Witchcraft has not a pedigree,
'Tis early as our breath,
And mourners meet it going out
The moment of our death.

—Emily Dickinson, The Single Hound; Poems of a Lifetime

Chapter Four

Holly's first morning at Privet Drive went surprisingly well. Of course, it could only be considered so when measured against what it could have been. Dumbledore had, perhaps unintentionally, done more than he planned to do when he put the fear of God into Vernon Dursley. The old Headmaster hadn't intended the story he related (which Vernon later repeated to Petunia verbatim) about what happens to magical children when they are abused and suppressed to be anything more than a cautionary tale to encourage the Dursleys to treat Holly fairly. And, were the Dursleys the ordinary people they thought they were, the story would have stirred their compassion and given them a better understanding of how to relate to their niece.

But the Dursleys were not average, nice people. Petunia and Vernon lived in horror of the idea that they would be seen as anything but normal. And this was where in Albus Dumbledore's story found its audience. There was nothing to be lost in making the girl miserable if they could guarantee that no one would ever know about it. But the Professor's words had painted a picture they couldn't stand the thought of. Magic out of control, property being destroyed, people finding out—these were all things that would lead to what the Dursleys saw as their own downfall.

And they feared this. They feared this the way good people would fear the death of a loved one, or the financial ruin of their family. The reason they had cut off all communications with the Potters in the first place had been because they preferred to pretend that Petunia never had a sister, rather than deal with being related to someone who did not fit in with their ideas of behavior. It was this single idea on which they built the foundation of their lives upon.

Nothing was worth more than their reputation.

So, Petunia and Vernon had talked it over the previous night. After Holly was in her new bedroom, slightly surprised over the way her new Aunt had dropped her in her crib and run for the door, the two adults in the house had bent their heads close together and plotted. They were stuck with the brat, no mistaking it. In order to be safe from other weirdoes like her lot, they had to do it. But, they both agreed, there was no reason that it had to be more unpleasant beyond what it was already going to be.

The girl simply had to be kept calm. "After all, pet," Vernon had said, giving a delicate shudder, "No one can know what she really is, so the only thing to do is to keep her from needing to resort to that freakishness in the first place. We'll treat her as we would a stranger's child, who happens to be visiting. He never said we had to love her."

And that was how they became resolved. Lily's daughter would have a room in their house and food at their table. Nothing more. They would never care for her, certainly, and eventually she would go away to where all freaks went, and then they would never have to think of her again.

But it was in this plan that the two of them underestimated Holly.

Had she been younger, they might have succeeded in treating her with perfect indifference. But she wasn't. Holly was almost two years old, and advanced for her age. She could speak in sentences and feed herself; she was toilet trained and perfectly well behaved. As she had spent the last two years being surrounded continuously by strangers, like the Order of the Phoenix members who were constantly dropping by, Holly had learned how to not only entertain herself, but also how to ignore distractions.

It was in this way that she wasn't bothered by Dudley Dursley pinching her at the breakfast table, or trying to rip her teddy to pieces (he failed) before lunch. She didn't seem to notice or care when her Uncle responded to her goodbye by grunting. And Holly only thanked her Aunt politely when her lunch was slammed down on the table in front of her. The Potter daughter had no experience of casual cruelty in people, and so she didn't see the Dursleys as anything but the kind people they must be, as to her there was no other sort.

So she played patiently with Dudley, showing him how to put the blocks together and stack them, not noticing the anxious and horrified look on Petunia's face at the sight of them getting along, even for a moment. She was quiet while Petunia was on the phone with the undertaker at Godric's Hollow, despite never having seen a telephone in her life, unlike her cousin. She calmly told her Aunt when she was hungry or had to go to the bathroom, and never considered that her ability to talk was saving her a lot of grief. And when Vernon got home, and actually squeaked when she said hello, Holly didn't think much on it.

To Holly, the Dursleys might be funny shaped people, and not warm like Mummy and Daddy were, but she was slowly starting to understand that her parents weren't coming back right away. Heaven must be very far, she was sure. Paddy and Bumbabee told her to be good, and so Holly, in child-like logic, was certain that if she was a very good girl, maybe Mummy and Daddy would come back for her one day. So she didn't cry and she didn't fuss, because she knew that soon she would be back with her family, and the horsy-woman called An' Tuney and the tomato-man called Unca Vermin and the beach ball called Dudsy would soon be a thing of the past.

And because she was so well-behaved, the Dursleys were able to tolerate and even get used to her presence, even if they could never love her.

The weeks passed, and the occupants of Privet Drive had no idea of the great shakeup that had taken place in the Wizarding world. The explosion in Bristol the morning after Holly arrived with them didn't stir their notice beyond Vernon complaining about cheap contracting of city gas lines. They just went about their lives, trying to get used to their new addition.

Petunia, due to one of her many idiosyncrasies, was a person who thrived on order. From the obsessive cleanliness of her house to the regimented way she lived her life, it was apparent in everything she did. Whether this was a direct reaction to once having had a sister who could make things decidedly un-orderly on command is unclear. But she certainly never wasted time in getting Holly on a schedule that fit her ideas of child-rearing.

They woke before eight, and breakfast immediately followed. After that was playtime, while Petunia hovered nervously and tried to keep Dudley from playing with his cousin. Both children went down for morning and afternoon naps, ate dinner on time, and finished with bath before bed. And all the while, whenever she could, Petunia cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, because the house could never truly be clean enough.

This new schedule was odd to Holly, as she was used to a much more relaxed household, but at least she was comforted by the presence of her mother's cat Artemis. The feline companion seemed to sense that something had changed, and stuck close to Holly at all times initially. The black cat watched Dudley with narrowed green eyes, and would spit at Petunia or Vernon if they even slightly raised their voices at Holly. The Dursleys wanted nothing to do with the creature, but were too afraid of upsetting Holly, and thereby making her do magic, by getting rid of it. So Petunia made sure to feed it its meals regularly, and let it out in the morning and evening, and disregarded Artemis the rest of the time.

Which was precisely how Artemis preferred it. With the family ignoring her, the cat was allowed to be with Holly, her person, and cuddle up to her during nap time, and sit beneath the table for the little one to drop morsels down during supper. And to Holly, Artemis stood for continuance. Though some things had changed, the kitty was proof that not all of them had.

The more-cold-than-usual weather that came with November kept them all inside, which Petunia rejoiced in because it meant she didn't yet have to explain Holly's presence to the neighborhood. She wasn't quite sure what she would say to people. Initially, she had thought to tell people that Holly's parents were drunks who died in a car crash, but everything about Holly belied this idea. The nasty little thing was happy and well taken care of, and decidedly intelligent. If only the brat was too young to contradict her! The only thing worse, to Petunia's mind, than people not believing the story of Holly's origins, was the horrible thought that they might take it into their minds to look closer at the girl and thus discover her secret.

No, that horrible truth had to be protected at all costs, so a different story had to be devised. Petunia did consider saying that Holly had been abandoned, but again the little girl was constantly talking about her Mummy and Daddy as loving parents, not realizing that her audience wanted to lock her in the cupboard every time she said things like "Mummy plays dollies. Dollies with silly voices. An' Daddy sounds like a bear. An' Paddy is a puppy!" Petunia also considered saying that there had been a fire, but again she was afraid of Holly letting something slip, and it seemed a little too coincidental that both Petunia's parents, and her sister and brother-in-law had died in separate fires.

She had still been turning the problem over and over in her mind one day in late November, when there was a break in the cold weather, and Petunia finally decided to give into Dudley's daily demands for the park. She bundled up both the children, though she did Holly grudgingly, and set off with Dudley in the pram, and Holly on her hip. (Really, would it have killed that awful witch to fix the pram and car seat situation as well?) The moment the trio arrived at the playground, Dudley immediately demanded the swings, while Holly amused herself on the slide.

As she absentmindedly pushed Dudley, Petunia allowed her eyes to drift over to her niece. One of the things that bothered her most about the girl was her incredible resemblance to Lily. Petunia had even pulled out an old and dusty photo album just to make sure her mind wasn't tricking her and imagining a likeness where none existed. But, much to her surprise, if anything she had been mentally downplaying the similarity. The only true differences, from what Petunia could tell, was that Holly had curly hair, while Lily's had been wavy; Holly had hazel eyes to Lily's green, and Holly's were slightly rounder than Lily's had been. That was it. The rest was all the same, and it was painful to see it.

Painful because it reminded Petunia of things she would prefer to forget: of a time when she had once loved her sister, and had been convinced that they would be best friends forever; of a little girl who had once thought her older sibling had hung the stars and the moon; and of a horrible boy and a thick letter that had torn it all away.

It was dangerous to remember such things. If for no other reason than that Petunia had found herself, more than once, creeping into Holly's room and watching her sleep. As her tiny chest had risen up and down, Petunia had found herself both hating and loving her sister in equal measure. Hating her for the magic, for the going away, for the dying. And loving her for the past, for the things Petunia had forgotten, and for naming her daughter after Evans traditions. Petunia Dursley hadn't realized how much it would mean to her that her sister had not forgotten who she was, once Lily had been completely absorbed by the magical world. Of course, this all changed nothing. It couldn't, too much time had passed. Still, it did make hating Holly just a little bit harder. But Petunia had always been dedicated when she put her mind to something. She was certain she would prevail.

"An' Tuney, up."

Petunia looked down, surprised to see that Holly had left the slides and now wanted to be lifted onto the small swing next to Dudley's. The sour woman lifted her niece, gave her a push, and then immediately went back to her son. Holly didn't seem to mind, and was soon pumping her legs and crying out, "An' Tuney, lookey, lookey!"

Petunia gave the little girl a pained smile when Holly looked her way, and then turned back to her son.

"Petunia, hello."

She turned then to see one of the neighbors, Julia Asher, smiling at her genially. Julia had her two year old daughter Margaret on her hip. The Ashers lived on Magnolia Crescent, which was slightly more upscale than Privet Drive, and all the residents never let anyone else forget it. Their houses were bigger, and this was used as a way of them controlling the neighborhood. With her group of friends, Julia ran all the local social committees as well as the bridge games, and she decided who was allowed to attend the functions and who was not. Until now, Petunia had never even merited so much as a friendly greeting beyond an initial introduction, so it struck the younger woman as odd that Julia was suddenly friendly now.

"Hello, Julia. Just out for a bit of air with Maggie?" Petunia simpered, smiling insincerely at the beautiful blonde.

"Of course, we couldn't wait to take advantage of the weather," Julia said, setting her daughter down in her pram. "I saw you across the park with your son Douglas—"

"—Dudley," Petunia interjected.

"—and I was wondering who the beautiful little girl with you was? I've never seen her before."

"Well," Petunia said, pursing her lips, "that's my niece, Holly."

Holly heard her name, and immediately smiled at Julia and her daughter. "Hello," she called out cheerfully.

Julia beamed. "Well, aren't you just precious? It's nice to meet you, Holly."

The toddler smiled and waved her fingers.

"Are you visiting your aunt and uncle?" Julia asked her, making Petunia momentarily panic that Holly might say something about magic, but she needn't have worried.

"I live here," Holly said. "Mummy an' Daddy gone ta 'eaven."

Julia appropriately gasped. "Oh, I am so sorry." Turning away from the little girl, she asked Petunia, "Was this your brother or sister? Or one of your husband's relatives?"

"My sister, Lily," Petunia said stiffly. "And her husband, of course."

"I see," Julia nodded. "When did they pass?"

"Around Halloween," she replied.

"How did they die?" Julia asked.

Before Petunia could say anything, Holly, who had been following along with their conversation piped in, "The bad man came. He made house go boom."

Julia gasped again, looking both horrified and titillated. "Oh, you poor dear. IRA, was it?" she asked Petunia. "I saw that they had been active over Halloween in the Times."

Petunia simply nodded.

"Oh, poor you," Julia said soothingly. "How awful that must have been to lose your sister, and then to take in your orphaned niece...hmm, that really was good of you Petunia." She patted the other woman on the hand, and turned to go, but then paused, and looked back at the other woman. "You know," Julia said idly, her glance slightly calculating, "Charles and I will be having our annual Christmas party on the nineteenth. It would be lovely if you and yours could attend. Though I hope I see you before then, of course. You know, I am hosting the weekly card game this week. It would be so divine if you could come. I'll send 'round a note."

With that Julia swept off, only pausing to say goodbye to Holly, who waved merrily at the other woman. Petunia felt as though she was in a state of shock. She had lived in the neighborhood for three years, and never once had she been invited to one of Julia Asher's parties. That door had always been closed to her, she reflected, as Dudley screamed about getting down and Holly swung happily by herself. But it seemed as though something, or someone, had changed things.

Her eyes narrowed in calculated suspicion as she took in the sight of Lily's daughter. Petunia then realized something she had never considered during the previous month. Something that would never have occurred to her in a million years. Something so radical that she would never have come up with it on her own. Something that would ensure that her niece would have a better life than Petunia would have otherwise been willing to give her.

In Holly, Lily had created a perfect little doll of a girl. Though Petunia loathed her, even she could admit that this was true. Holly had pretty features and hair, and her clothes were all lovely and of the best quality. She was polite, friendly, engaging, and charming, and happy to meet and talk to strangers. And Petunia couldn't have planned it more perfectly.

The brat could be of some use to her after all.

And she was.

Over the next month, heading into the Christmas holidays, all of the neighborhood marveled over the sweet little girl who had been brutally orphaned by terrorists. It suited the vanity of the inhabitants of Little Whinging that such a charming child was related to one of their own, and that they had such a delicious thing to talk about. And Petunia couldn't have been more happy. She imperiously held court at every Christmas party she attended, lauding the tragic beauty of her sister, and the wealth of her husband James. Petunia mentioned the exclusive boarding school Lily attended, phrasing it in such a way that her audience had no idea she had not attended as well, and spoke about how Holly's name had been down since she was born. All the while Vernon sweated nervously. Holly was dressed in the expensive silk dresses that Lily had bought for her, and paraded out so that everyone could marvel at her. All the guests commented on her language skills for one so young, and her obvious intelligence, and praised Petunia and Vernon for their charity in taking the little girl in.

So when presents came for Holly's birthday on the twenty-second of December, Petunia grudgingly gave them to the little girl. They were mostly Muggle clothing, and a few more dolls and plushies from Minerva McGonagall. Certainly nothing that Petunia could find any use for. She did consider for a moment giving the plush animals to Dudley, but the idea fell away from her mind like a drop of water down a window pane, and didn't occur to her again. Holly's aunt did save half of them, as the note indicated, for Christmas, and so it was that Holly had things to open on that day as well. And later, when Dudley tried to break Holly's toys, oddly, the porcelain dolls wouldn't shatter and the arms of the animals remained firmly stitched together. Eventually the little boy lost interest and returned to breaking his own brand new toys, and Holly was left in peace while Artemis watched smugly from beneath the bottom branches of the Christmas tree. And Vernon and Petunia were so pleased at their social successes that when Vernon had too much wine to drink at dinner, he reached over the Christmas pudding and patted Holly on the head, and called her a 'good girl.'

It certainly wasn't an idyllic existence, but it could have been much worse.