Holly's Story

Fandom: H*rry P*tt*r

Chapter 1: Zoo's Company

Hi, my name is Holly Jasmine Potter, and here is my story. Or, at least, a part of it. You see, it hasn't quite finished yet. I don't know if it ever will. But I think we should start at the beginning.

My story begins, long ago... somewhere. I don't know, I never actually learned where I was born, and everyone who would know is now dead, so here we are. All I know is it was somewhere in Great Britain (oh joy).

I was born to two wonderful, from what I've heard from everyone but one asshat who we'll talk about later, people. Their names were James and Lily.

One thing you should know, is that they did not actually name me Holly. That name comes later. As a newborn, I couldn't have actually told them that I was, in fact, a girl, and would much prefer a more feminine name (not that names should be gendered, but they are anyway so fuck it). I will not be telling you what name they did give me because quite frankly that isn't any of your business. You probably already know anyway, damn fame.

Where was I? Oh yes, I was born, everyone thought I was a boy because ignorance, and there was a dark lord who wanted to kill me.

Why did a dark lord want to kill a baby? One word: prophecy.

That's right, this dark lord was trying to kill a baby because a prophecy told him that baby would eventually kill him. Actually there were two babies that fit the arbitrary as fuck conditions set out by this prediction, and this dark lord just happened to pick me to go after first. Yay.

It's not all bad, I got the cool ability to talk to snakes from it, but it was definitely more bad than good.

You all know Batman, you should see where this is going.

First my dad, then my mum.

Anyway, there I was, little baby girl-who-everyone-thought-was-a-boy-because-they’re-stupid, orphaned by some asshat with delusions of grandeur. And then, if that wasn’t already shitty enough, some old man with his own delusions of grandeur decided I absolutely needed to live with a bunch of assholes. Why? Ok, admittedly, the reasoning did make some sense. Supercharged magic protections because my mum died trying to protect me. Why that didn’t activate with my dad too, idk. Maybe magic is just misogynistic. Or maybe that same old man was himself, idk. So for the next nearly 10 years of my life, I got to live with 3 dickweeds known as the Dursleys. Ok, well 2 dickweeds and their kid who they turned into a dickweed by being dickweeds themselves.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. Scum of the earth (ok, well, Dudley got better). And, unfortunately, my mum’s family. If you really need to know just how bad I had it, they had the brilliant idea of stuffing a toddler in a cupboard. In a FUCKING CUPBOARD. I genuinely could not imagine shoving my own daughter in a cupboard, no matter how badly she misbehaved. That’s just cruel. I also didn’t really have a name, so to speak. Oh sure, I had one, but catch them ever using that name and they would punch your lights out. Or they would make Dudley do it.

You see, Dudley loved hitting people. Later in life, he managed to channel that to a much healthier pass-time of boxing, but before that, one of his favourite activities was a game he and his friends called “[REDACTED] Hunting.” Basically, they’d chase me around until I got tired or they managed to out manoeuvre me (which was very rarely), and then they would beat the crap out of me. Fun, right? Not for me.

I think he inherited his love of hitting people from his dad, Vernon. When I was younger, Vernon would often cuff me on the head for the slightest thing I did (on purpose or accidental, not like he ever cared for the difference). That stopped when I was around 8 and he managed to tear his rotator cuff at work. How he managed that, I have no idea. It’s not like he did any actual manual labour, just stood around pretending he was important and yelling at people who actually did the important work. Sounds like a pretty terrible person, huh? Honestly, that’s just about average for managers from what I’ve seen. Buncha dicks with massive power complexes.

As for Petunia? Well, she hated me because she hated my mum. Actually, if I had a 5p coin for every time someone hated me because they hated my parents and for literally no other good reason, I would have 2 5p coins, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. Anyway, Petunia was, quite simply, a total bitch. The perfect epitome of white middle-class British women. Stuck-up, and nosy. Racist too, if her reaction to my first girlfriend was anything to go by. It’s amazing how she got to this point, since, as I understand it, she grew up working class. As for why she hated her own sister? My mum had magical powers, Petunia did not. That’s it, jealousy. That extended to hating all things magical, which included, of course, me. Imagine hating a toddler, or anyone, for that matter, because of something they have no control over.

And I had to live with these lovely people for 10 years. Yay for me.

Perhaps I should describe my appearance from back then, because I look very different now (my hair is pink now).

I was scrawny, very very scrawny. And I had black hair. My aunt Petunia insisted on trying to cut it short, but she eventually gave up after 2 straight months of trying every day, when the next day my hair would just grow right back to shoulder length. How? Well obviously, magic.

Vernon and Petunia kept trying to convince me (or maybe themselves) that there was no such thing. But, I mean… come on! My hair instantly grew back exactly how I wanted it every morning, I once full on teleported while trying to escape Dudley while he was [REDACTED] Hunting. Obviously magic was real.

There was just one problem. How do I control this? I had no idea (yet).

The last major magic incident before I eventually learned the full truth happened on Dudley’s 11th birthday, just a few months before my own 11th birthday.

We were visiting the zoo. Now, normally, the Dursleys don’t take me with them when they go places, preferring instead to leave me with some old lady named Arabella Figg. Unfortunately for them (and fortunately for me), my usual babysitter had managed to injure herself, so they had to take me with them.

Why was it fortunate for me? I got to mess with Dudley, which back then was always fun. On the downside, it was not without consequences.

I’m getting ahead of myself. There we were, 3 shitstain adults and 3 shitstain kids sitting in my uncle’s company car heading off to the zoo. Now, some kids might tell you a zoo is B-O-R-I-N-G, including 11 year old Dudley and his friend, Piers, who was joining us for this outing. As for me? Well, this was my first time ever going to the zoo, so I was excited anyway.

The zoo should add more bugs though.

Before we left, a part of me was half-expecting Vernon to make me sit in the trunk. Thankfully, he didn’t, and I was instead forced to sit next to Piers (not much better to be honest, but at least I had a seat-belt).

When we arrived, I immediately wanted to go look at the reptiles, because snakes are cool, but instead Dudley and Piers insisted on going to the aquarium to look at sharks first. At which we spent all of 5 minutes waiting in a line to get in before Dudley complained loudly how boring it was. Fortunately, Dudley getting upset only ever worked on his dumbass parents, so instead of getting into the aquarium faster, we got chucked out of the line. I absolutely adored the smug look on the attendant’s face when she called security, with that nose ring and her blue hair (I bet she has pronouns too).

As compensation for not getting to see any sharks, Vernon and Petunia got Dudley and Piers ice creams. They probably wouldn’t have gotten me anything, but the cart attendant (who also had some lovely dyed hair, this time a nice pink) asked me what I wanted. While Dudley and Piers had ordered massive over-the-top sundaes mixing 5 or 6 different flavours, I meanwhile just asked for a small strawberry cone. I didn’t feel like throwing up at any point during this trip. The man smiled as he handed me my treat, and I smiled back.

Afterwards, we headed over to look at some lions. They were asleep. Dudley again loudly complained about how boring it all was, and several guests shot Vernon and Petunia dirty looks. In turn, they shot me dirty looks, as if I had somehow put the lions to sleep.

And finally, FINALLY, we went to the reptile house. I tried very hard to hide my excitement as Piers and Dudley talked about how exciting it would be to see an anaconda eat someone (exciting? Traumatizing, more like). I just wanted to say hi.

You see, I could speak to snakes. It didn’t extend to other animals, just snakes. Any species of snake - common garden snakes, snakes at the zoo, you name it. I could understand what they said, and they could understand me. And they were actually willing to listen to me, especially when I vented my frustrations at the Dursleys. And also my frustrations that everyone around me seemed entirely convinced I was a boy. I’m not, I just happened to have body parts people thought of as belonging to boys. Why people think that is beyond me, I’ve met plenty of girls with them, they’re definitely girls.

So once we got into the building, which was lowly lit and cool, a welcome change from the bright hot sun outside, Dudley and Piers immediately gravitated to the biggest snake - a big boa constrictor. I, on the other hand, went to read about the taipan - a snake from Australia, and apparently the most venomous snake in the world. The creature was beautiful, with its dark scales. It was resting lazily on a rock.

I said hello to the snake. He said hello back, and commented that he was hungry. I turned to the attendant who was standing next to the taipan exhibit and commented that he seemed hungry.

She nodded. “It’s nearly feeding time. If you wait a few minutes you can watch, if you’d like.”

I nodded. “Do you give him live prey or just feed him already killed mice?”

She shook her head. “We give him a dead rat to eat.”

I nodded. “Just, would be cool to see him hunt, you know?”

She shrugged. “I suppose it would be, but it would also be unethical, since the venom can cause a lot of pain to the animal. We aren’t allowed to give him live prey.”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “It’s not like wild taipans wouldn’t have live prey, is it somehow unethical then as well?”

She smiled and laughed a little. “Maybe someone would say it was. I don’t know, I just work here.”

I smiled back. “Fair enough.”

Just then, from behind us, in the general direction of the boa exhibit, I heard Dudley shout, “MOVE!”

The two of us whirled around, to see Dudley, hands pressed against the glass, apparently shouting at the currently sleeping asleep snake to move.

“He’s asleep!” I called out.

Dudley turned to me and scowled. “He’s boring.” And he and Piers stalked off to pester some other poor snake.

I turned to the attendant to say sorry about that, but she spoke first. “Friends of yours?”

I shook my head. “My cousin and his friend. We don’t get along.”

After that, I strolled over to the boa exhibit, curious to read about it.

“Sorry about that, earlier,” I said. “Some people just insist on getting in everyone else’s faces, making an ass of themself and just generally not having a concept of personal space.”

The snake lifted his head up, and turned to look at me. “It’s not a problem, amiga. It happens all the time.”

I shrugged. “I figured, but it’s still rude of them.”

“It is, but I’m used to it now.”

“How long have you been here?”

“My whole life, amiga. I was hatched here.”

That was kind of sad, that this snake never got to experience the great outdoors. I wished so badly to free my new friend.

Suddenly, I was shoved to the ground by my cousin. “Piers, come look! You won’t believe what the snake is doing!”

I sat up, glaring at the boy. Suddenly, the glass in front of the exhibit disappeared. I mean, it literally vanished. One moment there, the next, Dudley, having been leaning on it, fell right into the exhibit, landing in a pool of water.

The snake, realising that the barrier between him and the outside world was gone, uncurled himself and started to slither out the opening. “Thanks, amiga.”

I nodded, and said, “any time.”

The snake slithered down the hall, causing startled zoo guests to leap out of his way in fright. Stupid, the snake wasn’t nearly big enough to eat many of them. Their crying babies, maybe, but not the adults.

I turned to look back at the exhibit, expecting to see Dudley being helped out of the exhibit by one of the attendants, but instead, I saw Dudley confusedly pressing his hand against the glass, which had reappeared, trapping him in the exhibit. I couldn’t help it, I giggled at his plight.

I heard a shriek, and looked towards the direction it came from to see my aunt running over to the exhibit, a look of horror on her face. What’s the big deal? It’s not like the snake is in there anymore, he’s perfectly safe.

The attendant I had been talking to at the taipan exhibit calmly walked over to my hysterical aunt. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We can get your son out, I’ve already called the zookeepers.”

After that fun incident, we headed back home. I may not have managed to get a look at all the snakes the zoo had, but at least I’d gotten to mess with my cousin. Unfortunately for me, my uncle was very angry. Fortunately for me, his torn rotator cuff prevented him from doing much more than pinning me to the wall then shoving me back into my cupboard. Yay for small mercies I guess?

From there, they didn’t let me out of my cupboard except to cook and clean, sending me back in with whatever scraps of food they didn’t feel like eating. This lasted for another two weeks. By then, it was less than a week until my 11th birthday, and things were about to change for me in massive ways.

Chapter 2: unfinished chapter

On the Friday before my 11th birthday, one couldn’t be blamed for assuming nothing out of the ordinary was about to happen. I woke up, as usual. I prepared a large breakfast for my aunt, uncle and cousin, as usual. Dudley was complaining about something or another, as usual. Perfectly ordinary, just how my aunt and uncle liked it.

Fortunately for me, who preferred the unusual and extraordinary, something strange was about to happen.

It happened early in the morning, just as I was finishing up the last of the bacon. I heard the mail slot click, indicating we had received some mail.

Evidently, Vernon had as well. “Get the mail, Dudley.”

“Make [REDACTED] do it,” Dudley whined.

“Get the mail, [REDACTED].”

I internally groaned. I scooped the bacon off the pan and onto the serving plate, before carrying it over to the table, placing it down, then heading towards the front door. I knelt down to pick up the mail.

As I stood, I absent-mindedly thumbed through the letters. Then I froze. At the bottom of the pile was a letter, with an envelope made from thick paper, and a large wax seal. On one side, the letter was addressed. “Mr. [REDACTED] Potter - The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Number 4, Privet Drive.”

What. The. Fuck.

Sure, it was addressed as if to a boy, and by a name I did not consider to be my own, but I understood enough to realise this letter was, in fact, for me.

I slipped it into my pocket, organising the remaining letters into a neat pile. I carried them into the kitchen, placing them on the table next to my uncle, who I expected would want to look through them.

I moved to pick up my meagre meal, tuning out Vernon commenting on a postcard from his sister, but then…

“Dad! Look! [REDACTED]’s got a letter!”

I looked over to him. He was pointing at my jeans pocket. I looked down and sure enough, the letter was visible. Well shit.

Vernon reached over and snatched it out of my pocket.

“Hey, give it back! That’s mine!” I exclaimed.

“Yours?” Vernon laughed. “Who could possibly be writing to you?”

He looked at the letter and his laugh abruptly stopped. A look of horror crept over his features.

This wasn’t good.

Very not good. Looking back, I suppose it was also a bit amusing.

Vernon, of course, did not ever return that letter - which is technically illegal of him to do - but it turned out that I could just get another. Several hundred others, in fact.

For example, when Vernon was leaving for work that day, there was yet another letter, identical to the first, sitting on the doorstep. I never got to even touch that one. Then, when Vernon returned home, there were another half dozen in the same spot.

The next day, Saturday, we woke up to another couple dozen letters jamming the mail slot on the front door. At this point, Vernon got frustrated enough that he nailed a plank of wood over it. Of course, I had no idea how he expected normal mail to get in now, but it’s not like I ever accused him of being smart. The next time someone looked at the front door (which happened to be Dudley, not me, unfortunately), they found dozens of letters, all having been shoved through the small gap between the door and doorframe. So, naturally, Vernon boarded up that as well.

And then the back door.

And the windows.

That night, we went to bed, unsure if we would ever be able to even leave the house again, for fear of more letters getting in.

The next day was Sunday. Once my relatives had all sat at the table for breakfast, Vernon remarked, “such a fine day, Sunday. In my opinion, the finest day of the week. And do you know why that is, Dudley?” He turned to my cousin.

Dudley looked up from his 4th waffle with a baffled look and shrugged, before shoving an entire piece of bacon in his mouth. Amazing how he hasn’t required the heimlich manoeuvre yet.

“There’s no post on Sundays.” I said, hoping it would shut my uncle up.

“Right you are, boy!” Vernon exclaimed. “No post on Sundays. Not one single bloody lett-”

Right then, a small piece of paper flew out of the fireplace in the adjacent sitting room and into the kitchen, smacking Vernon in the face.

Except for that one. I thought. I didn’t say that out loud. I did have some self-preservation instincts, after all.

And then, because things weren’t already completely strange, the letters kept on coming. Down the chimney, blasting out of the fireplace at such velocity, that Petunia was forced to hide behind the table for cover.

As for me? Well, I just tried to catch one so that maybe I could finally read whatever it was these letters were saying.

The letters kept coming. By now, the fireplace had jammed up, and Vernon’s crude boarding up work had been dismantled, letters pouring in through every window and both the front and back doors.

Inside the kitchen, it was chaos. Petunia and Dudley were cowering under the table, and I had managed to catch a letter, and was now trying hard to avoid Vernon so I could actually read it. I yelped as he grabbed my arm, and he yelped as he aggravated his rotator cuff, but he held firm. The letter was snatched out of my hand.

“We’re going away!” He shouted. “Far away! So they can’t find us.”

Considering the sheer volume of letters, I wouldn’t be shocked if whoever ‘they’ were still found us.

You think long car rides are bad? Try doing it with three people who hate you, one of whom keeps moaning about missing some show or another. We drove for hours and hours, eventually stopping in some little rundown town. Vernon booked us a room at the local hotel, and we stayed the night. It was actually rather pleasant, the pull-out couch I slept on was significantly more comfortable than anything I could remember having slept on.

So, naturally, this didn’t last. The next morning, we were greeted by hotel staff carrying a cardboard box filled with more letters. Vernon took it and ushered us all into the car, and once again we drove off for several more hours. Eventually, we reached the seaside, and Vernon left us in the car, telling us he’d be right back, and he was planning to rent a boat.

A boat to where? France?

He came back with a long brown paper package, and led us out to the docks, where we all got into a luxury motorboat, speeding off to wherever Vernon was bringing us.

It was a shack.

Vernon was bringing us to a fucking shack on a rock out a few miles from shore.

Did I mention he was a total nutcase?

The shack was nowhere near as nice as the hotel has been. No pull out couch for me this time. Instead, there was only one bed, which Vernon and Petunia claimed, letting Dudley take the old worn-down couch on the ground floor. This left me to find the most comfortable patch of wood flooring available.

Now, here I was, lying awake on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. The shack creaked ominously around me. Rain pattered on the rooftop, some of it leaking through down into the small kitchen of the shack. My back hurt from lying on the wooden floor for the past hour.

I glanced towards Dudley’s watch.

11:59 P.M. - less than a minute from my birthday.

I counted down the seconds until midnight, at which point, I silently wished myself a happy birthday.

Eleven years old. Practically an old lady now.

I heard a whirring noise from overhead, a bit like a helicopter, but not quite right. I ignored it. Probably coast guard or something.

But the sound kept getting louder.

And louder.

Somehow, Dudley stayed asleep.

And then the noise stopped. It stopped just outside our shack.

Footsteps on gravel. And then…

BANG!

The front door of the shack got knocked off its hinges, and a massive figure stepped through out of the rain.

And I do mean massive, this person was easily twice as tall as a normal adult. They had a big bushy beard and a large brown coat.

The noise of the door getting knocked in startled Dudley awake, and he fell off the couch.