Lawrence Hawkins grew up beautifully. At the age of ten, he stood at a good five feet. His eyes were a cloudy gray- a gray that would frighten many a foe when he set foot upon a Quidditch pitch. He was fair-skinned with light brown hair, always with a neat part on the left side.
One morning in June found Lawrence outside in his meadow practicing stunning spells on ravens.
Bang! An unlucky raven was hit in the stomach and fell from the sky. Lawrence was aiming at a passing sparrow when a cry from below reached his ears.
"Lawrence! Lawrence, come quick! You'll never guess what my father made me!"
Lawrence reconized the voice at once-it was Fredrick, his next-door-neighbor and friend.
Lawrence abandoned the felled ravens and ran down the meadow to greet his peer.
"Fredrick! What is it?"
As Lawrence drew level with him, he gasped. Fredrick held an actual flying broomstick.
"wow..." Lawrence muttered, looking at it with the deepest look of awe playing his features.
Fredrick could only grin.
Fredrick was nearly a head shorter than his companion. He had black hair that grew from a central point in his hair, and amber eyes. He was small and skinny- what his mother would often call "the perfect chimney sweep."
"My father made it..." Fredrick continued excitedly, "he's a carpenter, as you know. It's so smooth... and perfect!"
"It must have taken him forever to make it... and then get it flying." Lawrence said, not taking his eyes from it.
"He said he had been working on it for three months.
Why are we sitting here chatting like old wives? Let me show you what this thing is capable of!"
Fredrick was mounting his broomstick when Lawrence suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
"Wait! We can't fly here, there are Muggle neighbors."
The two boys ran back up the meadow until they were well out of range of Muggle eyes.
"Give me a countdown," Fredrick said as he mounted his broom once again.
Lawrence smiled. "Three... two... one..."
Fredrick kicked off from the ground. He rose at a steady angle to about ten feet before leveling himself.
"Watch how fast she goes!" Fredrick called down. He bent low over his broom. It shot like a javelin in slow motion- going about five miles an hour.
Fredrick flew around the meadow once before landing next to Lawrence.
"What do you think?" He asked, his voice raining pride.
"That was amazing," Lawrence replied.
"Want to give it a go?"
"Well, I've only ever ridden once, but I'll try."
Fredrick handed him the broom. Lawrence sized it up, his eyes shinning. It seemed to fit so perfectly in his hands. Like it had been destined to be ridden by him.
Lawrence held it out at arms' length and swung one of his legs over. He crouched down, ready for take-off.
"One-two-three-go!" Fredrick shouted.
"Lawrence closed his eyes and kicked off. He felt himself rising. He opened his eyes.
Truly, he thought, this must surely be a dream.
The world had changed. He felt so light, as though he himself were part of the broomstick. He moved. The broom moved. He took off, matching Fredrick's speed, around the meadow.
"I'm a bird!" He called to Fredrick.
"Do you like it?"
"Do I ever!"
Lawrence looked down upon the earth. His faithful friend was gazing up at him, his hand sheilding the rising sun. The neighboring houses were silent- they slept on. The meadow was calm, with only the fainest wind gliding over its surface.
"Lawrence! Lawrence Hawkins! What may I ask are you doing?"
With a jolt of panic, Lawrence looked down to his house. His mother was standing in the doorway, clad in nightgown, wearing a frown. As quickly as the broom would allow, he sped to the ground.
"Well, see, Fredrick here has a broomstick! A broomstick that his father made. We were... er... giving it a test-drive." Lawrence looked down at his feet, awaiting his mother's reply.
It didn't come.
"Well... I guess I should go now... breakfast." Fredrick muttered. With a swift bow, he picked up his broom and walked down the street.
"Um..." Lawrence searched about for something to say. "Is my breakfast ready?"
"Yes," his mother answered. "And afterward, you can go on an errand with your father."
Lawrence bowed himself into the kitchen.
The Hawkins's kitchen was small, but homey. A tub sat in one corner, a fireplace in another. In the middle, an oaken table. The walls were covered with tapestries- tapestries that told of the Hawkins' history. Tapestries of their ansestors, tapestries of Wizard Hollow, tapestries of the present-day family.
Breakfast was relatively simple. Hashbrowns and apple dumplings.
Halfway through the meal, Lawrence's father, Oswin, appeared in the fireplace.
"Good morning, father." Lawrence said formally.
"Good morning son... wife." He replied.
"Lawrence will be going with you on your errand," Hilda informed him as he sat down.
"All right," he said unconceredly.
"What is the errand, father?" Lawrence asked.
"I'm going to Wizard Hollow for... news," he said. Lawrence noticed that he shifted slightly as he spoke.
"What kind of news?" Lawrence said shrewdly.
"Just... news," Oswin said. Lawrence could tell that the discussion was finished.
Twenty minutes later, Oswin and Lawrence popped out of the huge fireplace in Wizard Hollow.
As they walked, Lawrence noticed a short, burly man walking ahead of him. The boy at his side was no different.
"Who do you reckon they are?" Lawrence wispered to his father as they passed the vicious-looking pair.
"The man is a Creaothceann player from Scottland. They are O'Connars. Vincent and Fabian O'Connar."
Lawrence looked over his shoulder. He could see their biceps bulging behind their robes.
"They must be really strong..." He said.
"mmm" Oswin replied, looking up at the news board.
The headline read: WIZARD BASIL MAYNET BURNED AT STAKE BY MUGGLE AUTHORITIES
Lawrence gasped. "They actually caught someone... real?" He asked, his voice shaking.
Oswin nodded grimly.