Prologue

I arrived in Little Whinging just in time to start year six at the local primary school. In other words the worst time in the world to make friends, since everyone had already known each other for years. I would be Zara Vickers- the new girl.

It was this that I was worried about when my parents' car followed the moving van along a little suburban street called Magnolia Crescent. Neither of my parents shared my concerns; my dad had been relocated for work into an office full of people he'd already met at national conferences, and my mother was confident that she would immediately make friends with the local 'ladies that lunch' (her words, not mine.)

Our new house was large, or at least it seemed that way when I was ten years old. My bedroom was spacious, with a view of the small park that bordered the back of the house, and the garden was like a little wilderness; weeds, tree stumps and the odd daisy littered the neglected lawn, something which I thought was quite cool looking, but which my mother took one look at and then called the first landscape gardener she found in the phone book.

By far the best thing about the new house, however, was the attic. It was undoubtedly creepy, with its low beams and dark corners, but as soon as I set foot in it, I knew this would make a great den. The only potential problem was convincing my parents to decorate it- somehow I doubted Mum would want me skulking in a loft all day- but I would cross that bridge when I came to it. For now, I was happy to drag my toys up there and imagine how I could transform the room.

My father had one week off work to sort out the move, and then he was back to the office five days a week. I always hated watching him drive off to work, mainly because this claustrophobic feeling washed over me as I realised that I would have to wait for years before I was allowed to disappear off like that.

On the first day that he went back to work, I was sitting at the breakfast table, eating scrambled eggs and thinking about the book I was currently reading, while my mother chattered away on the phone to someone.

'What a nice idea!' she exclaimed, 'I'm sure they would be great friends. And of course I'm sure you could introduce me to some of the ladies around here.'

The person at the other end of the line said something in response that I couldn't make out. I had a horrible feeling that whatever my mother was planning would involve me; it was incredibly rare that I enjoyed her plans.

'Well, how about you pop over for some tea this morning?' asked my mother.

There was a reply from the other end and my mother laughed her fake laugh, 'Yes, that'll be fine. I'll see you around eleven, Petunia.'

She put the phone down and turned to me, 'Zara, I've invited a lady I met the other day around for tea. She is absolutely delightful. And she's bringing her son with her.'

I stared blankly back, unsure exactly what to say to this. Mum was always much more enthusiastic about me meeting new people than I ever was.

'Now, why don't you go and put that new dress on?' she suggested, ignoring my lack of response.

I instantly pictured the dress she was talking about. It had been the pinkest one in the shop, and as an added bonus had the most ruffles. Needless to say, she'd snapped it up, and had been looking for an occasion to manhandle me into it ever since.

'Okay,' I sighed, resigning myself to spending the day wearing the monstrosity.

'You might want to go and get ready!' she insisted, glancing down at her watch.

Grudgingly, I headed upstairs and found the pink and white dress waiting in my wardrobe. I put it on and found it was even worse than I imagined when I looked in the mirror.

'How does it look?' Mum shouted up the stairs.

Horrific? Nauseating? Like a trifle?

'Erm, it looks good,' I call back.

'Great. Do you need me to curl your hair for you as well?'

I recoiled with horror at the thought of having my hair curled- last time Mum did it, she turned my poker straight blonde hair into corkscrew curls that made me look like an American beauty pageant child.

'No, it's fine!' I said hurriedly.

I spent the next couple of hours reading; I had discovered 'The Hobbit' the other day and hadn't been able to put it down since.

'Zara, come down please!' called Mum, the same note of anxiety that was always in her voice just before she had to play hostess.

A horrible squirming sensation in my stomach, I slowly walked down the stairs, just as Mum pulled open the door.

A thin woman with a long neck and pinched face was standing on the doorstep, wearing a flowery dress that was a similar style to my mother's fashion sense. Her hand clutched the shoulder of an impossibly large blonde boy who looked a similar age to me. He also looked as happy as I was to be there.

'Welcome, welcome!' smiled my mother extravagantly, 'It's lovely to see you again, Petunia. This is my daughter, Zara.'

'Hello,' smiled the woman, taking at step inside with her scowling son, 'This is my son, Dudley.'

It could not have been clearer, as Petunia Dursley looked around the house nosily and asked Mum every detail about the move that she was simply here to get a look at her new neighbours. Mum either didn't notice, or didn't mind if she did, because soon they were gossiping away about every topic under the sun.

'Hello,' I said to the boy, mainly because it was incredibly awkward standing there in silence while our mothers discussed the dress size of Mrs Next Door.

'Hi,' he said, in a dismissive sort of voice.

Well if he wanted to be rude, that was his problem, I thought indignantly. He didn't look like the kind of person anyone would want to be friends with anyway; his little piggy eyes kept darting towards the table which my mum had laden with sandwiches and cake.

'So, will Zara be starting at Brookside Primary?' I heard Petunia Dursley ask my mother.

'Yes, she's starting next week. She's a bit worried about having to start in year six, but I keep telling her it'll be fine.'

'Oh Dudders will look after her, won't you?' Petunia glanced down at her son, who spared me one glare and then resumed his ogling of the food. He ignored his mother as though no one had spoken.

Petunia pressed on nevertheless, 'Oh yes, it is a good school. Dudley has gotten on very well there, he has so many friends.'

'That's nice,' said Mum, seemingly oblivious to Dudley's obviously horrible nature, 'Do you have just the one child?'

For some reason Petunia look slightly flustered at this question, and her lips pressed into a slight frown.

'Yes,' she said, after a moment, 'My husband and I are currently looking after my nephew though.'

My mother put on her sympathetic expression, which usually meant she wanted gossip, 'Oh dear. Troubles at home I assume?'

'My sister and her husband passed away.'

My mother looked mortified for a moment and hastily rearranged her features into a sombre expression, 'Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea.'

Petunia waved her apologies away, 'Don't be. She was the wrong sort, and her husband was nothing more than a lay-about.'

'Unemployed?' asked my mother, ushering Petunia into a chair.

Petunia nodded, 'Couldn't hold down a job from what I heard; I assume he must have scrounged hand-outs. Of course, my husband, Vernon, and I kept our distance from them.'

'It is disgusting how much theses lay-abouts are given, while hard working people like us have to toil for our money,' agreed my mother, as she handed Petunia a thick slice of Victoria Sponge.

'Oh, I agree,' said Petunia, taking a sip of tea, 'I can't abide lazy people who spend their days doing nothing.'

I listened to their exchange with a slightly incredulous look on my face. Somehow the conversation had switched from Petunia Dursley's dead sister to unemployment benefit in the space of about thirty seconds.

I glanced at the stairs and wondered if I'd be able to sneak away and read my book without being spotted. As if reading my mind, however, my mother turned her attention to me.

'Zara, why don't you and Dudley take some cake and go and sit in the garden?'

Dudley's piggy little eyes lit up and he hurried over to the table to help himself to cake. I watched him put half a dozen cupcakes on a plate and found that my own appetite had somewhat diminished.

Nevertheless, like the jellyfish I was, I did as I was told and led him outside into the garden which had recently been tamed into submission by a landscaper.

I sat down on the grass, but Dudley remained standing, apparently worried he'd lose eating time if he bothered to sit. I watched in fascination as he managed to consume half his plateful in the space of five minutes; evidently he was no novice eater.

'I'm Zara,' I said in an attempt at politeness, when he took a break from his cakes.

'Hello,' grunted Dudley in response, before returning to his food.

Well if he didn't want to talk then that was fine with me. My thoughts returned to 'The Hobbit', but this obviously gave me a slightly glazed look which Dudley noticed.

'What's wrong with you?' he asked in the same grunting tone of voice.

'Nothing,' I said, my attention grudgingly returning to the boy in front of me.

'You're weird,' he declared.

'No I'm not,' I protested weakly.

'I bet you are,' continued Dudley, 'I bet you didn't have any friends at your old school.'

That wasn't strictly true; I did have some really good friends. It was just that I'd always been one to prefer small groups, and would happily spend lunchtimes sitting with a book. I didn't think I was necessarily antisocial; I was just a bit awkward.

He laughed at my silence and shovelled another cupcake into his mouth, leaving me to worry that every other new person I met would think I was weird too…

Time seemed to fly past at the speed of light over the next week. My nerves about starting a new school had built up so much that it was as if a dancing flock of butterflies had permanently taken residence in my stomach.

To make matters worse, it seemed as if I was the only one in the family who was fazed by the move. My father would return home from work every evening bursting with anecdotes about his day and the team he was working with; his old office was completely forgotten. My mother was similarly upbeat and, to my disbelief, had struck up a solid friendship with Petunia Dursley, who had been over for tea more times than I cared to think about. The two of them would sit for hours, chatting about Mrs Next Door's weight problems and Mrs Across The Street's problem daughter; it seemed that at long last, my mother had found someone equally as fond of gossip.

Meanwhile, I spent most of the time before school started sitting in the loft reading. I had managed to convince Dad to give it a lick of paint after work one evening, and it had brightened the place up into quite a nice den. I'd dragged blankets and posters up there and convinced myself that it was my own private hide out, away from Mum and Petunia Dursley, and away from the worries about school.

But unfortunately, I had to come out of the attic sometime, and that time came when school started.

When Mum dropped me off at Brookside Primary School on the first day of term, I was half tempted to refuse to get out of the car. I managed to pull myself together, but as we walked towards the headmistress' office, people stared at me. I could only assume that because it was a tiny little school, they weren't used to new students. Whatever the reason, it wasn't a nice feeling.

Mum had a quick chat with the headmistress and then I found myself whisked along the corridors to my new class. I hesitated outside the door until it was suddenly pulled open by a woman in her mid- twenties with a kind expression.

'Hello,' she smiled down at me, 'you must be Zara Vickers.'

I nodded, unsure what to say to this.

'Nice to meet you, I'm Miss Thompson. Come in.'

I followed her into the classroom, where I found fifteen pairs of eyes staring at me, including the piggy little eyes of Dudley Dursley. I stood at the front, unsure exactly what to do with myself.

Miss Thompson, meanwhile, sat down at her desk and smiled at the class.

'Okay, this is our new student, Zara; I'm sure all of you will help her get used to our school.'

She turned to me, 'Zara, why don't you go and take a seat over there?'

She pointed me towards the only desk which was occupied by only one person. I headed over, feeling incredibly self-conscious, and found myself sitting next to a small boy with jet black hair that stuck up in every direction.

'Hi,' I said to the boy, feeling rather daring for once.

He gave me an odd look, as though unused to people talking to him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dudley and the rat-faced boy he was sitting next to were watching me and chuckling.

'Hello,' said the boy, still watching me warily, 'I'm Harry.'

'Zara,' I replied, giving him a smile which he returned cautiously.

Miss Thompson began taking a register, which was evidently the cue for everyone to start talking to one another. I saw that Dudley and his friend were still looking my way and snickering.

'I hate that boy,' I muttered, more to myself than anything else.

Harry's gaze followed the direction of my own and he pulled a face, 'Tell me about it.'

Feeling quite pleased that I obviously wasn't the only one who couldn't stand Dudley, I rolled my eyes at Harry, 'Is he always like that?'

'Yeah,' nodded Harry, 'I would know. I have to live with him.'

My mouth dropped open in a gasp, 'Poor you!'

I scrutinised Harry's appearance for a moment, and concluded that there was not one shred of physical similarity between him and Dudley. 'Are you related?'

'Unfortunately, yes,' muttered Harry, 'He's my cousin.'

I was about to express my sympathies when I suddenly remembered what Petunia Dursley had said the first time I met her. It was something about her having to look after her nephew, because both his parents had passed away.

I glanced at Harry, and my good mood that had come from laughing at Dudley instantly vanished. Had his parents really died? I couldn't imagine what that must be like. Yes, my mother drove me mad sometimes, but I couldn't imagine her not being there.

'What?' asked Harry, clearly wondering why I was staring so intently at him.

'Oh nothing,' I said, quickly averting my eyes.

'What?' he persisted.

'Oh, it's just that your aunt is friends with my mum and she mentioned you,' I said, deliberately trying to avoid having to discuss what she said.

Harry rolled his eyes and shot a glare at Dudley, 'I can imagine what she said.'

'Don't you get on with her and Dudley?' I asked, frowning slightly as I thought about how awful it must be to live in house with people you dislike.

'Nope,' said Harry, shaking his head, 'Nor my uncle.'

I was silent for a moment, mulling over the situation. I just couldn't understand it; Harry was clearly a much nicer person than his cousin, yet it seemed as though Petunia Dursley greatly favoured Dudley over Harry. I wondered what on earth could make her dislike her own nephew so much, especially when her sister had died.

As I was thinking about this, I noticed that it wasn't just Dudley who was looking at me and Harry. In fact, most of the class were glancing at us, looking either surprised or amused, and whispering things to the person they were sitting next to.

'Do you have any friends here?' I asked Harry, with the typical bluntness of a ten year old.

'Not really,' he admitted, 'Dudley hates me and everyone else is scared of him.'

I looked round at the gawping faces and found anger build up inside of me.

I turned back to Harry and gave him my biggest smile, 'Well, I don't have any friends here either. How about me and you become friends?'

And that was the day when I met the boy who would become my best friend. Of course I had no idea that I had just encountered the person who would have the biggest impact of my life out of everyone I'd ever meet; I was just the new girl pleased that someone had spoken to her.

Harry and I became inseparable for the rest of primary school. We were one another's only true friend and were completely joined at the hip despite protestations from my mother and Harry's aunt.

I did have one worry though, as the school year drew to a close. In September, I had a place at the nearby public school, Smeltings, while Harry was going to Stonewall High. The injustice of it made my blood boil; the Dursleys were more than happy to pay for Dudley's schooling, but refused to spend a penny on Harry, even though I had heard Petunia Dursley telling my mum that they could easily have afforded it. I knew I would only see Harry in the holidays, something which made me feel increasingly gloomy. Little did I know, things wouldn't turn out quite that way…

Hope you liked the first chapter! This story will be set during the summer holidays before Harry returns to Hogwarts. So they'll probably be a chapter per school year.

Anyway, thanks for reading. It'd be great if you left a review and let me know what you thought :)