I've been having this story in my head for quite some time and its been begging to be written so I gave in as I usually do. This is the first chapter and it is a test to see if people are interested to read something like this. I don't know when I will update it because I have so many others that I'm working on. I don't want to give you any hints about anything and spoil it, I think in the context of this story it is better that you don't know much to start with.

Please tell me if you find it interesting and if you want to read more and I will continue. Thanks a bunch and enjoy...hopefully! :D

Stranger

Chapter 1

Tell her to find me an acre of land
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
between the sea and silver sand
If she would be a true love of mine

Tell her to plough it with a dandelion thorn
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
and sow the field with spirits unborn
If she would be a true love of mine

Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
and gather it all in flowers of heather
If she would be a true love of mine

Tell her to weave it on Unicorn bone
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
and dye it red with the blood of old stone
If she would be a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a funeral shirt
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
with stitches of fine needle work
If she would be a true love of mine

Tell her to find me where the banshee sings
Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme
and fly to me on angelwings
then she will be a truelove of mine...

then she will be a truelove of mine...

She loved Ireland. Who wouldn't, she thought. The wide green fields, the tall cliffs that overlooked the roaring ocean, the solitude, the silence. Even the thick mists that crept some evenings, swallowing everything into darkness held a compelling charm. She was fortunate that her husband agreed to move here for a while, and even more fortunate that magic allowed them to go about their business with extreme ease, just like they have never even left Britain.

Her mother was Irish and it wasn't without a sense of homecoming that she looked upon the wide field surrounding the house. It gave her a sense of peace that she could take care of the old house that belonged to her family for centuries. Her and her parents didn't visit the place often but yet she could still remember each visit in great detail.

Their new and in the same time very old, temporary marital home belonged to her grandparents on her mother's side and to their forefathers before them. She knew it was built around the sixteenth century and even if on the outside it looked like a ghost of those times on the inside it held remnants of many generations that lived before. The house, like everything else around couldn't be called anything, it was indefinite in its architecture and size. It couldn't be considered a cottage but it didn't look like a mansion either, it had a straw roof but its haggard walls were made of stone. The low stone wall around the property was barely there as it was crumbled in parts, looking like an uneven set of old teeth, the derelict proofs of its existence were collapsed and eaten away by the wind and moist coming from the ocean behind. The house stood close to the ocean, looking stubborn in its determination to resist the tempests that surely came upon the land from the immense expanse of water behind. Now the air was still, but she could remember the howling of the salty wind as it blew through all the nooks and crannies of the house when she came with her parents here as a child.

There was a nagging feeling of dread at the back of her mind as she looked upon the ominous building. Like all modern, working parents, hers never had enough time to take care of domestic issues and if they needed a housekeeper doing their cleaning back at home, they obviously never had time to concern themselves with the state of the old Irish house. She loved observing the fascinating building from the outside but sighed inwardly at the thought of the clutter that waited to be put in some order on the inside.

She sat on a bench in the front yard and glared at the few weeds that, even here with all the windy and harsh weather, found room to slither on walls and tangle around the iron gate tightly.

She heard her husband's footsteps and stood up looking behind her. Ron appeared from behind the large mound in front of the house trudging through the thick carpet of moist grass that formed miniature marshes from place to place.

"I tried to get it opened but it won't budge, I think dad charmed the locks on the car wrong.", he said rather sulkily.

They were using one of Arthur's enchanted cars so that they could blend in the muggle village and in the same time, when no one would see them, they could actually fly the thing to get to their destinations faster. Unfortunately the large key that opened the front door of the house was at the moment in the car's glove compartment and said compartment refused to open for reasons unknown. They could only blame Arthur Weasley for that, of course.

"Well then, we'll have to get Morrison after all, won't we?" She said and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in her dove-grey overcoat.

Morrison was the man paid by her parents to come from time to time and make sure that the house hadn't been flooded during rains, pushed in the sea by some freak mud-slide or vandalised. She remembered him as a weather beaten man with a permanent scowl on his face. She also remembered being scared of him when she was a little girl.

They drove, the muggle way, to the village of Renvyle. It was only ten minutes drive from the house; she could easily go there in time of need. The house was near Tully Beg Street in the Connemara County. It was actually quite close to the Connemara National Park and she couldn't wait to visit the place she could vividly remember since she was little. Next year she was planning to apply for her NEWTS and she needed a bit of time off from the celebrity status she had in London and this place was perfect. If she was going to do all her research and work here, spending such a long time in the old cottage, she was going to need detailed information on all known facilities in the nearby village.

After a short drive, the sleepy, grey village greeted them with scattered and equally grey houses.

She took out her mobile phone and searched for her mother's number. Her life wasn't confined to the borders of the magical world and, as she had muggle parents and could never completely severe her ties to the few muggle friends she still had, she used the mobile phone to keep in contact with them. Right now she realised what a wise decision that had been.

She asked her mother for Morrison's phone number and called him so that they could meet. Fortunately the man was in town and he directed them to the local pub.

The local pub was a dingy old building with a combination of old and modern decorations and with an extremely clichéd name.

"'Merry O'Malley's…?" said Ron, eyeing the sign on top of the door. "Figures…", he laughed as they entered the locale.

Not larger than the Leaky Cauldron and just as dubious, Merry O'Malley's was populated with few customers and all, except for the barmaid, were men. Some were older, some younger, some were gaunt, some portly, but all stood around tables or on the tall chairs surrounding the bar with pints or glasses of various alcoholic beverages.

The moment they entered every head turned to them in curiosity. This was a small village and hardly any visitors came, so this was an event for sure. As they were used to be eyeballed by everyone ever since the war ended, the otherwise awkward feelings never came.

They approached the bar to ask the barman for Morrison's whereabouts but just then she saw, in the corner of her eye, a figure coming toward them.

"Miss Granger! Showed yourselves pretty fast, ay?", a thick Irish accent sounded in her ear.

She turned and there was the man she remembered perfectly, now older and even more weather beaten.

He looked at them and frowned in welcome.

"Hello, sir! Nice to see you again!" she smiled and it felt fake and awkward. "This is my husband, Ronald Weasley." She said and waved toward Ron. The two men shook hands and Morrison eyed him curiously.

"Weasley, ya say? Like the weasel? What a shame a good old Irish name like Cavanaugh got lost with you girls marrying blokes with funny names. First your mother and now you really done it with this one! Weasley, ey? Old Cass is rolling in his grave, I tell ya!"

She glared at him but abstained from making any further comments because he was an old man with little mind left and he was one of the few still living friends of Cass, her late grandfather. Ron, on the other hand was red like a beet. She knew that the subject of his name and family were delicate and she sighed in expectancy of what would come.

"You really like making a good first impression, don't you, old man?" hissed Ron.

"At my age I don't concern myself with painting a good picture, lad!", muttered the old man.

"Keep it up and you won't step one foot in the house again." Ron retorted and she elbowed him discreetly.

Ron got even more upset and turned to her with a fierce frown.

"What?" he thundered.

She covered her face with her hands and sighed. This was Ron all over.

"You should listen to yer' wife there, she knows what she's saying." He said in a rather bored voice as Ron glowered at him menacingly. "A'right, enough of this, people are staring and it's late, let's get it over with." Morrison said and turned around walking surprisingly briskly for his age to the exit and out the pub.

The drive back home was a most annoying affair with snide comments coming from the old man, insults from Ron and efforts to combine efficient driving and diplomatic comments, from Hermione.

They finally arrived and she parked the car carefully between the mound in front of the house and the small mud hole next to it, trying to not get one of the tires stuck in the dubious pit. The wizened old man got out of the car and walked in front of them still grumbling.

"Ron, for God's sake, leave him alone, he is old and wacky, don't take him seriously. We need him, he's the only connection we have left with my grandparents. If he gets upset and refuses to help us around here I don't know what we'll do." She whispered to Ron when they were some metres behind the old man and out of ear shot.

"Yeah, whatever!" he muttered and walked ahead of her and she thought she heard something that sounded suspiciously like, 'Cavanaugh my arse!'

"What was that, Ron?"

"Nothing, 'Mione!" he said louder.

They came upon the door where Morrison was already standing on the smooth, worn out, stone stairs fumbling with the lock. The house was heavily barricaded, a regular key latch, a heavy iron bolt and an ancient looking, ornate lock made it impossible for almost everyone, with the exception of the most talented of thieves, to open.

"First you open this here, black lock with the long key, " explained the old man as he went about his business. "then you pull the hasp," he continued and groaned in the effort of opening it, "a bit rusty… Then you take this crooked key and open the latch. Now this key's got a quirk. You don't push it all the way in or it'll get stuck and you'll need some strength to pull it out, you push it halfway in and then move it about a little until it clicks." He said as he did just that, frowning and listening for the sound. Hermione made a mental note to consult Arthur about the spells she could use on the muggle locking system.

"What if I'm not home and she gets locked on the outside. What then, ey?" asked Ron, for a moment seemingly forgetting that she was a witch.

"Shhh boy! I'm trying to open the damned thing.", the old man admonished Ron waving a hand toward him. "I think, young miss Cavanaugh will know what to do then." He said thoughtfully while squinting his eyes and licking his parched lips in concentration. "Ah, got it!" he said triumphantly.

The iron locking paraphernalia shrieked and moaned and after a while gave in to Morrison's persistence. Hermione tried to ignore the name she was called by, but Ron frowned deeply.

"It's WEASLEY!", he growled after the old man.

Morrison smiled mischievously and pushed the door open, the two following close behind, Ron clenching his fists by his sides.

"Yes, yes, boy, of course it is.", laughed the old man.

"It really is, Morrison, and I'll ask you to stop this senseless baiting!" Hermione said, having had enough of the crazy old coot. He didn't stop to look at her, but spoke loudly enough for her to hear.

"I never said it isn't your name, but here you are Irish and I'll call you by your Irish name." She clenched her teeth and made an effort to stop another retort. She wasn't particularly upset by the fact, rather, the situation made her feel bad for Ron and she decided to convince the old man to call her Weasley for his sake.

She elbowed Ron again and whispered a bit more about the decrepit condition of the old man's mind. He calmed down and they followed Morrison inside the darkness of the house.

The first thing that hit her was the musty smell and complete darkness. She was tempted to take her wand out and cast a Lumos, but remembered just in time about the presence of the old man. She breathed out in relief, who knew what an obliviation spell could do to the geezer's already warped mind.

"Your parents asked for the electricity to be cut because no one lived here for so long.", the disembodied voice of the old man resounded from somewhere inside the house. "You can go to the town hall and make a new contract."

They stopped in the middle of a room where only the dark outlines of furniture could be distinguished in the murky light coming in through the grimy glass of the small windows. She could see the shadow of the staircase to her left and that of a rounded small door just beneath it. The silence was so deep inside the house that for a moment she felt like she was alone, even with Ron's light breathing behind her. A yellow light brought from the shadows a collection of dressers and cupboards of all styles and sizes, and a round fireplace, the size of a full grown man. The light travelled up the walls revealing the staircase and some wide twig baskets with the rotten remains of fire wood. The "light carrier" was Morrison and he came up to them with a candle holder in his hand, small clouds of dust indicating his every step. He eyed them sternly, the flickering light casting sinister shadows upon his face.

"That's it. You have some more candles here until you get electricity." He said producing a square, greying box from behind his back and handing it to Hermione. "You have your phone, you can call me at reasonable hours if something's wrong and you can come charge it at the pub. I really must be off. Like I said, it's late and I have a long day tomorrow. Good luck!" he bowed his head shortly, pushed the candle holder in Ron's hand and walked past them to the door.

He stoped on the door step and turned to them, only a silhouette of a slightly hunched man in the light coming from outside.

"Whatever it is that might happen don't call me at night, a working man needs his rest…you'll manage, I'm sure. Good night!" he said and Hermione had the distinctive impression that he was addressing her. She waved the thought away thinking that it was only her imagination, she couldn't see the man's face, after all.

"Crazy old geezer!" grumbled Ron and turned to walk to a sofa near the hearth.

He placed the candle on the mantelpiece and then threw himself on the sofa. A cloud of dust rose around him and he jumped back up wide eyed.

"Ugh! Disgusting!"

"Magic, Ron." She said matter of factly and walked to the sofa to cast a Scorgio.

"Yeah…magic." He laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Weird place this is." He said as she went about to light the fireplace.

"Weird? Why?" She couldn't understand why this place would feel weird to someone used to live in a house that seemed to have a mind of its own and a personality to match its inhabitants.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "It's just a bit creepy that's all. Have you seen those blokes at the pub, they looked half dead."

She laughed and sat on the couch, candle box in hand, and proceeded to rummage through it.

"They are drunkards Ron, of course they look half dead."

"Yeah, but still…" she saw him looking around the room suspiciously. "This place gives me the creeps."

"Ron, it will all be different once we clean the place and light some candles. Believe me, this will be the cosiest and most welcoming place you've seen. It just needs a bit of care." She smiled at him and returned to counting the candles.

"Yeah, I suppose…" he said half-heartedly. "What do you say, should we activate the connection to the floo network tonight?" he said as he walked in front of the tall hearth warming his hands by the fire.

"Yes, that would be a good idea, especially considering Molly's worries." She spoke distractedly as she kept on with her counting. "Fifty-eight, sixty, sixty-two… We have sixty-two candles, Ron, I think it's enough for a few days, until we get charmed ones or put up electricity again." She announced.

"Good!" spoke Ron cheerily. "I suppose I should go get the stuff from the car." He said unenthusiastically and searched through his pockets for the car key.

"Alright, I'll make this place fit for human habitation in the meantime." She got up from the sofa and looked at Ron as he exited the house, closing the door behind him.

The room sank into deep silence and she sighed and rubbed her hands determinedly. She looked at her watch and groaned, it was almost ten PM and they didn't even know if there was a functional bed in the house. She knew there were four or five beds, including the one in the guest-room downstairs, but considering how old they were she had to prepare herself to perform some heavy cleaning spells.

Happy that there were no muggles in sight she took the wand out of her coat and casted Lumos contently. She walked by the stairs and entered the kitchen. There was a black stove in a corner, large enough to cook four meals at once on it, a wooden table in the middle surrounded by chairs and some cupboards and shelves lined around the wall. Another door to her right led to the guest-room that overlooked the ocean.

She cleaned the place as well as she could through the darkness and opened the cupboards in search of some more candle holders. She distinctly remembered that there were many candle holders in the house and the fact that Morrison came with the light from the direction of the kitchen only confirmed what she already knew. She opened drawers and doors until, finally, she found them stored at the bottom of a small wooden crate, between other unidentifiable objects. She placed one on the kitchen table and stuck a candle in it. The room sank in a warm but rather creepy glow. She went to the sink and turned the taps on She grimaced as the faucet sputtered water all over her and on the wall behind, before settling to a repelling, brown flow. She turned it off, taking her mind away from a comforting, warm tea. She filled her arms with candles and candle holders and made her way up the stairs. She heard the door open and some shuffling sounds.

"Almost done, 'Mione. I brought your stuff first, I still have mine, the food and I'm done." Said Ron breathlessly from the bottom of the stairs.

"Great, love!" She called back over her shoulder. She heard the door opening and closing again, acknowledging that she was alone.

The stairs were opening to a long hallway lined with doors. At both ends of the hallways there were small windows that, like all the other windows and doors in the house, held a very antique look about them, arched elegantly above wide, wooden sills.

She entered the first room she could remember, the one she used to sleep in when she was a little girl. It was a small room with a small window that opened to the front yard. She looked out and could see Ron at the car pulling things out of the trunk, his white t-shirt glowing in the darkness. She tried to open the window but it was stuck and she gave up. The bed in this room was too small for the two of them, it was a child's bed, so she had to go and look for the master bedroom.

She glanced with a little nostalgia at the simple shelves that still held some of her old toys and books.

After a little fumbling through the blue light coming through the windows on the hallway, she found the door to the master bedroom. This one was on the opposite side of her childhood bedroom and she remembered with thrill that it had an amazing view of the ocean. She opened the door with little effort and slipped in the room that wasn't as dark as her own room.

Indeed, the room was bigger, the bed was lovely and welcoming, with tall posts, but with some rather repulsive looking, yellowed draperies hanging from them. She turned to the window to see the view she remembered so well and it was just as she left it. The ocean opened in its beauty and infinity in front of her. A dark, ragged cliff and a wide, pale beach kissed by dark waters that shimmered invitingly in the moonlight, welcomed her. She hoped this window wasn't as stubborn as the previous one so she pushed with more strength than necessary, almost falling over when it opened surprisingly easy. The salty smell of the sea caressed her face as it swooped inside the musty room.

The windows opened wide, the curtains cast aside she leaned on her elbows on the window sill and filled her lungs with the sharp air. The ocean spoke and sang as its waves licked the shore again and again, coming and going as if teasing a longing lover. The waxing moon was hanging upside down in the sky, looking like a shimmering, silver chalice.

The sound of waves was hypnotizing and orphic in its intensity and her eyes closed as if on their own accord. Without knowing exactly when, the sound seemed to turn into a song - a heartbreaking, impossibly beautiful melody but indefinite, as if it was just an illusion. As much as it was a song it was just water splashing on the shore, both weaved together in utter perfection, indistinguishable.

She frowned but didn't open her eyes, listening, sinking in it and breathing it in almost. She needed more, she yearned to feel this through all her senses, to drown in this sensation that couldn't be compared to anything else.

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath again. The cool air traveled in her head, and into every cell of her brain, in her very essence, taking over her soul and being. She felt lightheaded as she watched the ocean raptly. She couldn't get enough of the myriad of sensations that were filling her and she wanted to open more, absorb more and everything. The waves seemed to be moving in slow motion, she was aware of every mound and valley they were creating as they were spilling all over the shore. Her eyes fell on the pale glistening sand, it looked blue and green and the part closer to the sea changed colours rapidly from the darkest black of the night to the shimmering blue of moonlight.

The sound got louder as the ocean gathered strength, its waves expanding, swelling, each coming in faster than the last. As the ocean's mood was changing so were her sensations growing more intense, so powerful that her heart began to race in her chest. She blinked rapidly and swallowed a mouthful of air, but still didn't move away from the window. A deep, unexplainable sorrow overwhelmed her and she cried, tears she couldn't control sliding down her face. Her heart ached and twisted in her chest - a longing after something she never even knew torturing her and clenching into her very soul.

The song was distinct now and she understood that it was the source of her overwhelming pain. Nothing in this wide world could hold more longing and more love of all things than that song, it spoke of things she couldn't comprehend with her mind, but somehow her soul seemed to have an instinctual understanding of it. She clasped her hands over her mouth to prevent the scream that was fighting its way up her throat. She wanted to do something, to change something, to return to things and times she could not understand, nor explain to herself.

The colours seemed more intense somehow, more vivid. Everything glowed and she took her hand away from her mouth, standing up and looking in rapt amazement at the image before her. It was as if a veil fell away from her eyes, magnifying and intensifying her vision. The moon, most of all glowed like nothing else, in its odd position, making her think of a glowing, silver boat ridding the high tides. The song was not entwined with the sound of waves anymore, it was a defined, distinct melody.

She didn't know what she felt anymore, longing, despair, love, happiness and a sea of other emotions she couldn't understand, nor name. There was one new feeling inside her though and she could recognize it easily as it used to be so regular once. Fear.

She was afraid of the unknown, she was afraid of whatever was singing that song, the certainty that it was no illusion made her shudder. She looked across the beach with trepidation searching for its source but didn't see anything or anyone, the beach was deserted. She thought of merpeople but then she dismissed the thought. The sensation was much to intense, much to beautiful to be created by them. Merpeople hypnotised for their benefit, but never stirred someone's soul to such a degree, as beautiful as their songs were.

And suddenly the song stopped, or so it felt like. It was so very odd! She strived to hear the song but it was gone and yet still there. The sound of waves was still there, but their enchanting beauty was gone. She couldn't understand when it happened, couldn't pin point the exact moment when it disappeared. It was like a very bright light bulb gone off suddenly and everything returned to the way it was, silent and dark. The silence was overwhelming now, nothing but the lapping of waves upon the shore.

She looked out the window, leaning over the sill in search of something, anything. The moment when she spotted a movement in the corner of her eye, her breath stopped in her throat. She looked sharply to her right, in the direction of the nearby cliffs and there was a man. She could clearly see him, a single human shape walking on the shore. He seemed to be wearing an overcoat of some sort, it was long and seemed grey or maybe light blue, she couldn't quite tell through the darkness. She watched him attentively, and even if he seemed to be unaware of her presence, she had an odd feeling that it wasn't so.

As he approached, she could see him more clearly, his pale face and dark hair shone in the moonlight. Though it was impossible for her to see his features, she could make out his profile that seemed proud and sharp and she thought she could see a small pipe in his mouth.

The stranger passed, seemingly in deep thought, without looking up at her or anywhere else but ahead of him. He walked to the jagged cliffs that surrounded the small gulf and made his way between them, through a path that she knew lead to the neighbouring beach. She watched him until he was swallowed by the darkness in the distance.

After a minute she shook herself from the strange state she was in and turned away from the window, remembering Ron, wondering why he didn't call for her. She must have been standing at that window for at least fifteen minutes. A shiver ran through her body, rising the hairs all over her neck and arms. She took a shaky breath and treaded dreamily to the door.

She walked to the top of the stairs and called for Ron but he didn't answer. She called again and again but nothing, only silence. She was afraid again, the darkness and loneliness of the house were overwhelming. She debated whether to go outside and look for him, but gave up when she realised she was to afraid to go out into the pitch black night.

She remembered the window in her little room and stumbled to the door, pushing herself wildly into it and scrambling to the little window. She tried to open it desperately but, like before, it resisted. She looked out and saw Ron at the car, arranging the bags and chests neatly, casting a spell and levitating them carefully in front of him as he walked to the door. She wondered what took him so long to get the few remaining baggage from the car. She reasoned that perhaps Ron, being rather accident prone, had problems with a spell or another. She smiled at the idea and breathed out relieved.

A light attracted her eyes to the car. The front of the car was hidden behind the large mound, but, seemingly, that was exactly where the light was coming from. A rather large glow that reflected in the small copse of trees behind the mound, their trunks like ghostly shapes coming out of the darkness. She couldn't understand, she thought that perhaps Ron left the headlights on. But shouldn't the back lights be on too, in that case? She groaned thinking that Arthur did it again and charmed the car all wrong, making it light up randomly, depleting the battery.

She shook her head and turned to go down into the living room and tell Ron about that, so he could go and turn them off. She descended the stairs to find Ron in front of the door surrounded by chests, suitcases and all sorts of bags.

"Hey love! That's it, got them all in!" he said looking up at her with a smile.

"W-what took you so long?" Her mouth felt as if she had swallowed cotton wool and everything around held an air of unreal. Ron frowned and looked her up and down quizzically.

"Long? I was gone five minutes, tops." She felt like fainting.

"Five minutes?" She said dazedly.

"Yeah, after I got your stuff in, I told you I was going out to get the food and my things. You were up the stairs moments ago." he said bemusedly. "You alright, 'Mione? You are all pale." She looked back down at him and clenched the banister in her fingers, forcing a smile that felt odd even to her.

"Yes I'm fine, I don't know what got over me. You know, girl things, feeling faint, paling..." She said with a smile.

"Your period, you mean? Alright then…" he shrugged but still looked a little suspicious at her. "Are you sure?" he pressed on.

"Yes, Ron, relax, I'm alright!"

"You better not be pregnant yet, we're only twenty one, you know."

"I'm not, Ron, and I'm twenty-two. Remember the time turner?" she rolled her eyes and climbed down the stairs to stand beside him. He hugged her and kissed her lovingly on top of her head, taking away that eerie, unreal feeling.

"Yes, love, I know, but still, it's a bit too early and we've only been married for three months."

"I don't want a child yet either, Ron, relax. And anyway, how could you ever manage a child, when you can't even turn the car's headlights off?" she asked pulling away from him and smiling cheekily.

"What do you mean? I didn't even turn them on, I used Lumos." He said bewildered.

"Ron, I've seen them from the window in my room. They are on, believe me!"

"That's odd…"

"Let's go and turn them off. Perhaps you forgot, or they were on when it was still light outside and you didn't notice them." She said, even though it didn't make sense even to her.

They walked out the door and into the dark night. Needless to say that there was no light coming from the car's direction and on closer inspection, they found nothing wrong.

"Maybe you saw a leprechaun!" said Ron smiling cheerily. "I'd love to get my hands on one of those, tie it to something, stare at it without blinking until it takes me to that pot of gold of his." Ron's eyes twinkled merrily at the thought of finding the famed leprechaun treasure.

"Yeah, perhaps it was a leprechaun…" she shrugged and turned to get back inside the house and get some well deserved sleep. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had a feeling that the light by the car couldn't have been made by a short, wrinkled man dressed in green.

Thank you for reading this! :)