There was a fall nip in the air and no one felt it more than Mordecai. The wind was turning colder every day and even though he had just gone through his early morning warm-ups around the Quidditch Pitch he felt as if he was frozen solid. He should he as lively and kipper as a highland fling after the workout that he put himself through but try as he might he just couldn't get rid of that chill that was soaked into his bones. Blasted British weather. It was out to get him. He could have sworn by it.
It was still early enough that his presence at the school wouldn't be missed for an hour or two if he decided to fly over to the village to a quick "pick me up." Practices weren't until after classes were finished and the group of first years that he had to teach wasn't until mid-afternoon. He had time.
Adjusting the brightly coloured hand-knitted scarf around his neck, a gift from a mum of one of his old Macaw team-mates back in New Zealand, Mordecai slid his broom into an empty slot next to the door of the Three Broomsticks before he entered. Was only polite to leave the broom outside and he knew that it wasn't going to go anywhere. A few nifty anti-theft charms prevented anyone from taking the broom that wasn't the rightful owner. Also, if they tried to Mordecai would know about it. And then he'd kill the blighter. Well, maybe not kill. Probably pummel to a bloody pulp.