A/N : I sadly, do not own anything Harry Potter, however do enjoy writing the odd fanfic.
This new little fic of mine, has been written over the past year, so chapters will be released on a regular basis, however its chapters are sighted to change before their release, so as of yet, this story is still ever changing and therefore, I ask you to be patient with my probably coppulous grammar and spelling mistakes. (Dyslexia is a curse of its own). However, I hope you enjoy reading this story, as much as I do writing it.
Chapter 1: The Baker Boy's Blunder
The village of Mugwosh was anything but an ordinary rural community. For many of it's seldom tourists that happened to come across its residents, they were greeted only by hostile stares and unwelcome side-glances.
For those whom walked down its cobbled streets, which even on the warmest of summer days, were covered in a dank gloom, it was impossible for them to feel anything other, than anxious trepidation. It appeared that the villagers, could feel this too, with many of their windows being; shuttered, barred, or even completely boarded up. By sunset, the few residence of Mugwosh would retreat hastily to their homes, lock their doors and become silent. And without fail, every night as the moon rose on the bleak horizon, a dense fog engulfed Mugwosh in a smoky white blanket, so thick, that if it wasn't for the candle lit street lamps, would be impossible to navigate through. Not that anyone ever needed to.
But Mugwosh was not always such an isolated village. Roughly 50 years ago, Mugwosh was a thriving community, with a busy farmers market every other day that filled the main street. Local fishermen would dot around the lake from dawn until dusk, hoping to catch the famous Mugwosh pike. Villagers bustled about their busy day, getting the local newspaper, meeting for afternoon tea's, swapping the latest fashions, or gathering in the local pub for a well earned pint, after a hard day's work in the fields. All of which, would always bottle down to getting the local gossip on Witches Warren.
Witches Warren, a long and straight country lane, was the only part of the village that wasn't cheerful. Unlike the crisp golden cobble stones that paved Mugwosh streets, the Warren was a matted path covered in a black carpet of thorny ivy. Tree's, planted evenly either side of the path, were mangled and warped, that never grew any leaves, giving them the impression that they had once been set on fire, leaving behind black charred remains.
The Warren, according to the villagers, was haunted. Fearful parents warned their children to stay away. Dogs barked and growled if they ever passed to close. Birds never flew above and not a soul ever admitted to going near it. Even so, every now and again, new rumours surfaced about the goings on down the Warren and again it became the talk of the town.
"My Michael tol' me tha' he saw one of them tree's move!" The gardeners wife said, late in the pub one night.
The butcher would regularly say to his eager customers "Swear's not a souls been down there for over five 'undred years".
But it wasn't until one of the hottest days of the year; on August 31st 1967 to be exact, did the villagers have anything to really talk about.
Many of the residences were out on the Village Green surrounding the lake, celebrating the annual "Hook-Ya-Dinner" competition, where every man, in every household, would attempt to catch the largest fish. Families and friends sat in groups enjoying the celebrations, cheering on their husbands, brothers and fathers, as they reeled in their catches. Yet as the last man was battling with a particularly feisty line, and every spectator was holding their breath, to see if this could be the legendary Mugwosh Pike, did they hear it.
A glass shattering scream, came from the direction of Witches Warren. The villagers jumped, some people screamed in shock. Within an instant, the atmosphere amongst the crowd changed.
They fell silent, only to wait to hear the scream again. Not a moment after it stopped did it begin again, the ear piercing scream, only this time, a dark figure appeared over the slight hill surrounding the green.
Running almost out of control, in a frenzied panic towards the crowd was the 17 year old, baker's apprentice, Borris Bodgen. He was sprinting so fast, it appeared that his voice, had failed him. The villagers ran to meet him but before they could reach Borris, they knew something was gravely wrong.
Borris was no longer running, he had halted abruptly and began feeling his throat. His face flushed red as if he was straining. He began banging his chest hard, his mouth agape. He began spluttering and coughing but looked unable to draw any breath and his face now took one a blue tinge. Eyes bulging and streaming his cheeks with tears, he fell to his knee's as the fastest men reached him first.
"He's choking!" Cried a bearded man, whacking Borris on the back several times with a dull *THUD*.
*THUD* "S'all righ' Borris." *THUD* "Stay calm." Another man said. But Borris was unable to see any of them anymore. He had wedged his eyes shut, concentrating with every ounce of effort in his body, on trying to take in breath.
"He can't breathe!" A panicked woman screamed, "someone do something!" *THUD* "He'll die!"
Suddenly the bearded man ceased banging on Borris' back, and kneeled down in front of the now purple-faced teen. He pulled open Borris' mouth, hoping to see whatever was blocking his airways, but as he did, a wave of gasps and screams erupted around Borris.
Something long, thick and oozing with blood flopped out of his mouth, and hung down to Borris' chest. His tongue was swollen, and continued to swell before the villagers eyes, until it filled his entire mouth and held it open and began opening it further, until it looked like Borris' mouth was going to rip at the sides.
"CUT-IT-OFF! CUT-IT-OFF!" The same woman shrieked.
It seemed the only logical thing they could think of. Borris had collapsed in a heap at their feet and the colour seemed to drain from his cheeks, as the foot-long tongue, grew like a slimy, bloody slug, across the grass. They had to do something, or he was going to die.
Ripping out a pocket knife, the bearded man began to slice at the meaty lump, but as soon as the blade cut the flesh, the tongue poured out a bucket load of black, tar-like liquid, spewing out over the grass. But as the liquid emptied out, Borris' tongue began to shrink down and retreat back into his mouth, allowing him to take in a long, rasping breath, as he filled his empty lungs.
"What 'appened boy!" Asked the bearded man, as Borris sat up, still rubbing his neck.
But all they managed to get out of him, no matter what questions they asked, was always the same repetitive sentence. "There's a witch, a witch in the Warren." Indeed, that was the only thing Borris ever said, for the rest of his life.
Five years ago…. (1962 to be exact)
Borris Bodgen woke early on the first day of the summer holiday. He got dressed at lightning speed, which had always been impossible during the school term, and he zoomed out of the house, hopped on his slightly old fashioned, red rusty bike and peddled up the lane.
Borris lived on the outskirts of Mugwosh, and it was a good ten minute bike ride before he reached the bustling village centre. But to get there, Borris had to cycle passed Watches Warren. Unlike many of the other residences, Borris was not afraid of the Warren. He had passed it so many times in his life that he had grown rather fond of it, in fact, against his promise to his mother not to go near it, Borris had often sat right on the edge of the carpet of ivy and watched. What he was watching for, he didn't know. But on several occasions, Borris had felt as though he was being watched, by who or what he never saw, he just had a feeling.
By the time he reached the village centre, the Farmers Market was already in full swing, despite the early hours, many of the elderly residence were already wandering about, peering at the fresh produce on sale.
Like every weekend, it was Borris' job to help the local baker, Tod Timmons, deliver several baskets of ordered breads and pastries around Mugwosh.
"Alrigh' Borris?" Todd greeted him, from behind an enormous bag of flour.
"Alright!" Borris smiled eagerly, bouncing on his toe's as he awaited Todd's first instruction for the day.
Dropping the sack of flour on floor, Todd Timmons emerged from behind the counter, his face dusted white and said cheerfully, "Got five order's for ya' today boy." Pulling out a folded piece of paper from his apron pocket;
"Misses Biggle's broke 'er 'ip last week, so I'm sendin' 'er half dozen scones with 'er usual Sourdough. Mr Marlow wants three French sticks an' a small chocolate muffin for 'is daughter's birthday. Mrs Gripes needs a Farmer's loaf. Mike Tindal, ya' know the gardener, well he wants a pasty for 'is lunch, an' Miss Vance needs our finest Walnut bread!" Todd looked up at Borris, who was still smiling from ear to ear. "Ya' get all tha' Borris?" He said calmly.
"Yea, yea, got it all up here Boss!" He tapped the top of his head.
Todd chuckled as he handed Borris the scribbled list, "y'all make a good baker one day lad!"
"Just two more years an' I can leave school an' be your apprentice boss." he replied, still smiling, as he began picking up the basket labelled, 'Biggles' and 'Scones'.
"Steady on now lad," Todd said, a little more seriously, "don' go missin' out on a good education now. Jus' 'cause it's a little 'ard now, don' mean it won't get a little easier in the long run, alrigh'."
Borris simply shrugged and looked at the floor, preparing to leave the shop.
"Them bullies still after ya' 'ey?" Todd walked up to him now, his voice filled with concern; But Borris looked up at him anyway and gave a weak smile.
"Nothing I can't handle boss." He said, trying to sound like he didn't feel like he was going to cry, and he dashed out the door to deliver his first order.
By midday, Borris had delivered all five orders and an extra three to the local farmer Phillip Knotts, who said he needed 12 Sesame-seed loaves for his prize winning pig, nicknamed the Porker.
As he cycled home, at a much slower rate than he had set out at, Borris became aware that someone was following him out of the village. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted three other children on bikes who were fast approaching him.
Each of them, had a wicked looking grin on their faces. A rush of adrenaline burst through his body as he recognised Frankie Pane, Reese Hardy and Eliot Fig, more commonly known to Borris as the local bullies, whose main ambition was to cause nothing but fear and torment in Borris' life.
Pedalling as fast as his already burning legs would go, he desperately tried to stay ahead of them, but even so, they were still gaining on him.
"Were ya' goin' baker boy!" Eliot jeered nastily, as they got ever closer to him.
"Got some nice lookin' bread there, didn't get any from ya' this mornin'!" Threatened Frankie, who Borris could tell was only feet away from him now, but still Borris kept pedalling.
He could see Witches Warren ahead of him now, if he could just get passed there, he would be ok. For no matter how tough the bullies were, they never ventured passed the Warren.
"Bulgin' Borris, come back 'ere ya' fat twat!" Yelled Reese, the biggest and unfortuantly the most muscular of the three. He was less than ten feet away from the Warren.
He willed his legs to keep going, "c'mon go faster, please go faster!" He breathed through gritted teeth, gripping his bike handles so tight is knuckles turned blue. But he was too slow.
He felt fingers close around his left shoulder and tug him off balance, causing him to turn and fall hard to the left, and he crashed onto the gravel path. He felt his knee burn as the skin ripped beneath his trousers. His head thumped against the ground and he skidded to a halt.
His head felt like his brain was pounding against his skull, but Borris knew if he lay there, the bullies would not waste the opportunity. Getting to his feet he turned to face a sight, he was not expecting to see.
Both Frankie and Eliot were cycling away back towards the village at break neck speed, while Reese, who had obviously grabbed Borris' arm, was starring at the Warren, pale faced and shaking violently. Standing on the edge of Witches Warren and glaring back at Reese, was a young, raven haired girl, wearing a black dress that just covered her knees, with knee-high white socks and black pumps.
Borris felt like he had just swallowed an ice cube. He starred at her. Mugwosh was so small, it was easy to know everyone. But he had never seen her before, and he had never seen anyone stand in Witches Warren.
"GO!" She said sternly to Reese, so firmly that Borris thought it was more of an order. "Go home and never tell of this!"
Borris held his breath in fear, he was certain Reese could easily push over the girl with his little finger, but instead, he slowly picked up his bike and rode away in silence. Borris stood there, stunned. He could not believe what he had just seen. What had he seen he wondered?
"You should go home too." With a start, Borris turned to see the dark haired girl with her back to him, walking away up the lane.
"W-wait!" Borris yelled, finding his voice. The girl stopped. "Who are you?" He asked, hesitantly, as she turned slowly round to face him. In that instant Borris realised she couldn't have been much older than 11.
Her eyes were a bright violet and her skin was icy white, but her lips were a brilliant contrasting red. She was so young, yet her whole appearance and the way she carried herself, neat and orderly, gave the look of someone much older, nothing like an ordinary 11 year old.
"Who are you?" She asked, sounding more like an ordinary young girl.
"Borris Bodgen." He noticed the corner of the girls lip twitch upwards. "What's funny?" He said, slightly sharper than what he intended. He was so used to people laughing and smirking at his name.
"Your name." She said bluntly, her face expressionless once again.
"What's yours then?" Borris tried to sound like he didn't care, but his tone betrayed him, causing her lips to kink again.
"You don't need to know." She said, coolly. "You should go home Borris." And she began walking up the Warren again.
"Will you be here tomorrow!?" It was the only thing he could think of, to be able to see the girl again. He didn't know why he wanted to see her; she was around his age, but none of the other children he knew, looked nearly as pretty or as captivating as she did. Borris knew he had to see her again. He had to.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" She called, not bothering to turn around this time.
"I'm here everyday." He shouted.
"So am I," and she carried on walking down the Warren, before disappearing from sight, behind a large and disfigured looking tree, which Borris presumed, was where the Warren turned off.
The next day Borris raced through his usual delivery round, not stopping to talk to any of the villagers and when several people called to him;
"Where you off to Borris?", "Where's the fire lad!?" "What's your hurry!?" Borris simply laughed and called over his shoulder, "Meeting someone!"
However his time saving speediness was soon thwarted by his bikes front tire hitting a particularly sharp piece of flint and running flat.
Finally he arrived at the edge of Witches Warren, but his face fell in disappointment when he saw nothing but an empty path of black ivy and no sign of the girl.
Suddenly, jumping from the nearest black tree and landing right in front of him, was the raven haired girl.
"You're twenty minutes late!" She scowled.
"My bike ran a flat." He said honestly, feeling like he was in trouble.
"No its not." She pointed at the bike. Turning to look at it, Borris glared at it in astonishment. The tire was fully inflated and looked almost brand new.
"What the hell!" He exclaimed, touching it to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. "I don't understand I checked it, I saw it. It was flat. Honest!" Looking at the girl, he noticed she was smirking at him, revealing dazzlingly white teeth. Then a new thought occurred to him. "Did, did you…"
"I didn't touch your bike." She said firmly, as if trying to convince him of her innocence. There was a moments silence, which didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.
"You never told me your name?" Borris decided to change the subject.
"Why did you want to see me again?" She inquired, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"I- I just," But Borris didn't really know why.
"Those boys, why were they chasing you yesterday?" She interrupted, as if she had already guessed Borris didn't have an answer.
"They, err… They just think it's funny." He said shyly, feeling embarrassed. "Did you...Did you make them go away?" He asked as another thought occurred to him.
She gave another smirk, as if she was enjoying watching him figure things out. "I might have. Might not."
"So you did?" He smiled.
"I told them to go away, and they did. Perhaps you should try that too." She said, in that same stern tone.
Borris laughed sarcastically, "Yea, I'm sure they'd have listened to me!" He looked up at the tree the girl had jumped down from, an suddenly realised the first mangled branch, was almost 15 feet above them. "How the hell did you get up there!?"
"I flew." She said casually, as if it were completely normal.
Borris laughed again, "Ok, sure you did." But the girl just looked at him as though he was mad and he stopped laughing. "You are pulling my leg, aren't you?"
"No." She replied, matter of factely. "I got a broom for my birthday, and I flew up there."
"Ok, now I know you're joking." He said, looking at her with a grimace.
"Don't believe me then." She began walking around Borris now, as if checking him all over for anything suspicious.
"So if you did, fly on your broom, where is it then?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I sent it home." She answered, now staring at his worn out trainers, that were dusted in flour and dried mud.
"So I'm to believe, you can make people go away by just telling them, you can fix bike tyres without touching them and you can fly on brooms." He said, even more sceptical.
"That's the problem with you muggles! So closed minded, you don't believe the truth when it's right in front of you!" She sounded slightly cross.
"You can't seriously expect me to believe you!?" He felt his eyes widen slightly.
"I'm not a liar!" She crouched onto the ground and began clawing at the path, until she began to rip the gravel away with her fingers, to reveal a small circle of bare earth.
"What are you-?"
"SHHHH!" She silenced him, and grabbed his hand and yanked him down so they were both now crouched over the patch of earth and looked at him, her purple eyes staring at him, and she pointed to the dirt and whispered, "Watch." And she touched the centre of the patch with her index finger.
Almost instantly, a green sprout grew out of the very spot she had touched, and it began to grow. Two spiked leaves spread out of its stem and a perfect green bud formed at its top, before finally opening up, to reveal a bright yellow dandillion.
Borris felt his mouth fall open. It was only when he heard the young girl let out a small giggle did he finally look up, feeling completely stunned by what he had witnessed.
"Told you, closed minded." She gave him a look of superiority, her purple eyes dazzling him.
There was a moments silence. Borris looked from the flower, to the girl. Then back to the flower and then back to the girl again. An action he repeated several times, before eventually realising, that no matter how many times he looked away, the flower and the girl, would still be there. So he swallowed hard, preparing to speak. Little did he know that what he said next, would change both their lives forever.
"What else can you do?!" Borris exclaimed excitedly.
She cast him a wicked smile, revealing her gleaming white teeth, and Borris saw her violet eyes shine even more so, as she leaned forward and whispered happily into his ear, "Lots!"
A.N: Well, there you have it. Don't panic, Borris is not a main character and won't be returning for a while. But what did you think of the young Bellatrix? Next chapter, we meet a tormented Harry at the end of his fifth year, just after the battle at the ministry...to be released next week...or if you really like it, I will push my checking skills to the limit and aim for...tomorrow! Eeep! Until then, 'Mischief Managed!'