I do not own the characters of Harry Potter that I have borrowed, those are the creation of J.K. Rowling and they are so amazing and inspiring!
It was night, and then the light hit.
The sun rose up like a magnificent lion, rearing its head back with a roar. Climbing over the distant hills was the warmth of its first rays, as if the hot air dispelled from the lion's gaping yawn. It was the third day that Sal had been awake and the sun never ceased to shock him back to wakefulness. He was keeping post beside a willow. To wait for the orders that would soon be coming. He was clueless of whom he was to meet, and why they were coming, but with his grandmother's strict orders, he was to stand guard at the little willow until a man in a cloak showed up. To put it in nicely, she'd said You stay there like someone petrified or I'll petrify you myself!
By the third day he couldn't stand as impressively, instead he slumped on his hooked stick and scratched at an itchy spot above his knee. In three days he'd not only had his itchy knee act up but also a flock of local gnomes poke out from beneath the tree roots. It offered him a bit of entertainment tossing them down the slope of heather, but they kept stealing more of his dried pumpkin breads. Now he heard footsteps patting beside him. He was surprised to hear a deep voice speak.
"Salazar?"
An old man in a green floral hooded cloak and crooked cane stood before him. It was shaped like a lightning bolt. And even in the bright light of the morning sun, the tip twinkled with its own glow.
Sal's throat was dry from disuse. "Where did you get that name?"
"Your grandmother told me you'd be impertinent. Are you Salazar Slytherin, the boy for hire?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Me you pygmy puff. Now grab your pouch. We're going."
"You still haven't given me your name! I deserve to know who you are. How can I trust you? How do I even know you're a mage?"
"You deserve?" The old man chuckled deep. Sparks flew from the end of the cane. "You'll do."
"But I don't even—
But the old man had already started skipping down the heather hill, his cloak hiked up showing off naked ankles. Sal had to run to catch up.
Sal spat on the earth. Three days he'd waited for a crazy old man—mage, he supposed from the glowing stick and naked ankles, and he still had no answers and now a pounding in his head. His left knee was also still itching him.
He bent down and enchanted a tulip. It started walking down the other side of the hill back toward his grandmother's hut where he was sure she was laughing over a pot of mead. His grandmother always liked pushing him and this time had to be the worst.
As he begrudgingly followed the leaping cloaked figure, now getting smaller by the second at his fast pace, he moaned to himself that he would never find peace away from bossy old people.