I tried to make it as logical and as close to both DW and HP as possible so please tell me if something went amiss. This is a bit of an AU because it's really hard to come up with a good explanation for a crossover. (the actual crossover bit starts in the second chapter )

IMPORTANT: THE GRAMMAR GETS BETTER THE FARTHER IN YOU GO. PLEASE AT LEAST READ TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER. don't ask me why, it has something to do with lack of inspiration...

December 19th, 2013

Reynie grasped and fumbled for her wand in frustration, the tight ropes around her arms dug into her wrists and burned her skin as she writhed.

The creature got closer and closer, its sliver fingers stretching out slowly.

It seemed almost gentle, the way it moved, as if it didn't want any physical pain, just mental. Never ending sadness, gripping her heart and tearing her soul, like she would never be happy again.

Her hand was nowhere near her wand, she could tell.

This was it.

This was how her life would end.

In despair.

In loss.

In silence.

All alone with no one but a souless dead body and a dementor.

She could barely see through her tears.

Closer,

Closer,

Slowly it drifted twards he, bodyless raggs drifting like seaweed at the bottom the deepest, darkest ocean.

She wanted to scream, to cry out, something. But there was no point. There was no one- no thing out there.

It was so close now.

She relaxed into the cold earth, surrendering.

Then it began. The dementor leaned closer to her face.

Frost nibbled the end of her nose…

Dudley Dursley had gotten married to a Margret Flat and together they had a baby girl with a funny nose and a short temper. They were reckless, neglectful parents who didn't give a shoe what happened to their child. Every wednesday, tuesday, friday, monday, and saturday they dropped her at a muggle daycare then a church on Sundays -because the daycare didn't run Sundays. They named the girl Storm Hopeless Dursly. The reason being, she 'stormed into our lives at the exact time we didn't want a child' and 'is a hopeless piece of trash that can't look after herself'. None of those things were true of course. It was their own fault they had had a kid at all. More over she took after herself very well indeed. Reynie Hope Dursly (which is what she opted to call herself) was exceptionally extrordinary. Up until the age of four, she had taught herself to read, do multiplication, basic third grade knowledge and the amount of social studies a regular human learns in 20 years. Her shelf was absolutely laden with books. Tragedies and love storys, biographies, autobiographies, self help books and cookbooks. But the things that took up the most space were fairytales. Fairytales were not only an escape from daily life but they felt so much more real than getting up at some ungodly hour in the morning to bore herself to death at a daycare. And real they were for as she got older, she found she could perform most of the little tricks and tweaks that she found inside them. She could change her eye color and break glass by just staring at it. One time, when she had to cook herself dinner, she touched the water with her little finger and it suddenly came to boiling temperature startling her so much, she lost her appetite for pasta and just ate a piece of toast. The only problem with her gift was that she couldn't quite control the things that happened. They came out of nowhere and she had to learn to cope with the consequences. Reynie made sure to keep everything she could do well kept secret from everyone. Except once. That was the time she turned the salt to cinnamon on christmas eve.

She was around eight years old and they were just sitting down at another sappy family reunion when she asked for her gran to pass the salt. Petunia shoved the shaker towards Reynie and it spilled in the process. The grains tumbled down her front and onto the floor but the time they reached her scuffed, oversized mary-janes, the sharp white crystals had changed to a soft brown dust. Her grandma started to scold and lecture her for being such a klutz but when she handed the dustpan to the white faced little girl, she saw the cinnamon down her shirt and sniffed the air. (gran petunia had an impeccable sense of smell.) "Were you covered in cinnamon before?" She said through her teeth.

"no mam." Reynie squeaked.

"Vernon, did you switch the bottles again?" Petunia started to sound worried.

"Storm, what's going on?…" Her mother stared down her nose at Reynie expecting a lame excuse. She never got one though. Reynie Blurted everything out and you can guess what happened next. Petunia kicked her out just like that and she had to pack her things and catch the next train-by herself-to meet her father's freak cousin.