Cynthia MacLanley

1853: The Broomstick

Cynthia set down the cauldron, full of her new winter cloak and gloves, onto the living room floor and looked at the other bags of new items admirably. Her mother had gone upstairs a moment before, and she soon reappeared, following a large, wooden chest bound with leather she was floating down the stairs in front of her.

"Yeh kin put yer things in the trunk an' live out o' it fer awhile teh get used teh it, li' I did whee back when I was in Hogwarts." Elfrida used her wand to guide the hovering chest into a corner.

"Tha's huge! I thin' I could live in't!" The eleven-year-old looked out the window wistfully for a moment, her brow furrowed, and then her small, freckled face softened. "Mama, could yeh tell me what yeher like when yeh wen' off teh Hogwarts?"

Elfrida smiled and opened the trunk. "Aye, that's a lung time ageh. Let's see...I'm therty-threh now, I'as twenty-teh when yeh were born, an' yeh were born in 'ferty-teh. So, when I'as yer age, that'as 'therty-un. Ach! Twenty-teh years ageh!" The black haired woman shook her head. "Han' me yer book, dear."

Cynthia lifted up two of the textbooks, and then something seemed to come to her. "Mama, where's Papa?"

"I though' yeh'd never ask!" boomed Donovan, jumping out from behind the stairway in a flurry of great green robes. Cynthia shrieked and then laughed, handing the titles to her mother offhandedly. Elfrida grimaced and took the books from her daughter, placing them carefully in the bottom of the trunk.

"Where's the broomstick, Papa?" asked Cynthia excitedly.

"It's outseed. Come on!"

"I'll beh right back, Mama."

"No, yeh won't. Go out an' make sure tha' broomstick don't play any tricks on yeh."

"Aye!" With a nod of her pigtails, Cynthia darted out the door.

"An' Donovan, keep a real good eye on 'er, aye?"

"Aye, Elfrida. Elias Grimstone said 'e had one jus' right fer Cynthia in the back. Finest broom yeh'll ever see. Smooth oak shaft, strong twigs, grea' dir'ction changes, as far as I know - I wanted Cynthia teh beh the first to fly it, yeh know?"

"Is tha' safe!?" Elfrida looked horrified, and Donovan quickly corrected himself.

"Elias flew it 'imself, o' course - yeh're never really the first the fly it, yeh know, unless yeh build it! I jus' wanted Cyn to get teh it before me...yeh know I might just decide I like it too much to give teh 'er." He looked out the window. "'Ell, I better go out there with the lit'l un before she flies the thing away, aye?"

"Aye. Yeh be careful."

"Yeh know I am."

"I mean, tell Cyn that."

"She knows how teh beh safe on a broomstick."

"Oh yeah? An' how, Donovan?"

He looked nervous.

"Never mind. I know yeh've been practicing withou' me knowin'." She sighed. "I can't stop yeh, so yeh can just practice as much as yeh need to keep Cyn happy. Do yeh know wha' I mean?"

"Aye, Elfrida." He opened the door, took a step out, and then turned back to his wife. "An', Elfrida - thanks." He shut the door behind him.

"Yer welcome," she replied to no one, and then began packing Cynthia's things.

~x~

Cynthia was sitting all alone in the open moor, a small dot of grey wool cloak nestled into nearly four acres of nothing but windswept heather and long grass. In her hands lay a broomstick, the sleek, polished oak handle three and a half feet long, with a brush of streamlined ash twigs stained a beautiful dark brown. She could do nothing but run her hands up and down the broomstick in awe, feeling tears of utter joy leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

Donovan walked over to her, his own broomstick in his hand. The earlier model was larger and slower than Cynthia's, and it appeared dirtier and cruder in comparison to the brand new broom. She turned her small face toward him. "'Ow kin I ev'r thank yeh?" she asked in a squeaky voice.

"Yeh kin git on yer Hogwarts team an' play yer best!"

Cynthia beamed, and then it seemed like a dark shadow crossed her smattering of freckles. "Papa?" she said meekly, coming to her feet. "I really want teh play fer me team. But I dun kno' if I'm good enough fer it. I mean, I kin fly, an' I kin hit yer Bludgers rill fine, but I'm just a wee firs' year. I fergot about that until'is mornin'. Nearly all the stud'nts that I c'd seh were much bigg'r than me - 'cept Allie, o' kirse."

"'Oo's Allie?" asked Donovan, intrigued.

"Oh! 'E's a firs' year teh. I me' 'im tehday in Di'gon Alley. 'E's rill smart, an' rill funny teh. We're goin' teh beh the best o' friends in Hogwarts. Righ', Papa?"

She looked up at her dad, clutching her new broomstick anxiously. Donovan squinted and chewed around a thought in his head. Finally, he spoke a reply.

"Do yeh know abou' the houses o' Hogwarts?"

Cynthia shook her head.

"Oh. Alrigh', lemme see if I kin remember properly. There's Hufflepuff, Gryffinder, Ravenclah, an'...one secon', I always ferget this 'un...snake-like...Slytherin. They're differen' groups o' people tha' go teh Hogwarts, an' yeh get Sorted into yer particular house by yer characteristics. Or somethin' li' that. Anyways, I believe i's Hufflepuff if yer loyal an' hardworkin', that was yer mother, an' Gryffinder if yer brave and chiv'lrous. I was in Gryffinder. Then, Ravenclah's fer clever 'uns, an' Slytherins're the sneaky lot."

"What 'un deh yeh thin' I'm goin' teh beh in?"

He shrugged. "Yeh never kno' until yeh get tha' Sortin' Hat on yer head. I'm jus' tellin' yeh tha' this boy an' yeh migh' be in differen' houses. Then yeh've got teh meet others." He scratched his head. "'C'urse, it wouldn't'vr beh a bad idea teh meet others any wehs."

"Papa, is it not righ' that I'm friends with...yeh know, a boy?"

"Of c'urse not! Yeh kin make friends with a rock an' it'c'd beh right. Yeh just do wha' yeh like teh, an' dunt yeh worry 'bout what other's'll say. Same thin' with yeh bein' a Beater. I un'erstand that the odds are kind o' against yeh, but it's not about if yeh get on the team or not. It's if yeh try an' deh yer best, which I kno' yeh will."

The girl grinned, and then looked at the unforgettably forgotten broomstick in her hand with awe. "'Ell, that doesn't mean we kint practice, aye?"

"Aye!" Donovan swung onto his broomstick. "Yeh can test out the broom tehday, an' then later I kin teach yeh about aiming fer movin' targets an' avoidin' others when yer flying."

Cynthia leaped onto the seat and gingerly kicked off the ground. The new broom, much more sensitive than Donovan's, shot up faster than she had ever gone before. "Wheee!" she cried out, quickly taking control of the broom.

Donovan looked up at his daughter and sighed. "I al'ays wanted a son," he whispered under his breath. "Now I dunt even know if I got my wish or not." He grinned at his own little joke and joined the racing Cynthia in the sky.