Harry Potter 1. Introduction

**Authors Note:** Dear Reader, this is the first horrid piece of many. Inspired by a tin can and piece of string. More to come so please leave your seat and follow the signs to the exit.

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters are owned by JK Rowling. Some of the plot is also copyright of JK Rowling. Other than that all additional characters etc. are owned by the author.

Feel free to rate and review.

The Author.

**

* * *

**

**Introduction**

Stray leaves of gold and green danced on the wind o'er fields of barley and down into the green glade. Water trickled through a maze of slippery stones and met with the babbling brook at the base of the old Willow. His fingertips sailed over the surface of chilly waters, sending little ripples to disturb the peaceful algae. The wind picked up and sped through the woods, whistling cheerily and teasing new buds off tree branches. On its tail ran a young woman, laughing gleefully and coaxing the rays of sunlight out from cloudy skies. Mousy brown hair waving farewell to the valley behind her and bright blue eyes twinkling delightfully, she ran from the glade towards the sea and her salty song. By the sea lay in silence a fishing village not yet woken to the new morning. Bare feet pounded down the dirt path in rhythm to the beating within her breast. She slowed as she reached the small thatched house furthest from the village; it rested precariously on a slope of a cliff and stood alone strong against the southerly wind. Stealing away into the shadows of the house, the young woman was seen no longer by the beady eyes of the seagull and so he left, drifting away, a nomad of the sea.

Soon the first to go to deep waters would rise and begin to prepare the nets and lines. A red sky the night before held promise for the today; if the skies had sung true they would have fish enough to sell the day to come. As the old grainy clock on the kitchen wall struck five and the first rays of light shone through the thinly drawn curtains to the bedroom, her father awoke. Not long after followed her mother who would soon be at her bedside to greet her good morning; as was the daily ritual. Had her mother known she spent her night curled away from the cold within the hollow of the oak in the woods nearby, she might have not come to her bedside at all in fear of anger but fortune smiled upon the young woman and her mother knew not this secret. Breakfast was by tradition a hearty meal of freshly baked bread, smoked fish, egg, baked potato, mushroom and tomatoes. That morning there was the five of them sitting around the wooden table, made the merrier by food and good sleep. The second child of three, she was placed in the middle of her elder and younger sisters. Elsa and Fin were both far darker than she; their hair a deep chestnut and eyes the lustrous colour of chocolate. The odd one out the young woman saw herself in her mother more so than her father. Her mother Lilian had migrated like the Fieldfare from across the ocean to settle here into a life of serene simplicity. It was here her mother had met her father.

Had her father known her mother was a witch he might have never married her; a prodigy of a strict catholic his views on certain subjects had been set in stone before he had even began school. Witchcraft had been one of those subjects and even now though he knew his wife's secret anything out of the ordinary was found awkward in the household. At the time of her mother's arrival, her father had only just left school and looked to begin work at the local docks. A history of family fisherman spanning centuries under his belt, he was to follow in their footsteps and live a life at sea but life is like the water from the mountains and can continuously change course. Dark golden locks and charming blue eyes were the key to his heart and once unlocked nothing and no one could reason with him. Lilian and he got married the following summer. It had been no easy task for her mother to tell him of her misshapenness but she did and his reactions were thus – he left for a fortnight to sea. Had he not felt so ardently towards her he might have left for a lifetime but the nature of emotions are not to be tested and so two weeks later he returned with new resolve. Such a lover as the sea was his wife and he would love her as best as any man could love one as her. It was a cold night when the second youngest of the Westenra family was born. Brown haired and blue eyed she was the very illustration of her mother and so she was given the wings to freedom her two siblings had not. She grew to be as wild as the thistle on Maeve hill and to never know the iron bars of a cage.

Not long after her sixth birthday were the inklings of magic to reveal themselves. It was at first a secret kept hidden to herself but as she bloomed it was no longer easy to conceal such abnormalities. Her siblings Elsa and Fin were the first to lift away the mask and then followed her parents. How her father felt at that point is unsure only to say that he never mentioned a word of her witch blood to anyone. Perhaps he was to treat her secret as he had her mothers. It would do. As she grew the witch within grew also, until both child and fledgling alike could spread their wings and soar. Her highest peak would come in the year of her eleventh birthday on the north wind. Three elements would arrive that morning and never would they have been thought to change one's life so drastically; an owl, a letter and an invitation. The seasons were turning and a new wind was beginning to blow. This is the story of Blys Westenra – the old man's diamond.

* * *


	2. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** Dear Reader, this is the first horrid piece of many. Inspired by a paper clip and copper bucket. More to come so please leave your seat and follow the signs to the exit.

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters are owned by JK Rowling. Some of the plot is also copyright of JK Rowling. Other than that all additional characters etc. are owned by the author.

Feel free to rate and review.

The Author.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The old record player atop the kitchen bench was playing when she entered; her mother was a prodigy of the nineteen twenties and had never been in want of an introduction to the twentieth century. The other members of her family were already up and around – her mother charlied about while she did the dishes, her father was already meandering toward the front door and her sisters could've been thought to have missed dinner the night before the way they were consuming their breakfasts. Hauling the crooked stool out from behind the ironing table she joined her sisters and began picking away at her own buttered bread. Mornings were a slippers and dressing gown affair, entirely avoid of all elegance, and so dressed still in her pyjama's Miss Blys Westenra was not at all fazed when a spoonful of scrambled egg found its way onto her pant leg. Scooping it up with haste she popped the contents into her mouth before it went cold. Waste not, want not. Idly her foot tapped against the leg of the stool as James P. Johnson's musical hit sashayed across the tiled floor, grabbing the unconscious attention of everyone in the room. Beside her Elsa's shoulders were dancing their own little jig and seemed to have a mind of their own separate from her sister's. Why, even Fin was humming along. It was obvious from her point of view, a little elevated above the others sitting on that there stool, that despite her families constant complaining about the old fashioned mother they had to put up with, none would be without her. Or her old jazz records.

Her father was out the door as soon as she had licked her plate clean. Had Elsa, Fin and she been born with a different set of genitals they would have joined their father on the sea but as women they were destined for other things like cleaning, cooking and raising a family of their own. Of course the youngest of the Westenra clan had little interest in any of these things perhaps apart from cooking (she'd have eaten from dawn till dusk was she made of the right stuff) and would have much rather entertained the idea of fishing. She could imagine the community would have something to say if she was to be found a stowaway on her father's boat, especially that Mrs. Leah. Grumpy old hag as she was she could not stand for anything unconventional. The last on the train line, Blys was now stacking away the dishes as they came clean and dry from down the rail. As she did so, her thoughts still on the most ill tempered old woman you ever did see, a small wicked smile tip toed across blushing lips. Oh what a sight to be seen if ever she were to accidently let slip her family's bizarre ties! Mrs. Leah would be at the forefront of the livid rabble with a pitch fork and cross. She was delighted by the thought. If ever the case was to come forth she would not stand for being accused a witch and turn them all into toads. A fit of giggles erupted from her mouth and only when she noticed the attention she was being given did she quieten down. Shying away from the stares of her female companions she coughed, covering the last of her laughs with a hand. Shiver me timbers but those stares could be frightfully intimidating.

The kitchen cleaned to glittering perfection, she was given leave to wander on outside. Running upstairs, she went to change and throw on a little pizzazz. Dressed from head to toe in odd bits and pieces, layered from here to there, she descended downstairs and out the door. It was summer and the sky was as blue as a periwinkle button. Skipping and her spirits jolly, she headed towards the village where the possibility of running into a certain young male was high. He could oft be found sniffing around the alleyways looking for some scrap of this or that. Mangy character he was and that was what appealed to the young girl most. His name I would acquaint you with if I was permitted to do so but as fortune would have it he would rather remain nameless. Let's call him Scruffy as nothing else would seem fit. Her mother's records still circulating her mind, she tapped her way down to the docks via one alleyway after another. It was quarter past seven when she finally came across her dear friend and bending down she gave him a bear hug. Scruffy was rather overjoyed to see her too from the wag in his tail and twinkle in his eye. Beaming she laughed as he barked up at her.

"Ho it's good to see you too my boy," she spoke, ruffling the hair behind his ear. In good company, they set off together for the docks to catch the first whiff of steaming kidney pie. Old man Flamel was always there on the corner street near the Blue Bell pub and Mr. Turnblades house, selling the best kidney pies any man had ever tasted. Miss Blys found her way down to the corner in no time at all, cheerily waving hello to Henry Flamel as she approached. Along with a steaming hot, delicious kidney pie, a warm hello was also waiting for her. Flamel and she had been acquainted with one another for a good long period of time and so being the case she oft received his wares discounted. Wrapping chilled hands around the sweating paper bag, an ear to ear smile crinkled her face.

"That one there is nothing short of perfection, even if I do say so meself," Flamel spoke, sending her a joking wink. He said that to her every morning when she came to bargain for a pie and good conversation. Shaking her head at him she laughed.

"And that be the first time I've heard it," she winked back. Beside her Scruffy nosed the paper bag, sniffing in the goods and smacking his lips hungrily. Brushing off her companions eager glances she buried the treasure away in the large pouch she'd brought with her before taking out a small purse. Jingling inside was what was left of her pocket money for the week and although she could have easily spent it on many a things she had chosen to save it for a last kidney pie. Unlike the scrupulous savers that were her family she was a spend thrift and had she ever been asked the question 'what would she buy with all the money in the world', she could have easily run off a long list. Thus was her frivolity.

"Two pounds and 25 pence," she counted, placing each coin into Flamel's shovel sized, outstretched palm. He grinned at her and shoved the handful into a large pocket. Although it was the last of her money, she knew it to be well spent. Waving her goodbye's she turned to leave, Scruffy jogging along at her feet. Behind her Flamel bowed low, a glimmer in his eye.

"It was a pleasure to do business with you, Miss Bly," he shouted after her. Without taking her eyes off the road ahead she flapped a hand in the air in response.

Old man Flamel - what a man, she thought happily, skipping off toward the woods. She knew little about him despite their friendship and oft it amused her to imagine his history. Had he always lived here in Cushendun or had he come here with family? Did he even have family? She knew he had had a brother at some point or other. Apparently this brother's story in the village ended when he was of a young age; he had straddled the fierce winds of the north and disappeared off to some greater place. Why old man Flamel had not joined his brother she knew not and could not understand. Was she given the chance to leave she would do so and without a second thought. She loved this place and the people in it but ... a sigh escaped rosy lips. The fact that her legs had come to a standstill had evaded her attention until her flea ridden friend suddenly butted at her ankle. She glanced down at him and grinned and the thought was put to rest. The hair behind his ear was teased out and Blys gave him an affectionate scratch.

"You're right my boy. Silly to dream for such nonsense, let alone chase after it eh?" she spoke, mirth once again finding its way back to her. Hauling out the paper bag from her pouch she waved it at him triumphantly. Holding her arm out for him to take she laughed.

"Shall we dine today where the weather is splendid good sir?" the young girl chuckled and with a bounce in her feet, she meandered off toward the glades and beyond that the woods. Behind her Scruffy barked in response and followed her lead.

The sun was high in the sky; rays of light danced across the undergrowth, disappearing and appearing through the canopy above. The wind whistled cheerfully through the leaves, chasing them to the sodden earth before continuing on its way. A pair of storm-petrels' shadows flew across the surface of the clear waters that ran down from the lakes. There was rustling in the nearby nettles. A bird's call echoed down through the grasslands. Along a small path winding its way between grass blades, a brigade of ants marched for food. To their inconvenience they discovered a rather large obstacle had suddenly seated itself across their pathway and so had to divert and find another way around. Utterly oblivious to their plight, the young girl stretched happily before continuing to munch away on her pie. The sun warm on her face and breeze disturbing the soft hairs on her arms, Blys sighed. Had it truly been so long since she had last spent a day like this? Yes she supposed it had been. The past twelve days before or so she had been busy helping her mother and the neighbours prepare for Lughnasadh – the harvest festival. It was to be celebrated on the 1st of August. Tomorrow it was to begin – a day of music, romance, community and prosperity. She looked forward to it, memories of past summers drifting lazily into her mind. Despite her cheery demeanour a small niggling thought crept up on her. It would also be the last festival she would attend with her family until the next year. Bringing her knees up to her chin, she nodded forwards. Grey blue eyes watched the marching ants sadly. Swollen fingers carelessly caressed one another. She was to go to a school somewhere in Scotland where others like her would be attending. The prospect of such an adventure excited her to say the least but to be away from family, those four faces she knew so well ... it was a sorry thing indeed. Turning her head away from the ants to the waters of the river she thought back to that fateful day. It had not been long ago - a month or so now.

June 31st was sweltering hot and even with the sea breeze she was finding it hard to cool down. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary that day – the gulls still called from the skies, her father left for the docks at the normal hour, her mother disappeared to the shops for bread and butter and her two sisters bestowed upon her the gift of the house chores again. Wilting on the back steps of the house, she lay against the door frame and closed her eyes. A forced breeze stirred a few stray strands of hair as she fanned herself with a jagged piece of cardboard. Beside her dropped leg slouched Scruffy, his fur irritating hot against her bare skin. Opening one lazy eye she glared at him before shifting her weight. As she did so she muttered 'Damned dog' under her breath. His hearing far better than hers, he picked up on the comment and sniffed loudly in reply. Bright ruby red lips twitched at the corners. Damned girl. Before she lost complete control, her mouth restrained in a rather unbecoming line, she sat up and distracted herself with the cardboard fan.

"Urgh, when's this heat gonna end hm?!" she groaned, every feature on her face disgruntled. Scratching her cheek, she sighed and forced her muscles to move. On her feet she then turned tail and disappeared back into the shadow of the house. Scruffy only lifted his head momentarily to watch her disappear before he nodded forwards and drifted back to sleep. From within the kitchen Blys cursed her friends luck; had she not been left with the chores she'd have gone to sleep as well was so damn hot! Balancing a bucket of lukewarm water under one arm, she stomped upstairs and into the bathroom. Cleaning had never been something the youngest of the Westenra clan was very good at. In fact her idea of 'cleaning' such as it was was to merely give a few odd ends a quick wipe with a damp cloth and that be the end of it. So after a good five minutes, a many curses and a few wipes of the cloth, she decided herself finished and abandoned her post. Her family would murder her later on when they returned but for now she didn't mind. Back in the kitchen, she gathered a few essentials and snuck a couple of pounds out of the glass jar her mother kept hidden under the sink – it was money to be used in emergencies only and as she was hungry and there was little to eat in the house it was an emergency enough for her to count out four pounds. Pocketing her borrowed money (she'd pay it back later) and shovelling the rest into a bag, she hoped out the front door and ran up the dirt path towards the cliff tops; the higher up the stronger the breeze.

Her companion almost leapt out of his skin as she jumped over him and pounded up the path. Sighing to himself, irritated at her ridiculous behaviour he had no choice but to follow. Who was going to watch over her if not he? Beckoned by the breeze they left the warmth of the house behind and unfinished business in the bathroom; Blys reminded herself again she would do it later but the chances of that happening were nil. As she continued up the path she sensed a follower and grinned. Scruffy really had to stop treating her like a child – she was eleven now and grown enough to look after herself. Too bad she couldn't lose him anywhere. If she even tried to wander from the trail, which was rather impossible unless you fancied yourself a short drop and a sudden stop, he would be able to track her down. Damned dog. Puffing out her cheeks in annoyance, she sped up. First he'd have to catch her. Glancing over her shoulder for only a moment, she stuck her tongue out and then like the wind she flew up the last stone steps to the rooftops of the sea. The strong hands of the gust cupped lengths of her hair and a banner of rich golden brown thrashed against her back. Stars twinkled about grey blue eyes and a content smile hovered over blushing lips. Spreading arms wide to the sky, she embraced the cool air and spray of sea water. The rough ground below met with thinly spun cotton and the pale skin of her behind as she sat down. Lain amidst cropped grass and thickets of St. John's wort, she sighed, closing her eyes to the sky to drift away on daydreams to another world. Although it went unnoticed by the young girl, her faithful companion did not take long to join her and together they spent a good many hours atop the cliffs.

After a drink to quench her thirst and a small meal to fill her belly, Blys slowly set off to begin the journey home. It would take a half hour to descend the path and already the glimmers of the day were coming to an end; the fool who dared to climb the cliffs blind would soon come to meet his demise. It took them a little longer than anticipated but they finally reached the grasslands and from there they were able to sprint the rest of it. Had they not sped fast down to the house, the young Westenra might have been in more trouble for arriving home late. Already she began to dread the welcome she would receive. The bathroom was barely cleaned and no other room had even been attempted; her mother would surely contemplate the idea of digging a grave for her youngest daughter. Swallowing the lump in her throat she pushed aside such terrifying thoughts and persisted on toward home. Unknown as yet to her, her home had now become acquainted with a very unusual guest. As she came that much closer to home nothing seemed out of the ordinary - the lights were on, curtains drawn, old record player blaring in the background. It was only when she came to the front door that the first sign of something strange appeared. Apart from the melodic sound of the record player everything else inside was quiet. This was very strange indeed as normally her family would be gathered in the kitchen at this time preparing the evening meal and being very noisy. But there was nothing. No sound of chatter, laugher or even the occasional scream from one of her sisters. Hesitating only for a moment, her hand lingering at the door knob, she stepped in through the front door. The familiar faces of her family turned to her as she entered. A smile almost found its way to her lips when she noticed a second strange thing; obviously her family wouldn't be too happy with her but to look so sad? Had she missed something? It was then, at that very moment, she caught sight of Charity Burbage.


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Fantasy