This will be my first ever attempt at writing Fanfiction, constructive criticism is well received flames will make me cry.

There will be a pairing it just wont be announced till the character makes their first appearance.

Chapter One: Nature Sings

Harry Potter sat morosely against the wall of his cupboard. He was hungry, not frighteningly so but enough to know a growing boy needed more than just what was left of the nights dinner. At the tender age of ten young Harry Potter learned quickly that want and need were two separate things. He needed food, so he could put aside his want of more to ensure he was allowed what little he got later. With a heavy sigh, he laid out on his ratty old mattress, pulling his thin covers up over his small frame. He ignored the small gnawing at his stomach and just as he was taking off his glasses to prepare for bed he heard it.

Music.

A soft melodious tune filtered in under the door of his cupboard. It was strange. His Uncle was a fan of powerful orchestral marches. With pounding drum beats and triumphant horns. However from time to time, in the late hours of the night, music would play. A single instrument, a pan flute, if he had to guess, would softly break the silence of the night. The tune was never frantic or jaunty, it played in tones soft and low like a lullaby.

Harry was up in a flash, ear pressed against the door of his cupboard, taking in every note. The tune struck a chord in his heart, it breathed life into him like a soft breeze kindled a dying flame. He prayed each day for a night such as this, ever since he first heard the music it was all he wanted. He wanted so badly to rush out of his cupboard and take it, take it and make it his because his 'family' did not deserve something so beautiful. Alas, the door was locked as it always was. He went back to his bed and laid there once more as the music continued to play, filling him with its' warmth. He fell asleep a few minutes later, a rare smile on his face.

On the other side of the door sat Petunia Dursley. She held a set of pipes in her hand, the polished wood felt cold like steel as she held back tears that threatened to spill. She trailed a shaking hand over the juvenile engraving that rested on the pipes.

"L.E. & P.E."

It wasn't often that the weight of her sins fell upon her like this. It was even less often that she dug through her old childhood belongings for the reed pipes she and he sister had made as children, with the help of their father. Less often than that did she sit in the quiet of the night and play it like she once did in happy days. Too prideful was she to make up with her beloved sister, and now, held hostage by love for her son, she stood by as her nephew was mistreated by her husband Vernon.

She tried to do well by him when she could. Taking smaller servings at dinner, buying clothes a size too small for Dudley then misplacing the receipt. She knew though that if she did all she could, if she stood up to her lout of a husband he would leave and take her son with him and she could not bear that pain.

So selfishly she allowed the mistreatment to go on, she only wept openly on these nights when she played. She listened closely and could hear as Harry pushed himself against the door. It brought a smile to her heart that the child could still find joy in music as she and her sister once had. Then just as quickly that smile was whipped away as the door handle shook lightly and then a small sigh was heard, then his weight left the door with a creak.

She sat there for another hour. The ghost of her beloved sister at her side as she thought long and hard on her choices up to this point. It was early morning when she came to her decision. She quickly grabbed a pen and paper and with a steady hand wrote out a note. Folding the note upon itself into a tight roll, she stuffed it into one of the pipes of the flute. Then she tucked it safely away in the front pocket of her kitchen apron.

With the creak of wood her husband made his way down the stairs with his hair askew.

"Why hasn't the boy started on breakfast yet?" He asked gruffly.

This was it, her last chance to turn back from the choice she had made.

"He seems to have come down with something." She lied smoothly. "He had a coughing fit, it's a wonder he didn't wake you with his moaning. Better we leave him in his cupboard for the day rather than risk catching whatever he has contracted."

Vernon grunted in affirmative and set about making a bowl of cold cereal. Dudley came down a few minutes later and did the same. After they had both eaten their fill Vernon set about getting ready for work, while Dudley was dressed and out the door in a matter of moments, looking to enjoy his weekend. An hour later Vernon was out the door, although Petunia waited until she heard the car leave the drive way before she sprang into action.

She quickly opened the cupboard door to find her nephew curled tightly in his ratty blanket. Once again the truth of her crimes fell upon her and she stifled a sob before regaining her composure. With a shaking hand she gently jostled Harry. The little boy shook his head and moan lightly his eyes fluttering, then all at once he shot up like a bullet.

"Aunt Petunia!" He stammered. "I'm, I must have slept in, I, It was an accident I promise!"

Petunia shushed him, grabbing his school bag from atop one of the shelves in his room. It was an old thing made of worn brown leather with a simple draw string and single shoulder strap.

"Come now, we haven't all day." She told him.

She quickly made her way to the kitchen, taking a old coffee tin from atop the refrigerator. Peeking inside, she nodded at the hefty amount of folded bills. She had been setting aside money for the longest time unsure of why, it seemed now that she was subconsciously always preparing for this day. The day she finally did right by her charge.

She stuffed the tin into the worn leather book bag and swiftly made her way back to Harry's cupboard. Harry was still whipping sleep from his eyes as he laced his trainers and tied one of Vernon's old belts twice around his waist to hold up the pants that were two sizes too large for him. Petunia looked him over with a frown.

"This won't do." She concluded.

It was an hour later that Harry found himself standing at a bus station, his Aunt Petunia handing him a ticket and running over a checklist of his belongings. She had taken him to purchase new clothes. Five sets to be exact. They all fit, though very snugly, in his book bag which was now labeled his traveling bag. She had also gotten him a brand new pair of hiking boots. Along with them came a travel sized map of the U.K.

It was the most confusing day of his life. His Aunt who had hardly given him the time of day before, was now dragging him about town and buying him all the simple things he had wanted all his life. The fresh scent of a new t-shirt was strange thing, but he found he liked it. He found himself smiling brightly as she dragged him from rack to rack holding out various shades and styles of clothing for him to try. Maybe it was finally happening, maybe his Aunt was finally going to accept him as a part of her family. Maybe she would tuck him in to bed like she did Dudley, maybe she'd hug him tightly when he came home from school, or kiss his cheek when he got good marks in class.

These hopes, like so many others were dashed quite completely as he stared at his bus ticket.

"Surrey-to-Devon, One Way-Departs 1:30PM 'Bus 18'"

"You're getting rid of me?" He asked in a small voice, head turned down, unwilling to show his tears. No matter how horrid he had been treated, they were still the only family he had. To be completely unwanted was a horrible pain to endure.

With a sob Petunia sunk to her knees, wrapping her arms around the young boy in front of her.

"No Harry!" She cried. "Not getting rid of you, no, I am saving you from myself!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Unsure what to do with his arms he kept them at his sides and choked out "I don't understand."

Petunia sighed, pulling back so that her hands rested on the boys small shoulders. She stared into his eyes, those piercing green eyes so much like her sisters.

"Harry, I am not as brave as my sister was." She lamented. "I can't stand for my own beliefs and protect you as I should."

Harry looked stricken at the mention of his mother.

"But you said-"

"I have said a great many things Harry, very few of which I am proud of." Petunia stated. "What I told you of your mother was a lie born of jealousy."

She reached into her pocket, producing the pan flute with the note still in it. She tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Everything you need to know is in there." she said.

She quickly hugged him once more, this time Harry shyly returned the hug his small arms barely touching fingers across her back. Petunia pulled back and lightly kissed his temple.

"I am so sorry Harry..."

And with that Petunia Dursley exited the life of Harry James Potter, unsure whether or not she would ever see him again.

Harry boarded his bus, the driver not giving him a second glance having seen young children riding the bus before to visit family. Harry stared out the window as the concrete buildings gave way to dense forests and sprawling fields. It was an hour and a half into his trip when Harry finally decided to take a look at the instrument his Aunt had given him.

It was a simple set of reed pipes, bound by a leather cord which was braided with yarn of many colors. Faded though they were, the woven patterns were still beautiful. He then saw the folded paper rolled into one of the pipes. Gingerly he slid the note out and with shaking hands unwound it.

Dear Harry,

I am sorry. I have made a great many mistakes in my life. However, my greatest shame is the treatment you have had to endure at the hands of myself and my brutish husband.

I pray for your mother's strength as I plan to send you away today. I pray for the strength to do what is right. To sacrifice my own redemption in order to give you the chance at a life you deserve. I want so badly to put your Uncle in his place. To tell him he is not the kind man I married any longer.

If I could have the strength to say this to his face, I would then take you from your cupboard in place you in the room I had prepared for you when you turned five. The room that your Uncle said you did not need, that could be put to better use. I would take you and make you a part of the family I had always hoped to have. The family my sister and I had, one full of love.

I am not as brave as my sister, I was never as smart or talented. I cannot stand up to your Uncle because if I did he would leave me. He would take your cousin Dudley, my beloved son, and leave me penniless and unable to provide for your welfare, let alone my own.

In the end all I can do is send you off and hope you find your way to others like yourself, others who could give you the life you deserve.

Now Harry I know you have no reason to trust my after all these years of mistreatment, but please believe me when I say you are special.

Special like your mother and father were.

You Harry, are a wizard.

Harry stared at the words on the paper open mouthed. A wizard? As in capes and hats full of bunnies?

No, not a showman. Not a magician who employs slight of hand and fancy tricks to fool the eye. You Harry are a wizard, a special kind of person who can use magic to change the world around you.

Your father was a wizard and your mother, my sister, was a witch.

Now, your parents did not die in a car accident as you have been lead to believe. I don't know all the details but I do know that there was a evil wizard running amok and your parents were fighting against him. Your parents went into hiding for some reason, your mother had contacted me shortly before they left. I don't know how but that madman found them, you were the only survivor and apparently the mad man died that very night.

That was the same night you ended up on our doorstep.

The reed pipes you hold in your hand were made by your mother and I, with the help of our father. Before you mother got her Hogwarts letter, the letter that let her know she was a witch and was going to a special school to learn to control her magic. We used to run down to the park and take turns playing it, looking back I am surprised that I hadn't noticed that she was witch. She sent it to me the night before they went into hiding.

I was always the better player, that is one thing I had over her. But still I would always love to listen to her play. She stumbled over the notes and more often than not her tune rambled on with no definite rhyme or reason. Yet, when I laid on the grass listening to her play the sun seemed to be that much brighter. The warm summer wind would blow and the leaves would dance in time with her music. Looking back, I should have been happy have shared that with her. It was magic. Pure and simple.

She kept it with her. They whole time she took a part of me with her, let a part of me into her world. And I, I wanted no part of it. I am so ashamed of myself.

I want you to have it to remember her by and, I selfishly hope, to remember me by.

Music has a magic all its own Harry, it always did and it always will. Your mother made that magic come alive, and I am so very happy to have had a small part in that.

~Aunt Petunia

P.S. The Bus station in Devon is a short hike from a village by the name Ottery St. Catchpole. Your mother once mentioned that a few wizard families lived around the village. From what I know of the wizarding world, it functions a bit more archaically than modern England. Applying for an apprenticeship or asking for odd jobs around the village may not be seen as odd as it would by today's standards.

Harry folded the note up and placed it into his travel bag. His mind was running wild trying to comprehend the truth. Him a wizard? It would be hard to believe coming from anyone but his no nonsense Aunt. So he was to go to a village out in the country where he would try and ease his way into this new society. It was a frightening prospect for the young boy, yet at the same time he was giddy with excitement. All he had known for so long where the walls of Number Four Privet Dr., and the school where he was taught. The promise of a whole new world, a world just for him, was amazing and he found himself longing for the adventures that awaited him.

It was two hours later that he awoke to the screeching of the bus brakes as it pulled into the small station. After asking directions he set off for the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was an hour before he reached the small village. It sat nestled between green hills and dark patches of forest. On the west side of the small village ran the river Otter. It babbled down the hillside and under humble wooden bridges that led into the surrounding countryside. The village itself was quaint. A line of shops and cafes sat along the river while a series of cottages sprang up amongst the hills and small spirals of smoke in the distance denoted more houses nestled there.

He meandered down he well worn path toward the village smiling as he made his was towards a large two story building. The sign hanging over the patio read "The Forest Green Inn" it seemed as good a place as any to start. Walking inside he was immediately assaulted by the most heavenly scent he had ever beheld in his young life. His nose carried him to the front counter. Passed the many polished wooden tables and chairs and the small number of patrons enjoying a cool drink at the bar. He found himself standing outside the door to what he presumed was the kitchens. The door was open, wedged as such by a small block of wood. There was man standing there with his back to the doorway.

Well, actually he was less of a man and more of a mountain. He stood just under seven feet tall, his arms were wide as tree trunks and shifting left and right as he stirred a large kettle from which the heavenly aroma was wafting. His skin was lightly tanned and he wore a simple white shirt and a pair of worn jeans, a brown apron was around his waist and he hummed a simple tune as he stirred. After a few moments he seemed to step back from his pot, nod to himself and then with a powerful grunt heave the hulking pot off the stove and turned about, heading for the door.

When he turned Harry was able to get a good look at the mans face. He had brown hair that just barely peeked out from under the gray flat cap he wore. From behind all he could see was the mans large broad back, but now he saw that he was a rather portly gentlemen. His physique was reminiscent of his Uncle Vernon except that where his Uncle was round all about Harry could tell that there was a thick layer of muscle beneath this mans girth. He had a kind face with a small splash of freckles across his nose and a rosy tint to his cheeks he only ever saw on his Aunt Marge after she had a few of her special drinks.

"Hello lad, I havn' seen ya roun' these parts afore'." He said as he hefted the pot through the door and onto a waiting pile of coals behind the bar.

Harry would have replied but his focus was on the thick cream colored stew that bubbled in the pot.

"Hungry are ya lad?" The man asked.

Harry's stomach roared in response.

"Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Ottery St. Catchpole, with a heaping bowl of Mac's famous stew, I'm Mac by the way."

The man reach under the counter pulling our a rather large bowl. He went to the pot and ladled out a serving, filling the bowl to the very rim. He set it in front of the hungry boy along with half a loaf of fresh baked bread and a wooden spoon. Harry dug into the dish with a vengeance, it was without a doubt the most delicious meal he had ever had. As the last bits of stew were drained from the bowl Mac came back towards him, having left to tend to the other patrons.

"Now that you've had your fill lad, tell me what brings you to Ottery? What's your name?" Mac asked.

Harry smiled; "It's Harry sir, Harry Potter. I came to Ottery to find someplace to belong. My Aunt said that I would be able to find my place here, I was told its a place where magic can happen."

Mac gave a deep laugh that shook his belly and reddened his cheeks.

"Well I don't know about magic, but here on the Otter we are always looking for an extra hand. I am sure you could find a place that could make use of strapping young lad like yourself."

Over the next month Harry worked around the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole. He would help serve the patrons at The Forest Green Inn most days. Mac set him up with a room so long as he pulled his own weight around the Inn. Mac never asked to many questions about why he came to be here. On one occasion Mac even complemented him on this. Saying that it was quite brave of him to strike out into the world, and quite kind of his Aunt to let him pave his own way. He became a common face on the river Otter. The village was small so you could hardly go a day without seeing most of its residents.

On days he wasn't working with Mac he was traversing the hills and forests that surrounded the city. Mac worried for his safety in his wanderings and gifted him with a old bone handled hunting knife. Harry never needed it even once but it was better safe than sorry. Mac also took a weekend off to teach him the finer points of fishing using only line, a hook, and whatever worms or grubs you could dig up. He taught him the proper way to roast a fish at a campfire and what plants could be used as natural seasonings.

On his journeys into the wilderness he was lucky enough to stumble upon a wondrous place. One day as he hiked a familiar trail just a mile outside the village he slipped on patch of grass laid heavy with morning dew. He tumbled end over end down hill. When he finally came to a stop he was at the mouth of a cave. Dusting himself off and checking himself for injuries, finding none, he turned his attention to the cave mouth.

It was a beauty in and of itself. The stone entrance was laden with vibrant blue morning glories that crept across the stone in beautiful contrast to the dark background. Harry inched forward, peering into the caves depths. There in the distance was a flicker of light. Curiosity pushed him to step into the cold air of the cave taking short, careful strides he watched as the light grew brighter and brighter until he reached the end and was blinded by the sudden light of the sun. When his vision cleared he had to gasp at the beauty that lay before him.

A magnificent forest glade.

A crystal clear pond sat at its center and the bed of the pond was made of a collection of smooth stones in various colors and patterns. A willow tree sat at the north end of the pond, its branches blowing in the breeze, its leaves dancing on the wind and twirling upon the water. Harry sat, mesmerized, under the willow tree and took out his pan flute.

From that day on he spent all his free time beneath the willow tree learning to play. It was here that he first experienced the magic of music. He remembered his Aunts description of the magic his mother wove through song. It was one cool spring day when he felt a need to play his pipes. Something inside him was begging to be let free. He brought the reeds to his lips and blew.

The notes came so easily. It just felt so right, each note flowed into the next seamlessly and soon the glade echoed with its melody. It was small at first, like a whisper or rustling leaves. Then it surged forth like an all encompassing wave. The wind picked up and the leaves that lay in the grass began to swirl about him in a maelstrom. He gasped as he pulled the reeds from his lips and the wind died in an instant. He fell back into the trunk of the tree gulping down air as he tried in vain to calm his racing heart.

The feeling was intense. It was as if the wind itself was responding to his music, he could feel it willing him to play. It whispered to him the tones it needed to hear. It taught him with each note how to guide it. How to harness it though song. Time and time again he would play and nature would reach out to him and guide his music. After a time he learned the ins and outs of the music of the wind. He formed a bond with the spirits therein with the innate magic in nature itself, it was then he learned that with music as his medium he could learn to guide the forces of nature themselves.

That wasn't the only thing he learned. As he played and learned he began to feel his own magic pulsing within his very blood. As of yet he could only manifest it into intense feeling. On weekend nights he would sit by the fire of the Inn and play his pipes. He would feel his magic pulsing from within and will it forward. And with his happy tunes feelings of joy would spring forth like a fountain. Anyone within ear shot could not help but smile if they heard the tune.

All in all he was beginning to love his new life in Ottery St. Catchpole. Spending his days working at the Inn or in the glade honing his magic. He wondered if one day he would receive a letter like his mother had. He hoped to meet others like him, others who could feel the music of nature. He didn't know that he was the only one. That he, Harry James Potter, was creating a hitherto unknown branch of magic each day in that glade.

It was another month before it happened. Harry had just finished helping Mac to cut firewood for the oven. He was coming thought the kitchen door when he heard something from the bar that made him stop.

"-Potter, he ran away from home a few months ago."

It was a woman's voice, aged yet dignified with a slight Scottish brogue.

"Harry?" Came the reply from one of the patrons. " He ran a-away from home did he? The way he and Mac make it out, he has his Aunts blessings to come to live on the Otter. To make his own way in life."

Harry inched towards the door peeking through the slight gap between the hinges and the wall he could see a woman speaking with a man he had come to know as Jim. She was wearing a odd flowing black robe type of dress, her hair was up in a tight bun, and she had a rather stern look on her face.

"So he is here then?"

"Aye," Jim replied. "quite a nice lad, hard worker, and a musician."

"Musician?" The old woman asked.

"Aye, he has this set o' reed pipes he plays like a man possessed." Jim said. "When he plays those pipes the most morose man in the world would have the sadness driven from him straight away. And it would be a fight to keep a smile from his face."

Jim took a drink from his mug.

"He's got such passion in him, and when he plays its like he's putting his very heart into the music and letting you feel just how happy it makes him."

Mac made himself known, coming through the side door after stacking the firewood Harry had helped chop.

"The whole town is quite fond of the boy Miss..."

"McGonagall, " she supplied. "Minerva McGonagall."

"Well, Miss McGonagall," Mac began. "As I said the whole town is rather fond of the boy, when he first came into my Inn he was a scrawny little thing..."

Harry had trouble arguing that point.

"But he had this look in his eye," Mac continued. "Said he was looking for someplace to belong, and someplace where magic happens."

There was a moment of silence before the the woman, McGonagall, spoke again.

"I should like to speak to Mister Potter, he has worried a great deal of people with his disappearance."

"Well, I am sure if you were to wait around a while the lad will be in,"Mac said."he has his own room at the Inn after all."

Harry bolted, through the kitchen and out the back door. He ran to his sanctuary, to the glade. He sat beneath the willow tree with his pipes to his lips and played. He didn't know how long he sat there playing. Just that by the time he took the pipes from his lips the moon was reflecting in the still waters of the pool. He wasn't sure who this McGonagall person was but she had been looking for him for a while it would seem. He was listed as a runaway...

Runaways were always returned home.

Return to Number Four Privet Dr., after all his Aunt went through to get him this far? After all he had seen and done?

No!

He would not give up his new found freedom! He would never see the inside of that cupboard again! One day, he would return to Number Four, but on that day he would return to tell his Aunt he'd found his way. He would thank her and then show her the magic he made because she cared enough to free him from his cage.

With his mind made up he drifted off to sleep beneath the stars.

The sun hadn't risen yet and he was at the back door to the Inn. He opened the door quietly as he could and tiptoed up the stairs to his room. Gathering his things up into his bag he surveyed the room that had been his home these last few months. He couldn't be more grateful to Mac for his generosity. He wrote a quick note to Mac and left it on his bedside table. He left just as quietly as he came and in a matter of minuets he was standing on a hill overlooking the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. With the sun at his back he began to walk, not sure where he was going but knowing that music would be left in his wake. He brought his pipes to his lips.

Dear Mac,

I haven't found that place I belong yet. As for magic, well, I figure I'll make my own.

I thank you for your kindness, and promise to come back and visit one day.

~Harry J. Potter

~End~

Read and Review Please.

~Bard of the Glade~

Big thanks to my Beta Reader

-Phoenixica24-

Three cheers are in order!