Food. There was food. And drink! And a chance to sit down, not on a broom. Skrumpkin swept past the table, gathering up three sandwiches, a glass of pumpkin juice and an apple before anyone else had got close. Settling down on a bench he started eating. There is appoint when you eat for hunger. There is a point where you eat for comfort. And there is a point, if you are a somewhat hefty Keeper in an endless nightmare of a Quidditch match where you eat from desperation. There were people talking and moving around him, But Skrumpkin was less aware of them than he had been out on the pitch. There was food, and that required his full attention.

He’d just finished the third sandwich and was thinking about looking for some sausage rolls when the Boss came and hunkered down.

“Grand job. Any other Keeper would have missed twice as much in the fog. Just hang in there, Skrump, and help me win this one. Hang in there, mate.”

“Q.E.D.,” Said Skrumpkin softly as his captain got up to talk to the other players. He stayed curled up in a ball against the locker doors for a minute, enjoying the warm feeling he got from Sioni’s words.

But there were sausages with his name on it, he felt sure, so standing and stretching out tired knees, he began hunting.

He was beginning to feel, if not exactly like a new Skrumpkin, at least like a refurbished used mode when Sioni started his little spirit raiser speech.

“Skrumpkin? None shall pass.”

“Huzza!” Said Skrumpkin. “Ding-dong and all the rest.” He found a cookie someone had over looked and started munching. He’d survived so far, and was beginning to think he could keep it up for another four hours if need be. “None shall pass,” He said softly. “You got it, Boss.”

 


Not Getting Any Younger