A Harry Potter Fanfic which must bear this disclaimer: J. K. Rowling (Warner Bros. ETC) owns the Potter world, and all of the characters therein. The spryte Katrianna is my own creation and belongs to me. This story is for entertainment purposes only, no profit will be made by yours truly.

Hello there, little humans. My name is Katrianna, and I must say it’s a magnificent pleasure to meet ya. In case you wasn’t knowin’, I am a spryte. Florenius Spryticus, if you truly need to be formal. Headmaster Dumbledore has asked me to entertain you first year students here for a wee bit while we wait for Professor McGonagall. Seems as though someone has made off with that ancient, smelly old sorting hat and there’ll be a delay in our dinner till it be found. In my opinion somebody should be findin’ and enchantin’ a newer version of that old thing anyway. Of course nobody here has asked for my opinion. They only asked me to tell ya a story, and I’ve spent the last little while tryin’ to decide just what story to tell. Hogwart’s School has plenty o’ stories, I’d wager, but I’ve decided to tell you a tale of my own. The only story I truly know by heart. It’s a tale of a strong, fierce love between two what shoulda never found each other. A great vast giant and a tiny little spryte. You see, it hasn’t been that long ago that only a few people knew of my existence here at Hogwart’s. I lived unknown to all but a few, down there in Hagrid’s cottage. You’ve all seen Hagrid, the giant who met ya at the train station this afternoon, have ya? He’s the one what always greets the first years off the Hogwart’s Express. He’s got a heart of gold, that one, and it’s just as big as he is. He’s the one what be bringin’ me to the castle when I was much, much younger than I am right now. I’ve been with him since before I can remember, and I love him more than I love me own breath, but as most stories go, that weren’t always the case. It took a long time for Hagrid to steal my heart. Time and more patience than I’da given myself, if I was to be pure honest.

Now most of the time it’s impossible to catch a spryte such as myself, but Hagrid was extremely lucky as a boy. He picked my birth flower along with a handful of others to give to his mum on her birthday. Course, when the flower opened and I emerged he begged and cried and wailed to keep me. His mum musta been as kind-hearted as Hagrid for soon I was living in a fine gilt cage with tiny down-filled cushions. Hagrid even made sure I had fresh flower petals to sleep on every night. As I mentioned before, he’s a kind-hearted soul, my Hagrid. He’d fetch me the choicest nectars to drink and there were always plenty of fresh berries and honey to eat. He took good care of me, and all the while I ignored him, too busy inside my cage experimentin’ with things of a sprytely nature. I never knew how long he’d search to gather the flowers for my nectar, nor did I see the many times he brought home bee stings for his trouble as he reached into hives, stealin’ honeycomb for me. Mostly I was a bit of a crank when Hagrid came ‘round. What I wanted more than anything was to be free. You see, that’s all we spryte-folk really crave in this world. Our freedom. We must be free to do the job of kissin’ buds in springtime so they’ll know when to awaken, and painting leaves with color in autumn to tell the trees it’s back to sleep. It’s spryte magic what makes the flowers bow their heads at night, and it’s a spryte’s fresh kiss that opens them every morning. I was no different than any other Florenius Spryticus on that matter. Everything inside me longed to fly free.

So I was a petulant, pouty little creature, and when Hagrid did close his room up tight and let me out for a wee bit of flyin’ I always flew straight up and hid in his curtains. I never gave him the gift of sprytley sparkles, neither. That went on for longer than I can remember, even after he’d been accepted for schoolin’ here at Hogwart’s. Oh he’d plead with me to come down and sit on his shoulder while he worked on some homework project or another, but I refused him every time. It never stopped him from servin’ me my nectar and wild honey, though. Even with all of his schoolin’, even in the dead cold of winter. He never failed to have me some breakfast waitin’. To this day I don’t know how far he had to walk to find those things he’d gather just to please me. Doin’s such as that have a way of catchin’ up to ya though, and I remember the day I realized to what great lengths Hagrid had been goin’ just to keep me happy.

He came into the room all clumpin’ and bumpin‘, slappin’ a bowl of honeycomb down on my table. His hand was covered with angry purple bee stings and his face was a nearly matchin’ color.

“Ya won’t be appreciatin’ this no how, spryte,” he told me most sullenly. “I got 37 bee stings for me trouble this time, and there’ll be no nectar for ya either. Snow’s 10 foot deep out there and I’ve walked near a hun’red miles trying to find you some flowers. There’s none to be had and I’m tired of lookin’. Maybe we’d both be happier if I just set you free.”

I could only gasp in amazement. Those words shocked me for sure, for I never thought that Hagrid would say such a thing. Course he was young at the time, and hadn’t really meant it, but suddenly I realized what a terrible thing I’d done. I’d withheld my heart from someone who wanted nothin’ more than my friendship. Hagrid had brought me gifts on every waking morning for longer than I could remember. He suffered, never mindin’ puttin’ hisself in harm’s way for me and I had scorned his affections. Day after day I’d slight him, thinkin’ only that I’d never have what I truly wanted and blamin’ Hagrid for it. It was no wonder he’d grown tired of keepin’ me, and I could hardly blame him.

I thought all of this over awhile, feelin’ more guilty by the minute. Finally I ventured out of my cage and onto his great hand, careful not to step on any swollen bee stings. I won’t ever be forgettin the look on is face when I flew up to circle his head in three quick rounds, nearly bathin’ him in silver and golden sparkles. I did alot of things I’d never done before, that night. I used spryte magic to ease the pain of Hagrid’s bee stings. I rode about the room on his great shoulder, flyin in and out of his hair just to hear his rumblin’ laughter. Later that night as I sat on his bedpost watching him fall asleep, I began to wonder if the thing I thought I so desperately wanted had been under my nose all along. That maybe in giving my heart to Hagrid I could find the freedom I’d so long sulked for.

After that, things got better and better ‘tween Hagrid and me. There’s no greater joy than being free to be yourself with a trusted friend. I told him all the secret longings of the spryte-folk, and he told me the sad history of the giants. That was when things went bad for Hagrid at Hogwart’s. We moved our things from the castle to the cottage. Now that was a sad procession for such a short journey. Humans haven’t ever been real tolerant of giants, and even some of the magical folk ‘round here were just waitin’ for him to slip up somewhere. Only Dumbledore believed in us. And between you and me, if he hadn’t had such faith in Hagrid we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation, today. I musta been blind not to see how low Hagrid had gotten. He tried not to show it ‘round me, of course, but bein’ expelled from Hogwart’s was the worst thing that had ever happened to the big lug. Only gettin’ the job as groundskeeper kept him hopeful for the future.

I remember one night in particular. I was watchin’ Hagrid snore hisself to sleep. Like usual, I checked the cottage to see that everything was in order for the morning. I flew a circle ‘round the room and spied an awesome wonder: a window left open due to some part of Hagrid’s dinner that he’d burned. As I looked up into the clear night sky I began to wonder how it might feel to pretend I was truly free in the manner of other spryte-folk. I took a long look at Hagrid, layin’ there sleepin’, and a longer look at the stars through the open window. Takin’ a deep breath, I slid thru the opening, and with a burst of joy I flew straight at those stars. I sped upward fast as my wings could carry me, flyin’ past the dark forest treetops. It was only when I got dizzy from thin air that I turned back toward the ground, zipping through clouds and leaving a tangle of their wisps behind me. I flew and flew and flew that night, flitting ‘round the windows of Hogwart’s castle, peekin’ in on slumbering students and their fadin’ fires. I darted about the quidditch field like a fool - pretending to be the golden snitch. It was almost morning when I came back to rest on Hagrid’s rooftop. As I watched the sky lighten I could feel a grand discovery brightenin’ my heart. I finally knew that I didn’t need what the sprytes called freedom if I couldn’t share it with my friend. My gilded cage in Hagrid’s cottage was truly home, and my treasured place on his shoulder was where I always wanted to be.

As I rose from my resting place, I heard a strange, muffled sound coming up from below. I cocked my head to listen, but couldn’t make out the sorrowful noise. Curiosity got the better of me then and I darted back to the window I’d escaped from, only to find it had been closed up tight. What sight hit me then is somethin’ I’ll never be forgettin’. Hagrid, sittin’ on the floor in front of his great glowin' fireplace, clutchin’ my cage to his chest and sobbin’ his heart out. He’d gotten up in the night and discovered me gone, and had no notion of the wondersome revelation of freedom I’d had on the rooftop. His heart was fair broken at the thought that I’d abandoned him, just like so many up at the castle. I tried poundin’ on the window, but the giant was sobbin’ so loud he couldn’t hear my faint cries. I tried a burst of sparkles, but even that wasn’t enough to capture his attention. Then I began a mad dash, flyin’ from window to window. Flit, pound, flit, pound, cryin’ out his name at the top of my lungs. The irony of the situation was not lost on me: suddenly I was free, but locked out of the only place I needed to be. In a fit of frustration and anger I finally launched an all-out attack on the window, kickin’ with my feet, pounding with my fists, wishin’ fervently that sprytes were a little bigger and had just a tad more weight behind them.

Somethin’ in my fit must’ve caught Hagrid’s attention finally, for I saw him rise from his place, wipin’ his eyes with a sleeve as he lumbered toward the window. I pressed myself flat against the glass as he fumbled with the latch, finally understanding the power of love. True love had won over my heart with gifts great and small. True love had surmounted the great gap between one of the wee folk and a giant. True love had made me free, even when I counted my home a gilded caged.

When the window finally opened I flew straight at Hagrid, tryin’ with all my might to get my arms ‘round his neck. A feat I’d never accomplish, but I did manage to get a good grip on his adam’s apple. I could feel his huge heart beatin’, causin’ me to rise and fall with it’s rhythm, and I knew I was home. Burstin’ through his hair to hover on his stubbly chin, I chided him for lockin’ me outa the house, dryin’ his tears and cryin’ my own at the same time. Somethin’ ya might not understand, ‘less you know how dearly spryte-folk love their freedom. Now I knew that Hagrid was freedom to me, and that knowledge was a great and awesome revelation. We haven’t spent a day apart since that morning. You’ll not be seein’ me so well anymore, because of that great mane of hair and beard he’s grown. But my place on Hagrid’s shoulder is sacred now, and I won’t be givin’ it up for nobody.

There was a time when we were separated, though. Since they’ve not come to fetch ya for the sortin’, I’ll tell ya ‘bout the time when all of Hogwart’s came to the aid of a spryte hoverin’ quite near death’s door. It all began when somebody thought Hagrid needed another dragon’s egg. You see, Hagrid teaches the “Care of Magical Creatures” class, now. That was as much of an excuse as he needed to find another egg, even though the first one he got caused quite a stir ‘round here. I took on the job of turnin’ the egg whenever Hagrid was too busy teachin’ his class. A job not too difficult, really. Together we cooked up a fine way for me to accomplish this in safety, since the little beasty egg had to be kept fiery hot till it’s hatchin’ day. Hagrid kept it in a cauldron suspended over his fire, so he gave me an old oven mitt to cover up with. I just flew into the mitt and bumped the egg from underneath to keep it turned regular. Once I got the egg to turn I turned myself ‘round inside the mitt and flew out. Everyday I did this: fly into the mitt, dive into the cauldron, turn the egg, then turn ‘round and fly myself out again. All was well, and the egg was gettin’ on nicely, till the day before the bloody thing hatched. Nobody told me how active dragons get in their eggs just before hatchin’ day, and I had no idea how much trouble that little bit of information was gonna cause me the last time I turned that perfidious egg. I did my usual dive into the cauldron, mitt covered from head to toe as usual. I rocked the egg from side to side, but it was bein’ stubborn this time. By the time I finally got it rolled over a bit, I’d worked up quite a sprytley sweat. I turned ‘round quick to fly out of that pot, but I wasn’t fast enough for that dragon. The thing gave a muffled squawk and rolled right over on top of me, pinnin’ my legs under its weight. Now, mind ya, I didn’t panic right away. I didn’t realize the graveness of my predicament. It wasn’t until I’d exhausted myself in that hot, sticky mitt that I began to feel the first finger of fear touch my heart. My feet were burnin’ terrible, but I couldn’t decide if it were because of the great weight on top of them, or ‘cause of the heat in the bottom of that cauldron. I’m sure we were an interestin’ sight, that rockin’ egg and twitchin’ oven mitt, strugglin’ in the bottom of a great brass cauldron. Course, at that moment I wasn’t findin’ any humor in the situation. I’d never expected my time to be over so soon. Sprytes can live quite near forever if they don’t perchance to get themselves stuck in oven mitt graves. I must confide in ya now that that was when I lost the last bit of the hope I was hangin’ on to. With all my might I cried out Hagrid’s name for what I fully expected to be the very last time. Lookin’ out from the bottom of the mitt I spelled out my love for him and thanked him for his friendship in spryte sparkles on the cauldron, then lay back to watch as the words were sizzled into permanance in the metal by heat and the very last of my spryte magic. It took a great effort, but at least I knew that my friend would always know how much I loved him.

As you can see, I’m still here at Hogwart’s, and powerful proud to be here. I cannot tell ya much about what happened next, except that Hagrid told me he got an awful sick feelin’ at the end of his “Care of Magical Creatures” class. He came back to the cottage and that’s when he found me there in the cauldron. I was past consciousness by then, but he told me he rushed me to Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, and together they freed me at last from the loathsome oven mitt.

I floated on the brink of consciousness that week, while magic poultices of bat livers went to work healin’ my burned feet and legs. I remember wakin’ up a time or two to great sighs and sobs that threatened to blow me off my pillow. In dreams I saw Hagrid and Dumbledore and Hagrid’s friend Harry, but I couldn’t do much but lay there on the little bed they’d made me. Things couldn’t have gotten much worse I reckon, unless maybe if Hagrid had never gotten a sick feelin’ and come home early that day. At least I thought they couldn’t have gotten worse, till I woke up fully. Hagrid was by my bedside, of course, and most relieved to see me waken, but I could tell right off that somethin’ wasn’t right. I figured the giant would switch from sad tears to happy ones when it looked like I was gonna make it, but Hagrid stayed miserable, and there’s nothin’ that’ll tear at your heart strings like a broken hearted giant. He propped me up on my tiny pillows, tellin’ me over and over how sorry he was for leavin’ me with the dragon’s egg.

“Hatched a bit later that night,” he told me. “Shipped it straight back to Romania the very next morning.”

When I tried to offer my condolences on the egg I found out that my voice was nearly gone, and that weren’t near the extent of the damage. With a finger and a thumb Hagrid picked up a little silver tray and set it beside me on the bed. “Thought I should be the one to break the news, Tria,” he whispered, while I stared at the intricate design of blackened whirls and curly-cues on that tray. I can’t remember how long I stared before what I saw sunk in.

“My wings?” I croaked at Hagrid, but before he reply great teardrops started streamin’ from his dark eyes. I sank back on my pillow, wondering for a long, long moment if perhaps I’d have been better off buried in the earth and never rescued from the oven mitt.

I tried not to cry too hard in front of Hagrid, for I didn’t want him feelin’ any worse about the accident. Mostly I think I just stared. I stared at the blackened lace ashes that Madame Pomfrey had to cut away from my burnt little body. They looked so lifeless lying there in a place where they didn’t belong. Wings should never be served to a spryte on silver platters. Wings are meant for dancin’ with the wind, for circlin’ a giant’s head so fast you both get dizzy, just for the pleasure of bathin’ him in and gold and silver sparkles. I couldn’t imagine how to live a life without them.

It was only Hagrid’s beggin’ that kept me from givin’ in to a great black despair that day. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t fly, and wasn’t too sure if even my legs would be carryin’ me anymore. T’was never a more pitiful sight than this particular spryte at that moment. I woke up the next morning, though - even though I truly didn’t want to. Musta been some strong pull that giant’s love had on me. A strong, strong love, indeed. He was tryin’ to convince me to eat a drop of honey when Professor Dumbledore entered the room. He is a great wizard, and always seems to bring peace and wisdom into every room he enters, but there was no peace he had that day that could have reached the depths of my gloom. He brought with him a friend named Professor Snape, who held a tiny pewter flask in his left hand. I’d never seen Snape that close before, but he’d always made me nervous. Even more this time, for the black scowl on his face told everyone he did not want to be in Madame Pomfrey’s infirmary, wasting his time and talents on a useless little spryte.

He examined me like I was no more than a big black bug. Like maybe I could have made him as sick as I was with merely a touch. I wasn’t much for entertaining guests at that moment however, so I simply rolled over into a tiny ball and locked eyes with Hagrid.

“Professor Snape’s got a potion here that’ll help you grow your wings back,” he gently explained. “Stayed up nearly all night puttin’ it together. You’ve got to give it a try, little friend. Don’t be leavin’ me now. We got years and years ahead of us. It’ll work, you’ll see. I never seen one of Snape’s concoctions what didn’t.”

I searched his beloved face for hope, and I must have found a little, for I made myself roll over and accept Professor Snape’s drop of golden wing-restorin’ potion. It made me feel as I had that night I tried to fly to the stars. Up, up, up I went, only to feel so dizzy that I had to come back down to earth or explode. T’was so strong a potion that it knocked me flat against my pillows. For a long, long moment I couldn’t even breathe. That in itself made me hopeful that perhaps it was powerful enough to help me.

Nothin’ magic happened though. I glanced over my shoulder to see if new wings had begun to sprout, but even with Dumbleodre’s extra push of magic, nothin’ happened. Not that day, or the next, or even after a week of Snape administerin’ his potion. It did wonders at speedin’ up the healin’ of my feet, though, and there were times when I could feel my voice returning, but every time I held my breath and craned my neck to look over my shoulder there weren’t any wings, and nothin’ to suggest that there’d ever be any, either.

I think Snape got more angry with me and his potion with every visit. He’d dole out the golden droplet and leave, robes all a’swirlin’ and mutterin’ under his breath. I have to say that he was determined, though. More so than I was, to be pure honest. I had nearly accepted the miserable fact that I’d never have my wings and never fly again when I woke up one morning to the strangest, warmest feeling. I opened my eyes to see the King and Queen of Spryte-folk hoverin’ over my bedside. Hagrid was with them, and I knew without bein’ told that he had fetched them. Somehow he’d gone out and begged the magical creatures of the forest to do what they could to help, and they had not let him down.

The Spryte Queen circled me, cluckin’, “Oh dear. Oh, poor, poor dearie,” over and over again, while the King stood solemnly at the head of my bed.

“So this is the spryte what’s been takin’ up with giants, is it?” He asked no on in particular. “Imagine a spryte that gives up it’s freedom for the likes of that.”

I knew he was referring to Hagrid, but I didn’t reply. I only tried to remember how unfathomably sacred freedom is to spryte-folk.

“He is in her heart,” the Queen answered, and I turned to look at her wonderingly.

“Oh I see it all dear. It’s all right there.” She tapped my chest with her wand. “The love of her friend has set her free, Quarles,” she attested to her husband. “This ain’t your ordinary giant.”

“This ain’t your ordinary spryte.” Hagrid’s warm voice filled the room.

The Spryte Queen only shot him a glance, then turned her attention back to me. “Let us see, then. Is it true?” She prodded me to roll over so that she could see my wingless back. A gasp of shock escaped her lips, and I heard one from her husband as well. Suddenly I felt very tiny and ugly before them.

“A spryte without wings is a dead one.” Quarles announced, and I decided that that must be his Kingly duty. Harsh and unfeeling announcements. That was the moment I found I could no longer hold my peace.

“A spryte alone without love is a dead one, your Highness. I have decided to live.”

“Did ya not know that no magic could be bringin’ back a spryte’s wings?” the Queen asked, almost gently. “Sprytes are not born like most other creatures, they are created in the heart of only the most fragrant and beautiful flowers of the forest. Only those chosen and touched by my wand. The wand is what plants the tiniest of seeds, and the purity of the flower and the rain it drinks does the rest.” Giving Hagrid her full attention then, she asked him, “How did you come upon this spryte, giant?”

Hagrid shuffled uncomfortably under the Queen’s direct gaze, and I couldn’t blame him. She made all he’d done for me over the years suddenly seem like a crime.

“She came in a bunch of flowers I picked for my mum on her birthday, when I was just a little ‘un.” He told her.

“And how long ago has that been?”

“Mum was 57 that year, and I was nearly nine. It be close to 40 year ago, Highness.”

“Forty years ago.... in the spring?”

“Yes, Highness,” Hagrid remembered. “It had to be spring. My mum’s birthday’s in March.”

“The same month the unicorns are born,” the Queen mused, sayin’ that last bit like we all knew the significance.

“So this spryte here, Katrianna, owes you a life-debt,”

“Katrianna don’t owe me nuthin’, Queen,” Hagrid disagreed gruffly.

“You clothed her, you fed her during those critical first weeks. Did she bond with you right off?”

Hagrid gave a little laugh at that thought, and I turned away to hide my own grin.

“Nope, Highness, she didn’t bond with any of us, at first.”

At first, or second, or third, fourth or fifth for that matter, I thought to myself. “But you continued to provide all things for her?”

“I don’t see how that’s so important near 40 years later,” Hagrid complained. “Katrianna’s been free to stay or go for a long time now, and no matter how hard it may be for you to understand, she’s chose to stay with me. With great, big, lumoxin’ old Hagrid the giant. Can ya give her her wings back or no?”

I wanted to cheer for him then, but I didn’t venture a word. It would not do to offend the Queen if she were on the verge of generatin’ my wings back.

The Spryte Queen turned to me, then. “Is this true?” She asked quietly. “And have you ever heard of any spryte in all this world’s creation takin’ up with giants?”

“It’s true Hagrid’s taken care of me since my birthin’ day,” I answered stubbornly. “And I will stay with him whether I get my wings back or not. He’s my very best friend.”

“And will your great friend want you any more if you’ll be forever without flight?” King Quarles asked hurtfully. “You won’t be such a magical creature anymore. Just a tiny little girl.”

I turned to Hagrid with the utmost confidence then, and eyes shinin’ bright, I turned back to face the King.

“Hagrid will always want me,” I told him confidently. “If I were wingless and sightless he’d want me still.”

“How can you know that?” Quarles challenged haughtily, but I would not be dragged into his argument.

“He wanted me all those years when I was heartless,” came my whispered reply.

That brought a gasp from the bosom of the Spryte Queen, who’d been watchin’, silent all along.

“You’ll have your wings back, dearie,” she promised. “If you’ll grant us the honor of dining together this evening. I want to see wherein lies the greatness of this friendship.”

Hagrid threw his head back and laughed a laugh that shook all three of us spryte-folk nearly off the bed, and Dumbledore, who’d been watching the whole display, kindly invited the Spryte King and Queen to a feast that night in Hogwart’s great hall.

I got my wings back with a warm touch from the Queen’s wand, and of course I flew straight to Hagrid. I dove in one side of that great mane of his hair and burst out the other, fairly showerin’ everyone in the room with silver and golden sparkles. Only one complication arose from the whole dragon-egg incident. Seems Snape’s golden wing-restoring potion had an amazing effect on me. I’ve ended up with an extra pair of wings. Not that I’m complainin’ mind ya. I just tell Hagrid that those extras are for the next time someone gives him a dragon’s egg.

There was a dinner in the great hall that night, much like the one you’ll be joinin’ when the sortin’ hat’s finished with ya. The Spryte King and Queen had a tiny table of honor set on top of the head table, right up there by Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Even Snape was caught smilin’ after he heard what his potion had accomplished, with a wee bit of sprytely help. They set a place at the table of honor for me to use as well, but I had a better idea as to where I wanted to drink my nectar. I refused politely and spent the evening just where I belonged: upon my giant’s shoulder.