[I own nothing in the Harry Potter franchise, all such content belongs to J.K. Rowling.]
Number 4 Privet Drive, August 6th, 1993.
In the summer holidays preceding Harry's school year, Aunt Marge once again takes up residence at the Dursleys' place. Past experience has solidified Harry's loathing of this woman, and even the Dursleys themselves dread her presence. Indeed, it's simply impossible for Harry to hold any form of civil conversation with Aunt Marge.
"Don't daydream when I'm talking to you, boy!" snaps Marge, seated at the dining table during a late morning breakfast. Harry looks up and suppresses a gag at Marge's appearance as she continues to spew out insults. "You need to be more like your cousin; Dudders here is a real gentleman, and it helps that he wasn't born from a bunch of drunks."
Whatever remarks Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia might throw out seems almost harmless compared to Marge's tirades. And this is why Harry's long since grown out of his dislike of the Dursleys.
But now, fury builds up from within Harry as the dining table shudders and shakes. Gotta get that form signed... Gotta get that form signed... It's just Marge that's full of crap; the rest are alright.
He tries his absolute best to flood his mind with anything other than Marge's insults. To everyone's, including Harry's, relief, the table eventually ceases its vibration. The expression of relief seems clear as day on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's faces.
"Now what's the meaning of all this shaking?" asks Marge, glancing quizzically at the table.
"I'm going for a walk," mutters Harry, earning a scoff from Marge as she speaks.
"Absolutely not; how dare you walk away from the eating table! Vernon, this boy's manners degenerate by the day." She harrumphs and folds her arms, glancing behind her as a nearby vase seemingly knocks itself over.
"Actually, I say the boy should go outside for a bit of fresh air, Marge," says a visibly nervous Uncle Vernon, while Aunt Petunia nods in approval.
"What? Did you forget that he's attending St. Brutus? The boy's a hopeless case of violence and criminality, remember?" Marge glances at both Uncle Vernon and Harry. In response, the former pokes Harry with the back of a spoon beneath the table.
"They're always watching me, yeah. If I catch on nonsense, then I'll receive the worst beating of my life when I go back," says Harry, lying to maintain his ruse in exchange for Uncle Vernon signing his Hogsmeade slip.
"Bah, I'd sooner call the police to keep an eye on this one. Are you absolutely sure about this, Vernon? I will not be held responsible for any damage your degenerate does to this neighbourhood," states Marge.
To Harry's left, Uncle Vernon nods, having previously allowed Harry outside. "You'd better be back by no later than 3 this afternoon, you hear? And if you do see that convict, Black, from the TV, don't expect us to come help."
"I'm more concerned that your boy will mingle with that Black." Marge pours herself yet another glass of brandy.
"Why would I 'mingle' with an escaped convict?" asks a baffled Harry, before swiftly recalling the need to maintain his ruse. "I'll come running straight home, yeah. Otherwise, I'd be beaten and starved for days back at St. Brutus."
Uncle Vernon nods in relief. "Well, go on then, would you?"
Equally relieved, Harry all but sprints out the front door for some freedom at last. Little does he even care for wherever this Sirius Black bloke could be; all that matters is putting himself as far away from Marjorie Dursley as possible. Sure enough, a lengthy stroll takes Harry to the empty playground where a lone girl sits spinning on a roundabout.
Unsure of how to approach a Muggle his age, Harry hesitates while speaking. "Hey, um, hi."
Round and round spins the girl, until gesturing for Harry to stop the roundabout (which he does).
"Hey there," she greets, her blue eyes and brunette hair capturing Harry's attention. "Um, Holly Nates, that's my name, yeah."
Right after introducing himself, Harry's brief bit of pride fades away. It's clear that his name means bugger all here in the Muggle world, which is particularly evidenced by a giggle on the girl's behalf. Harry briefly wonders if this encounter is too good to be true, for nobody has been this friendly to him out here before.
"What's with that funny-looking scar?" asks Holly, scanning her eyes across Harry's forehead.
"It's, uh, I was born with it," he lies.
"A lightning-shaped birthmark? Weird but cool, I guess. So, are you here by yourself?"
"Yeah, not like I have a choice though." Harry flinches in surprise as Holly leaps off the roundabout, landing with a thud beside him. She reaches down into a rucksack, which Harry hadn't even noticed on his way to greet her, and withdraws a pair of quad roller skates.
"I do have another pair, if you'd like. They're surprisingly fun! Huh? Oh, it looks like someone's coming this way," says Holly.
"What's this? Potter's got himself a friend? A girl? Wait till I tell Dudley!" says a boy whom Harry recognizes all too well: Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's worst gang members. The kid with a rat-like face stands snarling at a visibly perturbed Harry, for the latter can do little here in a Muggle park. "Come on, Potter, do something, or are you afraid to fight?"
Turning to glance at Holly Nates beside him, Harry apologizes for getting her involved in what is an all too regular occurrence in his life. "This is why I hardly have any friends around here, just so you know."
To his surprise, Holly steps forward with her blue eyes narrowed in dislike. "Piss off, would you? Can't a girl even talk to a friend around here?"
"Think I'm afraid of a girl? Why you hiding behind her, Potter? Come on, put 'em up and let's fight," says Polkiss, raising his fists towards a sighing Harry. The latter places his arms on his hips while a dejected expression crosses his face. If only one could use magic on Muggles, then he'd certainly Hex Dudley's gang indeed.
"Hey, you know what?" Holly bends to gather stones in her hand. "PISS OFF!" Harry nearly doubles back in shock as Holly flings whatever she can towards an equally shocked Polkiss, the bully now covering his blitzed head.
"What the—? Screw this, man. Keep your crazy chick to yourself!" yells Polkiss, evading a sizable stone which just about misses his neck.
Harry roars with laughter as Holly's assault carries on for a good few seconds until Polkiss flees from the park. "That was great!"
"Thanks; I hate idiots like that, seriously. They have no right to pick fights and then run at the first sign of getting whopped," says Holly, swapping her sneakers for roller skates before passing a rather well-fitted pair to Harry.
"I, uh, can't quite roller skate."
"Nonsense, boy, you'll learn pretty quick. Took me awhile to work such stuff, but hey, look at me now." She gracefully demonstrates skating a few metres along a relatively safe pathway. Unwilling to disappoint his first Muggle friend, Harry fits on his skates as Holly dumps his shoes into her bag, unfazed by their dirt.
She now grabs him by the hand and speaks. "I'll go slowly, but I'm pretty sure you've got good balance. There's a shop just a few streets away that sells ice cream. So, let's go get some, Potter boy!"
"I've literally got no money on me," admits Harry, wondering if this marks the end of a brief friendship. After all, what girl would want to hang out with a penniless guy like him? But if he were back in the Wizarding World, then things would be different.
However, Holly merely scoffs and shakes her head. Her pretty blue eyes closing ever so slightly as she chuckles. "So, you're a peasant?"
The sheer audacity of insulting him like this nearly breaks Harry's heart, but he expects nothing less from the Muggle world. Unable to respond, he busies himself with trying to skate a meter or two.
"Just say it, Harry Potter, you're a peasant. Go ahead and admit it," insists Holly, her giggles eating at Harry's confidence.
"Fine, I'm a peasant. Happy now?"
"Well said, now let's go eat." She steadily skates ahead, glancing beside her with a mischievous smile as Harry seems to be getting the hang of things. They continue through the park before advancing onto tarmac. "I'm not a such a big fan of dogs, you know," states Holly, as they swerve around to avoid any neighbourhood pets defending their turf.
"Yeah, I've had my share of bad experiences with them," replies Harry, deciding upon retelling the clashes with Marge's favourite pet, Ripper. He feels both embarrassed and yet amused at Holly's laughter towards his sad stories. "So, where are you from?"
"Out of town, I suppose. What school do you go to?"
Harry considers his deal with Uncle Vernon, even though it only concerns lying to Aunt Marge. He wonders if he should maintain the St. Brutus ruse or lie about attending an 'ordinary' Muggle school. The former is risky, but the latter could easily be checked for a lie. "You really wanna know?"
"I won't judge you, seriously, you're making it sound like there's something to hide," says Holly. A brief glance at him causing her long hair to whip through the wind.
"Alright then; St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys," he replies, feeling his heart sink with dread.
But Holly merely shrieks with a laugh that echoes down the quiet suburban street. "Oh, I'm sorry! Forgive my outburst but that is the most ridiculous name I've EVER heard," she admits, now coming to a halt at a T-junction.
"Yeah, I'm an incurable criminal," states Harry, trying to put some emphasis in his lie.
"Well, you haven't robbed nor taken advantage of me yet, so maybe the rehab's working," she says, unable to stifle her laughter.
"I guess so."
They eventually turn right before Holly stops at a small shop on their left. She then whips out a pink purse from her jeans pocket, pays in Muggle coins (which Harry's rarely had much of), and receives two wrapped ice creams from the freezer. "Here you go, Potter boy."
"Thanks!" Harry takes his dessert and is quite surprised by this stranger's generosity, seeing as he's only known Holly for barely an hour.
"Don't worry about the costs; just shitty peasant money, anyway," she says, before returning all the way to the park. By the time they stand overlooking the nearly empty field again, Holly and Harry both unwrap their treats.
But someone appears to be approaching, and it's a boy slightly taller than Harry. "Hey, aren't you Dudley's loser cousin?"
Harry sighs at yet another blemish on an otherwise pleasant afternoon. "Yeah, so what?"
The boy moves forward, nudging a surprised Holly aside as he shoves Harry backwards; the quad skates causing him to tip over onto his back.
"I'll take that treat, and your cousin will know you're sneaking about buying stuff without giving 'em to him," says the boy, now unwrapping and biting off a sizable chunk of Harry's dessert. "And who's this chick? Don't tell me you're Potter's friend? Are you kidding—" He glances left as Harry storms forward.
"BITCH!"
"That's what I'm talking about!" Holly removes her skates, throws her rucksack to the ground, and cheers as Harry catches the Muggle boy off-guard with a hectic knee to the gut. Now she stands over the suffering boy and scoffs. "You brought this on yourself, idiot. Here, since you wanted it so badly..."
Harry watches on, in amazement, as Holly shoves the now grass-covered ice cream into the crying teen's mouth.
"All talk, but just a fat little crybaby in the end." She begins kicking the Muggle in his (already painful) gut until he begs for mercy through his stuffed mouth. "I'm so sorry about your shitty life here, Harry Potter," says Holly, rubbing Harry's back before deciding to swap his skates for shoes as Harry sits upon the ground. "Don't get upset with the world, you can't blame everyone for a bunch of idiots. Still, it was lovely to see you standing up for yourself around here."
"Oh well, there's always school to look forward to." Harry swiftly clears his throat. "Ahem, uh, I mean St. Brutus is better than this, even with the beatings. Yeah, I, um, just dished out what I'm used to getting there, yep." He sits up and sees Holly offering her own clean wafer.
"You can have it, or we could share it?" asks Holly, gesturing to the already opened treat.
"But it's yours."
"Ours now, take a bite," she says, and Harry digs into the delicacy, savouring its wonderful flavour. Muggles sure know how to make their treats, he'll give them that. While chewing in delight, his eyes widen in horror at something laying right beside him: his wand. With a quarter wafer in his mouth, Harry swiftly swallows before snatching it up, checking to see the girl's response.
"Please keep your stick in your pants," she says, before shrieking with laughter once more. "Such a silly boy, Harry."
"Oh yeah, my 'stick' haha." In mere seconds, the wand is tucked away by Harry. Then he offers the wafer back to its owner as she looks behind him. "What's wrong?"
"That's a strange dog for your little neighbourhood, Harry." She points towards a great black dog approaching the boy lying meters away. Fortunately, the Muggle gets to his feet and flees the park with a dirty wafer still shoved in his mouth. "Shit, man, I can't exactly take a dog like that on here!" says Holly, before Harry devises a plan.
"I tell you what; let's leave it and run like bloody hell," he whispers in Holly's ear, before tossing the wafer ahead for the dog to devour.
"Wow, I've never seen a dog munch an ice cream like that before," says Holly.
"Who cares? Let's run!" Harry grabs her by the arm as they flee for their lives, seeing as the black dog appears savage indeed.
Although their legs burn from the sudden sprint, adrenaline powers Harry and Holly down a few streets until coming to a halt in Privet Drive. Breathless, they bend over to recuperate with Holly resting her arm on Harry's shoulder. Regardless of the sweat soaking their clothes, they've at least survived an uncertain encounter.
"Since we're here, how about heading home? I'd really love to meet your family," says Holly.
"You seriously don't want to meet them, honestly."
"I do, honestly." She beams as Harry leads her down Privet Drive and towards number 4. Standing at the front door, Harry knocks until the sounds of footsteps can be heard from the porch.
"It's about time, boy," says Uncle Vernon, his eyes darting to Harry's left. "And who's this supposed to be?"
"She's a friend–"
"Holly Nates, I'm from out of town and won't be staying long. So, you won't have to bother with me being a nuisance," she says, grinning at Harry's gawking expression.
Uncle Vernon scoffs and guffaws with laughter. "Petunia, Marge, Dudley! Come see this: Harry's made a friend!"
Dining chairs are pushed out just moments before the rest of the Dursleys hurry towards Uncle Vernon at the door.
"She's not bad," says Dudley, to which Marge sneers most disgustedly at Holly.
"This boy's a delinquent left behind by a bunch of drunk parents who got themselves killed under the influence! Set your priorities straight, young lady."
Harry calms himself with past memories such as when Marcus Flint whacked Oliver Wood with a Bludger. But even though Harry remains at ease, a glass cup (in the dining room) somehow shatters which causes everyone but Marge to panic.
"Must have left it at the edge of the table," she says.
Bemused, Harry knows that he couldn't have caused this incident. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, however, mumble in panic as they begin ushering Harry to his room upstairs.
"So long, Harry; it's been really nice meeting you out here," says Holly, her farewells cut short by Marge's hostile demeanour.
"Ugh, 'so long' indeed, forever long! You will not be making any more friends to influence around here, boy. Is that understood?"
Harry merely nods and bids farewell to his first, and most likely last, Muggle friend. But before she leaves, Holly gives him a surprisingly mischievous wink which has Harry momentarily baffled again.
"Move, boy!" mutters Uncle Vernon, forcing Harry towards the hall. Seconds later, the latter peeks through a window to spot Holly casually walking off down the road to the left. But all is not lost, however, as Uncle Vernon eventually corners Harry near his room upstairs. "Listen here, boy; Marge hasn't really seen anything abnormal yet. Keep it like this and I'll sign that hocus-pocus slip of yours soon, alright?"
Indeed Harry does, for the memory of the kind, yet feisty, Holly Nates gives him the boost to withstand nearly everything thrown at him over the remainder of Marge's visit. By mid-August, at last, Uncle Vernon honours his end of the deal by signing Harry's Hogsmeade permission slip.
But these are merely the memories of a third-year Slytherin currently sitting beside the Quidditch pitch...