DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling created and owns this universe of Wizards and Hogwarts School and Diagon Alley. Only characters and situations you don't recognize are my own. I get no remuneration of any kind for this writing, and I try to obey the laws of JKR's universe as best I understand them.

A New Home

The wind blew. It was dark— it was light— it was both— it was neither— but the wind blew hard. It wasn't cold, it wasn't dry; it was just implacable, like a semi-solid wall pushing him back. He struggled forward against it, but the boy could hardly keep to his feet. Suddenly his hand slipped away— and the boy realized he had been holding his father's hand. The wind nearly lifted him from the ground, pushing him backwards, backwards, backwards. He barely heard his father call to him, "Just remember, son: remember..."

He started up in his bed, breathing heavily. The room settled down into familiar patterns as the boy tried to remember what it was his father wanted him to remember. He looked around the quiet room, awash in moonlight and the dim, friendly glow of the nightlight. The same toys, the same clothes, some of the same books; they tried to make it as familiar as possible. They even included the night-light that looked like a funny little goblin with a cheery smile and glowing eyes. But in this bedroom, the night-light happened to be alive.

The conquest was over. It had been a surprisingly long struggle, but the wizards finally battered down the last resistance and firmly established their rule over the Muggles. Then, in a move that nobody had expected, the Ministry of Magic started courting and cultivating any young Muggle they found who had even the slightest gifting in magic. Those wizards who placed high value on "pure blood" wizard families were outraged, but after much heated argument, and a few spectacular duels and small conflicts, the decision was enforced: anybody with magic was to be brought under the auspices (and therefore, under the control) of the Ministry. If the Muggles objected to their children being thus cultivated, the children were removed from their influence and placed as fosterlings in wizard households. This brought some interesting issues to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"I'd rather not go to Hogwarts, sir."

Mr. Gulder wasn't completely surprised. Since he'd taken in this Muggle fosterling... No, he reminded himself, this boy isn't a Muggle: he has magic. That was the whole reason the Gulders had been asked to foster him. But ever since then, this boy had steadfastly resisted almost every attempt to develop his gift. Now he stood in Gulder's study, resolute as only an 11-year-old boy can be, but still maintaining a respectful attitude. Ah, well, thought Gulder, let's have another go at it.

"But think of all the fun you can have there, Chrys. It's a first-rate school, it has the finest teachers, and I can tell you, wizarding can be wonderfully exciting."

The boy seemed unconvinced. "I was taught that wizardry can be dangerous," he said.

"Anything can be dangerous, boy. Look at it this way: even your parents'... philosophy... said you should develop the talents and skills that you have. There's no doubt that you have magic: you've seen it and so have I. So by your own philosophy you should develop it."

"My philosophy, as you call it, also says that magic is destructive, is wicked, and should be avoided. I don't want to get caught up with demons just because it's exciting at the beginning."

Now it was Gulder's turn to get annoyed. "Oh, bosh! Demons, demons, demons; are you still caught in that old nonsense? Yes, there are spirits that are rather nasty, but most wizards avoid them. Your people are always so quick to accuse us of working with demons. I tell you, that's all a lot of rot!"

"Not from what I've seen of the wizarding world," pursued Chrys, relentlessly. "Taking children away from their parents, hexing and ridiculing people who don't agree with wizarding policies, murdering people they can't intimidate… You're just as petty, just as rude, just as wicked as Muggles, only you've got magic to force your way on people. If that's not demonic activity then I don't know what is."

Mr. Gulder mentally sighed. Some of these Muggle children were incredibly well-indoctrinated. He decided to use the strong-arm approach. "Chrysophylax, who won the war?"

The boy flushed with indignation. It was hard enough to get used to a new name (one of the re-education methods set down by the Wizard's Council), but that name: so similar, yet so different... Then he took a deep breath to calm himself. "The wizards won, sir."

"Exactly. So regardless of how nice your parents' religion was," and here Mr. Gulder spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, "It is now irrelevant." He paused to let that sink in, then resumed in a more friendly tone. "I admit we wizards aren't perfect: we have problems just like everybody else. But if you look honestly at the history of your own religion you'll have to admit many of them did worse things than the crimes you just listed. The sooner you forget those old ideas, the better off you'll be. Besides, there'll be plenty of other youngsters like you at Hogwarts who are just discovering their talents."

"Yes, sir," answered Chrys glumly. Choose your battles, he told himself. You can learn things without believing them. Besides, Father promised he'd never completely leave you alone. As long as you remember him, you can be strong. Maybe... and here Chrys smiled just a little... maybe your new name could be a reminder. It is similar, you know. And Dad has a quite sense of humor...

"Please, sir, where did the name 'Chrysophylax' come from?"

Mr. Gulder reflected that this boy changed topics faster than a Boggart in a crowd. He looked sharply at Chrys, but detected no insolence or belligerence behind the question, and Gulder was very good at reading people. Gulder realized that he rather enjoyed Chrys' respectful curiosity. This boy might get on well at Hogwarts.

"Let me see," he said, "the first I heard it was in the days of Vortigern."

Chrys gasped in open-mouthed astonishment. Gulder noticed him, paused in confusion, then went on almost peevishly, "Well I wasn't there myself, of course. I read it in my history."

Chrys blushed, then giggled in embarrassment. Soon Gulder himself started chuckling. "I guess it did rather sound like I'd been there, didn't it? Ha, ha, ha! Do I really look that old, you young scamp?"

Chrys tried to reply several times, but was always overcome by laughter. Finally he gasped out, "No sir. I mean, well, I wasn't sure, sir." Then they both dissolved into laughter again.

"Well, as I intended to say," resumed Gulder, when they both could breathe calmly again, "The first I encountered the name was in my history book. Chrysophylax Dives was a dragon, and I remember thinking the name had a good, solid cadence to it. Then somewhere in the late 1100s a wizard by that name did a lot of development in the field of Alchemy. There may have been one or two others, but those are the two I remember."

"A dragon and an alchemist. Well, I rather like it, sir. It's uncommon, but not unusable."

"Hear, hear!" said Gulder. "Now, run along for a bit, there's a good chap. I've got some work to do."

Chrys went out into the back yard, and was soon half way up the old elm tree.

Being a foster-parent, Gulder realized anew, brought up all sorts of interesting questions. They started on the very first day with the most common situation in the world (common, but now not quite common): how should Chrys address them? "Father" and "Mother" were too dear, too recently lost. "Mr. Gulder" and "Mrs. Gulder" were entirely too formal, and no matter what the modern generation thought, Gulder held no truck with children addressing their elders by their given names. "Uncle" and "Aunt" seemed to be comfortable for everyone, and so it was decided. He smiled as he remembered now Chrys had discovered a facet of their two names that he and his wife had never noticed: Albrecht and Althea both began with the syllable "Al", and Chrys was delighted at having an Uncle Al and an Aunt Al. Laughter is so important, Gulder realized, and it's a good thing we all seem to have a good store of it on tap.

"Whatever was all that laughter about, Brick?" asked Mrs. Gulder as she came into the study. "From the boy's expression when he went in, I expected an argument."

"So did I, dear," said Gulder. "Fortunately Chrys seems to be a rather mature fellow. I'm not certain I've convinced him, but I think he's accepting the fact that he's a wizard-- at least, for the moment."

"Well, he's young still, and that's a mercy. But out with it now: what were you two cackling about? I chuckled just to hear you."

Gulder smiled again at the memory of the moment. "Well, you know how I sometimes say things not quite the right way? He asked me where we got his name, Chrysophylax. So I said something about hearing it in the time of Vortigern. I meant that I'd read about it in my history, of course, but he thought I'd actually been there! The young scamp! Now I ask you, Thea: Do I really look 1200 years old?"

Althea's eyes started dancing with amusement. "Of course not! I should have guessed 1300 at the very least!" She sat on the couch laughing as he howled in mock anguish. "And no wonder you're such a slow-coach! Here and I thought it was just laziness!" she went on. "Just wait until I notify the Daily Prophet on your next birthday. 'Local wizard, Albrecht Gulder, celebrated his 1301st birthday this year, with his remarkably young wife.' Won't that spark conversation at The Leaky Cauldron?"

"Old, am I?" he cried with mock ferocity, grabbing up a flower from the vase on the desk. "I'll show you who's old!"

Her eyes sparkled wickedly as Gulder came over and threatened her with a flower that suddenly growled and flexed its leaves angrily. She gestured, and it became a butterfly with a tiny crutch and a long beard. As the two wizards dueled each other, the poor flower changed this way and that way until finally it exploded into an egg which hatched, revealing a tiny dove which looked appealingly at them both, holding an olive branch in its beak. Gulder's guffaws mingled with his wife's shrieks of laugher as he sank onto the couch next to her.

"Ah, me!" she said finally. "I haven't laughed so hard in ever so long. Chrys has certainly been good for us. I'm so glad we volunteered to foster him, Brick. It's almost..." she paused, and then sighed.

Gulder put his arm around his wife's shoulder as she looked at the picture on the bookshelf. The picture of a young man grinned broadly at them and waved his O.W.L.s in triumph. After a moment, he said quietly, "I know, dear. It's almost like having Rand back again."

Thea put her head against his shoulder, and held his other hand in her lap. Brick hugged her gently.

"No," she said, but not moving, "I'm not going to cry. We've got to move on."

"Yes," he answered, "but we'll not forget him, either."

"Of course not," she said, and then she sat up. "Perhaps that's why we get on with Chrys so well. We've all experienced the loss of loved ones."

Brick sighed a little. "Were we right to tell him about his parents?"

"Definitely," said Thea. "Most children aren't as delicate as all that. I'm not saying they shouldn't be protected, but the truth is always better than some cover-up. It's best to know the truth, and then you can get on with your life. After the first two days with him I knew he needed the truth and that he could handle it."

"Althea," he said, looking squarely into her eyes, "You are the most wonderful woman I have ever known. I'm so glad you did most of the talking when we told Chrys. I could have gotten the job done, of course, but you had just the right balance of compassion and honesty."

"I treated him the way I should want to be treated," she replied. "But you are the foundation I stood on, Albrecht. Deep loss can teach one how to help another through their loss, but I would never have survived my own loss without your support and love."

The elm tree was a splendid place in which to think. Chrys had always been a climber, and the moment he saw the tree he knew he'd have to climb it. From the second branch he could look into his bedroom window. From the fourth branch he could see the entire yard and the woods nearby. The vista from the sixth branch included the hill in the woods on one side and the stream meandering a quarter of a mile away on the other side. The early afternoon sun was reflected in the stream, so Chrys looked toward the cool, inviting woods. It almost seemed that a light jump would take him to the woods…

"No!" he scolded himself, "That's what got me into this mess in the first place!"

Yes, he'd always been a climber. Well, alright; it was more than that. He'd always been able to scamper around in the trees like a squirrel— but couldn't everybody? How was he to know? Well, alright; when he was five or six it began to dawn on him that everyone wasn't able to do that. But nobody said it was that unusual.

But it was. It was magic. Even though he'd never told anybody about it, he'd known it was magic ever since IT happened. When he was six Chrys had climbed a tree in the woods near his home. He'd scurried up a tree on a windy day, away up near the top. Only holding on with one hand he had swung around in the tree pretending he was on a ship tossed in a storm. Suddenly the branch broke beneath him and his hand slipped, but instead of crashing through the branches to the ground he found himself on another branch in a tree twenty feet away.

"And now I'm here with the Gulders, and I'm going to be packed off to some school to learn witchcraft. Father, how could you let this happen?"

The warm wind blew gently, rocking the branch on which Chrys was sitting. Puffy clouds wandered past, apparently unaffected by the philosophical quandary occupying an elm branch below them. One group of clouds looked like a mountain range, and Chrys started humming a tune, inspired by the magnificent view before him. He felt uplifted. Almost without thinking he began to sing: "I sing the mighty power of…" A door in his mind closed. Chrys stopped, cocking his head in curiosity. Why had he stopped? No, he hadn't stopped: he had been stopped. As the pondered, Chrys remembered hearing something whispered to the Gulders the night he'd been delivered to their home, something about a memory charm… and past associations. Apparently this song included something the charm didn't like.

Chrys frowned. Nobody likes to have their mind tampered with, and annoyance gripped Chrys' stomach. He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could to break through that door. "I SING THE MIGHTY POWER OF… OF…" It was no use. He knew what the next word must be, but he could not pronounce it. After five minutes he gave up, and slouched against the bole of the tree, pouting. "I hate the wizards! I hate their wicked magic! I hate their stupid charm! Dad, how could you let this happen!?"

Quietly, the idea of a challenge blossomed in his mind. He had just spoken to Father out loud and the charm had allowed it. So, that was it! Alright then, he'd just fish around and find the limits of this charm. Soon he had found a key that opened an entire verse of the song, which he rebelliously sang out loud:

"I sing the mighty power of Him
Who made the mountains rise,
Who spread the flowing seas abroad
And built the lofty skies.
I sing the Wisdom that ordained
The sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at His command
And all the stars obey!"

NOTES:

Vortigern – A British king who usurped the throne from the family of Uther Pendragon, Arthur's father. After Vortigern's death, the throne was restored to Arthur.

Chrysophylax Dives - See "Farmer Giles of Ham" by J.R.R. Tolkien