Quidditch; #13

Clang. Clang. Clang.

This was the only sound that could be heard in the house as a two-year-old Jesse tried to make his way from the kitchen towards the backyard.

He only made it as far as the coffee table before he fell over; the pot that he was using as a helmet had blocked his vision. And now his mother was rushing towards him.

“What are you doing wearing cooking utensils?” God, these children were so like their father in some ways.

“Daddy said he would play Quittich with me.” The boy flailed on the ground where he lay.