CHAPTER THREE: ST. SHERWIN'S COURT

At five minutes to five that afternoon all of Felix's belongings had been brought down into the kitchen. Felix had spent the entire day searching the floorboards and cubby-holes of the windmill he'd hastily crammed his belongings into five weeks earlier, and racking his brain to remember if there were any corners or cupboard-backs he'd been able to hide his possessions without having properly unpack them. Most of it, fortunately, had been able to stay in his trunk, but by the time he'd come to open it, it seemed impossible that all the things that had fit in their last year would be able to go back in it. But after much squashing, much unpacking and repacking, he had finally been able to, with the weight of Sir Mortimer standing on top, pull the handles together and wrestle shut the copper clasps. That had been around lunchtime, before he'd located his school books, dug out his telescope and remembered where he'd put his Exploding Snap cards. But over four hours later he'd again enlisted the help of the grumbling suit of armour to carry his case down the stairs. His old and battered Comet 180, which had in its day been a world-class racing broom ridden by the Falmouth Falcons and the England Quidditch Team, leant against the case whilst Kazoo that cat settled herself on top.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat before you go?" Mrs. Fernsby asked, her wand causing a few select ingredients to hover in their cupboards.

"I'm sure, mum!" Felix said for what felt like the seventh time.

"You'll be good, won't you?"

"Of course I'll be good!"

"Give my love to the Skipton's."

"You only spoke to them this morning! I don't give you all this about running off to Poland or wherever Dad is."

"It's Finland, darling, and you're not my mother."

Their farewell was then interrupted by the clashing that could only announce Sir Mortimer, and in toe of the suit of armour was Bramwell the ghost.

"It's a bloody good job you only start term once a year," the knight echoed. "I trust you'll be happy at Hogwarts for Christmas and Easter… you'd better be."

"Don't count on it. Augustus has a ghost his dad makes pay rent. I don't think I work you that hard."

"Oh, Sire, such consolation really provides me with solace," he huffed.

"Alas," Bramwell sighed, gliding through the armour and making the steel plates shiver like cymbals. "Your time here has been too short. No doubt I'll be keeping the place in order whilst your away and," he leant in and touched his nose, "keeping those pesky muggles at arm's length!"

"Goodbye, Bramwell. Try not to scare them off for good or it'll be one boring summer for me next year."

"Indeed, well good luck, young Felix. Work hard… and, um," he put a hand to the crimson patch on his chest, "try not to get harpooned."

"I won't," Felix laughed.

"Come on then," Mrs. Fernsby said. "They'll be wondering where you've got to.

Felix stepped towards the fireplace and reached up for the pot that Mrs. Fernsby had used only that morning. There were several uses for the substance known as floo powder, as Felix, having grown up in an area completely removed from the rest of the Wizarding World, had found out. Not only could it link two fireplaces together so that conversations could be had between them, but it could also transport people from one grate to another, proving the name or address of that location was known. But Felix was just about to throw the granules when his mother caught his arm.

"Look at the size of your trunk," she pointed. "Now look at the size of our chimney. I don't even think floo powder could pull that off."

"Well… then how else are we getting to Lavenham?"

"I'll apparate you."

Felix sighed. Apparition, in the Wizarding World, was a method whereby a witch or wizard could instantaneously disappear, and reappear somewhere else entirely. Again, providing the one doing the apparating could form a clear image of the destination in their head, and that the distance was not too great. It was extremely useful, and was generally the favoured way of magical transportation, but as Felix had discovered only last summer, it was also extremely uncomfortable. Being only fourteen, he wouldn't be able to take his test for another three years, but he had experienced 'side-along' apparition a couple of times- where a trained adult, and in Felix's case his mother, had transported him- and it was something he had not enjoyed in the slightest.

"What's with the long face?" Mrs. Fernsby asked cheerily. "You loved it last time."

Felix scowled and lifted Kazoo onto his shoulder.

"I'll take the two of your first, and then come back for your things. Ready?" She took his hand and beamed with enthusiasm. "Three… Two…"

There was no 'One' and no time for Felix to brace himself before the impending tightness closed in around him. It was as though an immense pressure was squeezing every inch of him. The hand that was holding his clutched even tighter, painfully tight. He wanted to cry out, but his lungs wouldn't relinquish as much as a squeak. The kitchen of Ormerod Windmill faded and was replaced by streaks of light rushing past him, streaks that may have been streetlights, or candles, or manifestations of the spells that dictated the transportation.

The invisible tunnel pulled tighter closer. He felt a rushing sensation. He managed to cast a sideways glance to his mother, who still appeared to be laughing. And then, just when he felt he couldn't hold his breath any longer, the darkness evaporated and he felt his feet touch solid ground. The constriction vanished, and he took a huge, grateful gulp of air.

"Well," Mrs. Fernsby said, "if you didn't throw up, it can't have been that bad."

As senses returned, Felix became aware of a sharp stabbing pain in his shoulder, and remembering Kazoo realised that he can't have been the only one traumatised by the experience. Relieving her claws from his collar, he set her down, and Mrs. Fernsby cast a restorative spell towards her. Felix looked around.

They had landed on a grassy bank by the side of what looked like it might have been the main road, but so quiet the area seemed that only the odd car trundled past them. Felix remembered the first time he'd set foot there, and how old the buildings with their overhanging upper levels and beamed gables had looked. It would've been a wonder if Breezy-Tops had ever seen cranes or diggers in its lifetime, but this village seemed older still. Older, but far more handsome. There was a definite charm about the place, whether that be from the thatched roofing, the stripes of beam and timberwork which scaffolded the plaster, or the colours of the buildings which, looking up the road they stood on, changed from white, to yellow, to pink, to black. The architecture and quaint crookedness of some of the houses made him think of the wizarding street Diagon Alley, where he and Oscar would be going in less than three days.

There was a small POP beside him, and Mrs. Fernsby reappeared clutching Felix's trunk and broomstick.

"What on earth have you got in here?" she panted, taking a moment to lean against it.

Felix didn't reply. He was too busy counting the houses. Across the road from them was a junction where he knew a second road split and rejoined the main road about a hundred yards to his left. In the middle, on the island of houses, was St. Sherwin's Court.

"That's the one!" Felix called, pointing to a black-beamed cream contribution to the terrace about five doors down the road.

You've forgotten something," Mrs. Fernsby called after him.

Felix looked back and groaned to see her pointing at his suitcase.

"But you're allowed to do magic. Can't you just levitate it or something?"

"I'm allowed to do magic, so I'll carry the magical object." She took his broom.

Felix trudged back and groaned as he lifted the case. Just as he'd got it under control, Kazoo jumped up and sat on it.

"Helpful," he muttered.

The door might once have been a smooth mahogany brown, but had been charred and gnarled by time, and the roughened grain was now chipped and blackened. The iron knocker was simple, and almost as soon as it was tapped, the sound of footsteps could be heard, and the latch opened.

"Hello, hello!" beamed Garrick Skipton as he opened the door. He was taller than his fireplace-self suggested, and he now wore a pair of reading glasses. "Do come in. Come in, cone in." He harried them across the threshold into the large, open plan floorspace.

Wide wooden stanchions formed pillars as they descended down the sides of the room, behind which were galleries or fireplaces where the ground-floor surpassed the area of roofing. And as for the sloping pitched roof, it was visible two or three floors above their heads as whalebone rafters interleaved the beams which converged at the roof's height. Two chandeliers hung from oak cross-spars, and upon each sconce burned candles yellows and oranges, but also of greens, and blues, and purples. The mezzanines on each side of the hall, decorated with portraits and hanging ivy, led to different sets of bedrooms each with four-poster beds and views over the courtyard behind the house. In the middle of the floor before them stretched a long, carven table which Felix had seen only in old drawings of medieval palaces.

"Please, make yourselves at home!" Garrick said. "If you give me that, Felix," he grunted in mock pain as he took the trunk and staggered it into a corner. "Welcome, to Number three, St. Sherwin's Court."

"I though the number on the door said seventy-eight?" Mrs. Fernsby said.

"Oh, that's the muggle number, see." With the door still open, Garrick stood in the doorway and pointed. "Number seventy-six there. Number seventy-eight here. And number eighty there. Where seventy-seven and seventy-nine are I haven't the foggiest, but that's the reason we love it here! They really are quite interesting, you know. If you thought it would be a challenge climbing the Himalayas without magic, well, just you go and try to buy something in one of their shops. It's the most complicated faff. Though I've vowed one day to work it out. That's one of the reasons we persuaded… okay, coerced… Oscar to take up Muggle Studies. It's not the preference of muggle life over magic, it's just the comfort in knowing we could. Oh, shoes, just drop them there."

"Oh, Felix, it's wonderful to see you! How are you, Caelia?"

A woman had just entered the room. She was short and slim with brown hair that was just starting to grey. She was wearing an apron which read 'With a flick and a swish, you'll nail every dish!'. Between the you'll and nail in small writing was the word probably.

"I'll be better in a minute when he's your problem, Nellie."

Garrick laughed loudly. "Now come through, both of you, I'll show you the yard."

"I hope I'm not sounding too rude, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to get back," Mrs. Fernsby said. "I spoke to Cecil earlier and I'm flying out to Helsinki as soon as it gets dark enough."

"That's fantastic!" Garrick said.

"Be sure to give him our love," said Nellie. "We might have to go somewhere quiet like that on our next trip. Has Garrick told you what he dragged us through in Nepal?"

"There was no dragging about it," insisted Garrick. "Just a little, um, misunderstanding."

"Dragging," mouthed Nellie.

They said their farewells. Felix hugged his mother and even Kazoo jumped onto her shoulder to nuzzle her. And with one last smile and wave, Mrs. Fernsby disapparated in the doorway.

"Well, Felix," said Mr Skipton. "Oscar's in the yard."

He showed Felix through the main hall and the kitchen, but as they passed through Felix noticed an odd creature stood on a stool over the sink.

"Mr Skipton, what is that?"

It was about four feet tall, and was so comically dumpy that Felix had to stop himself from chuckling. It wore a strange brown and blue uniform of a material he couldn't quite identify, but looked a bit like wound rope. On its head was a green bobble hat.

"Oh don't mind Sid. He's just our brownie."

"I thought brownies only came out at night?"

"So did we. But this one's leant that we don't want an entire three course meal at four in the morning. He and your mother would get along like a house on fire, with the cooking. He loves it. We often say he lends a hand to Nellie in preparing the meals," then he whispered, "when in actual fact it's the other way around!"

"Is that all he does?"

"Why don't you ask me yerself?"

It was such a deep voice for such a little creature that Felix almost took a step backwards.

"I'm sorry, I've never met a brownie before," he stammered.

"An' I've never saw one of you before," it grumbled.

"This is Felix, Sid," said Mr Skipton. "He's only being curious. He's one of Oscar's friends from school."

"You like cooking?" it eyed him suspiciously.

"Erm, not particularly-"

"Get lost then. Shoo! Scram! Woe betide thou who enter!"

Felix didn't need asking twice. He skirted round the counter and was just about to open the door to the yard when it opened for him.

"Felix!" Oscar laughed. "What took you? I know the villagers probably still use sundials in your nick of the woods, but that's no excuse for you to be taking so long!"

"Out, I said!" the brownie emphasised by banging a wooden spoon against the sink.

"Ah, you've met Sid, I see. He is an acquired taste, isn't he?"

"Oysters are an acquired taste. Limburger is an acquired taste. But I am neither seafood nor a German cheese. I," he stood up to his full height of a whole metre, "am pure class."

"Pure -" Oscar said something that made his father reach to clip him around the ear.

"Go on," Mr Skipton said, "go and help Felix drag his stuff up to your room. Dinner smells like it'll be ready soon."

"He's not having any, is he?" Sid moaned as they left.