Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, obviously.

Story: Holly Potter

Chapter One: Rough Upbringings

"Holly, it's time to get up!"

She squinted at the screeching sound and shut her eyes tighter as she pretended it was just part of what had previously been a very good dream.

"Holly, get up!"

Not now. She growled viscerally as she rolled over to her other side and forced her pillow over her ears to block out the noise. She tried to imagine herself in a more peaceful setting. It would be warm, so warm that the sunshine would melt on her body and cover her in its glorious love. She smiled as she surrounded herself with the gentle serenity of pounding waves. She let out a sigh as she pretended to feel the cool sand in her toes. Her eyelids drooped down lazily.

"Holly!"

Her pillow was viciously forced from her hands.

"Grrr-aphh!" she yelled out.

"Get up! It's Dudley's birthday today and I want everything to be perfect for my little angel. So get up and make him breakfast!"

"Fine," she muttered.

As she got up Aunt Petunia watched her with those tiny, pale eyes of hers. Holly knew that the woman was making sure she was doing what she was told. This wasn't her first rodeo after all. The girl knew what was to come if she didn't get her hind end in gear.

"I'm taking my show first," Holly explained.

"Hurry up, freak."

She grinned ironically at her aunt's term of endearment as she marched up the stairs. She took her time in the shower. She loved the therapeutic pounding of water against her back and the scent of her strawberry shampoo. Dudley thought it was a fantastic way to make fun of her, but she liked the fact that it matched her hair.

She was the only redhead in the entire family. Although, a couple of years ago Aunt Petunia had too much wine at a dinner party once and she let slip that her sister was a redhead. It made sense that both her and her mum have red hair. If that was true, Holly couldn't but wonder how much she looked like her mom then. After all, the Dursley's preferred not to discuss anything that wasn't absolutely boring.

She examined herself closely in the mirror. A light dusting of freckles was across her face since it's almost impossible for anyone with fair skin not be freckled any fashion. Her hair reminded her of a fire: red, wild, and refused to to tame with its obnoxious spiral curls. Her eyes were also a very bright green. Aunt Petunia said she looked like she was always celebrating Christmas. She was right, of course; the tween didn't blend in. She just wasn't normal and was constantly put down for it by her extended family.

She sighed and looked away. She might be a freak, but at least she didn't have freakishly bony fingers like some people.

She secured her towel around her body and marched back down to her 'room'. Aunt Petunia was gone, and, as could be expected Dudley's stomping along the stairs, ceiling plaster fell all over everything including her mattress. She sighed again as she leaned over to pick up her clothes to wear today.

She quickly slipped into a white pair of Dudley's old pants tied with a belt to keep them up, and one of his t-shirts. She didn't own anything worth wearing or keeping. But bad clothes or not, her entire day was probably foiled with her unsavory wakeup call. Really, the way you woke up could affect your entire day.

And it didn't exactly help that it was Dudley's birthday — run for cover while you still can. You wouldn't think someone's birthday would be so cringe worthy, but every year it felt as if Holly's hair just stood up on end in anticipation every time this day came. Dudley's usual intolerable behavior was on maximum overdrive and that in itself was enough to have your guard all the way up and consider to never put it down again.

So Holly cautiously walked into the kitchen towards the stove, and tried not relive last year's fiasco. The moment Dudley was on that red racing bike he got for his tenth birthday — why he wanted one in the first place was beyond her — it broke underneath his sweaty fat ass. Then the same year he got an expensive video camera which he crushed with his sweaty fat ass too. Clearly, he needed rearview mirrors on him before backing himself up anywhere like a human minivan.

Speaking of human minivans, her uncle bustled in taking his usual seat at the head of the table. He barked something to her about not burning the bacon, but Holly ultimately ignored it. She didn't know why he or anyone else felt the need to tell her about not burning the food. She hadn't done it in years. Her speculation was that it was just another reason to yell at her. Whatever.

Then Dudley walked in. She stiffened considerably, wondering if he was going to give her his usual greeting which was a punch to the arm or if he'd be too distracted by the massive amount of presents in the room. Thankfully, it was the latter. She figured she was in the clear from his wrath. Well, that was true until his face fell.

Oh no.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy," Aunt Petunia said shakily.

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

When she set the eggs and bacon down for breakfast she began wolfing her share down like she was raised by wolves. Unlike the males of the family Holly couldn't afford the luxury of skipping meals. It's best she eat quickly before Dudley overturns the table.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?"

Dudley thought for a moment. Holly for a second thought that she could actually, that is if she tried hard enough, see the cogs in his brain slowly turning. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

And Holly wondered how on earth such a mathematician pretty much failed all of his final exams before the end of the summer.

"Oh," Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled, "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" he ruffled Dudley's hair affectionately.

Briefly, Holly wondered what it would be like to run the household and to pretty much get anything she wanted. Honestly, if she tried to pull such a tantrum she would probably be beaten and thrown in her cupboard for a week with only chicken broth for meals. How disgusting.

To further attest to his supreme rule over this family Dudley unwrapped a racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the home phone looking both angry and worried.

"Vernon," she hissed. "Mrs. Figg just broke her hip, that means she can't take her."

"What?" Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley said.

They always talked about Holly as if she wasn't there, playing the pronoun game just to be even more nasty than they already are. She might have been a little upset if she wasn't so happy in this instance. She knew she shouldn't be elated that a harmless old woman broke her hip, but every year she had to visit her home. Mrs. Figg was a crazy cat lady who, according to Dudley and his friends, once ate her lipstick down to the end because she wanted to feel red inside. Holly just hoped that was all fluff and no substance.

"I don't want her there!" Dudley screamed suddenly. "It's my birthday!"

Holly suggested quietly, "If you don't want me around you can just leave me alone in the house."

Aunt Petunia looked like she swallowed a lemon and Uncle Vernon went purple — a color which she thought only possible when choking. She didn't need to be told to know that that was completely out of the question. She felt a pang of disappointment. She was hoping to be all alone, play with Dudley's computer games upstairs on his new computer, and cook and eat as much as she wished. She craved solitude or just separation from crazy Mrs. Figg and the awful Dursleys; she would take either in a heartbeat.

"Absolutely not!" Uncle Vernon said then turned to his wife. "We'll have to take her with us Petunia, after all Marge is sick and Figg is hospitalized."

Well, that didn't seem to sit well with the king of the household. A record breaking Dudley Tantrum was brewing, everyone beware. The symptoms began with crying. Well, not really crying per se, Dudley hadn't actually cried in years; no, this was just loud sobbing and whimpering to get his mommy to give in and cater to his every whim. And it usually worked, of course.

"I don't want her to go!" he wailed. "She r-ruins everything!"

It's true. She does ruin everything. Even though she never intended to do so she'd always screwed things up one way or another. For some reason she was just a paper clip to the strong, magnetic pull of trouble.

She'd never forget how Dudley and his gang chased her out of the school's cafeteria — she was so certain she was going to die when he caught her, so she closed her eyes — but then she had this weightless feeling coursing through her and when she opened her eyes she was atop the kitchen's building, looking down at an incredibly surprised Dudley and friends.

Then when the Dursleys wished to go to the lake for three weeks out of the summer and she had to go along because Mrs. Figg and Aunt Marge were on their own vacations, well, Dudley thought it was a wonderful idea to hold her head under the water and see how long she could hold her breath. Little turd. For some reason — not that she wasn't grateful or anything — Dudley's hands were the only things to form many angry red welts from the sudden boiling water against his hands.

And the last thing she could remember was that Aunt Petunia had constantly forced her to go to the salon to dye her crimson hair, claiming it was unnatural and very distracting. She had the lady dye it brown, and cut it freakishly short because her hair never sat right according to Aunt Petunia. She cried herself to sleep that night because she feared being bullied mercilessly the next day by everyone. And by golly the next morning her hair was red and long again, and Aunt Petunia was furious.

She had no clue how she did all of this. For all she knew it was magic for crying out loud. She made the mistake once by telling them that and they overreacted by locking her in the cupboard for a week. They insisted on punishing her even though none of it was her fault. It simply just happened around her by coincidence. She was sure of it.

"Oh my Little Dudders, it's going to be okay. It'll be like she isn't there," Aunt Petunia said with a smile. Then she shot Holly a dirty look for good measure. "You'll behave won't you?" she snapped.

All she could manage was a nod as she tried her best to tune them out. She ate her breakfast and drank her orange juice quietly, not wanting to stir up the already swirling pot of drama.

Then Aunt Petunia turned back to Dudley and said in a cheerful tone, "You'll be with your friend Piers and surrounded by rides and all the—"

Well, they don't call it a tantrum because it's pleasant and calm. No, he flipped the table. Thankfully, she had already picked up those cues and ducked before getting smacked with the wooden surface. But unfortunately, she wasn't spared the shards of plates and glass that fell across her back, hands, and legs. She winced in pain and then began picking up all the itty bits ceramic and glass off her, standing a good distance away from the little monster that looked like a screaming pig in a wig. She didn't want him punching her glasses out on top of that tableware fiasco.

And yes, Dudley still wailed and screamed at the top of his lungs to get his way as Aunt Petunia tried to console him whilst Uncle Vernon said and did nothing. She thought this would never stop, but thankfully her saving grace came in the form of a doorbell ringing. It got everyone's attention. Not only did it alert Holly, but everyone else to the fact that Dudley's second in command of the Holly Hunting brigade was here to continue in their endeavors of making her life even more miserable.

"Ugh, is it ten o'clock already?!" Aunt Petunia scoffed before scurrying off to get the door. Before answering it she ran a hand through her hair several times and faked a big smile. "Hello, Piers and Mary, it's nice to see you."

"Petunia, it's so good to see you too," she said. "I hope you and Dudley have a lovely time at the waterpark today. Bye-bye now."

Holly could tell by Piers' mom's tone that she could careless if they had a nice time or not. She sounded as if she wanted Piers out of her care as soon as possible. So that meant she was being fake too. And if there was one thing the redhead knew about growing up in this household was that being fake and ignoring the problem in order to appear as normal as possible was a top priority. It wasn't how she wanted to live. Holly preferred honesty and dealing with the problem when it arises.

She was brought out of her thoughts quite clearly when she felt a fist in the pit of her stomach. She groaned in pain, collapsing to the floor, as Piers and Dudley laughed loudly at her. Her bad, she should've been paying attention. If she was she would've avoided that quite easily. The boys were too fat and lacked the speed that Holly possessed.

"Girl," called Uncle Vernon, "hurry up and clean up this mess. What do we feed you for?"

Without a word she complied. She walked over to the table and began cleaning up Dudley's mess. She flipped up the table the right ways up and began picking up the shards all up in the ripped table cloth. She grunted softly when she felt the pricks of the glass and ceramic in her hand. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to keep calm. The only thing crying would accomplish would be laughing and name calling from Piers and Dudley, and Uncle Vernon telling her to hurry up.

Was it too much to ask to be loved by family and friends, and possibly a boyfriend? All she wanted was love of all kinds. But who on earth would provide that when she was finally able to break free from this horrible home?

Author's Note: Should I continue?