Prologue

"Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath."

Darling Dursley was the complete opposite of her twin brother. She was smart, polite, and far from the lazy, obese pig everyone couldn't believe was her older brother. Ever the sweetheart, she truly lived up to her name. The teachers were very pleased with her; the ideal, model student. Her parents took pride in having such a perfect, normal daughter. Even Dudley was overshadowed by his sister sometimes, because Darling was their father's favourite, and Uncle Vernon was especially doting on his youngest child. That was how her name had come about, Uncle Vernon had mentioned once. It had been a shock to Harry, when he found out that Vernon of all people, had been the one to name his cousin. He had thought it was Aunt Petunia that named her so, considering she had been the one to nickname Dudley Duddeykins.

Harry seemed to recall them both being nearly inseperable as children, but that was likely his own imagining. The way they were now, it was as if they weren't even siblings. They were complete opposites. And Dudley hated his sister.

Admittedly, he used to think her name was stupid, that she would grow up spoiled and snobby like little Diddykins, or Dudleykins. He hated her, even. For being so carefree and oblivious to his pain. For never helping him when he was being mentally abused by her family.

Then he eventually realized he could not fault her. That she had no control over Dudley, or her parents. He didn't hate her so much then. But some part of him still resented her for never trying to stop them. She held so much influence over her family - all she had to do was say something. She was Darling, after all. He remembered, all too clearly, how she befriended him when they were toddlers. Convinced him he was not alone, only to abruptly change overnight, and leave him alone. Again. Nowadays, they rarely spoke. Harry mostly ignored her, and when they did speak it was the briefest of simple conversations. How have his studies been, is he feeling well, has he eaten. Darling tried, he supposed, but Harry wished she wouldn't pretend to care for him. He was fine on his own. He always had been. He was the misfit, the weirdo who should have never been born. She was the princess, the girl everyone either wanted to either be or befriend.

Darling was the Belle of the neighbourhood. Attending an elite all-girl's academy as a top student brought lots of prestige to the Dursleys - especially when she entered on a scholarship that was even more difficult to attain than getting into the school itself. She was pretty, too, Harry thought. In a natural sort of way. With clear skin, rich brown locks and green eyes that mirrored his, Harry was sure Darling could've passed off as his fraternal sister. He, at least, would've believed it. (And a little part of him wished she was, so he'd have someone as kind as her who loved him.)

She was his favourite relative - she left him alone and didn't torment him like the rest of her family. When she spoke to him, she didn't call him boy or freak or anything unpleasant. She called - calls, him, by his given name. The one his parents gave him, the name he cherished so much he absolutely detested it when people called him anything else or misused it. Did her own dishes, folded her own clothes and cleaned her own messes, on the insistence that she wanted to be independent. He was sure that if they didn't have a washer, she would've personally washed her own laundry as well. When this was first declared, Petunia and Vernon were quite baffled, but eventually got used to it, accepting that their little sweetheart was growing up to be an independent young lady.

People were drawn to her, like moths to a flame. She was popular, beloved, and sometimes Harry envied that part of her. Not once had he been praised, or appreciated, or loved, and his social circle consisted of only himself.

And the rats and spiders in the attic, he supposed.

Yet, he supposed that it was reasonable for everyone to be so enamored with someone like Darling. She was kind, and humble, and so much like her name. Vernon had not been wrong when he named her Darling.

But sometimes he wondered if it was all merely an act.

Darling Dursley was many things, but simple was definitely not one of them.

To be honest, Harry was a little unnerved by her at times, because she remained so eerily calm in even the most upsetting situations that he wondered if she was secretly plotting out a painful, most unpleasant revenge, but he soon learnt that Darling Dursley was nothing to be afraid of.

Unless you got on her bad side, of course. That was a whole new thing - a story better left for another time.

(Perhaps never.)

Elsewhere

In the halls of St. Rose's Academy, Darling Dursley strode through it casually, confidently.

But alone. No matter that there were girls coming up to her, inviting her to lunch and parties and shopping, or greeting her a little too cheerily when they saw her. No, these were not her real friends.

Ironically, none of them were.

She was constantly surrounded by people, admired, praised. But she was not blind, or arrogant enough to think that she was beloved by everyone. She would have to be a fool. Nobody was nice without an ulterior motive. It had always been that way with her.

She was considered one of the wealthier girls in her school, yet not once had she flaunted her wealth. Her Aunt Marge and Daddy spoiled her, that much she knew, gifting her with branded bags, shoes and pretty clothes. Yet she had always tried to wear out her things before she moved on to the rest, until her mother reprimanded her for being unappreciative of her gifts. Darling had been forced to rotate the bags she used, and wear her expensive shoes and accesories to school even though she didn't really want to.

Safe to say, she was immediately noticed by her classmates. It was humiliating, to walk by people and hear them mutter how much of a snob she was, or how gaudy she was.

Even more so when said girls approached her days later to hang with the 'cool' kid after Darling managed to pull off the look, confidently, with a touch of her own style.

She had cried miserably alone in the school's garden shed later on.

Later on, she learnt how to distance herself, how to tell if people were after something, or if they truly wanted to be her friend. Safe to say, there was not much of the latter. Oh yes, there had been a few who didn't care for her wealth. Some of them were shy, while others found themselves pressured or envious of other aspects of herself. Some were warded off by the girls that hung around her like wolves waiting to pounce, intimidated and fearing for their peaceful school life.

Darling didn't mind. She was kind to these people when she could, but otherwise limited her interaction with anyone. She knew it would only be a matter of time before they began to leave her as well.

Like her friends. Her mother. Her brother. Her cousin.

Now, Darling was far from perfect. She was spoiled by her own parents and relatives. She was a little shorter than most girls, and she got incredibly upset when people folded her books and left creases along the spine of it. She hated brushing her hair, and hated math even more. And she was petty, more so than she let on.

So she tried to better herself, because her parents thought she was perfect. How could she let them down? She walked with her back straight, drank her milk, ate her vegetables. She courteously reminded people who borrowed her books to handle them with extreme care (and kept her favorites at home) and wrapped them nicely. She washed her hair with conditioner and kept it shoulder-length, so it wouldn't be too tedious to maintain, and she studied very hard for math because she was supposed to be a straight As student. She forgave people even when she didn't want to, convincing herself that they deserved another chance. Even when they didn't.

She strove to become perfect, because that was what was expected from her.

People admired her, respected her, some feared her even. But there was also jealousy, dislike, resentment even. When was it, Darling wondered, that she started eating lunch alone? When was it that she realized her former friends had been using her, for her wealth or smarts, or to get pager and telephone numbers of cute students from the neighboring boy's school? When was it, that she had to start relying on herself, and not 'friends' or her parents? When had her brother begun pushing her away?

And as she wondered this, her smile never faded. She smiled back at the ones who greeted her, nodding every now and then, bowing to teachers and staff, looking everywhere but people's eyes. Darling knew what she would find when she met their gazes - insincerity, lies, and false kindness.

Darling Dursley had a few more years in this school - she could survive on her own.