For six years the kingdom of Weasley had experienced uninterrupted peace. Across the land citizens had celebrated bountiful harvests, many births, and no one went without. The feudal lords and peasants had coexisted harmoniously from the castle in Burrow, where the king and queen resided, to Hogwarts, the southernmost territory and the birthplace of Sir Dumbledore.
One of the many communities dotting the land rested between a large forest to the west and pastures to the east. The Honeyduke River emerged from the forest and ran east, marking the northern border of the farmlands. The great walled city, Godric's Hollow, was home to a thriving population. Serfs, peasants, artisans, and noblemen frequented the cobbled streets within the high stone walls. The Lord and Lady of the castle, inhabited for centuries by those of the House of Gryffindor, often walked among their people. Economic relations near and far were generally good and public disturbances were few.
One day, the last day of July, excitement and joy filled the castle. The birthday of young Harry, son of Lord James, an exalted knight, and Lady Lily, was being celebrated. The boy was a scamp, early to rise and eager to please, yet occasionally side tracked and always willing to try something new. Already in his few years he had managed to "borrow" his father's horse, climb to the near top of the tallest tree in the wood, and was often found wandering the castle in areas no one expected.
That morning he bounded from his bed before the servants entered the bed chamber. Still in his night dressings and neglecting even socks to cover his feet, Harry fled from the confines of his room. The pitter patter of his footfalls rebounded off the walls and faded away after his little body turned another corner.
"Good morning, Milly." A breathless Harry looked up from the doorway to the pudgy cook working behind a blackened stove.
The woman smiled. "Good morning, young sir. Up before the sun again I see." She moved away from her work space and reached for a pan that had been left to cool. "Still hot," she told him while carefully dumping out a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. As she pulled a long knife through the steaming bread, Harry's mouth began to water.
After sharing the small meal with his favourite servant of the castle, Harry returned to his room to begin the day properly. Two assistants entered minutes after Harry jumped back into bed. They dressed him in layers of red fabric with gold embroidery. He had a white collar beneath his seemingly over-gown and tight red stockings were the only thing covering the space between the upper stocks, the short trousers that scarcely covered the thighs, and pointy, black shoes. He was escorted through the halls of the castle to the Great Hall. Everyone he passed wished him a happy birthday before returning to their chores.
Breakfast with his parents was followed by an address to the people from the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the large open area within the protection of the walls and always filled with people milling about the market stalls. Harry then followed his father to the library where the senior Potter signed documents while Harry read from one of the many large texts. A light lunch followed and then a lesson in Latin. It was about the time that he was asked to translate "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus" that Harry noticed what a nice day it was outside.
Through the ceiling-high windows Harry watched many peasants laboring in the fields. Acres of crops such as wheat and potatoes were being cultivated by dozens of hard workers. To the left he noticed the gently flowing river that he imagined would be very refreshing on a warm day such as this. Twice already he had been caught trying to loosen the confines of his overdone outfit, only to be cinched back into the heavy ensemble.
There was an hour scheduled into Harry's day in which he was supposed to return to his room and prepare for supper. Halfway back to his chambers, he took a right where he should have gone straight. He wasn't questioned by anyone until he passed between the two men standing at the open front doors of the castle.
"Young master Harry," one acknowledged. As he spoke, his breath ruffled a thick mustache. "Where are you off to on your own so late in the day?"
Pulling himself up to his full height which he found helpful in such situations, Harry responded calmly, "I was told by my father to inspect the sturdiness of the front gates, to ensure we are properly defended."
Of course his father had said no such thing, but the two men chuckled happily and waved him off. "Do be careful, lad, and let us know if there are any imperfections."
With forced slowness, Harry walked the cobbled path to the portcullis. The wooden gate showed only the bottom most sharpened edges peeking out from the top of the archway. For a long time Harry likened them to the teeth of a monster, lying in wait for the right passerby. Though he had never seen the gate lowered, he skittered under the points and around the corner to the outside wall. Someone was already there.
Harry ran right into a wall of blonde hair. The girl didn't call out, but turned slowly to look at him. "Hello," she greeted him with a smile.
"My apologies," Harry said quickly. "I didn't realize anyone would be here." He took in her appearance. She was barefoot and wore a dull gray dress that fell to her ankles. Her hair was very pale and glinted a little in the sunshine. In her hands was a small bunch of multi-coloured wildflowers.
"Would you like one?" The girl asked, holding out a yellow flower. It had small thorns running up the stem and the petals were barely open. "I am gathering them for my mother," she went on, even though Harry hadn't asked. He reached out and took the stem from her, but suddenly felt that he ought to give her something in return. He reached into his pocket and pulled from it a kerchief of gold fabric. It lay in his outstretched hand for many seconds before she plucked it from his palm.
"This is very backwards, would you say?" She asked, smoothing out the fabric with her thumb. "Wouldn't a lady give her colours to a knight and he give her a flower?"
Harry was flabbergasted at her implication and blushed. "I'm not a knight," he stammered, looking at the ground.
"Nor am I a lady," she replied calmly, casting her blue eyes on him. "What is your name?"
Harry had never come across someone who didn't know his name before. "I am Harry Potter, son of James Potter of the House of Gryffindor." The well-practiced sentence rolled off his tongue with ease.
The girl nodded, "I thought so." There was no awe in her voice, though her eyes were very bright; Harry wondered if her eyes always sparkled like that. "My name is Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophelius. Our house has no name, but we live just there." Luna pointed to the far side of the farmland where the peasant homes were grouped together.
Harry couldn't think of anything to say, but was saved the effort when a man with shoulder length black hair and billowing black robes came out of the gates and spotted Harry. "Potter! What are you doing outside the castle?" The man's eyes flitted to Luna. "And you, silly girl, leave this area and never pluck a flower belonging to your lord and lady again, lest you wish to lose a hand for your thievery."
Luna's gaze fell to the ground and she turned to walk away. Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, to her, but the man grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him back to the castle doors. "Professor Snape, please, we weren't doing any harm."
"Quiet yourself, boy. And take heed, you are not to be wondering about with the peasants, particularly when you have obligations to attend to. Or," he let go of Harry's arm but continued to walk at such a pace the boy had to jog to keep up, "did you think all of this evening's festivities would be halted until you saw fit to grace us with your presence?"
When they arrived at Harry's room and the professor glared down at him once more. "You are filthy from your little romp about the lands. Clean yourself and make haste to the dining hall." Snape turned on his heel and departed without further instruction.
Harry was red-faced with shame and anger and quickly hid himself in his room. The mean professor was the only one to ever speak harshly to Harry. Lord James frequently announced that he didn't like Snape, yet he resided in the castle and tutored Harry under his mother's wishes. The Professor was a wise and learned man, yet his anger and attitude made Harry even more adverse to his studies.
Harry approached the washstand in the corner. When he lifted his hands to the filled basin, he realized the yellow flower was clutched tightly in his left fingers. Very gently, he placed the stem in the water so it could drink. The door opened behind him and a maid stepped in. Harry asked her for something to put the flower in. Only once the flower was standing in a small vase in the window with a fiery sky of the setting sun behind it did Harry prepare to leave for his birthday feast.