PART ONE: THE STAG

J's P.O.V

xXx

J flicked the business sized card around his hands, between his fingers, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Much like his mind, actually. No, not actually. A lot like his life in total, in full honesty. His mother's death, meeting his uncles, coming to live with Janine, his grandmother, better known as Smurf, the cops and the Camp Pendleton heist, it had all been like the tide of the ocean. An ebb and flow. A do and retreat. A survive or die deal.

A week ago, he had nearly sold them all out. Smurf, Pope, Baz, Daren, Craig, all of them, ratted on them like a little bitch, handed them over to the pack of snarling wolves known as Oceanside's PD. He wouldn't lie. He had been so close, so fucking close, to doing it. Who could blame him? In a matter of weeks, since moving in with his grandmother, his life had been turned upside down, in and out, ebbing and fucking flowing. Before he could blink, there had been a dead cop, his girlfriend was sleeping with his uncle, an army base robbery was being undertaken by his relatives, a teacher was using him to bail herself out of jail and for a moment, just one, he had wanted it all to stop, to just slow the fuck down and for a brief second, selling them out seemed the only way to quieten his roaring mind and still his frantically beating heart.

Of course, he hadn't in the end. He was a Cody, through and through and well, as Baz told him, nothing was above family. J had grown up poor, in a dingy apartment, druggies and his mother's… clients wandering in and out all hours of the day and night, thrift store clothes, no food in the cupboards and the sort of money the Cody's were pulling in, the chance to be a part of that, the pure, unfiltered adrenalin he had felt pumping through him as he dived over that fence and ran across the military base, the chance at family, as dysfunctional as it was, had been too tempting to deny. Oh, don't get him wrong. He trusted none of them. Not really. His own mother, Julia, had taught him not to trust anyone from a young age, not even her. It was her one gift to him.

Smurf and her pride, her incessant manipulations. Baz and his own exploitations, his disregard for J, his almost concealed loathing of J's very existence. Pope and his inner demons. Daren and his hidden self, his second life. Craig and his rebellious anarchy of self-destruction. J saw it all. He saw it all and he understood. Life was harsh, brutal, unforgiving, it chipped and chipped and chipped away. Everyone, from Smurf to Catherine, had their own ghosts to fight. It was what made them human. It was what made them family. In some way, somehow, it was their brokenness, their shattered souls, that made them bond, made the blood thick, made them family. And the secrets, all their secrets, hidden and pretty and poisonous… But he had his own secrets, didn't he?

"What's that, J?"

His hand stalled in it's flipping, jolted to stillness from the voice coming from over to his left shoulder. Smurf. Sighing, he turned away from the pool, towards his grandmother. She looked fresh out of bed, hot pink silk kimono dressing gown tied firmly at her waist, slippers flapping against the pavement as she strolled towards him, bloody Mary in one hand, lit cig in the other. The bright sun bleached her hair to blinding white.

Irrationally, J thought about throwing the card into the pool, stuffing it back into his hoody's pocket, burning it till it was nothing but ash. But, then again, that would be besides the point of all this, wouldn't it? After he had stuck with them, backed that uppity bitch of a detective into a corner with threats and barely buried rage, he was in. One of them. A Cody. He had already been caught out lying one too many times, caught with his own secrets and now, if he really was going to do this, be a part of this family, it was time to come clean. At least on this, if nothing else. It wasn't like he was going to be able to hide this if he did, in fact, decide to go through with it.

By the time Smurf got to the poolside chair, slipping down to sit beside him at the edge, she got her own good view of the card in his hands, the bold lettering of Bay Area Adoption Agencies printed in a cheery yellow font with tacky cartoon flowers around it, the number for the company curving like a wave, cresting, at the bottom. She saw it and she laughed.

"Not gone and got a girl knocked up, have you sweetheart?"

J's gaze flickered back to the glimmering pool in their backyard as he tried, did he fucking try, to formulate some coherent words together. What was he meant to say? Was there a right way to say it? His mother, if she were here, would be pissed. Julia would be screaming and hitting and spitting-… But she wasn't here. She was never going to be here again. She had OD right next to him, filled herself so full of heroin that even the paramedics didn't need to take long to proclaim a cause of death. She had left him a long time before that, when she had chosen drugs over him, over them, and what right did she have anyway? These people weren't good people, he highly doubted he was a good person, but they were family. He deserved that. She deserved that, at least to know they were here, she did have a family, a brother.

"I have a sister. I want to find her."

Smurf's laughter was light and rich, like whipped cream and frosting. It died bitterly, slowly, when he neither joined in with her mirth or looked away from the pool.

"What?"

Smurf asked as she took the little card. J crammed his hands into his hoody's pockets, feeling the glossy papers, just two, hidden safely inside. Slowly, he brought them out, let the sun shine upon their coloured faces for the first time in what must have been years.

"I don't know much, just what mum would say when she was out of her mind, on the bad trips, you know? There's a few photos of her, a birth certificate, but that's it."

His mother had hated those photos, slapped him up the face when J had come across them when he was seven, before telling him never to touch them again, to forget about them as she buried them back at the bottom of their little cardboard photo box she sometimes hid her stash in. Some nights, when his mother was passed out or who knows where with god knows who, J would sneak a look at them. They weren't much, but they were better than nothing.

The first was all of them together, J couldn't have been older than a year old himself, the baby, obviously new, still red and wrinkled and wrapped in a linen blanket, was cradled in his mothers' arms on a dingy hospital cot. The second one was better. It was just the two of them, his mother having likely taken the photo herself, sitting side by side in the sand. He looked around two, chubby, rosy cheeked and fawny curled hair. She, Eleanora, was about a year old, perhaps younger, propped up against him, curly hair ablaze in copper fire, smiling a gummy smile with a single front tooth looking sharp and pearly white, both dressed in swim wear. It must have been taken in one of the good times, where Julia had gone to rehab, tried to clean herself up. Idly, he wandered how long that phase had lasted before she fell off the wagon again. Still, Julia could never make herself throw the photos out, even if she hid them.

Neither could Julia fully stop herself from talking when the heroin was singing in her blood and muddling her mind. His mother would ask for Nora, plead for her with slurred begs and whines, where's Eleanora? My Nora? My baby? Oh, what a happy baby. Is she still happy? Where is she J? The stag took her, didn't he? No, he can't take her. I won't let him- For hours, until she passed out, she would talk and talk and talk. Not much of it had made any sort of sense, but over the years, the many, many years, J had put the pieces together. J was pulled out of his mind, his horrid memories, by a hand on his forearm, soft and gentle, as he traced it back to Smurf's face.

"Start from the beginning."

J awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. He was never any good with words. He was never any good at opening up. Shit. He was beginning to think he wasn't good for anything.

"I was only a year old when she was born. I can't remember her. Not really. I have the birth Certificate and hospital files, these photos, the agency mum used to put her up for adoption, but that's about it. I know mum was having trouble with money, working for the next fix. She was already struggling with me. I mean-… I don't know. I think mum thought it was for the best. Back in those days, she wasn't so bad. She was still trying. Mum put her up for adoption a few months after Eleanora turned a year old, when she relapsed again."

Gradually, J passed the photos he was still clutching to Smurf, who in return, gingerly took them, staring deep and hard at the smiling faces looking back.

"Well, isn't she a pretty little thing. What about the girl's father? Wasn't he around?"

Jay scoffed.

"No. When mum got wrecked, she talked about him, said the stag had gone back into the forest to be with the tree, that she needed to hide Nora from the stag. God knows what she was talking about."

It must have been something J said, a name, a word, an animal because as soon as he finished talking, Smurf became still, statue-esque, frozen and locked. By the time he blinked, though, it was over, and she was looking at him, placing the photos down between them on the lounge chair, wide and toothy grin on her face.

"A stag? Well, my mother always told me my father was a piece of sea glass."

Jay smiled but couldn't shake the glimpse of a still Smurf from the back of his eyelids. Seeing his hesitant smile, Smurf wrapped an arm around his shoulders, jostling him slightly.

"What's brought this on baby?"

J's jaw clenched.

"It's her birthday today. She'd be sixteen now. She's my sister. My little sister. I just-… I wonder about her. Where she is. What she's doing. Does she even know about me? Mum? Mum died and she might not even know. Does she know she's adopted?"

Smurf's hand slinked up into his hair, ruffling as she leant in closer, placing a kiss at his temple. J wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed these moments. The closeness. The simple expressions of affection that came so easily to Smurf and so hard to him. His mother had always been too jacked to offer much more than vomit and tight hands dragging him down. When she spoke, her words fluttered across his head like the spring breeze.

"You've got a good heart kid. A good heart. Why didn't you tell me before?"

J looked down at his clenched hands, once again shoving them deep into his hoody pocket. The truth was, as much as he wanted to know those answers, to finally find the truth, he wasn't sure what place, with what type of people, he would be bringing Eleanora into. Before, with his mother, with her drugs and sex and delirium towards the end, there was no home or family to offer to his sister. Now, with Smurf, Craig, Daren, Baz and Pope, he still wasn't sure if giving up his secret was for the best, not for Eleanora. But… He was a Cody. He was as selfish, ambitious and scheming as the rest of them and dammit, he just wanted to know if she was even alive anymore or gone and buried like their mother.

"Mum used to flip even if she saw a red-haired baby in the street. She'd curse me out black and blue when I mentioned Nora. I-… I just got used to pretending she didn't exist."

Once again, Smurf good-naturedly jostled him, but her parting lips were snatched words from by the sound of the back gate sliding open, the noise of chatter echoing out. From around the corner, Baz, Pope, Craig and Daren came tumbling in, laughter bright and hot between them. Baz was dressed finely but casually, in his pressed jeans and white T-shirt, Ray-Bans balanced on his nose, dimpled grin splitting his tan face in two. Pope was next to him, crisp navy shirt buttoned to the very top, hands in jean pockets, straight backed and stern looking. Daren was hopping at the side, fiddling with his blonde shoulder length hair, cig caught between his lips as he adjusted his sleeveless shirt and board shorts, hair still wet from the beach. The tallest of them, Craig, brought up the rear, topless, his own swim trunks and long brunette hair wet, surf board tucked underneath his muscled arm.

From the pit of his stomach, a spike of jealousy pierced him, but J quickly stomped that out. Perhaps another reason, as selfish as it was, that he wanted to reunite with his sister was to stop the loneliness, the feeling of being an outsider creeping in when he saw his uncles. Of course, his uncles made their way over and of course, Daren was the one to spot the adoption agency card in Smurf's hands.

"We putting J up for adoption now? Bit late, don't you think?"

Baz and Daren flopped onto two poolside chairs on either side of J and Smurf, kicking back to relax in the summer sun. Pope, as he was often to do, stood awkwardly and primly to attention before them, stiff and shadow long. Craig propped his board up against a wall before skidding to the pool, diving in without a second thought, bobbing back up, flipping his long hair back and out his face, braced his arms against the side and treaded water while grinning at them wolfishly. For a moment, Smurf looked at J, but he stayed hushed and stubborn on the matter. Finally coming to the conclusion that it would be her left to break the news, Smurf pulled away from J, stood and addressed Daren.

"J has a younger sister."

The laughter was instantaneous, loud and, to J, sounded like a pack of hyenas. The only one not laughing out of his uncles was Pope, who flicked his gaze between an avoidant J and a smiling Smurf.

"You're serious?"

At Pope's question, the laughter crumbled in on itself as Daren dubbed his cig out into the ashtray by the side of his chair, Baz pushed up his glasses and pulled himself up, balancing elbow on bent knees, eyes alight and keenly sharp and Craig heaved his six-foot five frame from the swimming pool. Regarding her sons, her boys, Smurf crossed her arms over her chest, the sleeves of her kimono looking like wings as they flapped shut.

"Deadly. Julia put the girl up for adoption just after she turned a year old. She's sixteen now."

Baz stood, scrubbing at his eyes with a harsh hand, voice turning incredulous.

"And what? You're just going to ring up and demand they tell you where she is?"

Smurf glowered at him.

"She's sixteen. By law, if we request contact, they will trace her and ask for her consent to it. Then the ball is in her court."

Baz laughed but it was a horrid noise, brittle, dry, sardonic. Like the bourbon he was fond of.

"Don't you think we have enough on our plate right now? We haven't even decided on the next job. This house is already pretty god-damned full."

The rest of his uncles let Baz rant. J, however, was fed up. He knew what his… uncle was really worried about. Another hand, another share. That's all he saw. All he could think of. Dammit, the bastard was adopted into the Cody family himself, was likely J's own fucking father, could have been Eleanora's too, and he couldn't give two shits about anything other than the next job. Before he knew it, J was up and facing down Baz, words tight, dark and heavy.

"She's my sister. She's a Cody."

There it was, the anger, there, lurking in the back of Baz's eyes like a knife glint in a darkened alley. Then, right then, J wanted him to throw a punch, to argue, just so he could swing back and knock that look clean off his face. Baz, in turn, must have seen something he didn't like reflected back from J's own blue eyes, eyes so similar to his so-called uncles. Baz stepped closer to him, nostrils flared.

"Yes, well, does that mean-"

Smurf stubbornly pushed between them, separating the two, hands staying on their chests to keep the two apart.

"Her mother said her father was a stag. A stag that had gone to be with the tree again. A stag she needed to hide the child from. Isn't that right J?"

Smurf asked as it went deafeningly quiet, his uncles turned to face him one by one. J wasn't sure why that tid-bit was so important, why Smurf would use that of all things to defuse the situation, but if it got Baz to back down and shut up, J was all for it. Pulling away and stepping back as Smurf's arms fell, J nodded.

"Yeah, it was one of the only things she would say when she got high."

Something heavy, poignant and stifling settled amongst them before Pope swore loudly, brushing off Smurf who went to reach for him before storming back through the back gate he had only recently entered. No one tried to stop him. Just as J went to walk away himself, perhaps head out on his bike and ride the anger out, clear his head with beach breeze and the sound of waves crashing, Smurf was holding the adoption agency card out to him.

"Either way baby, it's up to you. Do you want to get in contact?"

J looked at the card for a long while before he took it. He stared at it even longer when it was in his grasp, gazed at the number at the bottom, running the pad of his thumb over the digits. Glancing up, he saw Smurf's smile, Daren's curious stare, Craig's grin and Baz's stern mouth and slanted eyes. That was all he needed to see, that anger, as he delved his hand into his jeans back pocket, plucked out his phone and dialled the number on the card before holding the phone to his ear.

PART TWO: THE CROCODILE:

Petunia's P.O.V

xXx

Petunia Dursley hummed a cheery little tune to herself as she dipped her gloved hands into the suds, plucking up a plate to swish the sponge over. Life was going good. Vernon was at work until ten that night, Dudley was staying over at a friend's house and Petunia was having her own time, sipping on a glass of red between chores. However, the detail was in the fine print. Life was going good. Brilliant even… Until, from behind her, she could hear the rattle of the back door jingle before the door slipped open, thudding as it shut behind whoever had just entered her home.

Her first thought was of her precious Vernon. Perhaps he had clocked off early and had thought to surprise her, even if he had not done so in years. Forgetting about the plate, happy at the sudden twist of events, Petunia dropped the sponge back into the sink, snapped the yellow gloves off her bony wrists and painted on, what she was sure, a dazzling smile. It all died terribly, irreversibly, when she saw who really was standing at the back door to their kitchen. Eleanora Potter, her niece.

She had changed a lot in the year since Petunia had last saw her, when the Order, or whatever it was called now, had dragged Petunia's family from their home because of some perceived danger brought on by the girl standing before her. Nora, as she liked to be called, had grown a few inches, still short, but passed five feet now. She had filled out too, the masculine white shirt, jeans and leather jacket doing nothing to hide her blossoming womanhood. Her hair had become less frizzed birds' nest, but more rebellious tight curled silk, longer and shiny in its hot amber hue. She no longer looked like a preteen boy, all scuff kneed and bony, but like the young woman she was supposed to be. If it wasn't for the large scar on her forehead, those damned eyes of hers, Petunia would have passed her in the street without glancing back. Perhaps even thought her beautiful.

But she did see the scar and she did see the eyes and all her visage brought Petunia was pain. Pain and anger. Everyone who knew her sister, Lily, had always doted on the girl, telling Petunia she looked more and more like the woman each day. They were all blind. Blind, dumb fools. They only saw what they wanted to see, and they wanted Lily. Still, Petunia saw the truth, so open now that the young girl had grown into her features. Petunia saw the shade of her ginger hair, too hot, too bright to be Lily's spice kissed locks. Petunia saw Nora's green eyes, vivid and jewel toned, too dark to be Lily's light mint ones. Nora was too short and too curvy to match Lily's willowy grace. Her features were too fox-like, thin and delicately carven, but cold and keen, against Lily's elven elegance. Nora was just too intense, all bright colours and sharp lines to be anything like Lily's soft beauty. Oh, Petunia saw it all and Petunia hated it all.

"I never thought I would see you again."

Petunia found herself saying. A part of her, a large part, wished she never would have to. The girl was a symbol of everything wrong in her life, every mistake, every loss. Nora, however, sent her a wry little smile, as sharp as any blade before she wandered over to her kitchen table, obnoxiously dragging a chair out to sit down upon, crossing her arms as she did so.

"I bet you didn't. What has it been since the Order came and hid you away? A year now? I see you know at least enough about the end of the war to come and live back in this place if you're willing to risk Dudley."

Nora Idly took a scan of the room with her large eyes, likely noting nothing had changed, just how Petunia liked it. Petunia wanted to hit the girl, slap her right up the side of her head, wrap her fingers tightly into that lion's mane she called hair and chuck her right out the door she came slithering in from. Instead, Petunia stood stock still, only able to watch as Nora pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her jean pockets, flicking one into her mouth and sparking it up with a zippo. Petunia's mouth opened to order her out of the house, to get that horrid smoke away, but there was something there, lurking in the back of Nora's glinting eyes, something dangerous. Petunia's mouth flopped for a moment before she finally found something to say.

"The Order said your life was in danger. They came back and said it was finished. I didn't see any reason to stall our lives any further because you got yourself into some trouble."

Nora picked up on what wasn't said, she was always a smart girl, like she usually did. She laughed then, and it was deep and dry and more than a little sardonic.

"And you expected me to be dead? How lovely."

Petunia neither denied or accepted the accusation. So what if she had? So what, if after coming to that very conclusion, all she wanted was to get back to her life, to the way things should have been, just her, Vernon and her Dudley if the damned girl was never dumped on her doorstep? Was she such a monster because of it? Was she a monster because, deep down, in the very dark recesses of her soul, she had hoped, dreamed, the girl was, in fact, dead? All Nora brought was memories, secrets, lies Petunia wanted to forget, move on from and with her right there, in full view, that was the last thing Petunia could do. Petunia had taken the girl in, kept the secrets, kept the lies buried for sixteen years now. Hadn't she paid her due? Petunia squared her shoulders.

"What are you doing here? I want you to leave and don't you darken my doorstep again. You hear me?"

Nora took a deep drag from her smoke and shot Petunia a look that withered her shoulders to hunches, forced her eyes away and damped her own rage. However, when the girl spoke, it was calm, light, pleasant even.

"Don't worry, I'm not staying. I just want to talk."

Petunia shook her head. No. Talking was the last thing, especially with Nora, she wanted to do. Hastily, none too gently, she reached behind herself and undid her apron, shirking it off, carelessly throwing it down onto the counter besides herself.

"There is nothing to talk about."

Nora vanished her cig with a click of her fingers and Petunia flared at the display of magic, at the poignant, too easy reminder that this girl, this thing, wasn't one of them. She never was and she never could be, no matter how much they had tried to beat it out of her. Unperturbed by Petunia's rising anger, perhaps she had become used to it by now, after all these years, Nora delved a hand into her leather jackets pocket and slipped out an innocent looking envelope, seal already ragged and open, a thick wad of paper folded in side. Almost tauntingly, she waggled the envelope at Petunia.

"I got a letter this morning."

Petunia scoffed and crossed her own arms.

"Your business is your own. I don't want to know-"

"Am I adopted?"

Nora said it so plainly, so simply, innocent and light that it took a few moments for Petunia to register the heavy question. Yet, when her brain did catch up to her hears, Petunia froze. Entirely. No thought. No breath. Nothing. She was locked and stuck, face draining and fingers going numb. That man, the one with the pointy hat and long white beard flashed before her eyes… The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with caution. Don't you agree, Mrs Dursley?... Her stomach flipped and contorted, bile rose and stung her throat and nose.

"Why would you say that?"

Was that her speaking? Was that terrified, cracked voice really hers? Yes. Yes, it was, and she already sounded halfway to hysterics, pitch high and cracking. Nora placed the letter onto the table she was sitting by, hand never fully drawing away from the wretched thing, nimble fingers toying with the furled edge.

"I told you, I got a letter this morning. It was an interesting letter. Do you know where it's from?"

Petunia's mouth clamped shut, lips curling in on themselves to stop the words, so many words, from spilling forth like a tidal wave. Nora saw her face, her stern, unforgiving mouth and eyes and she laughed. It was a horrid noise, too loud, too joyful, too… Much. The girl was always too much. Of everything. From the colours of her hair, skin and eyes, to the way she spoke and laughed, to the way she moved with her shoulders drawn back and chin tilted proudly. She was all fire and intensity and Petunia abhorred it. Detested her.

"I take the silence as a yes. You were always shit at lying."

Petunia snarled, teeth flashing from pale, tight lips. How dare she. How dare any of Nora's kind, coming into her home, demanding things of her that they had no right in commanding, telling her what to do, what she was. They were a conceited lot, every one of Nora's kind. But still, Petunia did not move, did not speak and did not try and leave. Nora was no longer that little girl, so small and hesitant, the skinny brat Petunia could chuck into the cupboard when her face made Petunia feel sick. Violently sick. Nora, after her laughter died down, plucked the envelope back up, slipped out the wad of folded papers, letters, stood from her chair and began advancing on Petunia.

"It's from a place called Bay Area Adoption agencies. It says I have a brother. A brother, a Joshua Cody, who wants to get in contact with me. As I've come to my sixteenth birthday, the decision falls to me rather than any guardian. When I first read it, I laughed. What a load of bullshit, right, aunt Petunia?"

The way Nora drew out the word aunt, twisting and elongating the vowels, made Petunia bite into her cheek until there was a sting and a hint of copper on her tongue. Petunia wasn't scared. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't even sorry. She was livid.

"I rang them up, of course. I told them, politely, they had made a mistake. I wasn't this Eleanora Cody, I was Eleanora Potter. Funny thing is, they were adamant that it was me, that the files all trace back to me. Now, I wasn't buying it. Not one bit, but hey, they weren't finished. They emailed me more documents. Birth records, hospital records, the adoption papers signed by Lily and James Potter themselves. I know because I matched their signatures to their marriage certificate at Godric Hollow. Now why would Lily and James sign adoption papers for their own child? Are you seeing my problem here?"

The slap of the stack of letters being slammed down upon the counter besides Petunia and Nora, who had come to a stop a mere foot away, made Petunia's hands clench into fists at her side. Yet, the girl wasn't done. Not nearly, going by the fire blazing in her eyes.

"The truth is, I have no where else to go. Everyone who was alive back then, Albus, Remus, Sirius, Severus, Tonks, you remember them don't you, Petunia? They're all dead. Anyone who could possibly know anything is buried six-feet under. You're the only one alive who can tell me what the hell is going on. I don't want to be here as much as you want me to be. So, tell me and I'll go, and I won't ever come back. Look me in the eye and say it's a lie. Tell me it's a bloody mistake. Tell me! Please…"

For just once, once in sixteen long years, Petunia felt a flash of something other than hatred or disgust towards the girl in front of her. She felt sympathy. Nora, standing there, eyes wide and pleading, the smell of whiskey and smoke coming off her breath telling of a day spent drinking her confusion away, the broken way she begged for Petunia to tell her what she wanted to hear, even if it was but a pretty lie, tugged on something in Petunia she thought the girl would never be able to touch. So, finally, Petunia spoke of things she never thought she would have to.

"He was a gorgeous boy."

Nora pulled her hand back from the papers, the limb dangling uselessly at her side as she frowned up at Petunia.

"Who?"

Petunia's eyes fled away from the girl, not able, especially now with this grim truth being wrought out of her, after so long at keeping it buried, to look at that face. If she did, the anger would come back and then Petunia would never get a chance to let it out again. Just this once, she could give the girl something… If only to get Nora out of her house and away. Pointlessly, Petunia looked down at the stack of letters, seeing Lily's hospital records from the 31st of July. What a terrible, terrible day.

"Harry. Harry Potter. That was going to be his name. Lily had named me godmother, you know?"

Nora stayed silent, letting Petunia pick up the letters and read them, just something to keep her hands busy, to stop them trembling.

"Oh, he was a gorgeous boy. Black haired, green-eyed… And so still. It broke my sister's heart. A still born, premature, too young and precious for this world."

Nora cut in.

"I don't understand."

The anger, the rage, the fire in the pit of Petunia's stomach thundered to vicious life as she was reminded of exactly who was standing in front of her, who she was speaking to. It wasn't Nora who was supposed to be standing there. It was supposed to be him. Harry. Her hands tightened so much that she nearly ripped the letters apart before Petunia threw them back onto the counter, whirling on the girl in a storm of fluttered skirts and clawed fingers pointing.

"Of course, you wouldn't! He paid me to keep hush, to keep you-… You wretched little thing, in my house! After all I gave you, everything, and you dare come in here demanding things from me? Me?!"

Apparently, Petunia was not the only one to feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Nora broke and for the first time in Petunia's pleasant little life, she was scared. Nora's face turned still, calm, placid and then she was diving at Petunia, eyes alight and dangerous, roaring dreadfully as the girl snatched up Petunia's throat in a constricting hand, bent her cruelly over the counter, pushing her back, dragging the frail woman down, right to her own eye level, nose to nose as she spoke quietly, deadly, fingers tightening with each word until Petunia was forced to claw at the hand, eyes boggling.

"What did you give me Petunia? A locked cage? Broken bones? Bruises? Starvation? What exactly am I meant to be thankful for?! The blind eye you turned when Vernon lost his temper and beat me until I was unconscious? How you would laugh so prettily when Dudley hit me with a fucking baseball bat until my joints popped and dislocated? Oh yes, the brilliant fun of Nora-hunting! The times where you forgot to feed me for weeks, a six-year-old, so I had to rummage in the bin and eat half rotten scraps? The fucking bleach baths to help clean my dirty heathen soul? What? Tell me what I am meant to be thankful for!"

Petunia choked, spittle dribbling down her gasping chin and her vision blurred, darkening before Nora growled and withdrew her hand from around Petunia's neck, stepping back to run a hand down her face, breath heavy and hot as Petunia scrabbled for the counter-tops edge, heaving in lungful's of air. Then she was rounding back on Petunia, bearing down upon her bent form.

"I'm not a little girl anymore Petunia. I'm not a defenceless child. You wouldn't dare hit me now. You're a fucking coward. You and your fat oaf of a husband and spoilt blubbering brat. No. So, you are going to stand there and tell me everything. Everything. Or I swear to Merlin, every hit, every slap, every broken bone and welt and cut will be repaid triple."

Petunia's eyes stung as tears misted her vision, still unsteady on her feet, heart thundering in her ribcage, mouth running with no real thought to what she was saying. It was like Nora had ripped her open, knocked down the dam and every secret, every repressed memory, every concealed word was yanked from her very soul.

"Lily was pregnant but had a miscarriage. He was a little boy, just a little boy. They called him Harry. It broke her heart and I told her to wait, another baby would come, but she wouldn't hear of it. James took her on vacation, for a year, over in America to help heal but-… I don't know. She came back and she had you in her arms. She went and adopted you and then brought you back as if you were some prize, something that could replace the child she lost. She said it was destiny. That you needed a home and she needed a child. It was meant to be. She said you even looked like her. I don't see it. I just see a creature, a soulless beast who is here where Lily's child, her real child, should be. You should be the one dead, not him. You tore my sister from me. All she could ever talk about was you. All she ever thought about was you. She forgot all about me as soon as she laid eyes on you. She forgot everything."

She was spitting now, her words coming fast and hard, tears falling down her cheeks, but Nora pressed on.

"Who paid you to keep this quiet?"

Petunia scoffed as her knees grew weak.

"That man, Albus, the one who dropped you off after James and Lily's murder. He said it was important for people to believe you were a Potter. He said their death would be meaningless if anybody found out the truth. He said he would get rid of the documentation, all I had to do was stick to the story and I would be paid handsomely for my trouble. Who was I going to tell? Her friends? I hated them, and they hated me!"

"Did anyone else know? Did Lily or James tell anyone? Were they there for the miscarriage? Remus? Sirius?"

Petunia violently shook her head.

"No. Just me and Vernon. Everyone else was busy with that Order business they whispered about. Lily wasn't allowed to join in while she was pregnant, she complained about it all the time, and James wouldn't leave his pregnant wife's side. So, she and James came to live with me and Vernon. They miscarried when they were here and sailed off to America just as fast. When they came back, they never brought it up and I didn't speak to their friends. Lily simply said you were her child and they all swallowed it down. By the time Lily came back from America, a year later, your age matched up with their real child's birth and no questions were asked. Albus simply asked me to keep my silence on the matter, as I had before when they came back, and I agreed. But I knew the truth! I knew! And I could never forget that you were just a plug, a mimic to replace their real child! You were just a fake! A lie they told themselves to ease the pain! You were never one of us!"

Silence, weighty, fell upon them as Petunia glared at the worthless girl her bright sister, Lily, had somehow ever thought she could love. When Nora spoke, Petunia was hit with a dose of nostalgia. She sounded so lost, so young, exactly as she did when she was six, when she would tug on Petunia's skirts and ask with gullible eyes if she could have some food.

"Why do you hate me? Why have you always hated me? I was just a child. All I ever wanted was just a touch of love, a kind word, just one hug…"

Petunia howled.

"Because it's your fault! If I hadn't of kept quiet about you when Lily came back saying you were their daughter, if I had have told them, their friends, the truth, that you were nothing but a stranger, an adopted freak, my sister would still be alive! That man killed her because he thought she had birthed a child! That she had you! I lied, and my sister died…"

Petunia couldn't speak anymore as she shattered, sobbing and snivelling as her knees gave out and she crashed to the linoleum of the kitchen with a thud, curling in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso to try and fruitlessly hold herself together. There it was. The truth. So long had she run from it, hid from it, blamed everything and anyone and anything she could, but there it was. It was her fault Lily was dead. If she had of just told someone, even that dog Sirius Black that James brought around to visit, that Eleanora was adopted, her sister would still be here, could still laugh and joke and primly correct Petunia on every little mistake she made.

"It wasn't your fault. Tom-"

Nora said gently as she cautiously stepped closer. Petunia snapped out of it. No. It wasn't her fault. Not at all. It was this girls' fault that her sister was dead. It always had been. Petunia went to swipe at her with an arching swing, but Nora doubled back, skidding into the counter behind her, barely getting away in time.

"Just get out! Go back to whatever pit Lily dragged you from! Get out and don't ever come back!"

It had to be Nora's fault, all of it, otherwise it was Petunia's and she couldn't live with the shame, the guilt of having her sister's death on her shoulders, of letting the girl live a life of lies just for some money. Someone had to be blamed. They just had to. Petunia couldn't handle that responsibility and so, she let it fall to the only other person it could, the only other person still around, alive, from the whole mess. Eleanora.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Nora stared down at her before walking over to the other counter, picking up the letters and documents, cramming them into her leather jackets pocket. Petunia turned away. She couldn't look at that… That thing anymore as the patter of boot clad feet rang out followed by the low sound of the backdoor opening and tapping closed. So, Nora left her there, crumpled on the floor, sobbing, in the very same spot Petunia had crumbled in when news of her sister's death reached her. Nevertheless, by the next morning, Petunia Dursley was back to her old self. Floral printed dress freshly ironed, pearls glimmering around her neck, smile bright and wide as she kissed her husband on the cheek while standing in the driveway, handing him his packed lunch and briefcase before waving him off to work.

Nora, well, after a rather heavy night of drinking where she awoke, dry mouthed and in yesterdays clothing, on the stairs of Grimmauld place, after a quick shower and the hair of the dog to wash down the headache, spent most of her morning at the kitchen counter, eyeing up the stack of letters, in her hands she fiddled with a small black phone she had picked up cheap from a muggle store. With a derivative snort at her own hesitancy, Eleanora hastily jammed in the number written on the letter, squared her shoulders, and hit ring. It only took three chimes before a pleasant male voice answered, even if he did seem a bit nervous.

"Hello?"

"Hey, um... this is Eleanora.I-... Uh, I don't know if you know me, but I was sent your number. I'm looking for-"

"Joshua? That's... That's me. I'm J..."

Eleanora's laughter was met with another's through the gentle crackle of the line.

IMPORTANT NOTES ON THIS STORY:

WARNING: This fic contains an explicit relationship between an uncle and niece (FemHarry's pairing), a brother and sister and a child birthed from incestuous relations. In no way, shape or form do I condone incest. I want that clear. However, the psychology behind it is fascinating and the topic is rich to explore through writing, which is what I'm going to try and do, as tasteful as possible, with both the highs and lows, in this fic. This, I understand, will be triggering to some and so I have tried to label this fic as clear as possible so anyone who could be triggered by such a thing has time to turn away. However, if you've watched the show, then you've likely too picked up the very incestuous vibes the Cody family, especially Smurf, exhibits. It's this behaviour I want to explore in this fic. Please take this as fair warning because this fic will be diving into some very murky, very taboo topics. For a full warning list, because this fic does get dark, please see the bottom of this authors note.

This is set at the end of season one of Animal Kingdom, but before season two. I highly recommend that you watch the show before reading this fic because, well, it would make all this garbled mess a lot easier to understand and, Animal Kingdom is a kickass show. That being said, there will be Nora P. (FemHarry in this fic), that should, for those who don't watch the show, help explain things and go over what takes place before and during the T.V show.

If you're a stickler for Canon Harry Potter, I'm afraid you're not going to like this fic much as I do mess around, quite heavily, with canon. Then again, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction and if you really minded, stick to reading the Harry Potter books lol.

WARNING TAGS: Drug use. Alcohol consumption (By minor's, depending where you live; looking at you USA ). Sex. Criminal activity. Robbery. Shootings. Incest. Age gap between main couple. Violence. Murder. Personality disorders (Pope). Mentions of Prostitution, abuse, neglect, domestic violence, child abuse, child neglect. Vengeance. Blood. Gore.

If none of this has made you close this tab already, go and wash your eyes out with bleach and gargle salt water, welcome aboard this train of absolute anarchy! If you'd like to see more, please drop a review.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a rewrite of a previously posted story (Of the same name) that I deleted after three chapters because I had wrote myself into a corner and lost all inspiration for it. However, due to the kind words and lovely messages, I've decided to try this story once more with a tweak here and there. So, here is the beginning, which is much the same, if you've read this previously, but the meeting between the Cody's and Eleanora is going to go down completely different, and I really hope you will like what I have planned to come!