Rough old walking boots pounded the path down the hill from the castle. Ambrose, dressed in rough jeans, a Gryffindor t-shirt and an old blue sweater with a hole in the elbow was running almost flat out, trying not to end up on his backside as he negotiated the incline.

A minute or so later, he appeared by the fence, red faced, puffing, brown hair all over the place.
"Moira, Merlin, sorry, I got …" He put his hands on his hips and took in a few deeper breaths to try and catch it again, "I had detention first thing with Storm and he… wouldn't let me leave." He let out a lungful of air with an irritated sound, but at least he was catching his breath. He wasn't particularly unfit, especially not after all the traipsing around over summer, but it was a fair distance from the first floor to the paddocks by the forest.

He seized one of the forks and headed into the paddock to a pile of particularly smelly thestral dung, knowing better than to try and muck out with magic and his record of wandwork. Nobody liked flaming or exploding poo!

"I dunno about you, but it's like everyone this year has gone bonkers about OWLs. Like our lives end at the end of the year and the only way we can live is by gaining a set of pieces of paper with letters on. It's only September and it is driving me maaaad." He dipped his voice at the end rather than proclaim it too loudly. He was never sure where the thestrals were as he couldn't see them, but he knew Moira could. They'd promised Professor Donovan they'd clear the whole paddock on Sunday morning, and neither fifth year wanted to let the professor down.
"Sorry Moi', you've done loads without me. Take a break let me do the rest."

The week before, and the ones before that as well, had dragged on forever. At the same time they were speeding by. There was so much to do already and hadn't they just gotten back to school? Things had just been hectic since her arrival, she didn't even have time to dodge crowds most days.

With a sigh she glanced at the sky to roughly tell what the time was. Ambrose was well past late. That wasn't to say Moira minded the work. It was a small, bad, taste of home. Besides while she didn't mind being alone she wouldn't call being surrounded by curious Thestrals 'alone'.

When Ambrose did show up he was already throwing out a hasty, and out of breath, apology and explanation as to why he was tardy. None the less she cast him a look often reserved for her father and uncle when they had greatly displeased her. The look was only marred by a small tug at the corner of her mouth.

"It's definitely more work than last year. I've already gone to bed with more headaches than I care to say." Feeling a nose at her shoulder she paused long enough to reach up and rub a rather leathery forehead.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't mind the work and I'm much faster at it than you. You'd never make a decent rancher at this rate." With a final pat she resumed the work. "You'll just have to owe me a favor."

"Charming!" Ambrose exclaimed and stuck his tongue out at Moira, "If I was on your farm I wouldn't have detention with Professor Storm, that's for sure, so we'd be done here already."

Without much further ado, Ambrose began forking up the thestral manure, which was particularly smelly given their raw meat diet.

"I'm glad you said you didn't mind, rather than you liked," Ambrose told Moira piling it into the wheelbarrow, "otherwise I'd be a bit worried about you."

He seized the arms of the wheelbarrow and wheeled it over towards Moira so they could more easily chuck it in from where they were collecting.

A minute or so passed as they worked, both not afraid of manual labour until Ambrose overshot the wheelbarrow….

"Ah nooo!"

"If we were on my farm we wouldn't be limited to just a small paddock." The Thestral enclosure was big enough so that they all had space to move around, of course, but it was still not as big as where the winged horses at her home wandered about. Fortunately, the pastures were handled by her uncle and his magic. Moira only had to take care of the barn when they did wander in.

"I thought you were already a bit worried about me and some of my odd habits." She winked at him to let him know she was kidding as he wheeled the barrow over to the section they were working at.

The work went smoothly and, admittedly, much faster with Ambrose's help. Of course, as usual something had to happen. Moira reprimanded herself inwardly for not thinking of it after the Thestral manure had landed on her side of the wheelbarrow. All she could do was sigh.

Surely Professor Donovan wouldn't mind a bit of magic just to fix this incident, she wasn't using it to finish their task anyhow. Pulling out her wand she cast Ambrose a glance, "This isn't a contest of strength you know." One simple cleaning spell directed at her robes had them clear of any evidence. Once satisfied she tucked her wand away once again.

"This isn't a contest of strength you know." Moira told him off.

"Heh," Ambrose replied, and grinned, "No, and good job it's not one of aim. Sorry mate." He nipped round to scoop up what had overshot.

"How is your family anyhow?" Ambrose asked. He'd visited last spring but not seen Moira much over summer. "What's been going on, tell me the news. You must have had a few foals right?"

"Aye, your aim always has been rather lousy," Moira said teasingly. His spellwork had caused quite a few issues over the past years but there was improvement at least, even if he had a lot more work to do. Where she, on the other hand, was likely to hex anyone on reflex if they startled her bad enough. Good thing that didn't happen too often.

Listening to his question she resumed their work, though now with the two of them they were almost done. "About the same, really. Loud, the occasional fight when they've had too much to drink and so far as I can tell happy."

If her father was worried about money or something else he didn't usually let it show. Of course between the horses - hairs and feathers were in quite the demand - and the garden they covered everything rather nicely. All this was guess-work of course, as Angus wouldn't let her see their balance claiming it not her problem. Moira was of a mind to spill hot gravy in his lap next time he said such things.

"What about you and yours, been alright I reckon?"

"Aye, your aim always has been rather lousy,"

Ambrose pretended to be offended, though it was clear he was being silly as he pressed a hand to his chest in a hurt way and gaped, especially as he broke into a grin after.

"What about you and yours, been alright I reckon?"

"Yeah, same old, same old." Ambrose agreed, "Dad's still with Gabrielle - erh - Madam Murray from the International Office in the Ministry. I saw Mum a few times over summer, but she don't remember me or Tim. Spent time with my Uncle Oc- Monty though, he's the one with the flying cars?" He lowered his voice, "Took me out in one like you're not supposed to - it was amazing. I guess it's a bit like the winged horses, only you're in a big tin box with windows and it doesn't bob up and down with the wings, like." He shovelled some more poo enthusiastically.

"If I weren't so bad at charms and didn't see myself working with creatures, I'd be more than up for working for him. They don't leave droppings everywhere." He grinned, adeptly tossing in some more to clear the area around him.

"How's the herd? Did you have any foals over the summer as well as the spring?"

Moira gave Ambrose an odd eye when he said a flying car was a bit like riding a winged horse. She had never been in a flying car of course, but somehow she highly doubted they were anything alike other than their ability to fly through the air. The seating was different, you didn't have to balance in a car, and then there was just a wheel to tell it where to go instead of different cues and nudges for horses. That wasn't even mentioning when the horses didn't want to listen.

"The herd's healthy as can be expected." Which was a good thing. An unhealthy horse could be rather costly, more so when there was a whole herd. Of course some of the plants her dad grew in his garden treated most of their common maladies if they came down with any.

"We had about four foals born, three girls and a boy. Feisty bunch they are." By the time Moira had left to return to Hogwarts the four of them well and thoroughly believed they owned the pasture and ran the herd. They were in for some rough lessons from the more cranky members.

"They sound like first years," Ambrose laughed, thinking how despite being tiny, the first years were running about the castle believing they knew all there was. The Gryffindor couldn't imagine himself that small anymore!

"Bet you're missing them already." He remarked and chucked another fork-full of manure into the barrow. "Let's take it over this way." He seized the handles and wheeled it onwards over the bumps of the pasture.

"Had a good time at Easter when I visited. We'll have to return the favour one day, only Biggleswade's not nearly as dramatic as the McBoid farm. We live in a Muggle house with some adaptions." He dropped the barrow back down.

"Aye, about as rambunctious and foolhardy. They'll learn, as we all do." Following Ambrose's lead she followed him as he wheeled the barrel to a different section, the Thestrals moving out of his way before he could run into them or know they were even there. Such clever creatures.

Moira nodded. "Because of all the wards we couldn't have muggle things if we wanted. Tis a shame really. Blenders are fantastic devices." The fifth year had learned about those and some other things when she visited the Schlagenweit Estate. One could argue magic was easier for preparing meals, but as she was underage cooking magically wasn't an option. Still, she managed.

Resuming their manure forking she glanced over. "I am glad you enjoyed yourself though. I know our house is a bit small, even if the lands aren't."

"Blenders?" Ambrose echoed, surprised that Moira had chanced upon that electrical item in particular.

He had a memory of once visiting a shop with his mother's extended family when they were looking after him. They had all sorts of strange metal boxes that apparently washed and dried your clothes, and another that washed plates. Then there were computers, which Ambrose knew a little about from neighbours in the street. He didn't study Muggle Studies - on reflection, it might have been a good idea if he had, but creatures was his fascination and the fewer electives he took the more time he had to work on things in general.

"It's not that small." Ambrose waved a hand. "Our place[1] isn't massive either, we can't use expanding charms because it's a Muggle building." He chased a bit of dung with his pitchfork a moment with a frown.

"But you certainly have more than enough space outside, and that's what's important." The elusive piece hit the wheelbarrow. Distantly, the school clock rang out the hour. Ambrose's gaze averted to the castle towering above them.
"We best hurry up so we don't miss lunch," He remarked, and turned on the spot to survey what was left to do. "I've got to get a poo-picking charm sorted." He grumbled.

1.	Ambrose's house

Moira nodded a little. "I think I remember dad saying we don't use expanding charms inside the house because mom liked how cozy it is.  As for outside it still gets crowded in places." She gave a small smile, "Especially when it's time for them to eat."

It could definitely put fear in someone not used to the horses rushing at them as they tried to get to the feed first. She just had to move fast before a fight broke out and she was in the middle.

Moira's gaze followed Ambrose's towards the castle as the clock struck the time. "If you figure one out that works be sure to let me know." That would save them loads of time.

Only a few more minutes passed before the two students had all the Thestral droppings loaded up in the wheelbarrow. Once they deposited it where Professor Donovan had instructed them to they made their way to lunch together, both of them having worked up quite the appetite.