Hello, welcome to my first attempt at writing a fanfiction. The first few chapters are a little short and a bit of a prologue to introduce you to my Original Characters. Don't worry, our favourite British friends will show up soon. Reviews are very welcome. Hope you enjoy what I've cooked up.
P.S. Madam Rowling owns everything Harry Potter, I'm just a story teller living in her world.
Chapter 1 - The Priestess
Far from the normalcy of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, near London, in a desert where one does not expect to see anything but sand and stone, lies a forgotten village. A quaint village, untouched by the passing of time and the abrasiveness of the elements. High up on the Gilf Kebir Plateau, in the south-west corner of Egypt, a neat assembly of small but sturdy, square, mud brick homes are carefully located following the meandering of a small, slow-moving, clear, blue river that flows endlessly from a vibrant oasis on the highest point of the plateau. This oasis is blossoming with many fruit-bearing trees yielding dates, figs and some citrus. In the skies above, a beautiful pair of birds sporting red and gold plumage, reminiscent of dancing flames, were performing aerial acrobatics. One bird, notably larger than the other, donned radiant scarlet head feathers, while the smaller avian possessed shinier plumage and orange head feathers. Even a novice Magizoologist would recognize them as a pair of mated phoenixes. In contrast to the verdant oasis, the constructions that made up the small community were built with smooth walls which are slightly slanted inwards for stability and show no signs of the individual bricks that make up a whole. A testament to expert craftsmanship, or perhaps something more. Each building, however, carries etches of ancient symbols and primitive paintings of legendary heroes and mystical creatures locked in conflict, dancing along the sandy coloured canvas, animating the otherwise quiet village. As the sweltering heat of day fades into the comfortable warmth of dusk, villagers and children dressed in simple linen tunics surge from the doorless archways of their abodes. One has little need of privacy in such a tightly knit community and fears no intrusion thanks to the village's seclusion. The adults tended to necessary duties of carrying goods and foods to where they were needed, tending to elders in waning health and corralling excitable children who rejoice in the cooler temperatures at sunset to play with their friends. A few young boys, separated by the river flowing between homes, are kicking an old leather ball to each other in a game that can only be described as "keep away from the river". The youngest of the bunch, a lad of barely 9 with a shaggy mop of brown hair covering his eyes, rolls the ball as close to the river as he dares and with a determined breath kicks it with all his might. An experienced onlooker would be able to see that the ball was headed for a splash. And it is a good thing one such onlooker was present as with a slight flick upwards of the hand, the ball seemingly picking up a second wind, lands on the other side of the river to the cheers of all the boys.
"Bakari! Looks like you've finally found your legs!" exclaims one of the older kids with a similar head of hair falling above his brow, displaying a twinkling pair of chocolate coloured eyes.
The young boy, Bakari, now finds himself weightless in the arms of his older brother. "See KooKoo, I told you birthday wishes come true!"
"How do you know that was my wish Roori?" a stunned Bakari whispers. The older boy, Rekhmire, or KooKoo to his friends, answers with a mischievous smirk and a ruffling of the boy's already messy hair.
These boys continue playing for as long as the sun remains setting with the mysterious onlooker quietly laughing to herself as she subtly makes the ball, skip, splash or float across the river, the children none the wiser as they begin to believe themselves capable of magical feats, with their feet. Once the last rays of light disappear over the horizon, the woman, a beautiful woman in fact, with thick long black hair, braided down the center of her back, interwoven with thin but lustrous gold strands complimenting her bronze complexion, walks up to the boys with a gentle orange flame in her hand a her basket of goods levitating in the other.
"The sun has gone to sleep little ones, that means you must follow." Then, with another smooth flick of her fingers beneath the floating basket, small clay jugs are distributed to each of the boys, each with a moving painting of a creature signature of the house to which each boy belongs. Evidently, the brothers Roori and KooKoo, had a painted hippopotamus that seemed to be walking around their jugs looking for a comfortable place to sleep. Roori's animal seemed to find its spot hanging in the loop of the handle while KooKoo's hippo was content to be slumbering right on the lid. A few giggles were heard from the boys as they followed the movements of the paintings on each other's gifts.
"Now now, boys, as you know, these are meant for your Mamas and your Babas. I will not hear news of a container found empty in the morning." As she stares pointedly at some of the known troublemakers of the group.
"Priestess? Can Maxx play with us tomorrow morning? Please? We barely see him anymore." A boy with a lion painted jug asks with a pout.
"I don't think so Amose, Maxximus is very busy, he needs to be prepared for-" she interrupts herself, "Run along young ones, soon even my flame won't be enough to light the way home for you." quickly recovering her serene demeanor.
The boys saunter off with a collective "Yes Priestess Sphinkus, thank you Priestess Sphinkus."
Once confident all the boys made it home safe, the Priestess walks into her own quarters, sets down the now empty basket and sheaths the flame. She is about to climb into her bed when eyes as blue as the river greet her, and the teenage boy, Maxximus, mutters: "They asked about me again Mama, why can't I go play."
"You know why habibi, you need to be prep-" "Prepared, yes I know but you never tell me for what." He interrupts with a loud whisper.
"Sleep Maxximus, tomorrow is a new day. New things are coming." As the Priestess lies back on her bed in a room shared with her son, the only boy in the village with a Priestess for a mother and the only person in the village with those mysterious azure eyes. Elsewhere, a neglected boy receives a letter addressed to him, resident of the cupboard under the stairs.