International Sock Festival

The looming presence of dawn hung over the town. The street, peaceful and quiet, was reflecting the brilliance of the morning.  Thin dewdrops cling to the grass, hung off of shutters, and covered porches.  Sunlight shone through the drops and scattered, creating a spectrum of colours which projected onto the white houses.

A certain white house stood out from all the other white houses.  This one house wasn't all that quiet in the hour of dawn.  Its lights poured out into the yard, dousing the street lamps.

"DID YOU PACK ENOUGH POWDERED WORMROOT?" a woman, petite and in her mid 60's, hollered up the stairs in the direction of an open door above.

"WHAT?" a shout omitted from above, her husband poked his head out a door upstairs, straining his voice above the blaring radio.

"I SAID... OH FORGET IT!  I'LL COME UP!"

Pointing to his ear, the man signaled that he didn't hear what she had said.  The athletic yet elderly women waved her hand for him to go back to whatever he was doing. She then turned around and took a few steps through a doorway and into the kitchen.

Glancing around spacious kitchen, that had ample room for the inhabitants of the house, she checked to make sure all was okay.  There was a large kitchen table that could seat six.  With a very contemporary setting, the counters were a silver-steel and the floor and sparkling white vinyl.  Orange lilies were scattered around, grouped in groups of one to three per vase.  Thin silver vases that were enchanted to fill with water whenever it was running low held the gorgeous lilies and some ferns.  Magically enhanced glass cabinets were along the walls above the counters, which showed the collections of dishes, but when in disarray, could turn a frosty glass to hide the mess.

With a flick of her wand, she let the dishes from breakfast continue to wash themselves and with a 'pop!' dissaperated.

She re-appeared upstairs right inside the doorway of the master bedroom with another quiet 'pop!'.  It was another magnificent room, with a vaulted ceiling.  The walls were a light teal colour with cherry wood accents.  Pushed up against the wall, right across the room from a large picture window overlooking the backyard garden, was a cherry sleigh bed.  Normally a beautiful comforter, a deeper shade of teal with even deeper teal accents, would be stretched out, covering the bed.  Today, it was littered with robes, jars, bottles, assorted pieces of parchment maps and books.  Two large trunks were set out in the middle of the floor, partially packed.  The dresser was open, with clothes were flying out of it, folding themselves in the air, and then sweeping over and into the trunks.

The old man, in his early 70's, was sitting hunched over a cherry desk.  Strewn all over the desks were parchment pieces, broken quills, ink bottles, copies of The Daily Prophet and a few books.  The compartments were full of letters, documents, and more parchment pieces.  Directly above the desk was an open window with a small sign outside saying "Mr. Marc" in gold engraved script, like an old tavern sign.

"Yes Raspberrie?" he asked without looking up, aware of her presence.  Scratch, scratch.  He continued to write on the parchment roll.

"I was wondering if we had powdered wormroot and if you had packed enough."

"Yes, it's over th-"

Suddenly an owl swooped down through the window, cutting Marc off in mid-sentence.  He gestured towards the other side of room where a door stood while reading the letter.

Raspberrie walked over to the door while Marc mumbled parts of the letter under his breath.

"Alohamora" she said, pointing her wand at the door which swung open.

"We must.... need it now... blah... the mission.... respond..." the mumbling dropped to silence as Raspberrie entered the other room.

The large hexagonal shaped room was huge, with a ceiling around 30 feet high, and bookshelves going all the way up on five of the six sides.  When she stepped through the doorway, the door closed, making the wall behind her a solid bookshelf.  Directly across from her was a majestic window, all one piece of glass and underneath it was a green marble fireplace, with a crackling fire in it.  There were many armchairs and tables, and two desks all littered with clutter. 

A large table was near the center of the room, on which many astronomy "night sky" maps were laid on.  Currently the sky was lighting, the twinkling stars disappearing as night sky was replaced by the dawn.  One the side of the hexagonal shape next to her, the bookshelf was full of parchment scrolls, sorted into cubbies, with labeled tags hanging off the ends.  The other four bookshelves had books and scrolls mixed with bottles and jars, all the way up to around 25 feet, where the domed ceiling started.  Rugs under a legal spell could hover above ground and be directed to a part of the room or bookshelf.  Rugs were used because there was an Anti-Accio charm placed on the room. Accio could not be used because it could seriously mess up the organization.

Raspberrie crossed the room and reached a podium stand with what could be mistaken as a dictionary but was, in fact, the catalog for all items on and around the shelves.

"Powdered wormroot" she clearly announced to the book.  The pages flipped by until landing on a page labeled Portal Dust to Prat-Potion.  She looked down at the book, and her selection stood out above the black words, for it was glowing red.  Beneath the word was the location directory.

"Good," she breathed "it's here".  The words started to fade and stopped glowing. Raspberrie turned away and strode across the room to a rug.  She stepped onto it and told it she needed the fourteenth shelf.  The rug flew up about twelve feet above ground to a shelf lined with jars (some labeled, some not) or powders.

"No... no... no, no... no" she stated, scanning the shelf for the wormroot. "Ah!  Here it is" while picking up a jar that wasn't quite as dusty as others.  Peering at it contents she decided it was enough.

Once back outside the large study and library, she saw that the clothes had finished packing.  The noise level had increased for it the radio was still blaring.  She securely locked the trunks and then left the bedroom.

"Sweetie!  Can you PLEASE turn down the music?" a desperate shout came from down the hallway lined with plants and framed pictures.

A teenage boy was sprawled across his bed, lying there listening to music, half asleep.  He stirred at the sound of the shout, but didn't respond or even open his eyes.

SLAM!

Raspberrie slammed the off button on the radio.  The boy jumped off the bed in surprise and whipped out his wand.

"What the –"

Then he saw that it was just his Grandmother.  He lowered his wand and shoved it back into his pocket.

"Have you finished packing yet?" his grandmother inquired, gazing around the messy room.  A trunk lay on the floor, with only a broom and a few books inside.  "I'll take that as a no," she said.  The boy grabbed the closet pieces of clothing and shuffled into the bathroom to get ready. 

Through the bathroom door, the boy heard his grandmother, with a sigh, flicked start the packing herself.  By the time to boy got out of the bathroom the robes, hats, pants, shirts, socks, books, potions, and all other items had all been packed, and the trunk locked.

Staggering out of the bathroom and down the stairs, he reached the kitchen where he plopped himself down into a chair and slouched far down.

"Sit up, sit up, sit up!" his Grandmother Raspberrie said briskly "you will have awful posture if you continue to do that slouching of yours."  She whisked around the room, at one point dropping a plate of pancakes in front of him.

"Accio syrup, accio milk, accio cup" the boy slurred and waved his wand weakly around.  Too early, he said to himself way to early to be up and actually doing something that is.  He ate his pancakes while his grandmother read the Daily Prophet.

"Did you hear?" she asked.

A mumble omitted from the direction of the half asleep boy, which Raspberrie presumed was a "hear what?"

"About the whole scandal over in –" she started but her approaching husband was shouting.

"Raspberrie honey, sonny, there has been a change of plans!  We have to cancel our trip to the International Sock Festival."

"REALLY?" the boy sat up excitedly at the news.  "I mean, bummer, we can't go?  I was really looking forward to it, you know I was!"  To help convince Marc of his disappointment the boy pouted and flopped back into his chair.

"Yes, sonny, yes I know.  I am terribly sorry; instead we must go to Keystone Inn where I must attend some… business," Marc sadly stated.

"Oh," sinking back down into the chair "we still have to go somewhere?"

"Yes, yes I have already made arrangements for transportation.  So I'll just stick these two trunks," he gestured to the front entry way where to two trunks, that had previously been in the master suite, were situated, "in the car.  Sonny, you go and get yours and bring it on out to the vehicle."

Step by step the boy jerkily moved himself upstairs, down the hall, and into his room.  He contemplated locking himself in his room and refusing to go.  But he found himself, a few minutes later, standing by the foot of the steps with his trunk.  Shouts came from outside for him to get out to the car.  He trudged out the door and down the front steps of the house and down the front walk, dragging his trunk wearily behind him.