Welcome Back
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It's September second. School begins today.
Dobby and Pan are in the kitchens preparing for this evening's feast, and I am with Bib and a dozen other elves, making last minute arrangements to the student's dormitories.
This is Gryffindor tower. It's late afternoon, and within an hour the Hogwarts Express will pull into Hogsmeade with a load of wizarding teenagers. The Students.
We light the fire places, dust, make the beds with crisp fresh sheets, straighten the rugs and leave a hundred finishing touches before scurrying to the next dorm. Two for every year group, plus the common room of that certain house. The elves are working double time, popping constantly from one space to the next, and it is all I can do to keep up with them. Keep close to me, my shadow; you don't want to be left behind.
We finish Gryffindor tower and leave for the Ravenclaw dorms. The elves pop there but Bib walks with me so I don't get lost. The portrait doors open for me without a word; I have permission to go anywhere in the castle due to my position with the elves. So we hurry into the first year girl's dorm, and get on with our work.
~~~~~
The other elves in my unit deal with the students' luggage, and I have been sent to the kitchens to be kept out of their way. Dobby, Pan, and the others crowd around a large copper saucepan on the floor, listening intently. Voices come out of the pot, voices of the students enjoying their feast. I hear snatches of their conversations, discussing Quidditch teams, music, joking about their teachers. And it sounds like a foreign language to me.
The elves only tune in to certain words.
"Pass the salad will you?" Dozens of leathery ears prick up. "Oh, Sarah, did you have to finish that? I wanted some."
An elf squeaks and springs into action, laying her hands on a bowl of Caesar salad and popping it away.
"No I didn't, there's some right there," we hear from the saucepan.
A house elf's greatest compliment is not to be noticed. Sarah's friend takes a serving from the new bowl and doesn't realise what has just happened. The elf responsible beams and the others look at her with admiration.
Why is it that other races do not appreciate such little things so much? Elves are so familiar to me but I still do not understand the wherefores of their actions.
~~~~~
Night.
Around me the castle is welcoming back the children it has missed. Laughter, whispers, chattering voices seep throughout the stone and trickle down the pipes. I lie here in my bed, trying not to hear them.
I want to hear my brother.
I miss my brother.
How can I miss someone I have never seen?
Curling on my side, wrapping my arms around the astounding softness of the pillow, I shut my eyes.
He's sleeping. In a huge bed with green curtains he sprawls, dreaming of simple things. Sky. Wind. Flying.
The impression is faint and brief, but the after image is burned into my mind's eye.
My twin.
I smile into the pillow. Sleep now, my shadow. It's all right.
~~~~~
Boys are so messy. After only one day his uniform is covered in grass and dirt stains, cobwebs, burn marks and odd coloured spots from spilled potions. I pick up a shirt from where its owner dropped it last night. The crest of the lion holds my gaze me with challenging eyes.
Quickly I shove it into my bag. And it disappears. Most elf magic seems to be involved with warping space, so whatever goes in this bag will suddenly be in the laundry.
After all the dirty clothes are away, I turn to making the beds. By the time the boys return here after their morning classes, everything will be clean and tidy and ready for them to mess up again.
The sheets are still warm. And they tingle with what I'm becoming accustomed to in this place - magic. Pure magic. Who slept here? I look at the trunk at the foot of the bed; the initials read HP.
Hmm. I should know that name.
But there is a task at hand here. I pull up the sheets, tuck them in, straighten the coverlet and shake out the pillows. But I stop as I feel something solid beneath the feather softness.
Hello, what's this? A stick? As long as from the crook of my elbow to the end of my fingers, a smooth stick of . . . holly. A wand.
I hold it in one hand, curling fingers around the handle. It's warm. The tingle is so sharp as to almost make me bleed. What was it my brother did in that dream of the duel? Slowly I raise the wand in front of my face, then with a swift motion I sweep it down and to the right. A sharp turn and -
I freeze.
There is a boy in the doorway.
House elf instinct says to run away, and slam my head against a wall for my misconduct. Fortunately the Malfoy in me wins, and I stay, holding my head up and my back straight.
The boy frowns at me, green eyes behind circular glasses, a mop of thick black hair and . . . a scar.
HP. This is his wand I hold.
This is the boy my brother hates, the figure in red who always catches that golden sparkle.
"Who are you?" he demands.
Silently I hold out his wand to him, handle first. Quickly he takes it, and holds it before him as if to curse me.
"Who are you?" he asks again. Warring sides of me tell me to answer obediently, or give a snide comment then leave.
"Leila," I say quietly, not daring to say more.
"What are you doing here?"
"Cleaning."
Confusion. "The house elves do that."
"I work with them."
He lowers his wand. Some of the tingle goes out of the air. How am I going to get out of this?
"Oh." He tucks the smooth holly into a loop in his belt, and makes to leave with some mumbled apology for interrupting me and an excuse about returning to class.
"Wait, sir?"
He looks back. "Harry. My name's Harry."
"Please don't tell anyone you saw me, uh, Harry," the house elf influence shows. "Professor Dumbledore would be upset. It's safest if no one knows about me."
The boy nods, not understanding but willing to comply for the sake of the headmaster.
"Okay. Um, bye then Leila."
He closes the door behind him. I sink to the floor and try to remember to breathe.
~~~~~
I don't usually thank reviewers but I have to this time. You've made me very happy. Thankyou.