Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was a strange child, almost ethereal in his icy beauty. The villagers feared him, just as they feared his equally unearthly mother. They called him the 'sorcerer child', for he was the son of a sorceress and shared her terrifying powers. He is cursed, they would say, cursed to never quite fit into our world… They avoided him. And the boy grew, and knew that he was different from everyone else. He became cold, like a chill wind. His heart froze, for no one wished to make him feel.
No one, that is, but one other child. Another boy, orphaned as an infant. His green eyed gaze saw past the exterior, and he saw something more. Something… brighter…
And then, the real story began…
Chapter One"I saw two of 'em sorcerers. I saw 'em this evenin', on the beach!"
"You kiddin' me…"
"No… I'm serious…"
The inn reeked of stale beer and rotted fish. Smoke clogged the air with a haze of grey smog. It was a horrible, cheap sort of place, used by the poorest of fisherman and peasants who lived in the seaside village. A large group of fisherman's wives sat huddled together at one of the rickety tables. They leaned forward; their hardened faces alight with eager curiosity. The eldest, a woman with a face like a wrinkled prune, began to relate her tale.
"I was walkin' on the beach lookin' for me husband. I couldn' find 'im, and it was getting dark. And then, I looked up at them cliffs – you know them cliffs don't you? Them large ones. And I saw 'im. 'E was just a kid, but you could tell. 'E 'ad them strange clothes. The sort that sorcerer's wear. And 'e was pointing one of them wands at a rock. Not a big one, mind. It was just small. And 'e said somethin' weird and it began to float." There was a gasp of shock from her captive listeners.
"Your kiddin' ain't you Maeve?" Said a woman, "That ain't natural."
"I know, but 'e did." She said stubbornly. "And then, that mother of 'is – 'er who lives on the cliffs – she said 'e 'ad done well! And then she took 'im away somewhere. I couldn' believe me eyes!"
"Them lot ain't right." Said another. "The sorceress and her kid - they shouldn' be here. Don't know why the 'ave to live on our beach."
The rest of their conversation faded back into the usual cacophony of noise. From within the kitchens, a small boy strained to hear the rest of their exchange. He peered through a crack beneath the door, his green eyes a stark contrast to the grease stained floor and decayed wooden door.
A podgy hand reached out and snatched hold of the boy's tattered shirt. With a yelp, the boy was lifted up. He struggled, desperately trying to break the iron grip, but to no avail. The man sneered.
"And what were you doing, boy?" he growled. "Spying on people, were you? And why weren't you working? Lazy, good-for-nothing…"
"I've done me work!" He cried. "I… I was just…"
"I don't want to hear your talk!"
The man dragged the boy further into the kitchens, to where a thin, bony stood over a stove. An apron covered her neatly washed dress, keeping any stains from ruining the nearly new clothing. She was a prim, proper woman who always dressed like one who was middle-class, not poor and unkempt. Petunia Dursley and her family had high opinions of themselves. They could never be thought of as anything but proper.
"Petunia," Vernon said gruffly, "the boys was acting up, again."
She turned to face them. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the child. Her expression could only have been one of pure displeasure.
"Typical." She muttered. "You can't keep yourself out of trouble, can you?"
"Aunt Petunia - "
"Quiet! You're just like your mother. A complete and utter nuisance…"
The boy listened, and willed himself not to speak in defence of the mother he had never met. But his aunt could be so vicious, so vengeful when she spoke about her sister. It hurt him to think that his mother could ever have been anything like his aunt described.
Petunia finally clamed down, and with a final glare of anger she ordered him to his room. With an almost audible sigh of relief, the boy rushed out of the wretched kitchen.
His room was not like any of the others. It had once been a cupboard, used for storing herbs and medicines. It had been turned into a sleeping area a few days after he had first come to live at the Dursley's inn when he was a year old. Even though he had slept in their for over ten years, the musky odour of bottled spices had not vanished. The boy had come to find it almost comforting.
Gently, he shut the door. It closed with a muffled click, and the room fell into darkness.
His feet ached. In truth, his whole body felt like one giant ache. If the pain had been caused by the beatings, constant hard work or a mixture of both, the boy did not know. He didn't particularly care. He had a chance to finally rest, and he was going to take it.
The child had a blanket or two – they were too old and ratty for the Dursley's to use. They kept him warm enough, but the ground was still unyieldingly hard, and uncomfortable to sleep on. But right at that moment, he didn't care.
Harry Potter lay down upon the hard floor, and went to sleep.
That night, he dreamt of flashing green light and a woman's muted screams.
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The sun dipped beneath a crimson sky, alight with the faint fire of sunset. Reflections played upon the roaring sea, colours, burgundy and gold, swept across the landscape. Upon the cliffs stood two companions. One woman, slim and elegant, and a boy, delicate and pale like the greying shade of the ocean's depths.
"Concentrate Draco." Narcissa's gaze was unreadable, as always. "This is not beyond you."
Draco did not look up. He stared fixedly at the smooth grey rock, all alone on the rough cliff-face. One small hand clutched his wand in a tense grip. He did not move.
"Concentrate."
There was a moment of stillness, and then, hesitantly, Draco lifted his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa." He murmured. For a second, he could feel the thrill of magic rushing through his veins, warming his numbed skin. A spark shot through his right arm, down into the polished wooden wand. If he could only keep it… hold it…
The magic faded away. Narcissa gave him a slightly disapproving glance. The stone lay still, unmoved by Draco's hard work. He scowled.
"It isn't working mother. I can't…"
"Malfoy's can do anything, Draco." Said Narcissa. "Now have some confidence. Merlin knows, you posses enough of that."
Confidence, thought Draco. I'm a Malfoy. I have every reason to be confident.
"Wingardium Leviosa." This time there was no hesitance in his voice. The rock shuddered slightly, and gently rose up into the air.
"Excellent." Said Narcissa. There was a slight smile on her face. "You are doing well, my little dragon."
"Of course I am." Draco said confidently. "I'm a Malfoy."
Beneath them, an old woman gasped in awe as she watched the young sorcerer and his mother walk away, faint traces of magic still lingering in the evening air.
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AN: I decided to write this because I really believe there is a lack of good AU fantasy out there for Harry Potter. The whole story is planned out, but not written. Do review me and tell me what you think. This is based on a series called the Sevenwaters Trilogy by Juliet Marillier, which I adore. It's a must read! Especially the last book, which this is mainly based upon, and the first book which is good and the…
Ah, just go read the whole thing.
But the way, I don't own Harry Potter. Just thought you should know.
Review!