Chapter 10
There were no more threats to the children after Sirius became the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and Remus appointed himself the Head of School Security. Albus Dumbledore could hardly complain about being forced to allow the two Marauders to stay at the school. He was on thin ice with the Board of Governors, and the security they were providing was helping him to restore his own security as Headmaster. And Sirius was the best Defense teacher the school had seen in many years.
For Harry, it was a very good year. Griffindor not only won the House Cup, but the Quidditch Cup as well. Oliver Wood, the team's captain, was so grateful that Harry took to hiding behind the team's beaters, Fred and George Weasley, afraid that Oliver was going to try to kiss him.
Harry's parents, grandparents, and godparents were at every Quidditch match, and his mother always brought him his favorite chocolate biscuits, which he shared with the other Griffindors.
At one time, he had thought that he could not be happier than when he was in the Elven Realm with his family, but over the past year, he had made friendships and had experiences that he had never imagined before. He had learned much about the Wizarding World and the magic that was quite different from what he had learned from his parents. He had also begun to fit in better, although he refused to allow Lavender Brown to cut his hair. However, he still allowed her to braid it every morning.
When the day finally arrived, Harry took his first ride on the Hogwart's Express, even though it would have been much easier for his father to have taken him back to the Elven Realm through a portal in the Forbidden Forest. However, Harry wanted to ride with his friends, so Sirius and Remus met him at King's Cross Station and they used the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron to floo to Remus's cottage.
But no matter how much he had enjoyed his year at Hogwarts, the night he returned home to the Elven Realm, he realized just how much he had missed it. His people welcomed him home that evening with a celebration. He sat with his friends at supper and told them about his experiences in the Wizarding World. Afterwards, he was invited into the circle to tell the story of his victory over the troll and his possessed professor who had the Dark Wizard's face on the back of his head.
Being away for 10 months had not lessened his abilities at storytelling. The tale was both frightening and funny. As he acted the part of the stuttering Professor Quirrell in his purple turban, his audience wiped tears of mirth from their laughing faces.
That night, as he snuggled beneath his furs, he was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the forest and the breathing of his parents who lay just an arm-length away. And he realized that this was where he felt secure and loved. This was where his heart was. No matter what happened in the future, no matter how far he traveled, this was the place he would always return to. This was home.
Harry Potter was a very happy boy.
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Summer 1992"Daka, why can't we use real swords? Why do we have to practice with these wooden ones?" Harry asked for the hundredth time that day, it seemed.
Mithrael sighed and leaned on his own wooden sword. "Sethrael, how many times have you asked me that same question?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know."
"Why do you continue to ask a question you already know the answer to?"
He shrugged again.
"Seth?"
Harry sighed heavily. "Because it's the nearest thing to whining that I'm allowed to do without getting into trouble."
Mithrael laughed at the honest though unexpected answer. "I suppose that answer is as good as any other. Why don't you answer the question yourself? What is the reason that we practice with wooden swords rather than with real ones?"
"Because I could get injured or cause an injury with the real sword until I develop the skill to use it," he quoted mechanically.
"Ten point to Griffindor," Mithrael said, lightening the mood and causing his son to laugh. "Now, do you want to continue practicing, or shall we do as your Methara asked and gather the herbs she wanted?"
"Practice," Harry said, grinning, and Mithrael once again raised his wooden sword.
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In a large mansion in Wiltshire, Draco knocked on the door of his father's study.
"Come," he heard his father call from inside the room.
Draco opened the door and entered the large room. His father was seated at his desk, writing in one of his journals. "What is it, Draco?"
"Father, may I ask you a question?"
His father put the quill in a holder, dried the ink on the parchment with his wand, and closed the journal. "What do you want to ask me?" he said, giving his son his full attention and pointing to a chair.
Draco sat where his father had indicated. "Who is Tom Riddle?" he asked.
His father frowned. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Someone at school told me that it was the name of the Dark Lord before he changed it."
Lucius hesitated and watched his son closely as if trying to read his thoughts. "Who was the person who told you this?"
"It was someone who—"
His father raised an eyebrow, and Draco sighed. "It was Harry Potter."
His father nodded as if the answer was the one he had been expecting. "Draco, you must never say that name. It would be very dangerous if the wrong person heard you. It could cost you your life."
The boys face drained of what little color he had. "Why?" he whispered fearfully. "Is it true, then?"
"Yes, but very few people know that they are the same person."
"And it's true that he's a halfblood?"
Lucius eyes widened. "What did you say?"
"Harry Potter told us that the Dark Lord's father was a Muggle—that his name was also Tom Riddle, but that his mother was a witch."
Lucius shook his head. "That's something you must never repeat."
"So, it's not true, then?"
"I—" Lucius leaned back in his chair and stared down at his desk thoughtfully. "I don't know. Queen Thespa has said so. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but more than likely, it is true." He looked up at his son. "But, Draco, you must never repeat that. If the Dark Lord returns, those are the most dangerous words that you could possibly utter."
Draco stared at his father in horror. "He's going to return?"
"Queen Thespa has said so, and I have never known her to be wrong."
"What are we going to do, Father?"
"We are not going to do anything, Draco. You are going to forget what you heard and let me handle it."
"Can't we go live with the Elves? Your aunt is the Queen. We could stay with her in her palace."
Lucius laughed. "Palace! Draco, Elves don't live in palaces. They don't even live in houses. They wear animal skins and sleep on the ground."
"Harry Potter and his parents wore silks and gold when he arrived at Hogwarts," he argued.
"Those are ceremonial clothes, only taken out of a cave for special occasions. They bathe in the river, Draco. They hunt for food and gather wild vegetables. They don't use wands; they use bows and arrows. Everything they own is carried in pouches on their belts or in a quiver on their backs."
"But, you lived there!"
"I didn't live there, Draco. I spent time there with my mother when I was a child. It is not a life that you or your mother could easily adjust to. You're used to being waited on by house elves and having everything you want. There, if you want to eat, you have to work for it. You would not last a day in the Elven Realm."
Draco frowned. "You did."
His father smiled slightly. "I survived it."
"You must have hated it."
"Actually, Draco, it was the only happy part of my childhood."
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Harry followed his father out of the portal and into the woods behind the Burrow. After a short walk, he stopped to stare at the strange-looking building in awe. "Is that it, Daka?"
His father smiled. "That is it."
It reminded Harry of the only birthday cake that Sirius had ever made for him. It had been tall, lopsided, and haphazardly decorated. The middle had been raw and runny while the edges had been burned. It was Sirius's last attempt at baking. Remus made the cakes from then on.
"It's better than Hogwarts!" Harry said, and his father laughed. "Can we go in?"
"In the Wizarding World, it is customary to stand outside and knock on the opening. You must not go in unless you are invited."
Harry nodded. "May I knock on the opening, Daka?"
"Of course."
Harry and his father walked to the back door of the Burrow, and Harry knocked. A woman with red hair came to the opening. She wore an apron over her brightly colored robe.
"I am Harry Potter," he said. "And this is my father, Mithrael. We have come to see Ron, if it is convenient."
She smiled at them. "Of course it's convenient. Come in, and I'll call him." They followed her into a large kitchen with a table that would seat 20 people. "Sit down and I'll make some tea. Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast?"
"We are not hungry, but thank you," Mithrael said. "Tea would be appreciated, however."
Mrs. Weasley went to the foot of the stairs and hollered. "Ron! Harry is here to see you!" She then went to the kitchen and made the tea.
Ron bounced down the stairs and found Harry and his father seated at the table drinking tea and talking with Mrs. Weasley.
"Hey, Harry!" Ron said excitedly. "How did you get here?"
"We walked," Harry said.
Ron turned to Mithrael. "Hello, Mr. Po—I mean, Mr. Daka."
Harry and his father laughed. "Daka means Dad, Ron. My father's name is Mithrael. Elves do not have two names the way Wizards do."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mithrael," Ron said, his ears as red as his hair.
"It is just Mithrael, Ron," the Elf said, smiling. "And it is good to see you again."
"So, Harry, can you stay a while? Me and Ginny were—"
"Ginny and I," his mother corrected, and Ron rolled his eyes.
"Ginny and I were about to get our broomsticks and go to the orchard to toss the quaffle around."
Harry looked at his father, who nodded.
"Ginny!" Ron yelled up the stairs. "Come on! Harry's here!"
There was a loud pounding noise on the stairs as the twins made their way down. "Harry!" one of them called. "Just the gentleman we were hoping to see."
Harry eyed the twins suspiciously. He had been the victim of their pranks more often than he wished to remember. "Why were you hoping to see me?" he asked warily.
"Oh, no you don't!" Mrs. Weasley said. "You leave Harry alone while he's here. If you want to go to the orchard, get your broomsticks, but no pranks, and that's final."
The twins rolled their eyes.
"Hey, with Harry here, we could play 3 on 3," one twin said.
"If Percy will play," the other said.
"Percy!" they both called up the stairs. Harry wondered if anyone ever actually spoke without yelling in this house.
"What?" came Percy's annoyed voice from upstairs.
"Harry's here," George said.
"Come play quidditch with us," Fred added.
"Oh, all right," Percy called down after a moment. "I'll be right there."
Harry turned to his father. "Daka, will you watch us play?" he asked.
"Of course," he said, and then his gaze moved past Harry to something behind him. Harry turned to see what had caught his father's attention.
He had not heard her enter the kitchen, yet there she stood--a girl whose hair was the dark auburn color of his first mother's. It had been pulled back into a ponytail, but fine wisps had escaped in soft waves around her face. She wore a green blouse with shorts that had once been a pair of old jeans. But someone had cut them off above the knee, folded them into cuffs, and embroidered a simple pattern with light blue thread to keep the cuffs from unfolding. Her feet were bare, and her long legs and arms were tanned. Unlike her brother, she only had a few freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were large and the color of cinnamon. She reminded him of the woods—of cinnamon and peppermint--of warmth and fire. He could easily imagine her with a quiver of arrows on her back, bow in hand, running through the forest.
"You're—Ginny," he said softly.
She nodded. "You're Harry."
He nodded. "I play seeker for Griffindor," he said, suddenly feeling a great need to impress her. "I caught the snitch at every game."
"I know," she said. "I can play seeker, too, but I'm a better chaser."
"Do you—like to climb trees?"
She nodded.
"Me, too. I can climb to the highest branch of the highest tree in the forest."
"There's a huge tree in the woods behind our house. I bet you can't climb to the top of that."
"I bet I can."
"I bet I can beat you to the top."
"I bet you can't."
She took off running out the back door with Harry in hot pursuit.
Ron, who had been witnessing the interplay quietly, turned to his mother in confusion. The twins burst into laughter. Just then, Percy came down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Where are Harry and Ginny?" he asked. "I thought we were going to play quidditch."