Nestled within the serene embrace of the London suburb, Surrey, you can find the unassuming town of Little Whinging. This quiet hamlet embodied the quintessential charm of a small, proper neighbourhood where uniformity reigned and the residents took pride in maintaining their well-ordered lives.

The houses of Little Whinging formed a harmonious ensemble, each one a mirror image of the next, with brick facades that were well maintained by the residents. The small garden walls lining the properties lent a timeless quality to the streetscape, evoking an idyllic sense of suburban living.

The ladies of Little Whinging were well known for their yearly 'friendly' competitions to see who could cultivate the most immaculate garden, or the best roses. As a result, prim gardens thrived in front of every home. Roses bloomed in neatly tended flower beds next to small tidy hedges that lined the paths to the front doors.

Upstanding citizens formed the backbone of this community. They took pride in their civic duties, if you walked past the conversing housewives, you would often hear them discuss their participation in anti-bullying campaigns or their generous donations to the poor orphans. They would of course greet you with a polite nod, as their good manners dictated.

While it may appear uneventful on the surface, Little Whinging held its fair share of stories and secrets beneath its placid exterior. Behind closed doors, rumours aplenty could be found to be shared.

'Really, Robert had an affair with his secretary?', 'Have you heard, the Johnsons' car got impounded because they are in debt' , 'Arabella should stop breeding cats, just walking around past her house makes my nose curl from the dreadful smell'.

Not all the rumours were negative though. Just recently word had spread that Privet Drive's Mr. Dursley was in line for a promotion soon. It was said that he wanted to secure the position of director by getting a new and wealthy sponsor onboard.

The rumour had, of course, been spread by none other than the Mrs. Dursley herself. Simply to improve her standing with the other wives again after losing this year's 'most aesthetic garden of Surrey' competition. It was in her mind, a stain on her impeccable reputation since she was the consistent winner of the competition for years before then.

For some it might have seemed a little desperate, but no one would ever say that to Mrs. Dursley's face. Still, the rumour had a core of truth that couldn't be denied. Mr. Dursley was in fact, vying for the promotion after the last director retired, but so was everyone else who worked at his company. Other people, who on paper, were much more qualified for it.

So, as a final bid at the position, he had invited the wealthy builder Mr Mason and his wife to dinner to hopefully get him to invest. It had taken a lot of long calls and business meetings over the past months to convince him, but today was finally the day when the Masons would be over for dinner.

The Masons arrived in a sleek black Mercedes, a rare sight for the neighbours, that instantly got them talking in hushed whispers, spreading the news.

There was barely any delay between their knock on the door and its opening.

Welcoming them in was a budding young lady. She had a pretty face, high cheekbones and barely a hint of baby fat left. The round wireframe glasses on her nose enhanced the striking green eyes and thick lashes. Dressed in a modest pink dress with white ruffles, high collar and fitting white gloves, she portrayed the image of a nice, obedient daughter. Even if her black hair was a little untamed and on the shorter side.

"Let me help you with your coats, Mr. Mason, Mrs. Mason," the girl offered.

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Mason replied.

The girl led them to the living room, where the rest of the Dursleys received their guests with champagne and o d'oeuvres. They were dressed to the nines, with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley in a suit and fashionable floral patterned dress respectively. Their son wore a nice tuxedo with a fly.

The contrast between the men and women of the house was stark. While the Mrs. Dursley was almost willowy thin, the men were, in Mr. Dursley's own words, 'a little heavy boned, it's in our genes'. Whether those were good genes or not was up for debate.

"Your cooking is just exquisite, Petunia," Mrs. Mason praised the meal. "You've got to give our cook some tips to get our meatloaf just as good as yours. And everything else too, of course!"

"Th-thank you kindly," Petunia Dursley blushed lightly. "Yes, it took me a lot of time and effort to prepare everything, but you deserve only the best."

The dinner was going well, the women made smalltalk and then men talked business. Except for a little hiccup just moments before, when the topic had turned to the children in attendance.

"You always talk highly about your son, Vernon. I know practically everything about him by now, but how come you never mentioned a daughter as charming as yours?" Mr. Mason had inquired

"My daught-, oh, you mean Holly?" Vernon Dursley spluttered in surprise. "Well, she isn't actually my daughter, but my wife's niece. We took her in after her parents were in a terrible accident, you see."

"Oh how charitable of you. Isn't it so nice of them, darling?" Mrs. Mason said happily.

"Yes, yes. I agree, though I really am surprised, positively surprised, that you didn't mention it earlier to make me have a more favourable opinion of you."

"Oh, that's nothing to write home about, we did it out of the good of our hearts," Mr Dursley explained in a sickly sweet tone. "And anyways, she isn't here as often anymore. Goes to a legacy boarding school her father attended. It can't compare to Smeltings where Dudley goes of course, but it's up in Scotland and teaches, what do they teach you girls again?"

"The girls learn a lot of… cooking, how to handle brooms, and we recite a lot of poems, mostly in latin. I also enjoy feeding the specially bred hunting dogs, and I do some calligraphy as an elective, though I don't really like the teacher," Holly explained.

"Oh that sounds wonderful, you'll be prepared for all that life can throw at you when you graduate then."

"Yes Mrs. Mason," Petunia cut in. "She has a bright future ahead of her with such an education. Now, who's ready for the main course? Holly, please help me serve!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

With the centre of attention gone, talks about business and investment resumed.

"So, a Japanese golfer and-" thud. Uncle Vernon had been in the middle of his 'famous' Japanese golfer joke, when a loud noise disrupted the punchline.

"That must have been the cat," he sent a sharp look at Holly. "Why don't you go check on her, Holly?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Holly replied smoothly. But she was actually fuming on the inside. There was no way he could blame that noise on Hedwig. Not to mention that he'd had Holly send her away for the evening since Mrs. Mason had ornithophobia.

Today had been a load of bollocks, the whole week actually. Uncle Vernon had become way too paranoid about this stupid dinner, making a ridiculously meticulous timed plan for the whole evening. He'd forced her into this scratchy, frilly dress and then to help Petunia prepare all the food that Dudley was surely inhaling right now.

Holly could live with all that, it was just for today. But he slept badly from the anxiety and regularly got woken by sounds at night. And without fail, he always blamed Hedwig for it, demanding she got rid of her, which would not be an option. Never!

Hedwig had been with her through thick and thin ever since she got her as a cute owlet two years ago. She'd been a birthday present, but for whom, Holly couldn't say. The ruddy bird had grown up so spoiled and vain and rude that it was never clear who owned who.

And Holly loved her so much for it. Hedwig was the bratty little sister, the loving and lecturing mom, or just plain Holly's best friend.

Hedwig had been sitting in her lap when she poured over her mum's old notebooks and school supplies to learn about runes. She'd been there to cheer her up whenever Holly felt lonely. And even when she did stupid things, like going into the forbidden corridor alone, Hedwig was there afterwards to chastise her.

Her brave little bird went through the dangers of perilous mail deliveries, carrying the most precious thing in the world and had never failed her.

No, Holly would never part with Hedwig.

As she was stomping up the stairs, yet another loud noise could be heard from upstairs. Yes, definitely not Hedwig. But it did come from the direction of her room. She had a bad feeling about this.

Slowly pushing her bedroom door open, Holly was in shock by the state of the room. Ripped paper and clothes covered the floor and one robe even hung off her ceiling light, her desk lamp was pushed over and its shade all crooked.

Her bed squeaked under strain. "Whee… yaho!" An excited voice shouted.

There was a house elf jumping on her bed… again. Holly groaned, and it even was the same elf as last time. At least this time she wasn't sleeping in it as he did that.

"Oi, you. Stop that!" Holly tried to chastise him as quietly as possible. Uncle Vernon would skin her alive if she disturbed the dinner any more.

The house elf turned to her and stopped jumping, eyes going incredibly wide. Well, wider than they usually were considering house elves had large bulbous eyes by default.

"What are you doing here, it's the middle of the holidays?"

"I's be lookin for the work sh-, the work shites?" It squeaked out in its high pitched voice. "Yes, the work shites fors the Professor. Where are theys?"

"Work…sheets, you mean? What worksheets?" Holly was confused, she hadn't gotten any worksheets, just that stack of books on runes.

"Yous don't have any?" He asked, looked around the room guiltily and then disappeared with a quiet plop.

Holly sighed, of course he wouldn't help clean the mess he made. That darn Professor and her house elf would be the death of her one day.

She was almost done typing up the chaos when a stack of parchment shimmered into view on her table. Before she could read more than the attached note that said 'sowrey' in the scrawniest handwriting she'd ever seen, Holly was called back down to say goodbye to the Masons.

Had she really been cleaning so long that she'd missed half the dinner? Then that also meant she'd missed getting to eat aunt Petunia's famous pudding, Dudley certainly wouldn't leave any leftovers of that. It couldn't compare to treacle tart of course, but it was a rare and still very tasty treat.

"Come on down already, Holly!" Her aunt hollered from the bottom of the stairs. "I'm so sorry Mrs. Mason, she's a little hard of hearing sometimes."

"Ah, there you are, please help Mrs. Mason with her coat!"

Holly came down the stairs with the biggest fake smile plastered on her face. "Of course, Aunt Petunia."

This day couldn't be over quickly enough. That'd be a weird thing to say for someone whose birthday it was. But Holly's birthday had never been celebrated much, at most she got a card with some money and small cake of which Dudley ate the majority. There really wasn't anything to miss.

When Holly, Petunia and Mrs. Mason came outside after helping with the coat, the men were still conversing. After a scalding look from her aunt, Holly went to help Mrs. Mason into the car.

"It was an enlightening and pleasant dinner, Vernon," Mr. Mason said. "It was lovely to meet your family. I'll talk to my bookkeepers and lawyers tomorrow, then we'll see about your investment."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mason, for the opportunity. You won't be disappointed!" Vernon exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Please, you may call me Hugh. Have a good night!"

"Of course… Hugh. Good night."

The Dursley's waved them off, as the Masons' car disappeared into the night. Even when the car was long out of sight they stood there on the sidewalk, waving, with silly smiles on their faces.

Holly went back inside, maybe there were some vegetables left, since Dudley wouldn't touch them even with a 10 foot pole. Just as she was about to eat the leftover cabbage and carrots, her relatives came back into the house with a big announcement.

"As a celebration for this success we are going on holiday to Spain, probably Mallorca," Uncle Vernon announced.

They were going to Spain? Maybe all this stress had been worth it after all. Holly had never actually been outside of the UK before, so she was understandably excited. What would she need to pack, Spain had nice beaches so a swimsuit. But she didn't have one and also probably not a good idea with her scars.

"..ly, are you even listening to me? Holly!?" Aunt Petunia broke Holly out of her thoughts with all the shouting. "You mentioned you wanted to visit some friends of yours all summer, why don't you do that while we're on holiday?"

Holly's mouth dropped open, the food she'd been chewing almost falling out. They weren't even taking her along?

This really was the worst birthday ever!

Holly didn't cry, not at all. She'd just gotten something in her eyes that wouldn't come out. She was used to being excluded in many family events by Uncle Vernon, but this one really stung. Regardless, Holly tried staying positive, once she stopped crying she got the thing out of her eyes.

Well, at least there was one upside to be shoved off to stay at either of her good friends' places for the time her relatives would be in Spain. Within the confines of a magical home, she was allowed to practise magic, technically.

The trace, the piece of magic that monitored the use of magic of underage children, simply couldn't differentiate between an adult or a child casting spells in a magical home. Wizarding law stated that the children were therefore allowed to use magic in magical homes, as long as they were supervised by an adult.

The children, of course, tried to have their fun regardless of adults being present or not, oftentimes even more so when they were alone, since it was 'forbidden'. The ward for magical accidents of any kind in St. Mungos was happy for the extra business.

That that law also excluded a lot of, if not all, muggleborn children from practising during summer holidays was a matter left unaddressed. They didn't even tend to find out about that until much later in their life when the disadvantages of their childhood already ruined their grades and with that, their job prospects.

It was the same for Holly, she hadn't known until Parvati, one of her friends and roommates, had mentioned in passing about how annoying it was to practise with her sister Padma since she was such a perfectionist.

As such, even if it was plain unfair that she wouldn't get to go to Mallorca, Holly was happy to be finally allowed to visit her friends. She hadn't been allowed before because 'she'd been slacking with chores the whole year'. That she hadn't been at home bar two weeks during Easter was happily ignored by her uncle.

Holly would have to wait with sharing the news until Hedwig, who was still out and about, came back. That reminded her, there was a stack of parchment waiting for her upstairs. It would probably be a good idea to have a look at them before the crazy house elf came back and destroyed her bedroom again.

Maybe it was a little mean to call him crazy. Holly was certain that Professor Babbling, or as she had dubbed her, Professor Meanie, had sent him to terrorise her again. Not only had she given Holly grief for being 'too good at runes for her age' last year, but also demanded she read a whole 5 books on boring runic theorems over the summer.

Well, they weren't entirely boring, some aspects were interesting, like how they described the evolution of runic languages. How the symbols formed, got their meaning and how they started producing magical effects. Sadly though, the majority of them talked about how to deconstruct a rune into smaller pieces and show how they could be made into other runes. And everything used these overly complicated drawings and diagrams.

The only use Holly could deduce from those was that it made it easier to connect runes later to enchant things. But Holly had already found her own workarounds for that, otherwise her own enchantments wouldn't work. She was extremely proud of everything she'd accomplished so far, but there were still some flaws to iron out, maybe those diagrams could help with that?

Holly was at least willing to learn and improve. Who knew, maybe the Professor would actually give her something useful if she correctly answered those worksheets. Not to mention that those diagrams were apparently a requirement to finish her O.W.L exams at the end of 5th year, so she'd have to learn them regardless one day. Better get it out of the way early and then focus back on enchanting more things. Holly had a variety of ideas already.

A quiet clacking sound broke Holly out of her thoughts. Hedwig was sitting on the windowsill and knocking on the glass with her beak wanting to be let in.

Once Holly had opened the window, the pretty snowy owl fluttered onto her shoulder and rubbed her head to Holly's cheek, drying the remaining tear stains off.

Satisfied when Holly started giggling, Hedwig flew back over to the windowsill to pick up a small stack of letters attached to a package. Had Hedwig flown all over Britain and collected her mail?

The letters were birthday wishes from all her friends and the Flamels, while the package was filled with gifts. A bunch of Indian sweets from Parvati, from Lavender a hairpin that was supposed to help with unruly hair and a thin book and rock cakes from Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts.

Holly laughed when the hairpin did nothing more than make her hair fall at even weirder angles. The sweets tasted heavenly, she'd have to hide them from Dudley, though maybe he wouldn't even want to try them since they weren't 'English enough'.

Opening the book Holly was surprised that it was filled with pictures. Moving pictures. She had seen them before, on the paper some of the higher years liked to read in the mornings, but hadn't known you could make them yourself.

Holly flipped through the picture book absentmindedly, with Hedwig on her shoulder peeking in as well, until it hit her. They were photographs of her parents, their friends, some even with a toddler, Holly herself.

She hadn't recognised them with happy expressions on their faces, their hair colour not faded from years of disrepair. Not to mention actually moving about and not just laying still in their beds.

There were some seriously ridiculous photos in there that made Holly laugh. Her riding a shaggy black dog like a horse, her on a miniature broom zipping around the room, or exploring the garden on hands and knees. Always to her fathers delight and her mum's horror. It was pretty obvious who she got her troublesome tendencies from.

They were precious happy memories that she couldn't recall herself. Holly got maybe a quarter into the album before she had to stop, her eyes too blurry to continue.

This time Holly didn't deny crying cry. Both happy and sad tears. Sad for the missed life she could have had with her parents. Happy, because she had loving and thoughtful friends now. And Holly loved them all so much.

Maybe her judgement had been a little hasty, this was the best birthday ever!

Author's note:

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of part 2 of my story.
I'll be taking a little break from posting to plan out the book and write ahead a little. Thank you for your patience!