Fem Harry Potter x ?

Synopsis: Holly Potter is the infamous witch who survived the night she was born. But it wasn't the only luck she received. Though magic means, she was given a tattoo of a black bird on her chest. What mysteries lie in the magical ink? How much else does she have to worry about other than being the 'chosen one'? The prophecy made might never come to pass, or will it? Only she can choose her destiny. Fem!Harry. Femslash. Creature!Holly

A/N: Welcome to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic!

Now, this story begins at the well...beginning (skipping the prologue anyways). I'll try to keep it on the path as Rowling wrote it. Well, other than the fact our protagonist is female and is half veela. So the story may veer off a wee bit. Because of my own experiences, she will be 12 in her first year and turning 13 on her birthday; this is because she would be the youngest or oldest in her grade. So it's only logical the story begins at her being 12.

In addition to to Holly being half Veela, I'm going to start her off as a bitter 12 year old angry at how she was treated for the past 10 years. As the story progresses, she'll become darker and darker until there's a moment that brings her back to the light. Or something. We'll see how the story proceeds.

She'd be gay/lesbian because...aww fuck it. I'm gay myself, and women just make me happy~ So Holly's gay too. On the rare occasion there's hetero between Holly and someone else, well, it's gonna be brief or super special.

Later in the fic, it will be a slight crossover with Overwatch and League of Legends and possibly other media. But not nearly enough to warrant it as a full x-over in the categorization. When it happens, well I'll let you know. Subtly. Or not at all. Some people mind be able to pick out the not so HP content. If you do...you deserve an internet cookie.

Please read & review~

Harry Potter is copyrighted to J.K Rowling.

Enjoy~

Act I

"Freak! Get up! Get up. You useless girl, get up and make us breakfast!"

Those harshly spoken words were followed by bony knuckles rapping on the cupboard where she was forced to sleep. Oh yes, forced to sleep in a small cupboard ever since she could walk

She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it, but she hadn't recognized anything else since it had been dark. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before. Clenching her fists, Holly vowed that one day, she'd get to the bottom of what it meant.

Groaning as her overweight cousin flew down the stairs, storming back up again to wake her up, Holly was wishing so much that the piggy boy would break his foot so she could get some decent sleep for once in her miserable life.

"Wakey wakey cousin! It's my birthday an' we're going to the zoo!" To exaggerate his point, he jumped up and down while gripping the banister a few more resulting thumping overhead caused drywall to crack and fall down onto her head, upsetting her further.

The poor neglected twelve year old grabbed her glasses and began opening the door when her disgusting older cousin rushed by, slamming it in her face. Cursing under her breath, she rubbed her forehead and stumbled upstairs to the bathroom.

As she looked into the mirror a young eleven year old with a pasty complexion stared back at her with a gaunt expression. A few freckles dusted her cheeks. Her unnaturally crimson hair cascaded down to her rear. Somehow it was always so vivid despite how many times a week Petunia hacked off her long locks and dyed with harsh chemicals to a dull brown or black. But it always grew back overnight much to her aunt's chagrin. It was like a little victory each time she fought with the crotchety woman.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Holly had always been small and skinny for her age. She appeared even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she was. Holly had a thin face, knobbly knees, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched her on the nose. Apparently the saying 'boys shouldn't hit girls' was damned to hell. The only thing Holly liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She'd had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

Of course her relatives would always dance around the question like hot coals. "In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions." Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

She could have taken a longer shower, but her aunt and uncle would punish her if she took too long. Their reason was that she didn't deserve to use hot water and that they were generous enough to let her even bath. An evil lot they were.

Securing her towel around her torso and another by her waist, Holly rushed back down to her cupboard in fear that Dudley would attempt to steal her towels to humiliate her like he had in the past.

Now safe in her tiny 'bedroom', the young twelve year old had a moment of respite from her extended family. She hoped so much that one day her real parents would come and save her. Not once did she believe they died in a car wreck. After getting 'properly' dressed in a shirt nearly four sizes too big for her and a pair of trainers that had to be hemmed at least three rolls so it wouldn't drag on the ground, Holly forced herself to walk into the kitchen where she was promptly guided rather roughly over to the stove where a warming skillet, a carton of eggs, bread and an entire pack of bacon waiting to be cooked sat.

"Girl, bring me coffee. And don't burn any of the food," ordered her uncle. A stout man who was at least two sizes too big for his britches. And in both senses of the word.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," squeaked Holly in a rather diminutive manner.

Aunt Petunia cooed sickeningly, "Oh I want everything to be perfect for my little Duddy-kins~" The thin, bony woman covered her overweight son's eyes and guided him to the sitting room where there was an enormous pile of presents wrapped in brightly covered foil-paper.

It took everything she had to not simply puke at the display for one child but not her. Oh she would someday come back in the future to punish these terrible people. But for now, she had to endure it until she could be free of their grasp.

Peering out of the kitchen as she sneakily shoved leftover bacon and hard boiled eggs into a baggy, she stowed the food for later since she'd normally not get to eat much herself. But she watched as her cousin suddenly asking, "How many are there?"

"Thirty-six. Counted em myself this morning," replied the bigger man.

But that was the wrong thing to say apparently. His face reddening in anger, Dudley began to shout, "Thirty-six? THIRTY-SIX?! THAT'S TWO LESS THAN LAST YEAR!"

Flustered at the abrupt outburst by his son, Vernon stuttered, "W-well son, there's a few that are bigger than the others. So you have to account for the value of e-"

Interrupting his father, the chubby brat exploded, "I DON'T CARE HOW BIG THEY ARE!"

"Oh Dudders, you didn't count Aunt Margie's gift under the big one from mommy and daddy! And while we're out near London, we'll buy you two more presents! Is that okay?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little man wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

The Dursleys often spoke about Holly like this, as though she wasn't even there - or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia, frustrated.

"You could just leave me here," Holly piped in hopefully (she'd be able to watch whatever she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," promised Holly, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo with us," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave her in the car..."

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone..." spat Vernon, his face changing to magenta. Likely, he would blow a gasket if he wasn't calmed down soon.

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying - it had been years since he'd really cried - but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I... don't... want... her... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Holly a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and Dudley ceased his tantrum and raced to the door. When he opened it, on the threshold stood Piers Polkiss. The tween paled; it was one of the fat pig's friends whom tenaciously joined her cousin in their favorite activity: Holly Hunting. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them.

Xxxxx

Half an hour later, Holly, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. If only it had been with her real family and not a bunch of spoiled fakes.

The ride over to the zoo was horrible; being stuck between a fatass and a lanky kid and punched every three seconds. You'd think they'd relent after her arms turned black and blue, even purple. But they just laughed and continued despite

Scrambling out of the car, Holly was simply grateful to be somewhere other than the house or school. Before she could get any further than a few feet away, she was cornered by her walrus of an uncle. "I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Holly's, "I'm warning you now, girl- any funny business, anything at all - and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said the young redhead, "honestly." But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Holly and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

Holly had the best morning she'd had in ages. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. Already her arms were healing, but it still hurt like a bitch. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Holly was allowed to finish the first.

Holly felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge. "Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on. "This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Holly snuck down in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its slitted eyes were on a level with Holly's.

It winked.

Holly stared in disbelief. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She drew her gaze back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time.'

"I know," Holly murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Holly asked, not expecting much of a reply.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Holly peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Holly read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see - so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head disparagingly, a deafening shout behind Holly made both of them jump at least a foot into the air.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could. "Out of the way, you," he said, punching Holly in the ribs. Caught by surprise, the malnourished girl fell hard on the concrete floor, wheezing and clawing for air. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Holly sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Holly could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go? T'was there a moment and just...gone!"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Holly had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Holly was talking to it, weren't you, Holly?"

"N-no I wasn't..." she whimpered.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Holly . He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Holly lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. There wasn't a chance in hell that they'd willingly feed her until they forgot about the incident altogether.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had perished. Sometimes, when she strained her hazy memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead originating at the zigzag on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. Not once could she remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. Nor were there any photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Holly had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Holly furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Holly tried to get a closer look.

At school, Holly had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Holly Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Holly her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was even allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Not to mention before she had been imprisoned, the tubby middle aged man had slapped her, punched and kicked her in his fury. Enough to make her puke up her lunch and what little nutrition she'd hoarded over the last few hours. Welp, she was bound to be even thinner after this.

Xxxxx

The following sunday after being let out of the cupboard was an especially warm day. Holly spent it by simply lying beside the rickety central air vent in her attempts to keep cool.

The rest of the family relaxed in the

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat. "Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Holly get it."

"Get the mail, Holly."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Holly dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and - a letter for Holly. By the gods, was it really for her.

Tentatively, she picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her entire life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives - she didn't belong to the library, so she'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Ms Holly V. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Who in the world had sent this to her?

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Holly spied a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Holly went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. -."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Holly's got something!"

Holly was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"Oh hell. P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Holly and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," she said loudly. "I want to read it," said Holly furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Holly didn't move.

"Fuck! I WANT MY LETTER!" she shrieked, her voice nearly shrill enough to shatter glass.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Holly and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Holly, her glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't

want -"

Holly could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything...

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Holly in her cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" queried Holly, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," retorted Holly rather angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er - yes, Holly- about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?" asked Holly.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Holly one trip upstairs to move everything she owned (which wasn't much) from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

Xxxxx

Monday. This reminded Holly of something. If it was Monday - and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Holly's twelfth birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. A fucking coathanger of godsakes! Still, you weren't twelve every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said gruffly. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there. Dudley would discover this and probably throw quite a fit.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them. "I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Scratch that. It was utterly frigid! Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up. "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Holly privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her much up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Holly was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket. How generous of them.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Holly couldn't sleep. She shivered, quaked and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Holly she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay still and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Holly heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Or at least put her out of her misery from her horrible relatives. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? Perhaps the ocean would swallow them down into the depths.

One minute to go and she'd be twelve. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine - maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Holly sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

BOOM.

They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly. There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands - now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you - I'm armed!" There was a pause. Then -

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Holly!" tittered the giant as he fell onto the couch which creaked under his massive form.

Holly looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad if he was lass, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes. But hell ye really look like a mini version o' yer mum. Her hair n all"

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," growled the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway - Holly," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right. Bit squished, but it ain't taste any different."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Holly opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Holly' written on it in green icing.

Holly looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Holly's whole arm. She winced, having not quite recovered from the last beating she'd been on the unfortunate end of receiving.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Holly felt the warmth wash over her as though he'd sunk into a hot bath. A luxury she'd never been privy to.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker,

Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly. "Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Holly, who was so hungry she'd never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er - no," said Holly slowly, rather confuzzled.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Holly muttered quickly.

"Sorreh?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Holly, more bewildered than before.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this lovely lass- this girl! - knows nothin' abou' - about ANYTHING?"

Holly thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad. "I know some things," she said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed. Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Holly. "But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My - my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage. "You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Holly eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," spurned Hagrid thickly. "Holly my girl- yer a witch!"

A/N: How'd you enjoy the first chapter? Ehehe, I bet it was pretty boring since it's not much different than the original first few. Trust me, the next four chapters will be a lot more interesting! For now...au revoir~