Untouched and long cold, a cup of tea sat on a silver tray in the middle of an antique desk covered with scrolls and bits of parchment. The room, filled entirely with tapestries, paintings, ostentatious furniture, and expensive ornamentation, bespoke wealth and prosperity. But the only present occupant spared no glance for the luxury around him. He was an old man, pale, with snowy white hair, and appeared quite fragile, but for his piercing and intelligent eyes. He knelt on the floor, the sleeves of his robe hitched up and a piece of chalk in hand, with which he painted lines and strange symbols on the dark wood, all the while murmuring half-audibly to himself. Several times he stood up to survey his work from afar, only to quickly return and append further strokes.
At last, however, he seemed satisfied. He lifted his wand and began to speak a complicated incantation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, out of the center where the lines intersected, water began to leak out, more and more, spreading itself across the floor but leaving the chalk marks curiously undisturbed. The old man sighed and shook his head. He stepped over to the desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and began to scribble down notes, only looking up when the water flowed over his feet. Water continued to bubble up out of the floor, sloshing against the luxurious furnishings and the drenched carpets and curtains.
"Go, I say! Go on your way, do not tarry, water carry, let it flow abundantly, and prepare a bath for me!"* murmured the old man. He laughed quietly, as if at a joke. A movement of his wand stopped the flow of the water and another wave vanished the flood entirely. Everything was completely dry and unharmed, as if the deluge had never been.
The old man let himself sink down onto the armchair in front of the desk. For a moment he regarded the parchment on the table before him contemplatively. Then he pushed it firmly to the side and reached for his tea. He tapped the cup once with his wand to heat it up again and took in hand a stack of newspapers that had lain beside the tray. He leafed through the stack until he found his quarry, a newspaper by the name of The Daily Prophet. Sipping at his tea in satisfaction, he leaned back, shook it open and began to read.
At last an article aroused particular attention. Charlus Potter Meets the Minister of Magic read the headline. Under it was a moving, black and white picture of Cornelius Fudge and a small, dark-haired boy of perhaps six or seven years. The old man gazed at the child in the photo with a smile. Then he began to laugh.
Harry was hunting for dragons. Armed with a sword (a stick) and a shield (a pot lid) he slunk along the shade of the fruit trees. Well, at least he attempted to do so. It was hardly his fault that the shoes he wore were much too big for him. But a true knight wouldn't be thwarted by something like that!
Carefully, Harry peeked out from behind the trunk of an apple tree. There was the dragon! With a wild cry and a swinging sword (stick), Harry sprang out from his hiding place. "Fight, beast! I'll beat you and save the Lady!"
Gawain, his father's long-eared owl, played his role without much enthusiasm. He opened his eyes lethargically and blinked at Harry from his branch. He did not seem inclined to battle with Harry; instead, he turned his back demonstratively.
"Oh come on!" Harry called, somewhat disappointed, tapping his stick half-heartedly against the trunk. The owl did not react. Harry looked around hopefully for some other opponent, but nothing moved in the summer heat. Only the "Lady," the Potter's old black and white cat came to weave about his legs, purring. With a sigh the boy sat down at the base of the tree trunk and stroked her fur. The cat laid her head on his lap with satisfaction. She really was a grumpy old hag whom no one could properly tolerate after Lily's death, but she had a weakness for Harry.
For a small while Harry was content with the world. Here outside in the garden, alone with the animals for company, he was happy and free. It wasn't that he was bad off otherwise, but sometimes he wished for… more. He wished that his father saw him, was interested in him the way he was in Charlus. He wished that somebody would be interested in him. Not that he was envious of Charlus's role as the savior of the wizarding world! Oh, no, that, on the other hand, would be too much attention for Harry's tastes. Actually, he couldn't really put a finger on what was missing. He only had the nebulous feeling that something in his life was not as it should be.
"Harry!"
The silence was broken abruptly by Charlus's voice. A moment later Harry's twin brother came around the corner. Lady jumped up, hissing and spitting. The cat did not like anybody other than Harry, but she seemed to really hate Charlus. Harry had never understood why. As far as he knew, Charlus had never given her any reason to, and she had even forgiven Harry for pulling on her tail once. With lightning speed the cat clawed up the tree and sat staring down at Charlus mistrustfully. He barely even spared her a glance.
"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" Charlus whinged, "I'm bored. Dad hasn't got any time for me because Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus are there." Unlike Harry, Charlus had problems keeping himself busy.
"Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus!" Harry cried happily. He liked both of them, especially Uncle Peter, who was the only one who seemed to really be interested in Harry.
"Yeah, but they haven't got any time either." Charlus said. "What're you doing right now? I want to play too!"
"I'm not doing anything." replied Harry truthfully. He hoped that Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus would stay until dinner.
"Then I'll decide what we play." declared Charlus imperiously.
Harry only shrugged. He'd learned, in the course of time, that it was better to let Charlus do what he wanted and not to argue with him. His brother was always right, anyway.
At first glance the two boys looked nearly identical. Both had dark, ruffled hair, though Harry's grew perhaps even more wildly and disorderedly. Harry had also inherited the green eyes of his mother, while Charlus's eyes had gotten darker and more brownish, and unlike Charlus, Harry needed glasses, just like his father. There was also another difference, though one most people hardly noticed: under the mass of black hair on Harry's forehead one could find a thin scar shaped rather like a lightning-bolt.
"Let's play… knights and dragons!" Charlus decided after some contemplation. Harry felt a small smile tug at his lips. Maybe this would be fun after all. He surreptitiously picked up his stick again.
"You're the dragon." he told Charlus, before his twin could suggest otherwise. "I was the dragon last time." Harry added in his defense. Charlus frowned for a moment before shrugging and grinning boisterously again.
"Well all right. But you'd better watch out!" Charlus rubbed his hands together before stretching them out like wings and arching his back. Taking a deep breath, he scrunched up his nose and then let out a loud, rather convincing roar. Harry grabbed his shield off of the ground and held it up in front of him.
"Come forth and do battle, beast!" Harry called, lifting his sword heroically. Charlus laughed and gave another ferocious roar. Harry charged with his stick, slashing it in front of him and hitting Charlus in the leg.
"Ow! You'll pay for that!" Charlus cried, jumping and tackling Harry, whose shield tumbled out of his hand as he tripped backwards. He tried to employ his stick to better use, but Charlus managed to wrest it out of his hand and thwack him rather ineffectually on the skull with it. "I win!" he declared. Harry stuck out his tongue and pushed his brother off of him.
"How come you win?" Charlus always won, which was annoying. Harry had thought that being the knight would give him an advantage!
"I stabbed you!" To demonstrate, Charlus sat up and jabbed the stick several times into the air. "So you're dead."
"But you're the dragon!" Harry protested. "Dragons don't use swords. They breathe fire."
Charlus threw the stick down and turned to Harry. He reached out with his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Roar! There. I roasted you." he concluded. Harry stuck out his tongue again.
"Fine." He was slightly annoyed that Charlus had won again, but he quickly forgot about it as he and his brother lay on the grass companionably, staring up at the cloudy sky.
"What do we do now?" Charlus demanded, sitting up and leaning over Harry, who frowned. He did not really want to do much of anything at all.
"Dunno." he said. Charlus looked quite impatient, however, so he sat up and suggested, "Why don't we go see if Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus are done?"
"And Dad." Charlus added, "Well, come on; what are you waiting for?" as if it were all his idea in the first place. He grabbed Harry's arm and made for the house at a run, dragging his poor twin behind him. At the last moment Harry managed to collect his shield, which he figured his dad would be wanting back, before he was forced to hurry after Charlus to avoid something unfortunate, like dismemberment.
They nearly ran into Uncle Peter at the screen door. He pulled it aside and ushered the boys inside, where Charlus let go of Harry to pester their dad—"Come on Dad, let's play Exploding Snap." Harry hated playing Exploding Snap, because his eyebrows always seemed to take the brunt of the singeing, so he was glad to be left out.
"Uncle Peter, what's that?" Harry asked innocently, though he had a good idea of what it was. Every time he visited, Uncle Peter would bring Harry and Charlus something nice, like a quill with a pretty feather or bar of Honeydukes chocolate. Uncle Peter smiled deviously and put his hands behind his back to hide the package from sight.
"What's what?"
"That!" Harry insisted, pointing at Uncle Peter's naval. Frowning, he tried to move behind the man, but was thwarted soundly as Uncle Peter turned to match his steps. Finally, Uncle Peter relented and threw his hands up in mock defeat. He stared at the small, paper-wrapped package in his hand as if in great surprise.
"Oh, that!" he cried, scratching his head exaggeratedly. "I seem to have forgotten! Looks like you'll have to open it up and see." he said, holding out his hand. Harry took it eagerly, giggling slightly. Uncle Peter was funny.
There had to be some kind of sticking charm on the wrapping, because Harry couldn't pry it apart the way he liked to. Giving up that method, he instead decided to just rip the paper up. Now he was met with success. A strip of brown came off, revealing something shiny and silver underneath. Intrigued, Harry dug his fingers further under the opening he'd made and widened the hole, before he managed to divest his present of its shell. He stared at the silver thing for a few moments.
"What is it?" he finally asked, looking up at Uncle Peter with some confusion. It was pretty and it shined in the sunlight, but Harry had never seen anything like it before. The curved surface was cool and smooth to the touch, and there was a small spout coming out of the top.
Uncle Peter held out his hand again and Harry obligingly gave him the object. He turned it upside down and, to Harry's amazement, small white flakes began to fall out of the opening.
"That's snow." Harry said. He had no idea how snow could come out of a strange silver teapot-thing, but it was quite exciting.
"That's right, Harry. But look at this." Uncle Peter winked at him, righting the contraption before rubbing its base furiously. Harry looked on in rapt interest. Then Uncle Peter turned it over again and water came out, splashing into a puddle on the wooden flooring. It kept coming out, and Harry knew the tiny bulb couldn't possibly hold that much water. It was amazing. With a wave of Peter's wand, the water on the floor vanished.
"Wow." said Harry. Uncle Peter gave him the teapot thing again, smiling.
"My… friend made it for you." Uncle Peter said, his smile wavering slightly. Harry's head nodded excitedly.
"Wow, Uncle Peter, your friend must be really smart." he said. Uncle Peter looked puzzled for a moment. Then he nodded back.
"Of course. You'll take good care of it, won't you?" Harry thought Uncle Peter sounded a bit nervous, and he quickly moved to reassure him.
"Yeah! I will. I'll keep it on my shelf and I'll keep it shiny." he confirmed. "Thank you so much. And your friend!' Uncle Peter smiled again.
"I'm glad you like it. Now stay good for me, Harry, all right? I have to talk to your dad about something before I leave."
"Leave? You're going already?" Harry protested. Uncle Peter gave him a sympathetic wince.
"Sorry. I have to go to work." he said.
"Aww, fine." Harry replied, watching him walk back towards the kitchen, where he could hear periodic explosions and boisterous laughter from his dad and Charlus. Looking around the hall and even the upstairs, Harry couldn't find Uncle Remus anywhere, and concluded with disappointment that he had probably left already.
When Harry approached the kitchen again, he saw Charlus standing outside, looking rather focused.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, but Charlus put a finger to his mouth and pointed at the door. Harry could hear the faint sound of voices. He gave Charlus a disapproving glare, but moved closer to listen anyway. He felt somewhat guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn't his fault that his dad and Uncle Peter hadn't put up a silencing charm, right? Whatever they were talking about probably wasn't very important anyway.
"…need it for a couple of days. I'll have it back by Friday, I promise."
"I don't know… what if we're attacked by Death Eaters, Peter? Charlus needs all the protection he can get."
"Prongs, are you an Order member or not? I know you can… it's … least escape…"
Harry jumped as Charlus grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. "I'm bored." he said.
"I thought you wanted to listen?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat annoyed. He wanted to know what Uncle Peter and his dad were talking about! It didn't sound that exciting, granted, but he was sure that Uncle Peter was trying to borrow something from Dad, and now Harry really wanted to hear what exactly it was that was being borrowed.
"It's just adult stuff." Charlus protested. Harry sighed. He supposed his twin was right. "Anyway, I wanted to show you this." said Charlus. He pulled a miniature figurine of a dragon out of his pocket. It stood on two hind legs and was a bottle green colour. Harry gave a murmur of awe at the sight of it.
"That's cool. Where'd you get it?" he asked. Charlus grinned.
"Uncle Peter gave it to me." he said. Harry felt an ambivalent twist in his gut for a moment. Then he told himself he was being silly. He had seen those dragon figurines on sale in the Diagon Alley toy shop window before. But Peter had gotten him that shiny teapot thing, which his friend had made. It was special, and very magical. Yes, his own present was better than Charlus's.
Staring at the dragon, though, Harry decided that perhaps Charlus would think the same thing. Charlus liked dragons, and had a lot of models and posters in his room, but that just meant the figurine probably wasn't that important to him. What if he liked Harry's present better? Uncle Peter never got them the same thing, and sometimes he and Charlus traded, usually at Charlus's insistence, though Harry hardly minded when he got fun toys or chocolate in exchange for pumpkin pasties, which he didn't have the heart to tell Uncle Peter he didn't really like.
"What did Uncle Peter get you?" Charlus asked him now. Harry contemplated saying nothing, but he thought that would be suspicious. So he showed Charlus the silver teapot thing. "What is it?" Charlus asked, mirroring Harry's own question.
"I don't know." Harry lied. "It looks nice, though."
"Yeah." Charlus agreed, but quickly went back to his charmed dragon. It was obvious which gift he liked more. Harry smiled, glad that he would be keeping his special present.
The door opened, and their dad came out, Uncle Peter following after him. They disappeared up the stairs, and then came back a few minutes later. Harry expected to have to look closely to see what Peter was borrowing, but when he passed by it became obvious—the invisibility cloak! Charlus used to use it to prank Harry, but had stopped once Harry was no longer impressed at his twin's ability to appear out of thin air or say "boo" next to his ear.
"Thanks Prongs. I'll have it back by Friday, promise." Peter said as he left. "Bye Harry, Charlus." He went out the door and turned on his heal, disappearing with a loud crack. Dad remained there on the doorstep, staring into space.
"See, it was boring." Charlus told Harry. "Let's play Exploding Snap again." he said, grabbing Harry's hand and running to poke their dad in the leg. "Dad, Dad, Exploding Snap."
"Huh?" Their dad blinked before closing the door and looking down, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. "Right. I'm going to beat you this time." he said playfully, racing Charlus back into the kitchen. Harry looked after them.
"I'd rather not play…" he said, though they were already out of sight. He shrugged, and then started as something slunk between his legs. "Lady!" he exclaimed, bending down to pick up the cat. She must have come in through the open screen door. The cat purred as he stroked her back. Harry climbed the stairs carefully and went to his room, the one at the end of the hall, shifting Lady under one arm. He took Uncle Peter's present out of his pocket and reached to put it up on the shelf that had been nailed to the wall above his side table. Lady hissed at him and jumped out of his grip, backing to the door.
"Hey, what is it?" he asked, but the cat only continued to stare at the teapot thing balefully. Harry shrugged. Maybe she could sense the water inside it. He knew Lady didn't like water at all. "Don't worry, Lady, it won't hurt you." he said, setting it on the shelf. Harry sat down on his bed and patted the spot beside him. Reluctantly, the cat came nearer and then jumped onto the bed, curling up and still eyeing the spot on the shelf distrustfully. Even Harry's petting did not distract her from it.
* A quote from Goethe's poem, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice."