"Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after."
"So leteth me geteth this straight. Thou wanteth a tiara?" The Blacksmith raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he stared down at the broad messenger. The boy scowled and crossed his arms, flicking back some of his long black hair as he twisted his head to the side. The small hut was smoky and dark from the roaring fire inside, and it was hard to find the Blacksmith, as he blended in with background with his dark brown hair and soot covered cheeks. He was mostly skin and bones, but his arms were covered in scars and muscles that showed how much he labored.
"It's not f'r me, if that's what thou're thinking. It's f'r mineth mistress, Lady Ravenclaw." The messenger replied shortly, shifting back and forth on his heels as he glared at the brown haired man.
"Ah, mineth dearest lady. How is she?
"She is fine."
"Now, now, nay needeth to be so crosseth with me, Godrell, I am only trying to striketh a conv'rsation."
Godrell snorted. "As if I wouldst believe that."
The Blacksmith, only in his young twenties with a bit of cheek still left in him, gasped and clasped a hand over his heart. "How thou wound me so, mineth dearest Godrell!"
"Yes, yes," Godrell waved his hand. "Now, geteth on with it."
"Pushy, pushy," The Blacksmith muttered, accepting the piece of paper that Godrell held out to him. There, etched on the parchment with ink that still shimmered, no doubt part of Lady Ravenclaw's 'magic' that was whispered in the tavern, was a design of the crown. He hummed under his breath and nodded to himself, quietly calculating how long with would take and if he had enough pure silver to make it, as no doubt Lady Ravenclaw would only want the best of the best and the purest.
"I shall starteth tom'rrow m'rning. Telleth Lady Ravenclaw to expecteth it by the next new moon."
Godrell bowed his head to the Blacksmith and left him to prepare. He winced as he was assaulted by the bright and harsh sunlight; although it was darkening afternoon sunlight, in comparison to the pitch black of the Blacksmith's hut that was only lit by the fire that stroked the walls in uneven flickers, it was startling.
Meanwhile, the Blacksmith stood in the exact same position as he had when Godrell left, and stared down at the paper.
A grin slowly slipped onto his lips as he folded the paper, and hummed a merry tune.
"Smith! 'Tis the new moon, and mineth lady is int'rest'd to knoweth whether or not thoust finish'd h'r crown." Godrell peaked his head inside the hut that resided on the outside of the small town of Hogsmeade, and blinked as he caught sight of the Blacksmith lounging comfortably on his chair with his hat pulled over his eyes.
"Smith?" he questioned, slipping inside the hut with a faint shake in his fingers. His clothes hung off him and his black eyes glimmered in the dying fire as he glanced around at all the metal laying around. Several dirty cloths were sitting on the Blacksmith's table, and he quietly shuffled over to the middle of the room to prod at them. Just as he was unwrapping one with traitorous fingers, a hand caught him by the shoulder.
He looked up, startled, and stared wide eyed into the Blacksmith's stone face. "Thou w'ren't sneaking around in mineth things, wast thou, Godrell?"
Godrell's eyes narrowed as he dropped the cloth like it was hot. "Nay, sir."
"I sure hopeth not." The Blacksmith kept his hand on his shoulder as he carefully maneuvered Godrell closer to the door. "I assume ye art here f'r thy mistress's tiara?"
"Aye."
The Blacksmith nodded and smoothly grabbed one of the cloths on the ground, one that Godrell had never noticed as it was buried under a mound of cloths and patchwork. "Here 'tis, it shouldst suiteth to h'r liking, I shouldst hopeth."
He unwrapped it, and Godrell's breath caught. It was beautifully shaped, shining brighter than anything he had ever seen. The Blacksmith's creation looked as if it was created out of liquid stars, so perfect and so flawless, with elegant curves and bars, that it was almost astonishing it wasn't made using magic.
There was only one thing wrong with it. An empty square indent was placed in the middle, and the diadem seemed awfully empty and lackluster without it.
"What's to goeth hither?" Godrell asked, pointing to the empty slot.
The Blacksmith grinned a Cheshire smile. "Whatev'r Lady Ravenclaw desires," he replied cryptically, as he carefully wrapped it up again and handed it to Godrell. "Maketh haste, thou wouldn't wanteth thy lady w'rrying about where h'r c'ronet is."
Godrell nodded. "Aye, sir." And then he turned on his heel with the tiara tucked under his arm and a bounce in his step, and the Blacksmith wondered if he had made the right choice in showing the boy what he held.
Godrell Matthews was known for being a backstabber and robber, with his poor background and drunk and dead parents, Lady Ravenclaw had given him a new life free from his childhood grief and worry.
(But that didn't mean he still didn't get in trouble time to time, robbing, killing, preforming things on the opposite side of whatever order was held by whichever King or Queen that ruled over the land.)
"Magenta, mineth lady?"
Godrell knocked on the door just as the echoing voice of Lady Ravenclaw's seamstress floated through the door, and he heard the witch shush her as she ordered the seamstress to open the door. The disgruntled lady did so, and Godrell walked calmly into the dressing room, ignoring the clutter of the silks and fabrics that compromised of whatever dress was being made.
"Ah, Godrell. I assume thoust have mineth diadem?"
"Aye, lady." Godrell stiffly bowed as he handed over the dirty cloth to Rowena, who wrinkled her nose but carefully unwrapped it with pale hands.
She had a stiff intake of breath when she unearthed the beautiful object, and her long fingernails traced its rims. "It's p'rfecteth."
"I thought so too, Lady Ravenclaw."
The black haired woman pressed her thumb against the rectangular slot and narrowed her eyes. "I seeth the Smith puteth in a space f'r a jewel."
"A-Aye."
"Hmm." She grabbed one of her many boxes on the vanity and carefully pulled out a gem that was dark blue in colour and shimmered in the light.
"He knows me so well." She said in an airy tone, as she softly pressed the jewel into the spot and watched it slide in perfectly. She tested it as she threw it around in her hands and held it upside down, but it stayed perfectly in place.
"Perfect." Her smooth hands slowly set the diadem on her head, and Godrell took a sharp intake of breath. She looked absolutely breathtaking, regal and wise with a crown on her head. A queen, not just a lady.
"All that is gold dost not glitt'r." Rowena intoned as she slipped off the diadem and placed in neatly on her vanity. "But all that glitt'rs is gold."
Godrell excused himself quietly as she sunk into deep thoughts.
For QL- Jack and Jill, 'all that is gold does not glitter', magenta.
For OC Generator- Godrell Matthews.
Blacksmith is a creation of my own kind.
Thank you so much Sam for betaing! You're amazing and extremely helpful.
I don't own Harry Potter.