. You rather need one, Mungo, to get on in life." Mr. Gorsson.

That did it. Mungo had not told his parents, but he felt he had enough of a brave character, as evidenced last year. At the end of the term, Mungo had confronted an ancient menace, a living basilisk. The fact that it had been blind did little to demean his achievement, at least in his point of view. After all, it had almost gotten Harry Potter, the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord.

"All right." Mungo said grudgingly.

"Good, then its time for your last present." Mrs. Gorsson said. She got up, and walked upstairs. She came back with a long package wrapped in silver wrapping paper. On it was a card, which read:

"From Arsenus Jigger, to Mungo Gorsson, Happy Birthday."

"This was left to you by your grandfather, to be a present on your twelfth birthday. He got it on his twelfth birthday as well." Mrs. Gorsson said.

Mungo took the package, and gingerly unwrapped it. There was another, crudely wrapped package in brown paper.

"Dad was usually very busy. He never really did anything well, except for potions." Mrs. Gorsson apologized. Mungo shrugged, intrigued. He gingerly unwrapped the package.

In it was a slender, silvery broomstick. Its polished handle gleamed a little, only a little because there were quite a lot of scratches. The head was rather attractive, shaped like an arrowhead.

"It's his Silver Arrow. I know that they are vintage brooms, and that they are more frequently seen in museums than the Quidditch field, but it's a good broom all the same. It's nice and sturdy, has a good balance. I'll bet it's a lot better than that cruddy Shooting Star I rode at school." Mrs. Gorsson said. "Why don't you go and try it out?"

Mungo gulped. It did look very nice, but it was an old broom after all.

"All righ'." Mungo said, putting some cheerfulness into his voice. Mungo walked outside, holding the broom over his shoulder. Mr. Gorsson only paused to grab something from the table before following.

They walked quite a long while, getting out of sight of the town of Altnaharra, the Muggle town they lived near.The town was near a large loch, Loch Naver, and a good distance away from the town (and the loch, as there were occasionally fishermen) was a deserted meadow. It was in this meadow that Mr. Gorsson stopped.

"All right, here we are, Mungo. Get in the air." Mr. Gorsson said. Mungo set the broom on the ground, like he vaguely remembered from his flying lessons last year, and held his hand over it.

"Up." Mungo said. The broom gave a half-hearted leap, and settled down again.

"Do it again, Mungo." Mr. Gorsson suggested.

"Up!" Mungo exclaimed, louder this time. The broom hovered gently into his hand.

"All right, now put your leg over it, like so, that's right. Put right hand above the left hand, good, now off you go!" Mr. Gorsson said, correcting Mungo's posture and grip. He stood back.

Mungo hovered a little, feeling dreadfully silly.

"Pull up the handle a bit." Mr. Gorsson commanded.

Mungo did so, and the broom raised up a bit more. Quite suddenly, the sense of it struck Mungo, and he started flying. He flew up higher and higher, and then started whooshing around, the wind whistling in his ears.

'How could I have been scared of this?' Mungo thought

Mungo looked down.

'Oh yeah. Now I remember.'

Mungo clutched his broom tightly. The ground was too far away, too far away… Mungo fought to get a grip, but the ground was just too ruddy far away. Mungo pushed the broom handle down, gently, slowly easing himself back to the solid earth.

"Well done Mungo! Here, take this." Mr. Gorsson said, handing Mungo the Beater's bat.

"Oh no, Dad, I doon't wan' t' be a Beater-" Mungo protested.

"Ready? Go!" Mr. Gorsson said, obviously not listening. The two Practice Bludgers flew out of the box that he was holding, and Mungo was forced to fly up again, trying to hold on to both his bat and his broom.

This was a bad move. Both of the Bludgers immediately became attracted him, and zoomed towards him.

Desperate, Mungo flailed with his club.

"Use wrist movements!" He could hear Mr. Gorsson shouting. One of the Bludgers flew at Mungo's face, and he wildly swatted it away. It flew off, and Mungo felt a gentle prodding at his back. He looked back, and saw one of the Practice Bludgers pressing gently but firmly against the back of his robes (Author's Note: Mungo always wore wizarding clothes. His definition of looking like a Muggle is puttingon a jacket over his robesand wearing sneakers.)

"Well, I guess the advertisement told th' truth fer once." Mungo muttered. With his right hand, he quickly spun his broom about and whacked the Bludger towards the ground.

"Well done, Mungo, well done!" Mr. Gorsson yelled up at him. "You should be playing Beater at Hogwarts in no time!"

Mungo, as if to prove his point, knocked a Bludger towards Mr. Gorsson. There was a big difference between these Practice Bludgers and the real ones, but for the moment Mungo had forgotten in his joy of learning.

The Silver Arrow was really not such a bad broom after all. It over balanced sometimes when Mungo swiveled too hard, and it made a weird whistling sound when he went too fast, but other than that it was a great broom. Mungo and Mr. Gorsson practiced with the Bludgers for about another hour, and then went back to the house.

Mungo was eating lunch when suddenly an owl flew in through the window and landed on the table. This being the normal mode of communication for the Gorssons, and for the entire wizarding world, Mungo and Mr. and Mrs. Gorsson were not surprised. However, the fact that the owl was carrying a limp, red rubber thing in its talons did surprise them. Mr. Gorsson pulled the thing from the talons, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's a balloon. With a letter on it." He announced.

"Who'd try to send a balloon by owl?" Mungo wondered. He took the thing from Mr. Gorsson, and spread the balloon on the table. It read, in permanent marker,

Happy Birthday Mungo!

Sorry about mailing you this way. We're out of parchment, and we're having trouble with Emperor Frederick & Prof. Jingles so can't leave the house long enough to get more. So I decided to be original and send you this balloon. I borrowed this owl from our neighbor, (she's a mad old owl lady, keeps lots of owls) and she said that he was really gentle and wouldn't pop it.

Well, reply soon, and tell us whether your parents will let you come over here for the rest of the holidays.

Duncan Abendroth

P.S. Send paper.

"Ah, o' course. Only Duncan could write in such small letters to write a whole message on a balloon." Mungo said.

"Who's it from?" Mr. Gorsson asked curiously.

"It's from me friend, Duncan. Ye met him an' his parents on the train station." Mungo said. "He's invited me t' come an' visit him during the rest of th' holidees. Could I goo, mum?" Mungo asked expectantly.

"Hmmm… I don't know… Where does he live?" Mrs. Gorsson said.

"In Dover." Mungo replied readily. Duncan had told him often about how boring he thought Dover was.

"Well, that's not too far from London. We could probably manage it." Mrs. Gorsson.

"But we have to bring Penoria to London too. She's starting her term at Hogwarts this year." Mr. Gorsson. Penoria was Mungo's eleven-year-old cousin, and he was immensely fond of her.

"Aye, it would be a shame t' noot be here when she came." Mungo said.

"I know. Why don't you go over there, and then at the last week of the holidays you go to Diagon Alley, and we'll meet you there with Penoria." Mr. Gorsson suggested. "She's only coming on September 23 anyway. They'll have plenty of time to see each other."

"Then it's settled. Write them a reply, Mungo. Oh, and tell them that they will have to come and get you themselves. The car got broken-" Mr. Gorsson said.

"It wouldn't have broken if you hadn't parked it near the hedges when I was trimming them. You know what Severing Charms do to the ignition." Mrs. Gorsson said testily.

Mungo hurriedly went to the top of the house (which was built rather like a tower; it had only one room for each story) where his room was, and took out some of the parchment that he used for his homework. He started writing.

Dear Duncan,

I got your letter fine, but I wouldn't trust your neighbor about the gentleness of her owls anymore, the balloon got popped.

My parents say I can go, but our car's broken so you'll have to come and get me, I suppose. Not much has been happening, except for Dad seems dead-set on me playing Beater for Hufflepuff. I don't really know why.

Well, see you when I see you.

Mungo

P.S. I enclosed some parchment for you. Hope- Here Mungo had to pause and look at the balloon for the odd names. Emperor Frederick and Professor Jingles get better.

Mungo folded up the letter in such a way that it was its own envelope, and wrote Duncan's name on it. He found the owl that had delivered the balloon, and tied the letter to its leg. He sent it on its way, and left to sort out his presents.

Mungo had an odd dream that night. He had a dream that a huge black dog was sitting in a dank grey cell. A grey cloaked thing that made Mungo shiver, even in his dream, opened the door and set a bowl of some kind of food on the floor. The dog slipped past the figure, and started running through some kind of prison. Next moment, it wasswimming across a blank, cold body of water. The dog's eyes were set on some terrible goal.

However, the next dream dispelled the seriousness of this dream. He next had a dream that a Bludger was riding on his Silver Arrow and hitting him on the head with his own bat.

To Mungo's amazement, someone was bonking him over the head with his bat.

"Wake up, Mungo! Merlin's Beard, a hear of Erumpents couldn't wake you." Mr. Gorsson's voice came. "Quickly, pack, we don't want to keep them waiting."

Mungo woke up groggily. He pushed the bat away, and looked around.

"Why do I need t' pack?"

"Well, your friend and his parents arrived, and we don't want to keep them waiting!" Mr. Gorsson said, pointing out the window.

Outside stood Duncan Abendroth, waving vigorously. Next to him stood his parents.