Thanks again to ChuckTheElf for beta reading this for me.

Chapter 12: Dealings With Davis

Holly had walked several streets away before she finally stopped near Magnolia Crescent, still breathing heavily from the events of the night. She sat on her trunk, put her face in her hands, and exhaled deeply. It was one thing for Marge to insult her, who was living and breathing and able to defend herself. She could handle the insults about her looks and virtue.

But her parents were dead. They'd been dead for over a decade, and they had died to save her. It was their final expression of love and for that fat bitch to spit on their sacrifice like it meant nothing, like they meant nothing…

She scowled and shook her head. What was done was done.

Now she had to figure out where to go. Alex, Ron, and Hermione were either on holiday or unavailable; Hedwig wouldn't return until morning, and she wasn't close enough to Justin or Colin to ask if she could stay with either of them. Miss Figg was an option, if a slightly unpleasant one. She'd tell Dumbledore what happened, and that was the last thing she needed.

Taking a deep breath, Holly opened her trunk, pushing the contents aside to find her Invisibility Cloak. There was no way she would be going back to Privet Drive anytime soon, and she would need to be safe. The play park had quite a few trees; climbing up one would be a doddle, and by morning she'd have a better idea of what to do.

But before she could find it, Holly straightened up suddenly. It felt as though she was being watched, but the streets were deserted at this time of night, and no lights shone from any other houses.

She took another glance. Nothing. "Weird," muttered Holly before leaning into her trunk again. This time she took proper count of her belongings and noticed quite a few items missing.

Dammit! Kicking her trunk closed, she sat on the lid again, and ran her fingers through her hair. Now I'll have to go back. Among the things missing were her birthday gifts, her laptop, several shoes, and most importantly, her wand. She had been so angry and scared, and, combined with wandless magic and an improper incantation, the spell only put what was directly in her line of sight into her trunk.

It wasn't long before the feeling of being watched returned, and Holly was no longer taking any chances.

"Lumos!"

A bulb of soft light appeared in the palm of her hand, dimly illuminating the area. Still, she lifted her arm and the pebble-dashed walls of number ten glinted; the garage door shimmered, and in between them Holly saw—

"A dog?" she murmured. The light dimmed subconsciously.

The dog—large and scrawny-looking—seemed to take it as its cue to advance. Slowly but surely it came in her general direction, as if testing the unspoken boundary.

"You'd better not bite," she warned, wary of dogs after a week with Ripper. "Or I'll hex you too, I don't give a damn anymore."

The dog, still several feet away, whined pitifully.

Holly couldn't help but soften slightly. "Er, right." She had to be going mad, talking with a dog of all things. But it continued to stare at her. It seemed to be waiting for her to act.

"Do you want me to clean you?"

The dog turned its head sideways.

"Well, not with water…I could show you?"

No response. Dismissing Lumos, she pointed her finger at the pavement; the already pale rock lightened further. The dog's eyes widened.

"No, no, don't be scared!" she assured. "It won't hurt. I've done it quite a few times."

The dog's eyes widened further and drew its head back. Holly gave it an awkward smile.

There was silence. The dog looked between her and the patch of asphalt with human-like curiosity before finally approaching her, stopping right at her feet. Now up-close, Holly could see the dog was very dirty and shaggy. The animal was fur and bones and smelled particularly odorous. She knelt next to it. "Your owners must not have cleaned you in ages." She glanced at its bare neck. "Or are you a stray?"

The dog barked twice.

A stray then. She rose a palm. "Scourgify!"

The spell was instantaneous, stripping the dog of most of the grime and dirt. "Good boy," she said, smiling as she petted its head.

The dog barked happily, wagging its tail.

Holly stood. "Come on, you need something to eat. I have some Muggle money and there's a small shop up the road. I'll get you some water and beef jerky while I work something out, alright?"

The dog barked again and they made their way to the corner shop.

About an hour later, Holly sat on a swing in the deserted play park on Magnolia Road with her belongings. The dog was still next to her, lapping up water from a small bowl she had Transfigured from a nearby stone.

"Better now?"

The dog barked.

"That makes one of us," she said with a sigh. Just then, the bowl reverted back. Looks like my wandless Transfiguration needs more work. Transfiguration was her thorniest subject even with a wand, and it was no different without. Holly picked up the damp stone and focused, using her magic to shape the rock. She didn't dare try to make it glass or metal, though—that would take dozens of hours of practice, at least. Rotating the stone in her hands, it slowly transformed back into the bowl it had been.

"There you go," she said, setting it back down in front of the curious canine. Holly poured more from the water bottle she had bought into the bowl, which the dog lapped up quite happily.

With the dog occupied, Holly opened her trunk and dug around until she got out her PDA. I'm certain Alex sent me Dudley's phone number, she thought as she scrolled through her messages. There it is!

"Wait a moment," she said when she noticed the dog watching her. "I'm just contacting my cousin."

Luckily, Dudley was still awake, and a deal was quickly agreed upon. With the dog in tow, she dragged her trunk into the woods and set it underneath the very tree Alex saw undeniable proof that she was a witch several years ago. Then she doubled back to Privet Drive, where Dudley's unmistakable bulk leaned against the door of Number Four.

His necklace glinted in the light of the front porch as he turned. "There you are!" said Dudley once he saw her, before drawing back when the dog bared its teeth.

Holly reached down to pet it. "Down, boy."

"Where'd you find the mutt?" asked Dudley nervously.

She shrugged. "Around. You going to let me in?"

Still wary but choosing to ignore the dog, he straightened and opened the door. "It has to stay outside. Mum would throw a fit, especially after tonight."

"Fine."

The house was dark and quiet as they entered, creeping up the stairs.

"You know," began Dudley in his 'indoor voice' once they reached the top, "It wasn't right for Aunt Marge to say all that stuff. About your folks."

Holly raised a brow. This was a rather strange stance for Dudley. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, they were still fre—weirdos," he corrected hastily when Holly shot him a glare, "but they've got some cool shit, I guess."

That sounded like the Dudley she knew. "Gee, thanks Dudley," she said dryly.

Further conversation ceased once they entered Holly's room. Gathering a spare pillowcase she collected the rest of her things, slipped her wand into her jeans, then took a vial of dittany from her remaining stock and gave it to Dudley.

"What happened to Marge?" she asked, the woman's loud snores curiously absent.

"Some funny-dressed blokes came after you left and waved their sticks around," said Dudley as he pocketed the potion. "They said she wouldn't remember anything that happened and they cast some red light at her. She's in the guest room." He put his hands into his hoody pocket. "Mum and Dad were furious."

If only I was lucky enough for Vernon and Petunia to not remember anything either, thought Holly as she swung the pillowcase over her shoulder. So much for Hogsmeade. "Thanks," she said awkwardly.

Dudley shrugged as he left, then paused at the door. "You…you'll be alright, won't you?" he asked, looking hesitant.

"Er…yeah?" she said.

To be honest, she didn't have a plan beyond making sure she would be hidden from danger—Muggle and magical—for the night, but wasn't about to let that on.

"Well, alright," said Dudley, trying to be gruffly comforting as he continued out. "Lock the door on your way out."

To her surprise, the dog was still waiting when she returned outside.

"Good boy." She gave it her last bits of beef jerky. "Come on."

They returned to the deserted play park, and Holly dumped the pillowcase into her trunk before pulling out her Cloak.

"I'll be up in the tree, okay boy?" she said, pointing up.

The dog barked before jumping on her trunk, settling down on it.

She smiled, petting the dog's head. "Good boy." The tree was climbed in short order and, wrapping the Cloak around her, Holly settled for a deep sleep, idly hoping her charms would keep her from falling.

~•~

Bright sunlight forced Holly awake the next morning, and she immediately set in motion.

"Wake up, boy," she said to the dog once she made her way down. The sky was still a mix of pinks, purples, and light blue, but that would change soon. "We need to go."

Having frequented said play park for years, it wouldn't be long before parents, children and pets would arrive, eager to spend the summer day outdoors.

It lifted its head sleepily but complied, jumping off the trunk.

"You know, I'll have to name you if you're going to stick around," she said as they left the park. The dog barked. "How about Fluffy? Okay, not Fluffy," she giggled when it whined in apparent disagreement. "How about Fido? Bingo? Teddy?"

None of the names seemed to satisfy the canine, who growled or shook its head at all the names.

Holly sighed. "Well, we'll have time to figure something out once we reach the Leaky Cauldron. I wonder if Tom allows pets…"

That was the wrong thing to say.

The dog snarled with a suddenly wild look in its eyes, and Holly backed away from it slowly, tucking her hands away. "It's alright, you're a good boy. Easy now."

It started barking and biting at thin air like there were enemies there that no-one but it could see, whirling about as though it was having some kind of fit, and Holly decided it was time to go. Quickly looking up and down a deserted Hazel Grove, she raised her wand and summoned the Knight Bus, leaving the dog to scurry into the bushes as it came back to its senses once the bus clanged to the curb, and she headed off to Diagon Alley.

~•~

Three hectic, stressful days later, Holly was finally able to enjoy her newfound freedom. The morning she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, the Minister of Magic had been there and spoke to her, confirming what Dudley had told her and allowed her to stay at the inn for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, he was unwilling to sign her permission slip, which meant she was stuck at Hogwarts for another year.

Well, she thought as she brushed her hair, it's only one more year. I'll survive. And three weeks at Diagon is worth ten years of Hogsmeade weekends, she tried to convince herself.

Now that she had all the time in the world, unrestricted by Hagrid or Mrs Weasley's guidance, Holly was able to take full advantage of all the interesting shops. Many sunny days were spent eating under brightly coloured umbrellas outside cafes, where her fellow diners were showing one another their purchases ("it's a lunascope, old boy — no more messing around with moon charts, see?") or else discussing the case of Sirius Black ("personally, I won't let any of the children out alone until he's back in Azkaban"), and using her wand as much as she pleased, the magic from the adults obscuring her juvenile sorcery. And, though she had finished her summer assignments, she was able to add greatly to her essays thanks to Florean Fortescue, even exchanging interesting details with Hermione once Hedwig returned. Once she had refilled her money bag it was quite difficult to restrain herself from spending the lot at once.

The item that tested her discipline the most was the Firebolt, a new broomstick put on display a week after her arrival to the Alley. Even though she knew it would be daft to buy it when she had a perfectly good broom, Holly couldn't help but dream.

While she couldn't justify buying the Firebolt, even with Hogwarts covering her textbook costs, there were things she needed for her third year (and Eternal Elixirs), namely, potion ingredients, a new trunk, and cauldrons. After stocking up at the Apothecary, Holly wandered into Potage's Cauldron Shop, looking around at the displays. Taking careful consideration at the properties of each cauldron—and counting her Galleons—she went up to the front counter.

"I need two pewter, one brass, one silver, one copper and one Self-Stirring Cauldrons, please," said Holly respectfully.

The clerk looked up from his reading and spared her a brief glance. "What, no gold as well?"

"Not today, at least," she said, keeping a polite smile. "As soon as possible, please."

Now the man looked surprised. Cauldrons were expensive because they were expected to last decades; some people even passed their old ones to younger family members (case in point, Ron). Dedicated Potions students would pay an extra ten Galleons to upgrade from pewter to copper, and Potioneers tended to replace their stock annually or biannually, but Holly looked too young to care about such things.

"Might I ask why?" the man asked.

Holly resisted the urge to sigh impatiently as she placed a Galleon on the counter. Thankfully, the clerk got the hint.

"One-hundred three Galleons, Miss. Just a moment while I shrink them for you," the clerk said before turning back and opening a door into what Holly assumed was his storage.

"That's quite a few Galleons you've spent, Potter," came a young-sounding voice.

Holly turned and saw a girl her age standing behind her. She wore an air of contentment around her, and her attire—black jeans, Muggle trainers, blue T-shirt, and open grey robe—made Holly feel rather frumpy in comparison. It took a moment to place her, but Holly waved half-heartedly once she did. "Hello Davis."

A Slytherin from her year, Tracey Davis stood a few inches shorter than her, her strawberry-blonde hair cut to shoulder length, and rather dainty. "Shouldn't you be with your Muggle relatives?" asked Davis.

Something in her tone seemed more curious than inquisitive, so Holly decided to answer. "Nope. Just me, myself and I."

"Hmm." Davis approached as Holly placed her Galleons onto the counter. "Why buy so many cauldrons?"

Wouldn't you like to know? Holly put her hands in her cargos, shrugging nonchalantly. "Perhaps I want to improve."

"And decided buying ten cauldrons would be a good way to start?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Holly shrugged again. "Practice makes perfect, you know."

Before Davis could reply, the clerk returned with a tiny parcel in hands.

"There you go," he said politely, handing it to Holly. "They've been shrunk for your convenience. To unshrink them, all you have to do is touch it with your wand and push a tiny bit of magic."

She thanked the clerk and was about to bid Davis ado when the girl asked, "So, why so many cauldrons?"

"None of your business."

But that didn't stop Davis from following her as she left the shop.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" asked Holly, irritated. Why wouldn't she leave me alone? Although Davis wasn't the worst Slytherin of their year—that honour was for Parkinson and Malfoy—she still wasn't someone Holly wanted to spend her time around.

Shrugging as they dodged other pedestrians, Davis replied, "Not really, no."

"Well then find something to do. I'm busy."

She hummed but continued to follow Holly on her way to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Slumming with a Gryffindor, now, Davis?" came a snobbish tone. "How utterly desperate can you be for company?"

Holly closed her eyes briefly at the grating voice before turning around. "Parkinson. Rowle. Runcorn," she said shortly, trying and failing to hide her displeasure. If she had to deal with an annoying Slytherin, she would have rather dealt with Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson, Alana Runcorn, and Evelyn Rowle were not only irritating, but they always seemed to catch her off guard the few times Holly had the misfortune of dealing with them alone. The girls were wearing Wizarding-style dresses with robes over them, their clothes clearly Charmed and tailored to fit them personally. If Holly felt frumpy next to Davis, she felt absolutely ragged judged against the other three.

Parkinson sneered when they locked eyes and said, "And my summer was going so pleasantly."

"Likewise, Parkinson," said Holly with a roll of her eyes.

Rowle, on the other hand, looked Davis up and down. "You do realize that this is the Wizarding side of the Alley, don't you?" She tilted her head, her blonde ponytail moving with her. "We almost mistook you for Muggles!"

Runcorn tossed her glossy black hair over her shoulder with a short huff. "As if there's much of a difference."

"After all," said Parkinson, "Half-bloods are notoriously bad when it comes to taste."

Davis reddened; Holly had enough of their comments. "Oh shut up. Don't you have to meet up with your betrothed?"

However, it seemed that unlike last year, Parkinson wouldn't fall for the bait. Her voice took on a dreamy quality, "Ah, yes. My beloved Draco. He's a proper pure-blood."

"Weasley, on the other hand, needed to be saved by a girl. How pathetic!" said Runcorn.

The Slytherin trio laughed while Holly was left speechless. The absolute nerve of them! For a fleeting moment, part of her wished they could have seen the Basilisk for themselves; if they had, they wouldn't act like she had saved Ron from a swarm of butterflies or something.

Davis came to her defence. "So what? We aren't in the eighteenth century anymore. Who cares who saved whom?"

"What sort of coward of a man would allow himself to be rescued by a woman, let alone tricked by that fool of a Professor?" asked Runcorn, her tone mocking. "But then, the Weasleys have always been a poor, or rather, sorry excuse for a pure-blood family."

"Says the ones who've been betrothed since infancy," snapped Holly.

Looking bored, Rowle crossed her arms. "Mock us if you wish, but betrothals ensure the purity and continuance of our noble lines."

"If only both of your parents had considered that," said Runcorn. "Then perhaps you'd have…" she trailed off, her eyes lingering on Davis's scuffed trainers and Holly's oversized cargos, "better breeding."

Holly's face burned, her hand twitching for her wand, but the trio had seemingly lost interest in mocking them; they turned and left without another word. Resisting the urge to scream, she let out a sharp exhale and continued on, her mood absolutely ruined.

"What, aren't you going to join them?" snapped Holly when she noticed Davis still following her. "They're your friends, aren't they?"

"No, they aren't," said Davis quietly.

"Well why not?"

"Haven't you been listening? I'm a filthy half-blood, that's why. I'm practically a leper."

Pausing at her words, Holly considered her response. "I thought Slytherins only hated Muggle-borns."

Davis snorted. "Anyone with Muggle blood is fair game. You should have seen the debates going on in the Common Room, after you got revealed as a Parselmouth. A Gryffindor half-blood as the Heir of Slytherin? Half of the pure-bloods hated you for it, the others wanted to recruit you to hunt down Muggle-borns."

"And which side are you on, Davis?" asked Holly as they stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "You clearly hate those three, not that it takes much, but you've never been too far from them before."

The blonde shrugged. "I'm on my own side. As I said, the Slytherins hate me for being a half-blood and the rest of the school avoids me for being a Slytherin. I make my own path."

As they leaned against the inn's wall to allow passer-by past, Holly considered Davis' words. She seemed genuine—after all, it was well-known that Slytherins were, at best, treated tentatively by the other Houses. But Davis was still a Slytherin, and the House wasn't exactly known for their virtuous deeds, case in point Riddle. Still, it wasn't as if she was required to blow the gaff on her personal life.

And besides, she thought, Davis was fairly easy to talk to. It's not like I have too many friends…

"Alright," said Holly, making her decision. "Let's talk."

~•~

Davis—or rather, Tracey—was much more different than Holly had expected. The girl could give Fay Dunbar a run for her money when it came to Quidditch, and, once she had let her guard down, could have easily been a Hufflepuff had it not been for her ambition in expanding her family's business.

"My parents own a business which sells ingredients from magical creatures to apothecaries, potion masters, wand makers and such, right here at Diagon," she said one sunny afternoon in between sips of chilled butterbeer. Tracey paused. "Well, more like my mum. My dad's an engineer."

"Your dad's an engineer?" asked Holly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as a light breeze picked up.

"He's a Muggle." Tracey gave her a look as if daring Holly to insult her father; Holly had simply shrugged. "That's cool. One of my classmate's father was an engineer," she said, downplaying her connection to Alex.

Satisfied, Tracey added: "Mum doesn't like using magic at home. Says she doesn't want dad to feel weird about it. I mean, they spent four years dating before they got married and you know what the Statute of Secrecy's like."

"So she didn't tell him for four years?" She couldn't imagine hiding being a witch for so long from anyone. How would a relationship even work? Starkly reminded of Seamus' story from the Sorting Feast, Holly couldn't imagine the betrayal and hurt the non-magical spouse must have felt. How did one's world not fall apart? The Statute was clear; Muggles could only know about magic once they were family, by blood or by marriage. What a honeymoon, she thought as she took a sip.

"Nope, mad right? My dad was chuffed when I got into Hogwarts though. I think he likes it all more than my mum gives him credit for, it was his idea to get me a broom." Her face went tight at that. "If only I could fly it more often."

"Well, if you're up for it, you, Fay, and I could broom race," she said, making a mental note to ask Fay if she'd be interested.

Tracey agreed, and they moved on to other topics, such as the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk corpse within.

"Wow." She set down her empty butterbeer bottle in awe. "So you just left it down there?"

"Not much we could have done, after Lockhart," said Holly after re-telling the story she and Ron had given to most of the school. "Why?"

The Slytherin gave her an incredulous look. "Why? Holly, Basilisks have been barely researched due to the experimental breeding ban. With one as old as Salazar Slytherin's, it could be worth hundreds of thousands of Galleons!"

Holly froze. "Hundreds of thousands of Galleons?"

At Tracey's jerky nod, she paused in thought, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. It was no secret that her bank vault at Gringotts was not bottomless, and Eternal Elixirs would take most if not all the wealth in it if she spent recklessly. The exchange rate was unreliable and could be capped; Holly, being a rising third year, didn't have the skills or reputation to provide magical goods or services that people could buy. Who would buy a broom from a third year?

But if she harvested the dead Basilisk, and sold it on the Wizarding black market, where all the illegal and restricted potions ingredients could be found…well, that would solve that issue quite nicely.

She focused back on Tracey and explained her idea of selling the carcass. "I get ninety percent of the profit," she concluded. "You get ten."

But Tracey shook her head. "Fifty-five to me, forty-five to you," she said.

Holly's eyes widened. "That's right robbery!"

"Oh, and your wager wasn't?" challenged Tracey.

Conceding the point, she re-negotiated: "Eighty to me, twenty to you."

"Sixty to you, forty to me."

"Seventy-five to me, twenty-five to you."

"Sixty-five to you, thirty-five to me. Final offer," said Tracey with a mischievous glint in her eye, reminding Holly why she had been Sorted Slytherin.

Holly frowned as she considered the deal. She'd been entertaining the idea of putting her Parselmouth ability to clever use, perhaps by illegally creating baby basilisks in an enclosure, but Tracey's plan was far less deadly—and saner to boot.

She sighed. What choice did she have? "Deal."

They shook on it.

"Cheer up, Potter," said Tracey casually, "us Davises keep our word. Mum should be free, now—we'll make this official."