The Rogue Quaffle

I was minding my own business in my flower garden, weeding. The dandelions kept insisting on growing in the tulip patch. In fact, they kept insisting on growing in my garden. I had told them time and time again to keep to the neighbor's lawn, or at least off my property, but they just wouldn't listen to me. Finally, in the end, I was forced to pull them out physically, one by one. I'm sure the dandelions didn't like it, but this was my flower garden, and would only have the flowers I wanted in it. Those did not include dandelions.

So anyway, I was weeding my garden when I heard a whooshing sound, and then, out of nowhere, a large red ball came and hit me on the head! After retrieving the offending ball, for it had bounced off my head, I looked around, scowling for all I was worth, for the perpetrators.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw an object flying though the air, descending straight down. I whirled around, and gasped when I saw the spectacle in greater detail. It looked to be a red-headed child on a broomstick. That's right, a broomstick. The child was wearing normal clothes, at least. Jeans and a pale yellow top.

I watched the broomstick come down out of the sky. It was floating, like it was magic. This whole thing seemed to be magic, straight out of a fairy tale. Except in fairy tales, witches in black robes and pointed hats rode broomsticks, not girls in jeans and t-shirts.

The broom descended behind a cluster of trees, and I could no longer see it or it's occupants. I went back to weeding, although I kept one eye on the group of trees. I was rewarded when I saw another child with red hair on a broomstick come down, from the direction of hill. On the other side of that hill was my closest neighbors.

A few minutes after yet another red-head had gone behind those trees, the whole bunch of them came marching out, all red-headed and wearing normal clothes. As they approached me, I could tell that one was a girl and the other two were boys. Their ages seemed to be around six, seven, and eleven, with the girl being the youngest.

The older boy talked to me first. "Hello. Can we have our ball back?"

I clung to the ball. "Yes, but can I ask you a few questions first?" I thought this was fair.

The girl spoke. "Okay."

"Be quiet, Ginny." The oldest hissed.

"Ginny," I said, directly addressing the girl, "can you tell me what this is?" I pointed at the red ball.

Ginny bit her lip, glancing at the boys. Both shook their heads. "No, sorry, I can't." She smiled apologetically at me.

Now I addressed the group. "Another question. Where those broomsticks you were riding?"

The younger boy sighed regretfully. "Yes, and really bad ones, too. Wish I had a Comet Sixty-Four."

"Ron!" The last red-head groaned.

"Oops." Ron said, looking guilty. "Sorry, Perc."

I guessed Perc was short for Percy. "Ginny, Ron, and Percy," I said, weighing my odds. "Can I ask you why I was hit in the head with this red ball?"

Percy started. "You were hit in the head? I'm sorry." He looked it, too.

I sighed. "Can you find me someone who can explain my questions?"

The younger two looked at Percy. He seemed to think about it for a minute, then nodded. "Yes, I can. I'll be right back with my father. Stay here, please."

The three of them raced off. Soon I saw three broomsticks race in the direction of my neighbors beyond the hill, keeping close to the ground.

I went back to weeding, with the ball close at hand, trying not to think about what all this meant.

A while later, I saw three short figures along with one tall figure walking to my house, from the same direction as the children went. I stood and shaded my eyes against the sun, waiting for the people to arrive.

The tall figure was the children's father. He was also a red-head.

"Hello, my name is Arthur." Arthur greeted me pleasantly. "I'm sorry about my children's ball. It seems they were playing, and Percy here threw it a little too hard." He glanced down at the eleven-year old, looking reproachful, but not angry. "Ginny told me you had some questions?"

I nodded. "Firstly, can you tell me what's going on? That only explained a portion of the story."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, for starters, there is the fact that when I throw the ball up into the air, it takes a lot longer to come down than a normal ball would. And your three children rode in here, or rather," I amended myself, "behind those trees, on broomsticks. A flying broomstick is a mythical thing, Mr. Arthur."

He winced. "Yes, and I am sorry, miss . . ."

"Susan Smith. And what are you sorry for? I wasn't hurt. I would just like to know what's going on." I asked him, curious.

"Sorry for everything. Including this."

He stepped forward, the apologetic look on his face mirroring the one that I had seen earlier on his little girl's. He took a thin piece of wood out of his pocket. It seemed to be a wand.

"Sir, is that a –" I was cut off by Arthur saying something that seemed Latin.

"Obliviate!" A bolt of silver light shot out of the end of Arthur's wand, directly towards me.

Before I could duck or do anything else, the silver light hit me in the chest. As I stumbled backwards, the world went black, and I remembered no more.