It took a week and a half spending every night in the apothecary basement to rebuild his broom. The handle was based on a personal combination of the Nimbus Two Thousand and the Two Thousand and One. Eric preferred the arcing handle of the older model, while the pointed head of the revision was a far better driving nose. It took Eric over a dozen shaping spells to get the pattern just right, but he wasn't about to start from scratch. The ebon handle of his existing broom made the perfect material with it's existing enchantments, and starting over would've taken far too long.
It would be the brush, however, that would be the crowning achievement. Eric had plotted a twin binding for his custom work: a stiffly bound inner brush for speed surrounded by a slightly more open outer shell of twigs for maneuverability. It was still bound to minimize drag, but if it all worked together, it would mean an optimized design - the possibilities were staggering.
Stirrups were needed on any broom that was built for speed, of course. He drew them tight about the brush and drew out the handle for length. A final curve in the handle allowed the rider two possible hand positions, which meant a more comfortable flight. This would be important, given that he didn't know how far he would have to go.
Every last detail and alteration was meticulously documented. The design would have to be hidden until he was in a position to patent it. There was no way he wanted to lose the rights just because somebody figured out what he did. It was a good thing that the brush combination ended up looking like a Cleensweep tail. Nobody would be the wiser without tearing the broom completely down. If that were to happen, the circumstances that would have lead up to it would give Eric far better things to worry about than his design rights.
By the time camping began for the Quidditch tournament, Eric was more than excited. He had told Mrs. Peal that he was making his way to the tournament with the help of his classmates, and he'd be camping with the Wainwrights. This, in and of itself, was not a lie – thus making it possible to pass the scrutiny of a skilled Ex-Auror without revealing any of the less desirable details. If Mrs. Peal suspected anything, she didn't show it.
Of all his achievements, the broom flight to the Tournament would be a highlight. It would mean that he had out-planned and out-thought the Ministry of Magic. Even if no one ever found out about it ( and it was very much his intention that no one would ), it would mean a personal triumph over the people who wronged him. That would be enough.
That evening, Eric went to bed early again. When his chime went off, it was One O'clock. He figured he had a good four hours of cover before dawn. The sky would be dark, the strange machines muggles flew in would be fewer, and the rare person who would be awake would hardly be attentive. He drew on his leather suit; wrapped his head with a thick scarf and adding goggles to protect his eyes. Sneaking out to the tiny yard behind the Peal's shop, he mounted his creation and soared into the sky.
Reaching into a small pouch, he drew out a crystal ball. It was well protected, woven into a leather cover that it couldn't escape from, with a lanyard stretching back to the pouch. Even if his hands slipped, it would be safe. Cupping it with his hand, he searched about for Dorian. The trick worked once before, when he saved Naomi from a pack of werewolves. He hoped it would work again.
If he was simply searching for the Quidditch field, even with a more powerful spell, the enchantments of the Ministry would have blocked it. However, because his focus was Dorian, and not the field or the camp at all, he succeeded in bypassing the enchantments. It was going to be a long flight, but possible in the time allotted.
There was just one more thing to do. Although he had already made provisions for it's care, Eric gingerly drew out the elongated crystal that contained Evelyn. She appeared before him the instant he secured it about his neck. Tucking the crystal under his leather chestplate, he turned to her. "I've got three hours on this broomstick ahead of me. Want to fly?"
Evelyn was delightful company. She didn't bother pretending that she needed any mode of transport, choosing instead to zip about Eric's vision like a ghost. It seemed reasonable, really. There could only be a few advantages to being an incorporeal memory; there was no sense in wasting them. She discussed the broom's design as they traveled, apparently fascinated by it's construction. He thought there was more than a little pride coming from her, no doubt the result of seeing her son excel.
At first, Eric thought it was odd that she didn't mind his rule-breaking. Then again, she was Slytherin house – the fact that he broke more than a few laws during this adventure of his wouldn't bother a normal Slytherin in the least. Eric didn't feel much pride in breaking rules; he was far more pleased that all his planning and work was proving effective. The fact that rules were in the way was a most regrettable obstacle, but one that would have to be overcome if he were to succeed.
At length he reached a wide range of rolling hills, one which wasn't as it should be. He wouldn't have been able to tell that, except that every time he raised his crystal to his eye, he saw his friend sleeping below him, in the middle of an extensive campground. His naked eyes, however, saw nothing. Circling the region, it took him twenty minutes before he found an anchor stone for the enchantment. It was extensive, powerful, and fortunately durable. Eric would be able to pass through the threshold into it without affecting it. Rising high above the campground, he waited until he saw a clear patch to drop onto. Sinking low in the darkness, he dropped down and hid a while until he was sure that he wasn't seen, opening two carry pouches so that he could finally release Midget and Widget. The two owls fluttered their wings for several minutes to get them moving again before disappearing into the night. Drawing up his broom and his pack, he then walked through the camp toward the place Dorian was sleeping. He was feeling dead on his feet, but a safe place to rest was needed.
As he closed in on the camp, he found a small fire burning unattended. Stepping closer, a low voice came out from behind him. Turning about, he found himself facing a dark figure, covered by a black trench coat with his eyes shielded by a wide-brimmed hat, the likes of which he had never seen. "Um, hi. I'm looking for the Karan Circle?"
"Well, then warm greetings to you, my young friend!" Eric cringed at the sound of the man's bellowing. He was sure he would wake up every camper around. "I am Riley O'Padraigh, Dark Lord of the Clan Mahkab, and I welcome you!" He slammed Eric's shoulders with his open palms before loosening his arm with an extremely aggressive handshake. "If you don't mind my asking, did you arrive on that broom? None of our camp are expected this late in the evening."
A guarded truth was always better than a faked lie. "Well, it's kind of a long story; one that would really get me locked up if the Ministry knew."
"Fear not, my adventurous friend! None of the Ministry will ever discover anything from us!" If Eric had any doubts, they were all based in the fact that Riley was the most dramatically expressive person he had ever met. At this moment, he was sure that every Auror from the camp all the way back to London knew that something had happened. "However, bold tales of inspiring deeds can wait until the day; for now, you may rest in my tent tonight. Amelia and I will make you breakfast in the morning!"
Setting aside the fact that Riley made the act of going to sleep sound like an epic quest, Eric was very grateful for the hospitality. The inside of the tent was somewhat snug, but open enough for him to find a corner for the night. Sleep and breakfast would cure most of his ills. The rest could be tackled once he was ready.