The Language of Flowers

by Moon Witch '96

AU. A Girl Who Lived story. The Wizarding World is sometimes archaic & backward, but above all, is deeply entrenched with Traditions. Each little thing has meaning & centuries of practice, which, Primrose Potter finds to be a bit silly. Some traditions, however, like the meanings of flowers, she has found to be rather beautiful. Please Read & Review.

4. The Railview Stranger

The Railview Stranger

Bouquet of Mixed Zinnia & Cyclamen

Thinking or in Memory of Friend & Resignation and Goodbye

July of 1991

The escape of the friendly Brazilian Boa cost Primrose the longest punishment she had in her ten years with the Dursleys, even longer than when she had 'climbed' school buildings or ruined Deliah's newest and most expensive dress. It was near the end of school semester, but she was not allowed to leave house under any circumstances, neither to go back to the Ms. Figg's shop (not that her relative knew that she worked with the old woman, as it would mean her small salary would be taken before she could even say 'unfair' or 'earned') or to go about Little Whinging as she pleased.

So for three weeks, she could only leave for school and was immediately shut in her cupboard after she returned, no meals in the morning nor supper. It was only due to the fact that she had a bit of coin money saved up that she could eat at lunch, with extra snacks brought to sneak into her cupboard(away from Delilah's eyes of course). Otherwise, her entire last few weeks in Primary have spent alone, in the boring dark as her Aunt and Uncle snapped at her for upping the electricity bill and it was only her sewing, her small library that she had collected from discount stores that kept her sane along with several small torches(it lit the small space well enough, she only had to make sure to hide them before the morning before they could be taken away). She did not count the various chores her Aunt demand she do as entertainment, rather the reason sometimes she sat in her small cupboard with aches in her hands, knees, and shoulders.

When the summer holidays came 'round and when Delilah had already trashed most of her birthday presents, save for the ones that hadn't interest her in the first place(the books that had mysteriously found their way to Primrose's own cupboard), Primrose was never happier. The first thing she did was gather up the many dolls she had made in a large box over the course of her punishment and march over to Ms. Figg's shop. She had blinked when she had opened the door, hearing that familiar chime of the door above the bell(it was this curiously complicated tune that sounded like belting frogs) and was greeted with Ms. Figg, jumping over on her crutches, her many cats purring at the sight of Primrose.

"Why Primrose," started Ms. Figg in a soft, drawling way, she did not smile, she tended not to, but there was a twinkle in her dark, warm eyes, "It has been some time since you've darkened my shop doorway."

Primrose did smile, as she tended to do in the presence of adults. She made a show of carefully arranging her feet, shoulders back as pressed her hands tightly against the box. Something her Aunt had drilled into her behavior since she could stand steadily enough on her feet. Something about having wonderful posture and good young ladies will not show how she twiddled her thumbs like a silly little girl.

"Hello, Ms. Figg," she said politely, carefully placing her box on the table that more or less has become her's over the last few years, she quickly clasped her hands together, "I've finished my punishment."

Ms. Figg hummed.

"What was it this time, did you turn another Teacher's hair blue? Did you climb school buildings again, ruin Delilah's dress?"

"According to my family, I set a snake loose in the zoo," said Primrose, dryly, a frown on her face, she made sure to turn her back on the old woman.

Ms. Figg hesitated and the noise of the register going off.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"It wanted to go to Brazil. He was rather nice about it… Not that I let it out of course," said Primrose, absently, reaching into the box for her largest stuffed animals.

It was impossible, after all. The glass had just vanished, the head zookeeper himself said it must've been a prank by one of the junior keepers who had thought the snake was out of the tank for whatever reason. They had yet to find the snake, sadly, as the zookeeper was worried whether or not the poor thing could live in such a cold climate. Primrose didn't want to think of such a sad things, as the snake had been so kind and concerned about her.

She went about placing them on their empty shelf, humming as she went.

"The snake said?"

"Yes. But Aunt Petunia said that snakes can't talk."

"They… Can. If you're the right type of person," said Ms. Figg softly and when Primrose turned to look at her, she saw that her brows were furrowed, her lips were pinched. But she didn't seem to be simply indulging her, so Primrose accepted it with a slight nod.

The didn't say anything else on the subject.

Ms. Figg had the uncanny knack of not dismissing whatever Primrose said. She never denied it, never said a negative word about… Primrose's strangeness. It was one of the reasons that Primrose loved Ms. Figg, not that she ever would say it to the older woman's face. She had appearances to keep, after all, most thought Ms. Figg to be a nasty old woman that owned a Shop and wore curlers in her hair at nearly all times and tartan slippers. She was Primrose Potter, that odd, quiet girl that the Dursleys had so lovingly taken in as was their Christian duty. The rest of that day was spent marking up the dolls and stuffed animals, before Primrose swept and dusted the shop and mopped while she was at it, despite Ms. Figg's protest.

Primrose's summer holiday was typical after that, no more strange incidents, for the most part, just going to Ms. Figg's shop or wandering about Little Whinging on her off days. Delilah's own summer was rather typical as well, her small clique of friends felt the need to visit her house every day(hence the reason Primrose was so keen on staying out of the house or its general vicinity herself). Penelope, Denise, Mallory and Godiva were all silly, gossiping, spoiled twits. Since Delilah was the most spoiled, silly and gossiping of the lot, she was the leader. Not to mention the heaviest that could slam down even the burliest boy in their class. Primrose was the object of Primrose Hunting any chance they got. They couldn't catch her on most days: she was very fast despite her short stature and very quick to hide. Not to mention, each time she was in the shop she was left alone, even if they waited outside and sulked for a good hour before they got bored and left her alone.

Primrose was disappointed that school was over(she liked school, even if most of the school staff and children, disliked her), because there went the few hours that she was away from the Dursleys(mostly, she still had every class with Delilah, by some cruel twist of the school board no doubt), but it at least gave her the chance to escape the house without the Dursleys suspecting her of 'lazing about' or up to 'juvenile delinquent activities'. Even if she did all of her chores, as listed every day by her aunt on a sheet of crisp, white paper written out and slipped underneath the door of her cupboard.

Though she felt sad, the end of this summer holidays brought the beginning of something that Primrose had been waiting for the longest time. Being away from Delilah, not only when she escaped the house, but during school. Every year since they had first entered primary school, Primrose and her cousin had been in the same class. Every single year, without fail.

But not this time.

The start of September would bring the beginning of secondary school for the children of number four, which in turn meant that Delilah would be sent off to St. Olga's Academy, which Aunt Petunia had attended as a girl(wonderful school, their grandmother had attended, a tradition that Aunt Petunia had frowned and said that her own mother had not kept, which is why Primrose needn't worry about attending herself). But not Primrose.

No, Primrose would be attending the local public school, Stonewall High. Which meant, that for once in her life Primrose wouldn't be with her cousin during school and that for months on end she wouldn't have to see her cousin because by some grace of heaven it was a boarding school. It also helped that all of Delilah's gang were going to be shipped off to boarding schools as well because their families were able to afford anything for their 'darling' little girls.

Primrose on the hand, would be here in Surrey, still in her cupboard, still with her Aunt and Uncle; she had found some semblance of peace and with Ms. Figg, she suppose the school year could be wonderful until she was old enough to leave for University(her only dream, distant and far away, but something that would happen).

Primrose couldn't help but let a small spark of hope to fill her. No matter how much her cousin tried to scare her about going to Stonewall.

"They stuff your head down the toilets in Stonewall, especially to ugly little girls. Want to practice?" said nastily Delilah one day, as Primrose passed the loo.

Primrose had only looked at her cousin, emerald eyes flashing with quiet mischief.

"The toilet never had anything as horrible as your head down in it. We don't want it to get sick!"

she had said with a wicked grin.

She had left with a small giggle, glad that her Aunt or Uncle were not within earshot as she ran off before her cousin could understand that she had turned her words against her.

Primrose was left at Mrs. Figg's one day because Aunt Petunia and Delilah were going to buy her St. Grace's uniform. Primrose couldn't be happier, nor it seemed could Mrs. Figg, it was, after all, one of the first times this summer that Primrose wasn't to go back to do chores. She kept going on and on about how much she had grown and that she would be very happy with the start of school. Primrose had no idea what she meant by this, but she enjoyed the time to watch television. She had politely declined the chocolate cake Mrs. Figgs had offered her since Primrose remembered seeing Snowball the Fourth licking it.

That evening when Delilah and Aunt Petunia came home, it was Delilah's time to prance around in her St. Olga's uniform. St. Olga's uniform consisted of a bright yellow dress, a white bolero, and a yellow and white beret. The uniform was very pretty, but the person wearing it seemed ugly to Primrose, because Delilah every second or so would send a glower over her, sneering nastily at her cousin who sat quietly, in her cupboard, door slightly open as she went through the motions of sewing up the equivalent of her own uniform(Stonewall wore all grey, with black accents, she was looking at old plans from their old school uniform). Primrose was used to this and tried to smile, kept her lips pressed tightly together and tried not to roll her eyes or show that she was upset at the parade that Delilah was having in front of her.

Her Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were beside themselves.

Her Aunt burst into tears, her fingers trembling as she took picture after picture of Delilah, crying out that her sweet little flower looked so beautiful and grown up. Uncle Vernon did not cry, he only let out a gruff sniff and grunted out that this was the proudest moment of his life. They fussed over her cousin, as they usually did. Called for her to do a twirl and for her to strut and down the parlor like a model or some sort of pageant girl.

Primrose could only look on sadly, ignoring the familiar surge of jealousy coursing through her as her Aunt and Uncle doted on her cousin, looking ever the picture of the perfect family. They didn't know how much she wished she could be a part of it. Primrose went to bed that night with a frown, squinting her eyes as she sewed violently more of her own uniform, determined for it to look as half as lovely, to try to ease her frustration, trying in vain to remember the family that she had had before the accident. Primrose couldn't remember their faces, even after she put her sewing aside, or anything else, but curiously, she dreamed of a soft lulling voice, singing a song that she could never quite place.

As Primrose woke up the next morning she tried to remember where she had heard the song that the voice had been singing, but felt her mind come up at a blank. Instead, deciding that she liked the song so much, she hummed it to herself. She hummed as she dressed and she hummed as she walked into the kitchen, only to find a horrible smell assault her nostrils as she entered. It was so terrible, that she actually stepped back in surprise and concern.

Her Aunt stood at the stove, her heeled foot tapping in an impatient beat. A large tub was being heated and Aunt Petunia stirred it with great disdain, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Primrose climbed up onto the crooked stool reserved for her in the kitchen and peeked over her aunt's thin shoulder.

Inside the tub, dozens of rags swam around in the dirty gray water. Primrose's curiosity peaked and she couldn't help but ask:

"What's that?"

Her Aunt looked over with a displeased expression, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

"Your uniform," she said simply.

Primrose looked at the tub again and wrinkled her nose. With her Aunt looking away from her, she could have such an expression.

"I didn't know it had to be so wet, Aunt Petunia," she responded to her Aunt, voice quiet and displeased.

Her Aunt turned sharply to her and narrowed her eyes even further, the irises no longer visible, and she snapped out:

"Don't be stupid, I'm dying some of Delilah's old uniforms for you. It will look just like anyone else's after I'm done."

Primrose felt serious disbelief fill her and she found herself imagining herself wearing bits of wrinkled, gray cloth, almost like elephant skin. Even if she could somehow get it cut down to her correct size, she doubted the smell or the feel of the cloth would improve much(She knew her fabric and after her own disastrous attempts at dyeing fabric, she knew if she hadn't properly soaked it in soda ash or something like that, that the color wouldn't take or it would ruin the texture of fabric).

She just knew that her chances of friends went down a large notch. She was making her own uniforms of course, but she would have to leave the house with this mess before changing in the loo, else her Aunt would throw away what she had made. She hummed and hope to find a good spot to change just before anyone saw her when she went to school. With a soft sigh, she jumped off her stool and sat at her side of the table, the song being hummed under her breath again as she found herself bored. She counted down the minutes until she could get started on her chores, as she really rather get that over and done with and head off to Ms. Figg's.

Her Uncle and Delilah came into the kitchen, their noses wrinkled as they caught the smell of Primrose's uniforms. Aunt Petunia came in a little while later as well, arms laden with food, which she gave mostly to her daughter and husband, some for her and the smallest bit to Primrose. They all dug into their food with much relish, save for Aunt Petunia and Primrose, who ate their food daintily and slowly. One because she refused to release the image of a 'proper' lady and the other because she wanted to enjoy what little food they had given her. Not to mention, her Aunt had drilled into her to be a Lady, drilled her to not 'be obnoxious and overindulgent'.

While her Uncle sipped his coffee, he let out a grunt as he reached for something. Only to let out an annoyed huff as he saw that what he was looking for not there. He looked over to Primrose and narrowed his small eyes.

"Where's my paper, girl?" he snarled at her.

Primrose jumped. Large emerald eyes flickering to her Uncle and then quickly back to her plate with soft longing.

"I'll get it now, sir," she said politely, jumping down from her chair and starting down the hall.

"See that you do... And don't forget the mail!" he bellowed to Primrose's back, as she shut the kitchen door with a soft click.

Primrose walked down the hall and felt the urge to hum again, which she did with much pleasure. That song was still stuck in her head, with no indication that it was ever going to get out of it. She opened the front door and walked outside. There was surprisingly, a soft chill and the perfectly cut lawns of Privet drive had a light sprinkling of dew over them. The morning sun hovered weakly in the clear blue sky, as if it was gathering the energy it would surely have toward the middle of the summer afternoon.

Primrose tipped toed through the lawn of number four, ignoring the slight dampness that gathered around the hem of her long skirt or the dampness that seeped through her small, second-hand trainers. She picked up the newspaper and walked back toward the house, humming happily and gaining odd looks from the few people that were up and about Privet Drive. She made a show of waving or calling out a good morning. As typical of most of Privet drive, most either ignored her or pointedly looked away in dismissal.

After all, they had spoken to her Aunt and Uncle and as far as they knew, she was the troubled niece that was constantly in trouble, who they had taken in out of the goodness of their hearts.

Primrose reached the front door again and walked in. She picked up the letters that had fallen on the carpet and flipped through them. There was something that looked like a bill, a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, and- a letter for Primrose. Primrose froze, heart hammering in her chest rapidly, as she looked down at the letter in her hand. She never got any letters. Nobody liked her enough to ever send her one, but there in plain emerald ink:

Miss Primrose D. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

It really couldn't be for anyone else. The envelope was made of thick and yellowish parchment and it felt heavy in Primrose's small hands. A rough wax seal was inlaid in the envelope, a huge H surrounded with a badger, an eagle, a serpent, and a lion. No stamp. She ran her fingers over and over the lion first, went 'round to the impossibly detailed little creatures, wondering what the letter could possibly say. She was about to open it when a strong bellow from the kitchen caught her attention;

"GIRL! Hurry up, what are you doing checking for letter bombs?"

Her Uncle chuckled at his own joke and Primrose went into the kitchen, not taking her eyes off her letter. She handed the newspaper and mail to her Uncle, sitting down, eyes still glued to her letter. Uncle Vernon grunted, no doubt at the bill and moved on to the post card.

"Marge is ill... Ate a funny whelk..." he said this without much emotion to Aunt Petunia, who just simply tutted in mock sympathy.

Primrose pressed her lips together to stop the giggle that threatened to come out. While she may not openly dislike or wish anyone harm, she thought that Miss Marge Dursley was an especially vicious woman that she could justify laughing at. She was a horrid woman that hated Primrose, a fact that was completely mutual. She went to open the letter to take out two long pieces of parchment(actual parchment, heavy, thick and vividly smooth beneath her hands, she wondered at it, faintly disturbed to think that this was an extremely fine piece of animal skin). The first she began to read, placing the other, which appeared to be some list, aside for later:

Miss. Primrose D. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you-

"DADDY! DADDY, Primrose HAS A LETTER!" squealed out Delilah out of a sudden.

Primrose's eyes snapped up, surprise coursing through her as her uncle snatched the letter out of

her hand.

"That's mine, Uncle Vernon," she said heart racing, face growing warm as she tried to reach for her letter.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered her Uncle, easily keeping the letter out of her reach.

His small eyes flickered this way and that as her read the letter and his face did a good imitation of a traffic light as he did.

It went from his usual ugly red color to a sickly yellow, then it went green as he reached the bottom of the letter, and turned into a porridge white color as he glanced at the address on the envelope.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped out, lips turning an alarming gray as he shoved the letter to his wife.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, taking the letter gingerly from her husband. Her fish colored eyes did a quick scan of the letter, widening as she went.

Her face quickly paling as she looked up to her husband. She clutched her throat with her spindly hands, seemingly choking as she tried to get her words out.

"Vernon, Oh my goodness, Vernon!" she finally choked out.

Both her Uncle and her Aunt stared at each other, not saying a word. An immense silence filled the kitchen as both the adults gazed at each other, horror covering every inch of their faces. Delilah would have none of this, she hated being ignored, so with an impatient huff, she shouted at both her parents:

"I WANT TO SEE THE LETTER!"

She tugged viciously at her father's suit jacket and then tugged at her mother's dress. Both her mother and father looked over to their daughter, then to Primrose, horror increasing on their faces. Uncle Vernon was the first to say anything out of the two adults. It was such a quiet whisper that both Delilah and Primrose almost missed it.

"Get out..."

Primrose couldn't stand it. After all these years they always bossed her around, forced her to do all the domestic work in the house and eat at a minimum, she did it all without complaint, to please them. Yet they could never even give back half the kindness she showed toward them. This was the breaking point, she was always one to keep her temper in check, but she couldn't stand it anymore. They dared to keep something that was hers away from her, they dared to force her away.

Not without a fight, not this time.

"No," it came out of Primrose in a soft whisper, but everyone, including her Uncle and Aunt who despite their distraction couldn't help but be flabbergasted at the fact that she had said no.

"What?" asked her Aunt, dazed and filled with horror.

Primrose looked up, into the eyes of her Aunt and missed the flicker of recognition that passed her Aunt's fish colored eyes.

"No. I won't leave. It's mine. It has my cupboard on it, it has my name. I want to read it and you have no right to deny that to me." Primrose's voice was trembling with ten years' worth of emotion.

She had been so intent on being good, but she wondered viciously if it had even been worth it. They didn't even like her and they were supposed to be her family.

"No right?" her Aunt repeated, eyes still dazed, replacing Primrose with another little girl, a little girl with dark red hair and the very same face as Primrose.

A little girl that was glaring at her for doing this to her daughter, a little girl that Petunia knew would never forgive her. A little girl that Petunia had missed with something close to an ache, ever since the day she discovered that they would be apart, because of what she was. Because she couldn't be like her, no matter how much she had wished for it. Who she had hated and resented for being so perfect and special. Especially when Petunia was so decidedly not. But what good had it done her? Gotten herself killed by getting by that lot!

"No right, now give me my letter."

Her Uncle seemed to snap out of his daze and he looked down at Primrose, with the deepest loathing and disdain.

"No right? No right you say? We have the bloody right, you stupid brat, we have the every right to deny you anything we bloody want to, so GET OUT! OUT!" he bellowed to the small ten-year-old, soon to be eleven-year-old.

Primrose didn't even flinch, all those years of being yelled at seemed to have paid off. She looked into her Uncle's small narrow eyes with the calmest of expressions.

"No," she repeated.

Delilah stood silently in shock, watching her small cousin go against her parents, something that she had never dared do before. How could she, one who looked like she could break with a single sound, how could she stand so firm now, when all the time before she would buckle so easily at the slightest thing? Maybe, said a small voice in Delilah's head, was because she only bent, but didn't break. She always smiling- even when Delilah knew she had no reason too. She wasn't smiling now, rather, for the first time in a long time Delilah saw that her cousin had this tight, red face, openly narrowing her eyes and glaring at her mummy and daddy. It was so unlike her usual, flat, empty smile that Delilah knew she never meant, as pleasant as it looked.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have snapped, because he grabbed hold of Primrose by the back of her blouse, then, he grabbed his own daughter and without much effort(he had played rugby and cricket in his Uni days and had only recently at the request of his worried wife had he switched to golf) he heaved both the girls into the hallway and locked the kitchen door behind him with a loud click.

Both the girls scrambled for the door and had a brief but silent fight over the keyhole. Primrose, with most of her hair, pulled from her ponytail, laid herself onto her stomach to listen through the bottom of the door. She saw her uncle's large polished black shoes moving back and forth and she heard his bellow of a voice as she pressed her ear tightly to the bottom of the pale wood:

"I don't want one in the house Petunia! The second we found the brat on the porch we swore we stamp out this rubbish of hers! WE SWORE IT! And I refuse to deal with that freakish rubbish now!"

Primrose, moved her eyes over to see her Aunt's small kitten heels shuffle, moving uneasily as she tried to calm her husband.

"Vernon, we could just write to them... Tell them we don't-" Aunt Petunia said nervously, high voice even higher than usual.

Uncle Vernon would have none of this, he interrupted his wife sharply, voice rising in anger with each word:

"WE WILL NOT CONTACT THEM! They will see that after our response is not given, that we don't want it. Petunia, dear, do you want Delilah to have one of them near her? They will send for someone to talk to us if we respond!"

Aunt Petunia didn't respond. Primrose saw her drop to the ground, arms being wrapped around her scrawny legs, looking ever defeated.

"Lily would hate me..." whispered her Aunt, so softly that Primrose doubted that Uncle Vernon heard her because he was still ranting.

"We have to keep that brat in the dark, she will never know what she is, NEVER!" bellowed her Uncle, still not noticing his wife's collapse on the floor.

Primrose could only go to her cupboard, eyes hard and piercing as she finished hearing the unmistakable sound of parchment being shredded and her Uncle's crazed laughter.

Later, while Primrose hummed softly to herself, reading a small book of myths(a cover for sewing patterns over the real cover), she heard the sound of her cupboard door being opened. She sat up, filled with confusion as her Uncle's face came into her cupboard door, the rest of his enormous body blocking the door, clearly straining to get to the small space, then he gave up after a moment, seeing that it was quite impossible to fit his enormous body into the cupboard. Then he smiled at Primrose, something that looked quite forced and painful on her Uncle's part.

"Hello, Primrose. Kinda crowded in here, wouldn't you say? Your Aunt and I have been thinking, this cupboard is really getting a little too small, even for you! Why don't you pack all your things up and move them to Delilah's second bedroom, hmm?" he said this all in a painfully nice voice, and Primrose could see a vein in his great puce face twitching as he stared down at her.

"You should have given me that letter instead," was all she said to her Uncle, as she turned around and started to gather her things.

It took three trips to the smallest of the four bedrooms of number four to carry all of Primrose's worldly belongings, her books, then her sewing things, her clothes and whatever else she had. She spread out her things on the small and spindly bed that had belonged to Delilah at the age of five and made sure all of her things were there. That done, she put them away, ignoring all the broken toys that were around her(those she chucked into a trash bag, except for the ones she thought she could repair), all things that had been beautiful and wonderful, before her cousin Delilah had gotten her reckless hands on it.

She ran her fingers through a large shelf of books and came up with dust a few seconds later as she lifted her fingers away; it looked like Delilah had at least left something alone. Primrose had not taken these books because they had been thick and heavy- something Aunt Petunia would have noticed if she had stolen them away into her cupboard. Primrose made a mental note to sell the books that she already had as she flopped back onto the bed.

She would not keep her arms crossed. She had a plan. She decided right then and there that she would try to get that letter of hers. So she sent up her small alarm clock and fell into a quiet sleep, dreams once again full of that lulling voice and sometimes the quickest flash of deep red.

The next morning, with the quietest stealth Primrose shut off her alarm clock, changed her clothes and walked down the hallway to the top of the stairs. And with a quick and practiced, cat-like grace, she made it downstairs, skipping the step that always creaked. The weak pink sunlight of dawn was just barely making its way through the curtains as she made it to the front door. She smiled brightly, she could pull this off. She would be able to go to the corner of the street, meet the postman and get her letter(surely they would write again if they had been so eager to know where she slept). She could see what all the fuss was about! She opened the front door, humming under her breath, clearly thinking that the Dursleys couldn't possibly hear her now.

As Primrose stepped onto the front porch, she found out how very wrong she was. She yelped back in surprised at how the usually concrete porch had felt, squishy and she just knew that the grunt that had escaped the porch was not normal. With a gasp of horror, she couldn't help but gape at the fact that she had just stepped on her Uncle's face. He, all together, was not pleased. With bellowed out shouts at her back, Primrose quickly went to get tea for her agitated uncle, pursing her lips at the red mark that her trainer had left on her uncle's large face.

She came back, only to feel her heart sink at the sight of her Uncle ripping the new letter, and a vicious smirk on his face as the torn pieces of parchment fluttered to the floor. Primrose then had a feeling.

A feeling that a lot of parchment was going to be wasted very soon.

Primrose, not surprisingly was very correct. The amount of parchment that was wasted over the next week was innumerable. Countless letters made their way to Privet drive and each time they were found, in dozens of creative ways that only further fuelled the anger of Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia seemed to be in a state of shock. Primrose saw that she refused to look at her most of the time and the few times she did would only just squint her blue eyes and chew vigorously at her lower lip.

"Who even wants to write to you so badly?" complained Delilah one day, fixing her hair and dress for what seemed like the fifth time as her father went on a rampage through the house trying to find the letters that seemed to pop up everywhere.

Ever since the start of the letters, none of her friends were allowed back to the house and as a result, Delilah only had Primrose to speak to. Much to both of their's displeasure. But, as she was rather chatty… She did talk.

Much to Primrose's own exasperation.

"I haven't the faintest idea," answered Primrose honestly, sighing as she tried to fix her own hair and straightening her smudged dress(she had been in the middle of cleaning the chimney when she had found a letter rolled around a log, much to her Aunt's displeasure, who had started screeching at the top of her lungs when Primrose tried to hide it in her dress pocket).

"Well, tell them to stop!" said her cousin, ignoring her words altogether, "I haven't seen Penney or Diva for weeks and they'll all hate me because of your freakishness!"

Primrose sighed, tugging her dress carefully.

"Who would I tell? I don't know who's sending them."

Her cousin pursed her lips and flipped her lovely hair.

"You're useless!"

Primrose only rolled her eyes as her cousin stomped off.

It wasn't until Sunday that anything really changed at all in the routine of the letters being found and being promptly destroyed, with a viciousness that was honestly impressive. Her Uncle Vernon was beside himself with glee. He kept giggling at odd moments, causing Aunt Petunia to come out of her state of shock and look at her husband strangely. Delilah was sulking, because she had lost her second bedroom or her 'treasure' room, her friends in the course of just one week and it left her in a foul mood. It only further angered her that her parents didn't care about her since they ignored her pleas for her room back.

She glared at Primrose as she passed out the afternoon tea, as always being perfect. Not dropping anything and preparing the tea, just as her mummy had asked of it. Primrose could never do wrong, thought Delilah with a hot stab of jealousy. She had wonderful marks, was skinny, pretty and even worse, kind. Delilah hated her cousin, and hated her even more for being all the things she couldn't be, or have. She felt a smirk come onto her face at the thought that at least she had friends(not that she had seen them much because of the freak!) and parents. With a triumphant sneer, she snatched a biscuit from the tray that her cousin was passing around. She did give a spare glance to her daddy when he giggled and spoke to the room at large:

"No post on Sundays. No damn letters today-" he was interrupted as something came shooting out of the chimney, like a bullet and smacked him in the face with audible, deep sound.

Delilah couldn't help but gape in horror, as she watched her father's face turn an alarming shade of blue. Chaos exploded in the parlor as hundreds of letters erupted from the chimney, the Dursleys screaming as the letters whizzed by, hitting the walls and ricocheting with a deadly speed. Primrose only laughed with delight, plucking a letter out of the air nimbly with her small hands. Then, she started to dance among the confetti-like letters, spinning and twisting with victory, the letter firmly clenched in her fingers.

The euphoria of finally getting her letter faded as she caught her Uncle's face and as he all but charged at her, catching her round her waist sharply, making her fingers slip around the letter. She let out a shriek of dismay as the letter dropped to the already covered floor because her Uncle had lifted her over his shoulder, the movement breaking her already weak grasp. With a bellowed yell, her Uncle moved his family out of the still filling parlor, he then closed the door with a hard slam, making the wood of the door crack a little. He dropped his niece harshly on the floor, towering over her as he pulled out large bunches of his large, thick mustache. His voice was deadly calm as he spoke, contrasting greatly with the wild look, and the half missing mustache:

"That does it. I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. NO ARGUMENTS."

His wife and child meekly did what he asked, scurrying up the stairs. Primrose glared up at her Uncle, emerald eyes blazing with fire as she stood up and headed towards the parlor door. She only stopped as she caught her Uncle's deadly expression and for the first time ever, Primrose feared for her physical being. The look on her Uncle's face could only be described as murderous and she caught his clenched fist lifting slightly, jerking as if he was about to use it.

She dashed up the stairs without a word, face pale as she quickly gathered her things in her second hand, but decent school bag, including all the clothes she could cram in, her portable sewing things, her favorite book(a collection of fairytales from around the world) and all of the things that were truly dear to her, because she couldn't bear leave them behind, for who knows how long; A thick, blank diary full of pressed flowers that Primrose had painfully gathered throughout her life, her very first doll(a small, crude dog), a small buck and deer plush toy that were the best she had ever made(small, delicate things made from actual white silk that she had saved up for nearly a year to get and embroidered with flowers, ivy, and small glass beads) and a small bracelet, a simple little thing of silver, with emerald green inlaid glass and the most beautiful white lily carved delicately of glass as well.

Primrose had found the bracelet in a small box, that had been covered with inches of dust, the once bright paper wrapping had faded and the scribbled note had as well. Only three words:

Happy Birthday.

~Tuney.

She had taken it, after showing it to her Aunt, who had looked at it, face pinched and red and said to throw it away. Primrose tucked all of her things into her school bag, wrapping her clothes around them to hide them from her Uncle and dashed downstairs with her heart still hammering.

Five minutes later she was in her Uncle's car, sitting beside Delilah, who sobbed and rubbed her left cheek, where her father had slapped her for trying to sneak out her enormous doll make-up kit and a television set with her suitcase full of clothes. Primrose had gaped at his violent, fierce action against Delilah, then grabbed her wailing cousin by the wrist and pushed her into the car before she should anger her father even further. Strangely, despite the fact that Deliah glared at her every few seconds, her cousin gripped her hand tightly as her father started the car, visibly shaking. Aunt Petunia sat in front, fish eyes glazed, staring straight ahead, without seeing anything as her husband drove on. And on.

It seemed that her Uncle drove for a thousand kilometers.

He even drove straight through all of the next days, ignoring the plentiful hotels and restaurants that Delilah looked at longingly. She seemed to have nothing to do, while Primrose entertained herself through the soft, quiet humming of the song that was still stuck in her head and her book or sewing. Delilah couldn't even bring herself to talk, only huddled in the corner of the car staring forward with a curious, tight expression. They only ever stopped when the car was nearly out of gas. Though, the ride wasn't just a straight line, because every so often Uncle Vernon would swerve sharply out of the direction he was going in and run in the opposite one for a few hours. He would mutter, each time:

"Shake 'em off. Shake 'em off."

Uncle Vernon finally seemed to lose his steam late that evening, and he pulled the now mud-splattered car into the parking lot of a dingy hotel. The mud had come courtesy of a 'small' detour of a countryside pass. That 'small' detour had been five hours long and left everyone sore from the dips and potholes of the dirt road, which had turned to mud as the clouds let water pour from the dark clouds that had gathered throughout the day. The hotel didn't seem to be the best, as the building was a small, droopy and the gaudy yellow paint was peeling everywhere, revealing the gloomy gray stone below it and some of the letters didn't even seem to work in the sickly yellow neon sign because it said:

AILV W HOTEL

Primrose was fairly sure that was not the name of the hotel and squinted at the sign to try and make out the rest. She glanced at her cousin's wrist, seeing that the time was 11:30 pm on the gaudily bright pink watch. With a jolt, Primrose realized that she would be eleven in thirty minutes time. She marveled at this as she hummed, ignoring the tired and irritated looks her family sent her for being able to function at this time of night. None of them had ever been up past eight in most of their lives, yet Primrose was there humming softly, emerald eyes bright with no sign of tiredness at all. It wasn't really her fault that she was an insomniac. Her family should try sitting through one of her green light nightmares, see how long they would stay asleep against that cold laugh. Or have a sudden order from Ms. Figg around holidays where people would want her cloth dolls and her patchwork stuffed animals, the last minute rush order for those parents who had been negligent during Yule time.

Her Uncle ordered two rooms (reluctantly accepting the second room would have twin beds for 'your two lovely children') and Primrose soon found herself in a dark, small and dingy room. Delilah collapsed on one of the rickety twin beds at once and Primrose tried to follow suit, but the damp, musky sheets made that hard, along with Delilah's impossibly loud snoring. With a small glare toward her cousin, Primrose decided to sleep in the front lobby, as she wasn't quite sure she could brave sleeping in the loo instead(the tub looked alright but she wasn't too keen in case something dark and ugly came crawling about). As she quietly shut the room door behind her, she started to hum again, softly to herself, still not knowing what the name of the song was. When she sat down on one of the lumpy sofas of the hotel lobby, eyes tired as she found herself wondering where she had heard that song. She sank into the couch, sighing. She didn't feel tired, not at that moment, and she regretted not thinking of bringing her things from the room to work on something...

She barely noticed someone walking in the front door, looking up absently at the shabbily dressed man before she turned back to stare at the clock, counting down the time until she was eleven.

Remus John Lupin, wizard extraordinaire, werewolf and ever infamous Marauder was tired. Or really past tired and was terribly exhausted. He was about to fall over and collapse from the amount of exhaustion that he felt, really. The full moon had been weeks ago, but he had just spent the entire day laboring construction, one of the few jobs he could manage to get that was flexible enough around his 'furry little problem'. Of course, since it was of the Muggle variety, he had to work with his back and own hands, rather than to lift his wand and do the heavy lifting in that manner. He looked up at the small dingy hotel that was really the only thing available in the outskirts of London on such short notice, not to mention, the only one he could really afford.

The sign wasn't even working properly, he knew for a fact, because of a prior stay that this miserable little hotel was named Railview, not Ailv W. He hated the fact that he had visited this terrible hotel before and he remembered the musky, damp sheets, along with the over-zealously flirtatious woman at the front desk, not to mention the awful breakfast that the hotel had given free of charge the next morning. But it was what he needed, he couldn't risk apparating to his flat, not as tired as he was and the foreman had demanded he stay close by in the event he found a new job open to him('You're a good worker, mate, bit of an odd duck but I happen to like you. I'll find a new job for you, just stay close, alright?'). With a long sigh, he walked into the lobby, slipping his wand into the scruffy pocket he had sewn himself into the sleeve of his long overcoat. He calmly walked up to the front desk, ordered a room and ignored the flirty woman that was all but throwing herself at him. Again.

He turned around to head to his room, intent on sleeping for hours on end, only to stop as he heard something hit his sensitive ears. It was a soft, distinctive song that he could never forget, because why would he forget the song that had been the favorite to someone that was very dear to him? His head swiveled in the direction of the sweet humming voice that was right there in the lobby with him. He could only feel surprised as he caught sight of the hummer of the song. It was a little girl sitting one of the many couches, slumped over an arm, swinging her pale legs back and forth, making the faded fabric of her dark skirt swing with them. A little girl, he reflected that looked no more than seven or eight years old. She was a tiny, little thing he thought and the blue dress she wore emphasized it by how small it was in structure. Her back was facing him, and he saw that she had a wild mop of raven hair that reminded him of James Potter, all the way to her frightfully small waist and he felt a pleasant wave of nostalgia as he thought of all the times he had ruffled his best friend's, really his brother in everything but blood, hair. He also remembered that he had ruffled it himself, trying to get Lily, his future wife, to notice him. Never worked, he thought with a soft chuckle.

He started to head to his room again, trying to squash down the curiosity that he had filled him because he never really saw children humming Beatles songs. He only stopped as he heard the girl's quiet and sweet voice sing a few of the song's lines.

"I look at you... All see the love, there that's sleeping... While...My guitar gently weeps..." she sang, voice soft and hesitant.

The girl paused at times, seeming not to know all the words. Remus found himself filled with even more curiosity at the fact that she was now singing the song. Her voice, he reflected wasn't awe-inspiring, but it was quite pretty nonetheless. Just like, he thought with a fond smile, Lily's voice had been. Sweet, lulling, but not at all perfect, out of tune some of the time, but then again, Lily had never been too serious about singing. His dear friend had always been frightfully focused and intent whenever she was truly serious about any skill. Not being able to stand more of it and ignoring the chime of the clock striking midnight somewhere in the room, he went around the girl to ask her where she had heard the song, and what she was doing here all alone in this place.

He had the shock of his life as he saw her pale face.

His mind screamed Lily even as the blood drained from his face. It screamed in delight and surprise at the sight of the girl that he had been to school with. It quickly faded as he noticed the sharp differences that this little girl had with his dear friend, a sister to him really. For one, she had the wild mop of raven hair instead of the deep red locks and he noticed with distaste that the girl's face was slightly too skinny to compared to what Lily's face had been. But, that really was where the differences ended, the girl was the spitting image of Lily Potter, nee Evans. He felt himself flinch ever so slightly as the girl looked up at him, stopping her song, flushing a soft pink at being listened too and gazing at him with her large, almost too large for her face, emerald eyes.

She has Lily's eyes.

"Hello, sir," she said spoke, carefully, well pronounced and with a demure dip of her head. She had stood quickly. Stood straight and with a small, polite smile past the faint spot of pink in her cheeks.

He responded slowly, shock still in him as he compared the girl's eyes with Lily's. They were far larger than he ever remembered Lily's to be. But they were the same shape, and color as hers.

"Hello, there."

The girl didn't say another word, looking at him expectantly. It seemed as if she thought he had more to say. She blinked and kept on with that polite little smile. It didn't seem to reach her large eyes at all.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you poppet, but why are you singing that song?" he said this as gently as he could, in hopes that he would not frighten the girl. She seemed to be the jumpy type.

To his horror, she seemed to read him completely wrong, she blushed, if that was even possible, darker, and spluttered out:

"I'm sorry! I'll stop! I promise! I'll stop singing, I promise sir!" she said this all in one breath, eyes wide. He saw that she straightened out, even more, standing perfectly straight and in a way he knew must've bothered her.

He lifted his hands in surrender, his own golden eyes wide.

"Whoa there. I didn't mean for you to stop, I meant to ask you why you were singing a Beetles' song, you-" he spoke this calmly, trying put her at ease, but he was surprised when she interrupted him.

"It's a Beatles song?" she blurted this out a smile tugging onto her lips.

Unable to resist, he smiled too, a tired one, but he did smile. She had a lovely smile when it reaches her eyes, made them bright and expressive.

"Yes. Beatles. Didn't you know that?"

She shook her head wildly, her raven hair getting even messier as she denied. She quickly pushed her hair back, pushing it down in quick movements before tying it back with a thick red ribbon. She looked a bit sad as she continued, she straight shoulders dropping down slightly.

"I don't even know the name of the song, sir. I don't even know where I heard it," she said this softly, a small frown marring her face before she squashed it away, settling instead on a carefully neutral expression.

Hating to see that oddly blank face, he touched the tip of her nose and smiled tiredly at her. She blinked rapidly at the action, a surprised smile creeping on her stiffly pleasant face. It made her seem, if possible, younger, like the child she was.

"While My Guitar Gently Weeps," he said sadly, thinking of the woman that had always sung it around her home, cooeing it to her child, dancing with her in her arms.

A child he thought, that would surely be heading off to Hogwarts this year. His mind wandered to the chime of the clock and with a shock, he realized that Primrose Potter was now eleven years old. She was probably in her bedroom at the moment, snug asleep, eagerly waiting for her birthday party in the morning and was surely was excited beyond excitement for September the first. He felt like a coward, what good did his Gryffindor courage do if he couldn't even bear to look in on the child that his dearest friends sacrificed their lives to see alive and well? How had the girl grown up? Had she been spoiled? He hoped she had. Looking down at the child in front of him he couldn't help but think that this little girl could be Primrose's younger sister, or maybe Primrose herself, at a much younger age. He has torn away from his thoughts as the girl spoke up.

"So that's the name," whispered the girl, eyes far away. She pushed back a stubborn lock of her messy hair, absently, before she clasped her hands behind her back again.

"You honestly didn't know?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her.

The girl flushed, shaking her head and whispering out, "My family doesn't like music all that much. And I only ever heard this song in a dream. At least, I think it was a dream," her brows furrowed slightly, "I haven't the faintest idea, sir."

"In a dream?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Remus had long ago sat across from her in another one of the sofas- terribly lumpy thing with a spring on his back- and was sitting face to face with the girl. Once he had sat the girl had followed suit at his prompting. He noticed that he wasn't as tired as he thought he had been because he was speaking with the girl without nodding off. The girl nodded and tugged once again at the lock of hair.

"It was one of my wicked dreams," she said this with a smile, her eyes sparkling with a warmth. It was a good smile, not at all stiff like the one she had greeted him with at first.

"Oh really now? How wicked was this dream, poppet?" he asked, the small endearment slipping past his tongue easily. She was such a young child after all...

Her tentative smile widened hugely and he noticed that all her teeth were perfectly straight and white. How odd for a seven-year or so year-old he thought because he remembered at that age to not have all his teeth. And the girl spoke clearly too, intelligently, held herself very properly and primly. She acted differently than any seven-year-old he had met before. Not that he had met many children at all, of course.

"One of my wickedest! Someone is singing the song and I feel warm and safe. Sometimes, I see flashes of deep red. I like to imagine it's my mother singing this to me," she said this all with a smile that faded as she spoke of her mother.

He spoke gently to her as he asked the next question, "She doesn't sing to you much, does she?"

Her demeanor changed as she seemed to cave in on herself. Her face flushed, her head bowed and she started to tug on her lock of her hair ceaselessly. She seemed to catch herself and pushed her hand behind her back, straightening her spine quickly. He felt rather sad and surprised at the control she seemed to have over her emotions. Seemed a bit much for someone so young.

"I don't have a mother. Or a father, they died when I was really young. I can't remember their faces. And I don't know their names, sir," she said this all this with a blank face, the slight slump of her shoulders the only indication that she was upset about what she was saying.

Primrose came to mind again. She was orphaned, just like this little muggle girl. It was astonishing how similar these little girls were. A thought occurred to him, and he felt horror fill him. Surely not?

It couldn't possibly be.

"Remus Lupin," he said this calmly, but inside he was trembling as he held out his hand in front of the little girl.

Smiling, this time with a little light in her large emerald eyes, the girl took his large scarred hand with her small pale one.

"Primrose Potter," she said firmly, curiosity filling her why the man, Mister Lupin had introduced himself so abruptly.

He seemed to be a nice man, reflected Primrose. Young, looking to be in his early thirties and she had a feeling that he had had a hard life. How could she think otherwise as she saw the off looking silver hairs that streaked in his light brown hair? Or the small, barely noticeable scars that streaked across his young, tired and sickly looking face? Not to mention the well abused long overcoat he wore, that was fraying and had one or two patches. In her own eyes, she could see how that could be fixed, as well as the frays… She had done so many repairs by herself over her own clothes. His entire demeanor was kind, his hoarse words well spoken, with the air of a man that had been well educated. In his golden eyes, she saw kindness, especially since he had taken the time to talk to the young girl sitting in the lobby at such an insane hour of the night.

"Primrose, is your name, poppet? Primrose Potter? How old are you?" Remus asked this all quickly, gazing at the girl in front of him with millions of emotions running through him. Primrose wasn't exactly a common name- though Potter was- but the chances of him meeting her...

Primrose cocked her head and Remus saw her hands move up to wipe away her overly long bangs, that had fallen into her eyes. He could only stare on at her as the movement revealed something that nearly every one of the wizarding world knew of. There on her otherwise unmarked forehead was a scar. A thin scar, like lightning, just above her left eyebrow. The wand movement of the Avada Kedavra, some small bit of his mind thought. Red, almost as if it wasn't done healing, no matter the fact that nearly ten years had passed. Remus could only gape at Primrose as she spoke.

"I'm eleven," she said in that careful way of her's, she looked at the old grandfather clock in the lobby, blinking rapidly, "In fact, I just turned eleven a few minutes ago."

Remus was dumbfounded. He had been talking to the girl that was the daughter of his family, a girl that should have been his niece in everything but blood, a girl that was the savior of the wizarding world like nothing! A girl that was now staring at him with open curiosity. A girl he thought with a cold shock, that had no idea who her parents were and if he guessed right she didn't even know what she was.

He could only hoarsely whisper out, "Happy Birthday, poppet."

She rewarded him with a soft smile, large emerald sparkling with a pleasing warmth that shown very bright, a contrast to her politeness.

"Thank you, Mister Lupin," she said this shyly, bowing her head, allowing her bangs to swing forward and cover her face, which had gained a slight pink cast.

With another shock, Remus realized that he was the one that had to explain it all to her. All of the story, everything that had caused her to be orphaned. But, he realized with a grim pleasure, he was also the one that was going to confront her family about the fact that Primrose Potter didn't even know the truth about herself, who she was to the wizarding world, and even more importantly, who she was.

Oh, bloody hell, Remus couldn't help but think.

"You're very welcome, Primrose," he said and his voice felt thick at saying her name, he particularly stumbled over it in a way he hadn't stumbled since he was a small child, " Now, can I ask you a question?"

Remus was actively trying with all his willpower not to blurt out everything to her in one fell swoop. It was a close thing, now that he knew, he could just see the familiarity of James and Lily in her face, in her delicate features. He had seen it before of course, but it was quite different to know, he couldn't dismiss it as easily now.

With Primrose's nod, Remus continued speaking, taking a deep breath:

"Have you gotten the letter?"

Remus waited for Primrose's reaction, hoping against hope that the girl at least had gotten her Hogwarts letter. He watched as Primrose's eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in surprise. She bewilderingly shouted out:

"Did you send me all those letters? Do you have one with you? I've haven't gotten to read them at all, My Uncle Vernon keeps taking them away!"

Remus looked on at the suddenly excited child with a blink. This was the closest he had seen the politeness go away in her, watching as she launched forward to grip his arm with pleading eyes. He wanted to slam his head against the wall, repeatedly. Maybe if he hit his head with enough force, he could collapse. Someone else could explain it... Or something like that. He looked down at Primrose and realized that he was exhausted again. With a sigh, he spoke to her.

"Poppet, no, I did not send the letters. I know who did. And before you ask, I tell you in the morning. Say around six? I'm very tired at the moment, I've had an extremely long day. Is that alright?"

Primrose felt disappointment fill her, but she nodded nonetheless. She was finally going to know what the letter said. That piece of knowledge was enough to last her until the next morning. Besides, she knew that she was exhausted and by the look on Mister Lupin's face, he was even more tired than she felt. She pulled away from him, apologized for gripping his arm so tightly. As she smiled up at the tall, spindly man, he sent her a tired smile of his own. With a quick bid good night, both she and Mister Lupin went to their rooms, both feeling anticipation for the next morning.

OOOOOOOOOO

Remus woke up to the weak morning sunlight and with a rather sore back. He glared at the offensive lumpy bed and at the damp, musky sheets. It wasn't the best way for him to start the day, but he felt that this was as good as it was going to get for him, at least in this bloody hotel, he thought with a snarl. He was not the best person in the morning and the task set out for him today was not helping his mood. He dressed quickly and closed the door of his room with a satisfying snap.

He vowed never to see that room again.

With a sigh, he chose to visit the front desk before his little chat with Primrose and her 'family', he wanted to turn in his room key. To his surprise, the front desk was being minded by a different person from last night, a frantic woman, who at the moment was trying to keep hundreds of letters from falling off the desk. She looked near tears, and her messy brown hair had escaped her bun, giving Remus the impression that she had been juggling with the letters for quite some time. As he walked up to her, her blue eyes seemed to be filled with hope.

"'Excuse me, sir. You know who this Miss Primrose D. Potter be? I got a hundred of theses on me desk," she said it desperately, her pale face begging him to take the letters off her desk.

Taking pity, he nodded quickly and took only two of the letters off the desk. One he kept in his hand, the other he tucked into his pocket. He had a feeling there was going to be trouble, and he wanted to keep an extra letter in case he needed it.

"You may throw the rest in the rubbish bin, I only need two," he said this as kindly as he could to the woman, who only let out a wail of dismay at the fact that she had to get rid of the rest.

With a sympathetic smile and a quick turning in of his key, he rushed off to the breakfast room. As he arrived, he couldn't help but feel nervous. He was going to be the one to tell Primrose everything. And that she wasn't safe- He really didn't think Voldemort was gone, he knew it in his bones, after all, he had seen him once, and he knew that that man had gone beyond being human. It terrified him that the little girl he had met last night might have to face him. To face those wild, cunning red eyes…

He survived the empty room and caught sight of Primrose, along with the only other people in the room. Primrose had changed into a red dress, which he thought looked a little nicer than the faded dress she had worn last night. She had also braved a shower and Remus hoped she had gotten one of the better bathrooms of the hotel. The three people sitting around her looked nothing at all like her, but he assumed that they were her relatives. There was a big beefy man, whom he didn't recognize and also a fat young girl that was around Primrose's age. The only one he did recognize was Primrose's Aunt. He vaguely remembered the latter from Lily and James' wedding day, the only day he had ever met the woman. Neither Lily, nor Primrose shared much resemblance to her, save their willowy frame, and their pallor. Remus couldn't help but thank Merlin quickly in his mind because he was fairly sure that neither Lily nor Primrose would have looked good as a horse.

At that moment Primrose looked up, her brilliant emerald eyes catching his own golden ones. Her small hand rose up and she waved at him frantically to come over, her eyes sliding to the pieces of parchment he held tightly in his scarred hand. Remus felt himself unconsciously swallow as her family looked over at him as well. The young girl merely spared him a glance, before returning to her breakfast of toast, and cold tin tomatoes. Primrose's Aunt gazed lingered on him, nose wrinkling in disgust as she took on his shabby clothes. Her Uncle, he reflected simply looked furiously between, him, Primrose, and the letter he had clutched in his hand. Remus walked over and stood awkwardly next to the family. Primrose broke the tense silence that had descended upon them, with a quick smile, and a few soft spoken words:

"Uncle Vernon, Delilah, Aunt Petunia, may I introduce Mister Remus Lupin. He is going to give me my letter."

"I've met your Aunt before, poppet. It's nice to see you again Petunia," was all he could say as the Uncle, Vernon, steadily got a darker shade of scarlet.

The now shockingly pale woman could only nod briskly at him, her lips pursed in distaste. He could see in her fish colored eyes a flicker of recognition. As he looked back at Primrose, he saw curiosity fill her features.

"Where have you two met before?" spoke up Delilah, eyes finally removing themselves from her now empty plate to the strange man that knew her mummy.

"At Primrose's parent's wedding. She was the maid of honor, I was one of the groomsmen," he said it kindly to the large girl.

Her brows furrowed.

"I thought Primrose was born out of wedlock?"

He blinked.

"No. I can safely say that she was born after her parents were married."

"You knew my parents?" blurted out Primrose suddenly, eyes bright.

Remus nodded, took a breath to steady himself.

"I was one of your father's best friends. He was like a brother to me. And your mother was like a sister. I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night, I was a little overwhelmed to see you. I-... I last saw you when you were so small. You've grown loads poppet. You look so much like your mother, but you have your father's wild mop of hair, that's for sure," he said, voice a bit hoarser than normal.

Primrose stared in shock as she took in Mister Lupin's slightly misty eyes. She looked like her mother. She had never known that and she had her father's hair. It was becoming too much for her, tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them go. She still had much to discover and she had a feeling that this was the least important thing she was going to learn on her birthday, which already was starting to be the best one she had ever experienced.

Hoarsely, she asked, "What were their names?"

She saw Mister Lupin swallow and he spoke softly, fondly, "Lily and James Potter, poppet."

She still refused to cry. With a shaky nod, she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her moment of happiness was marred as soon as her Uncle opened his big fat mouth, "SO. You're one of their crowd, eh? Stay away from my family! YOU will not be telling the brat a word more. Go off with your freakishness! Go on!"

Uncle Vernon stood up glaring up at Remus, not noticing at all like Primrose that Mister Lupin was a great deal taller than him, or the way his body tensed. Primrose had the feeling that Mister Lupin had power behind his wiry frame and that Uncle Vernon had no idea what he was getting into. She could tell by the way he walked, graceful and controlled in a way that even Uncle Vernon, the former rugby player didn't have.

"I'm not leaving. I'm going to tell Primrose what should have been told to her a long time ago. Primrose, poppet, has anything strange, or unexplained ever happen to you?" he said it kindly, not taking his eyes off of her.

Primrose was thrown into her memories, things that she could never explain, things that only happened to her, things that she always had the feeling were caused by her. With a slow nod, she waited for Mister Lupin to further explain.

"Good. Well, all those things happened when you very angry or sad right?" at her nod he continued, "There is a very simple explanation for it, poppet you're a-" he was interrupted by a loud bellow from her Uncle Vernon.

"STOP! I DEMAND YOU NOT TO TELL HER ANOTHER WORD!"

Her Uncle looked furious, his face contorted into what to Remus thought, looked like a bellowing walrus. It was rather comical, watching him get flustered, but Remus really had no time to waste on the trivial things, like Primrose's Uncle. So, he ignored the shout and opened his mouth to tell Primrose what she was. Her Uncle just had to be difficult though. With a strangled yell, Uncle Vernon charged at Remus, not unlike the way he had charged at Primrose in the parlor. But unlike Primrose, Remus had faster reflexes. He nimbly dodged out of the way, causing the large man to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Remus ignored the cries of:

"DADDY!" and "VERNON!"

He spoke with exasperation, shooting a look of shock toward Primrose, "Oh for goodness sake! Primrose, you're a witch!"

Primrose froze. The first thing that came to her mind blurted out of her mouth, "That's not a very nice thing to say!"

Petunia, who had gotten up to tend to her fallen husband, whipped around in shock, once again causing her husband to fall back to the ground with a heavy thud. Primrose had reacted the same way that Lily had when that damn Snape boy had told her. She glared at the man, Remus, for making her relive one of the most painful memories of her life. The one that had caused so much strife between her and her sister. She ignored the small whisper of her conscience that was saying just how much Primrose really was like Lily.

To Primrose's surprise, Mister Lupin merely chuckled. He looked down at her, golden eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Is that so, poppet? Well, why don't you read your letter before you naysay anything?"

With a flourish, Remus handed her the letter, eager to see her reaction. She didn't disappoint, her eyes sparkled, and she eagerly tore it open. Primrose's eyes snapped hungrily to the letter and read the words that she had been longing to see:

Dear Miss. Primrose D. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Primrose couldn't help but gape at the letter, and then at Mister Lupin. This was completely insane! How on Earth was she a witch? How had she never noticed this before if she was one? Why had her life had been so horrible if all this time she had something as wonderful as magic inside her? There had to be a mistake. Magic wasn't even real, hadn't her Uncle and Aunt told her all her life this? Magic was only the stuff of fantasy, nothing more... Wasn't it?

"I can see you don't believe me," Mister Lupin said with another chuckle.

Primrose could only nod, mouth closing. She watched with fascination as he flicked his left wrist, sending a something out of his battered sleeve. She felt her jaw drop again at the sight of the gleaming, highly polished piece of wood that was in Mister Lupin's hand. It was very dark, thin, and long, and Mister Lupin held it his hand as if he was used to the weight of it as if it was a part of him. He grinned fondly down at it, eyes sparklingly as if he was greeting an old and dear friend.

"10¼", Cypress, Unicorn hair, pliable-I've had this ever since I was your age poppet, do you know what it is?" asked Mister Lupin, looking at her with clear amusement in his eyes.

"A... A... A magic wand," whispered Primrose, eyes now wide with astonishment at the wand in Mister Lupin's hand. Part of her faintly registered the fact that he had said unicorn hair as if those creatures really existed.

"Do you want proof of magic?'

Primrose nodded, eyes widening ever so slightly as Mister Lupin swished and flicked his wand, pointing it directly at a spare chair. He hoarsely said the words out loud, with ease, as if the odd words he said were common practice:

"Wingardium Leviosa."

With a shock, Primrose saw the chair lifted a few inches off the ground, suspended in midair, with her family staring at the chair, jaws hitting the ground, while she watched with wonderment. Mister Lupin constantly moved the wand, wrists moving up and down in a flick of his wrist and the chair followed the movement. She blinked rapidly, laughing in a startled way as he made it dance across the room, like a ballet, to and for, before he settled it a few feet in front of her. She walked over to it, her common sense claiming it was just a trick, wires, strings were holding up the battered chair. But, when she got to the chair, she felt all around, feeling nothing around the chair, and only feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raise slightly.

"Wicked!" she breathed, laughing at the sheer amazing display.

"Believe me now, poppet? You'll able to do that as well, once you've trained up a bit at Hogwarts... You'll be fantastic at it, just you wait, your father and mother both very talented at witchcraft and wizardry."

Primrose nodded at Mister Lupin eyes still glued to the floating furniture. She only turned when Mister Lupin started muttering another quick spell:

"Finite."

The chair fell down with a loud clatter, and Primrose jumped back, flinching slightly. As she felt her thundering heartbeat, questions exploded into her mind. Her eyes snapped to Mister Lupin, unknowingly pinning him down with her hypnotic stare.

"My parents were witches?" she asked in a small voice.

Mister Lupin nodded at her, speaking again in a hoarser voice than normal, 'Yes. Though, for your father, he would be considered a wizard... Anyway, they were both the top of the class, Head Boy and Girl, and definitely the most talented couple of people that I've ever had the privilege to meet."

Primrose took in the information in silence. Her parents had been magical. A thought bloomed in her head, and she felt her stomach drop. She had never believed the story her Aunt had told her, and it was now the time to see if she had been telling the truth to her all these years.

"They didn't die in a car crash, did they?" she asked as quietly as possible.

Remus felt his stomach turn at the indication that Lily and James Potter had died in a mere car crash. It was an outrage, a scandal! Every single magical child knew Primrose's story. She was famous throughout the magical world, yet here she was, not even knowing her own story. It made Remus want to hit something. Or someone.

"They didn't," was all he could respond to the girl, eyes grave.

She took the news in silence. Her eyes blazed with an anger that made Remus want to step back at the mere intensity, which was decidedly odd for a child that age. Primrose herself took a deep breath, taking a fleeting glance at her family, all who were wearing identical masks of shock, and horror. She tore her eyes away from them, looking back at the man who had unknowingly given her the best birthday present of all her life, her parent's names.

"What happened to them?" she asked it softly, so softly that even Remus' sensitive ears could barely pick up the words.

He felt his mouth grow dry and he blinked at the girl rapidly, trying to stop the tears in his eyes. He admitted to himself that he felt like a poof for being this emotional, but that he couldn't really help it. This was Primrose Dorea Potter, of all people, asking to know what had happened to her parents. His dearest friends. The only people he ever really would call friends for the rest of his life. He swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the large lump in his throat as he looked down at the trembling little girl before him. He found that he simply couldn't be the one to tell her, he couldn't.

"Poppet... I... I... not the best person to... It… not my place-" he was interrupted from his hoarse stammers by the loud STOMP.

Primrose had slammed her foot down, her battered trainers producing such a loud noise that she even jumped at it. She was looking up at Remus, her large emerald eyes alight with flames, and her face pale as a sheet.

"It's not your place? IT'S NOT YOUR PLACE? Didn't you say that they were your dearest friends? Like brother and sister?" asked Primrose, trembling with rage.

Again, Remus swallowed and nodded slightly shell shocked at the girl. Somewhere in his mind, it occurred to him that she had Lily's temper. The girl took a deep breath, suddenly calm, her voice once again soft as she spoke to him:

"Then, please... Please tell me what happened to them. Please tell me why they're not here..."

Primrose ignored how her voice had cracked and the tears that once again were gathering in her eyes. She simply kept looking on at Mister Lupin, hoping, praying that he would say something. Remus was as silent as the grave, simply looking at Primrose. He then sighed very softly, lifting his hand to run through his ragged brown hair, a habit of frustration he had picked up in his Hogwarts days. His golden eyes closed for the briefest of seconds, which was all it took for his mind to summon the images of two dear, dear people, who nodded in his head as if to tell him to go on. He opened his eyes, and looked at the daughter of those dear people again, and heard his voice speak the words that he thought would never have to be spoken by him:

"Primrose... There are many types of wizards and witches; in fact, many types of people. They can be good, they can be bad. They can be both. There are many gray areas in this characteristic. But, there was a man. No, not a man, there wasn't enough humanity in him to consider him a man. But, that man did not fit into the gray areas, he was in fact, the foulest, most monstrous wizard that has ever disgraced the wizarding world. His name was Lord Voldemort."

Remus took a deep breath again, steadying himself as he stared at Primrose, taking in her serious reaction. She asked no questions, like before somehow knowing he had more to say.

"A decade or so ago this wizard was causing one of the worst wars our people have ever been a part of. It was very dark times, poppet, very dark times. He had dozens of followers, some as worse as him, they called themselves the Death Eaters. You couldn't know who was who in those times. You couldn't know who was on which side."

Primrose noticed faintly that Mister Lupin said the end very bitterly, before he continued on, this time saying his words brutally as if he couldn't bear to say it in a very nice way, as what he said wasn't pleasant at all:

"But, then again that's not the point, is it? No, the point is that this wizard appeared on your family's home in Godric's Hollow. And that night your mother and father were killed and he then turned his wand on you, Primrose. I have no idea why. And he tried killing you, Primrose. He tired of killing a- A one-year-old child. But he couldn't, try as he did he couldn't kill you, Primrose. The curse rebounded, and he disappeared that night Primrose. Vanished without a trace, because you survived the curse that killed so many people before, like your parents just before you. You survived without a scratch, save for that scar on your forehead. You're famous you know Primrose, and your parents are as well. You're the Girl Who Lived," said Remus with the saddest of sighs at the end, his tired eyes looking at Primrose.

Who at the moment was a pale as ever humanly possible, trembling, her large emerald eyes full of thick tears, that slipped down her cheeks slowly.

Then, a light a realization filled her eyes, and she whipped around at a frightening speed to look at the Dursleys, her mouth opening in closing for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, until finally, her voice spat out, "You knew. You knew about everything!"

The accusation hung in the suddenly silent air, the occupants of the small dining room of the Railview somehow not quite daring to breathe at the fuming girl in their midst. Then, suddenly, Aunt Petunia stepped forward, her chest heaving, her body trembling just like Primrose's and her fish eyes narrowed dangerously at her niece.

"Knew? KNEW? Of course, we knew. How could we not know everything, with that damn letter that you had on you when we took you off our porch step? How could we not know how special you are? Just like my dratted sister! Who came home every holiday, frog spawn in her pockets and turning teacups into rats! Proud, oh how proud my parents were to have a witch in the family! I knew from the second she got that damn letter what she really was, a FREAK!" screamed out Aunt Petunia, spitting at both Primrose and Remus.

Again, the dining room fell silent, for the briefest second, while Aunt Petunia caught her breath, now heavily flushed. Soon she got her wind again, and started once again her rant at the two magical beings in the room.

"Oh, and if you please she didn't even have the dignity to leave all us normal, perfectly respectable people alone! No, she had to get herself and that tramp of a husband blown up, and as a result, we got landed with you! And I knew from the second I laid eyes on you that you'd be just the same as her, a true, dratted freak!"

Uncle Vernon, still on the floor makes a heavy grunt of agreement, chuckling at his pale, trembling niece's devastated face.

No one noticed the soft growling of Remus, who at that moment put his large scarred hand on Primrose's shoulder, his hoarse voice hissing out through his teet, "Enough. I will not tolerate you to destroy my friends' memory, nor Primrose's self-esteem. She is not dratted and she is most definitely not a freak! She is Primrose Potter, a good strong witch that comes from a proud family, from two of the best people I have ever know! So keep those vile lies to yourself!"

Primrose looked up at Mister Lupin with an innocent and awed filled look. Hardly anyone ever stood up for her, and those who did never did it more than once or twice, as often times it ended badly for them, and she remembered vividly that they soon turned into another of her tormentors in the end. She knew that with Mister Lupin, this was not the case. She knew it from the way he was standing, the way he gently held onto her shoulder, yet still firmly, and how his golden eyes were glowing with a protective light. Again, Primrose felt tears in her eyes, but stopped them because she was tired of crying, instead, she smiled at Mister Lupin, if a little timidly.

He smiled tiredly back in return, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, before talking to her directly, with the utmost seriousness;

"Now Primrose, do you want to go to Hogwarts?"

Remus barely had time to finish his question before Primrose nodded with the utmost enthusiasm, her wild hair even wilder as she beamed up at him. He chuckled slightly at her reaction, remembering how he too had been excited for his time at Hogwarts in the beginning, though he remembered feeling so awed at the fact that he was allowed to go at all, despite his furry little problem, as James had so fondly put it.

"She will not be going," hissed out Uncle Vernon, finally getting up and swelling up like a bullfrog at Remus and Primrose.

Remus merely snorted, giving Uncle Vernon the look of utmost disbelief.

"Do you really think that a great muggle such as yourself would be able to stop Primrose Dorea Potter, the most famous person in the wizarding world from going to Hogwarts? Do you really think that the likes of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster would allow you to stop her from going?" said Remus, lifting his eyebrow with the utmost scorn, a scowl shaping his lips.

Uncle Vernon was turning a very strange color of puce, a color Primrose thought was not something that was good to both his appearance or his blood pressure.

"SHE'LL NOT BE GOING! I WILL NOT PAY FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" screamed out her Uncle Vernon, his spitting wildly at both her and Mister Lupin.

The second the words left her Uncle's lips, Primrose knew they were the wrong words to say. From the feral look on Mister Lupin's face, she knew that he respected the man that was Albus Dumbledore and that he would never tolerate a bad word to the man. Mister Lupin's all but forgotten wand was suddenly pointed at Uncle Vernon, and he held it straight between his eyes.

"Never. Insult. Albus Dumbledore. At least in my presence, that man gave me more than you could ever imagine, and I will not tolerate any of it. Is that clear?" asked Mister Lupin, with the utmost seriousness.

Be some miracle, Uncle Vernon was not cowered, and he simply lifted his many chins in defiance to Mister Lupin, a sneer curling up at his lips.

"So you really think that a simple little stick will scare me? What a load of tosh! BRAT!" He addressed Primrose suddenly, looking down at her with an even deeper sneer.

Primrose eyes went to her Uncle, a frown on her face.

"Come here. We're leaving this freak. Petunia, Delilah, let's go."

The Dursleys' looked ready to leave and were soon at the door. Primrose did not move a muscle. She simply looked on at the 'picture perfect' family that was supposed to be her's as well. Deep inside her she finally understood, she wanted to be part of them, she wanted nothing more to have their love and attention, to be able to be just another one of the Dursley family. She knew now that it was impossible, she was not, and never could be part of this family as she had longed for all her life. She was too different, and it was very evident that the Dursleys' didn't want anything to do with different. The last bit of faith she had for them faded away, and Primrose sighed slightly at the lost. She still didn't move.

"Well? What's keeping you brat? Get you bloody self over here now, unless you want the stuffing knocked out of you. Get a move on!" screamed out her Uncle, clearly angry.

He made a move forward, his fist already lifted in what she was sure would be the first hit she would ever receive from her Uncle. She braced herself for the hit that was sure to come, only to find herself blinking at the fact that Mister Lupin moved her behind him, his face deadly and fierce, once again pointing his wand at her Uncle. The action is what really cemented her resolve. She walked around her ready protector and looked straight on to her Uncle.

"I'm going to Hogwarts. And you have no say in it at all," she said this softly, in that quiet way of her's, a soft smile of resolve lifting at her lips.

Her Uncle could only spultter angrily at her, as she slipped her hand timidly into Mister Lupin's, who jumped at the contact. For a moment, Primrose thought she had done wrong, before he beamed down at her, making him appear ten years younger. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he started to lead her to the exit, walking past the gaping Dursley family. For a brief moment, Primrose hopped her supposed family would leave it just as that. Of course, her Uncle Vernon to ruin that hope.

With a bellowing roar, he charged at both her and Mister Lupin, who once again, stepped in front of her and pointed his wand at her Uncle. This time, he simply didn't just lift it. He hoarsely snarled out, "Levicorpus!"

Primrose watched in amazement as her very big Uncle was suddenly lifted into the air, with a force that once again Primrose knew was magic, as the fine hair on her neck and arms lifted as it surged from Mister Lupin, and was conducted through his wand. At the sight of her Uncle dangling suspended in midair by his ankle, his face so furious, and the flabbergasted faces of her Aunt and Delilah, Primrose collapsed in a fit of giggles, clutching for support on Mister Lupin's arm.

Remus too, chuckled at the sight, promising himself that he would release the spell after he had gathered up Primrose's things. With that resolve, he lead the still giggling Primrose away, where after another moment of uncontrollable laughter, lead Remus to the room she and Delilah had shared the night before. She picked up her yellow school bag without a care, and was soon led to the dining room of the Railview Hotel was again, another fit of giggles escaping her at the sight of her still suspended Uncle.

With a finger to his lips, Remus asked Primrose to quiet down, as he wanted to leave without that great walrus attacking him, again. She soon quieted down enough for him to point his wand discreetly at her Uncle, whispering out, "Liberacorpus."

He fellow down with a thud reminiscent to a cannon firing as he had hit a spare table as he went down, and also with a very loud and rude stream of curses that made Aunt Petunia cover Delilah's ears. Both Remus and Primrose composed themselves long enough to get out of hearing range of the Dursleys', before they burst out into uncontrollable laughter, their faces flushed with mirth as they stepped into the lobby. Their laughter only grew harder at the look of curiosity that the receptionist gave the pair of gave the woman a merry wave with the spare hand, as throughout the whole ordeal they hadn't let go of each others' hand. As the walked out into the July sun, they had no idea that the receptionist thought that they made the most adorable and odd family she had ever seen walk through the doors of the Railveiw Hotel. No, they just held onto each others' hand, not knowing that after ten long years they finally had found the family they had both thought they had lost.