NOTES: First, just a few mentions for copyright purposes: Doing the Best That I Can belongs to Stevie Nicks, 'Witch, witch, you're a bitch' belongs to Warner Brothers, from the movie Practical Magic,It's Still Rock and Roll to Me belongs to Billy Joel, and the Harry Potter series belongs to that most wonderful of women, JK Rowling (rhymes with bowling.)

Second, no, the kids in Little Whinging don't actually know about magic. They heard that Amaryllis is a 'freak' and 'evil,' and at the age of five, freak means spooky, and spooky evil things must mean witches. I only want to make that clear, in case it wasn't explained properly in-story. And if it wasn't - please, let me know! That way I can fix it and render this note unnecessary.

"I was silent I was locked away
But I covered my tears
Silent all day
It's out of my hands here"

.

"Witch! Witch! You're a bitch! Witch! Witch! You're a bitch!"

Amaryllis Potter covered her head with her arms as she ran from the other seven year olds. She held back tears as she ducked into the entrance to what she thought must be the library building. She ran down the hall and turned several times, until she wasn't able to say where she was anymore - after all, if she wasn't absolutely sure where she was, how would the crummy rock throwers be able to find her?

After a minute or two of sprinting, the russet-haired girl found a set of double doors, like the ones to the library. She was mostly certain that the library wasn't in this part of the school, but maybe there was a different one for the big kids? She stood on her tiptoes to see inside, but someone had put paper over the windows, and she couldn't peek under it.

There was a squeak like wet trainers down the hall, and Amaryllis glanced over her shoulder nervously. Surely what was inside wouldn't be as bad as Dudley's gang. With a gulp, she pulled open one of the heavy doors and ducked inside, stopping just inside the doorway so it didn't close all the way – she may have to run again.

" . . . This isn't the library," she murmured to herself, looking around in confusion. Where was she, then? From what she could see by the lights in the corridor, the room was whitewashed, like all the classrooms at St Grogory's Primary School, but had tall wood-faced cabinets lining the back and left walls, a bit like the ones in the art room. It also had the same knotted rust red carpet as the library and main office, which generally wasn't seen much. Oddly shaped black . . . things were propped against the cabinets and walls, and an upright piano like the one in the Dursley's living room was just a few feet to Amaryllis' right.

It was also entirely empty. A perfect place to hide - and the cupboards would be just like the ones at Number Four. No one would look for her there, if they came in. At least she assumed so, anyway. Quietly as she could, Amaryllis closed the door behind her and flicked on the light. Not much looked different under the fluorescent lights as compared to the semi-darkness of a moment prior, when the only light had streamed in from the corridor through the open door, but Amaryllis could see one difference – what she had taken for another large shape-thing was in fact a paper-covered door, with shiny cut out letters spelling out the words 'DIRECTOR'S ZONE!'

What was a director's zone? Or a director, even? A bossy person? Maybe it was a word for teacher – they gave directions, after all, so that made sense.

Shrugging, Amaryllis strode over to the door and listened for a moment. It didn't sound like anyone was inside. Maybe she could hide in there until morning break ended? She turned the handle and poked her head in. Already lit from her turning on the switch in the other room, this one was . . . tiny. And a bit messy. And had lots of filing cabinets, one of which had its bottom drawer left pulled open.

Brilliant.

Curiously, Amaryllis walked over to the open drawer and pulled out one of the flat square things inside it. It had such a pretty picture on the front . . . And words, too, but they were funny looking, and against the loud background, they were hard to read without giving her a headache. She frowned at in and grabbed a different one, examining the photograph on the cover.

With a shrug, the girl flipped the heavy picture over in her hands, and was surprised when it flipped open to show a blank white inside and a pocket on the left. A round bit of black was sticking out of it. The little girl pulled open the edge and saw a shiny black disc. A record!

Amaryllis smiled softly, thinking of the ones Aunt Petunia played some days, when she wasn't watching one of her programmes and she'd given Amaryllis her list of chores. Amaryllis had never known where she had them; Aunt Petunia said it wasn't a freak's business to know. She pulled out the record carefully and looked around for a record player similar to the one her Aunt had near the fireplace.

Her shoulders sagged. There wasn't one in the office-like room. Maybe the bigger room outside had one? Nobody was in here, so she wouldn't get in trouble if she didn't get caught… Amaryllis scampered out and looked around - there it was! She grinned giddily and hurried over to the large player by the piano and set the record on the bench. Opening the lid carefully - she didn't know if she'd break it or not - she leaned the sleeve against the whiteboard and placed the record atop the player.

A few moments and some fiddling based on what she'd seen her Aunt doing before later and the sound of glass breaking blared, followed quickly by loud, upbeat music and lyrics. Amaryllis felt like her smile would crack her face in two.

" . . . It's still rock and roll to me
Oh, it doesn't matter what they say in the papers
'Cause it's always been the same old scene
There's a new band in town

"But you can't get the sound
From a story in a magazine
Aimed at your average teen . . . "

Henry Jones blinked as he passed by his music room on his way to grab some coffee from the staff lounge before his class started. He hadn't left a record in the player had he? In that case, how had it started up with that finicky old player? Had he set it before he left the room and forgotten about it?

. . No, the album was barely ten minutes in, and he'd been gone for thirty, discussing Marlee's grades with Carol, her teacher this year. Coffee forgotten, the Primary School music teacher pulled the door open a crack, trying to see who was inside. It looked like a student - a year one or year two student, perhaps, judging by the little girls size once one looked past what appeared to be an older brother's hand-me-downs - was dancing around in front of the chairs to the music.

Henry couldn't hold back his smile; the girl looked very much like he probably had at that age. He'd been in love with music for as long as he could remember, and he'd been quite the exuberant child about it, too. Odd, considering how shy he was about everything else.

With an amused chuckle under his breath, Henry pulled the door fully open. The effect on the girl was immediate.

Red-brown hair whipped through the air when the door creaked, and oversized trainers tangled around the wearer's ankles, making the girl tumble into the chairs. Thankfully the music stands weren't out, so she likely wasn't hurt too badly – likely she'd just gotten a shock. Henry rushed forward and pulled the girl up, looking her over to be certain she was alright. "Are you okay?" he asked quickly.

The girl nodded solemnly, green eyes wide and frightened. Her arms were crossed tightly over her front, and her chin was practically glued to her throat, by all appearances. Dark russet hair fell into her face. The poor child was the very picture of fright - Henry felt terrible. Still, he nodded and tried to seem upbeat as he helped her up and brushed imaginary dust from her shoulders.

"Thank you," the tiny child whispered. Henry nodded, and led her over to sit on the piano bench while he stopped the record.

"You're welcome," he said, slipping the LP back into its sleeve. "I must say, very nice choice. Billy Joel is quite good, I think." He sat down across from the student on the other end of the piano bench. "So, what would you be doing in here? And who are you, exactly? Is your class nearby?"

The girl's arms stayed crossed, but she shook her hair back and at least looked at his torso rather than the wood grain of her seat. "I was running from some of the others when we were outside," she said quietly. It off-put Henry, who was used to his own boisterous students and his equally noisy sons and daughters. Even the most silent of children generally became louder in music class, from his experience. This was... strange, for him. Out of his element. The girl continued. "They were throwing rocks at me again, so I hid."

Before Henry could register the matter-of-fact tone in the girl's voice, she awkwardly thrust out her hand. "My name is Amaryllis Potter. How do you do?" she said, with a little bobbing half-curtsey. It was a frankly adorable example of manners, as taught by so many of his students' parents: by rote until one felt they had to do it for fear of grounding or some such punishment.

Henry had never had the best self-control on the planet. So it was no surprise to him that he laughed out loud as he grasped Amaryllis' hand and shook it. "Pleasure, Amaryllis. I'm Henry Jones, the music teacher here. You'll start taking my class about halfway through year three."

For some reason, Amaryllis seemed put out by this comment. "I am in year three," she told him belligerently. "I'm just short." Ah.

Henry smiled sheepishly. "Ah. Whoops . . ." he glanced around the room, and his eyes fell on the piano in front of him. "Say, your year should be outside for another half an hour. Do you know how to play the piano?" At the girl's head shake, he asked, "Well how would you like to learn?"

Amaryllis Potter's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes! Er - Er, I mean, yes, I would, thank you, Mr Jones."

Her hair falling over her face as she ducked her head again did nothing to hide her excitement. Or her blush.

"Erm, can we – can we start now?"

End Notes: Well, there we are! I'll be updating once a week for the foreseeable future, with a good amount (ten chapters) already written. This fic is essentially my baby, and I've been toying with it for the past year or so, on and off. It is … very different from when I started out, I'll say that much. The original is probably going in an odd ideas file at some point.

Anyway, the only snag that I can see happening, posting-wise is my ship date being sooner than expected. Though that would require my recruiter to actually pick up the phone... Oh, well.

Please, tell me what you think, and Eat Your Rikkios!

9 October 2013 CE