Madame Mervin, Hammer of Sues (das_mervin) wrote,
Madame Mervin, Hammer of Sues

Child of Grace

There are just some times where you find a fic that…needs to be sporked. The whole thing. Which is oftentimes a problem, especially for fics that are forty chapters long and over 250,000 words. But then again, you do have some people who are out of their flippin’ minds and undertake these sorts of sporkings because they are crazy.

Take me, for instance. I’ve sporked all of Rose Potter, have nearly sporked all of Ariana Black, took it upon myself to script and spork Jennifer Craw, who has no less than TWENTY fics in her particular series, and now I find THIS fic. “Child of Grace,” by Lazy Azar de Tameran. I think I officially qualify as crazy, or at least thorough. And this fic needs to be sporked. It’s got angst out the wazoo, Slytherin glorifying, Weasley bashing, “I’ve read ahead” syndrome in spades, Sue-per powers, and more. It’s really a newer, Slytherin-based version of “Rose Potter” on some levels. And as much as I hate Rose Potter, part of me misses the knowledge that I could always go back and spork her—even though now I can’t, because I finished her. *sniff* You know, now that she’s not around anymore, I kind of miss her. I never really appreciated her until she was gone. *emo tear*

So I need a new project. Jennifer Craw bores me too much, I’ve decided, to start her up now, and I can’t start a sporking when I’m bored. This one excites me. It pleases me. It amuses me. It makes me derisively laugh. And it needs to be sporked—it’s got 472 reviews, all positive, and it needs a negative one for a change. So here I am, undertaking the sporking, doing my best to try, and hopefully succeeding. So here it is, ladies and gentlemen. My newest project:

Child of Grace by Lady Azar de Tameran

AU. The Girl Who Lived discovers the wizarding world and unearths secrets that could change her life forever... or end it. Third Year.

Harry Potter - Fiction Rated: T - English - Drama/Mystery - Chapters: 40 - Words: 251,965 - Reviews: 472 - Updated: 7-18-08 - Published: 10-19-04

What is this “Child of Grace” crap anyway? July 31st, 1980 was a Thursday, not a Tuesday.

Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except for a few non-canon characters to be introduced later. All of the paraphrased or direct quotes are from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, text copyright 1997 by J.K. Rowling.

While I at least give her credit that Keiran Halcyon never got due to the fact that she admits to be directly lifting text, I’d like you to keep the word “paraphrased” in mind while reading this for later chapters. When she says “paraphrased,” what she really means is either a) squashing several paragraphs into two or three badly constructed sentences, b) squashing several chapters into two or three badly constructed paragraphs, c) adding in random sentences to make her character have more angst than Harry had, or d) raping the actual text up the bum.

Everything is in the British-English spellings and feel free to Brit-pick.

At least she’s got that going for her.

“blah”: dialogue

‘blah’: thoughts

blah”: Parseltongue

“blah”: Legilimency/Telepathy

Italics: excerpt from a book /newspaper and any other written form

Bold: a word or phrase that is emphasised

Ah, where would we be without the patronizing, “This is how the people talk since all of you are too dumb to figure it out” guide? And the whole “Telepathy” thing is never a good sign.

Prologue: A Holly Night

*singing* Have a holly, jolly Christmas…

Thunder resounded in the distance as radiant light flashed across the sky. Torrents of rain poured to the muddy ground, and the sounds of it echoed through the neighbourhood. There was another crackle of lightning. A dog barked nearby, but it did so more from terror than anything else. Darkness shrouded everything, the street lamps barely giving any light.

…are you really sure you wanna open up your fic this way, author? This is…rather purple. And urple. And take it from Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton that it’s never a good idea to open up your fic with “It was a dark and stormy night.”

Had anyone been looking outside, they wouldn’t have been able to see anything save the

—gay parade.


Now, I leave the following paragraph untouched for total angst absorption.

A young girl of no more than six knelt in front of a window, outside looking in. Her long, black hair hung about her like a sopping blanket, and the water dripped onto her bony shoulders. Her skin was white, almost translucent, veins clearly visible. It prickled in the damp cold as she shivered and pulled her frayed dress around herself more fully, but it did little to block out the cold from her skeletally thin body.

And now, here we have it. There is our heroine, angsting prettily outside in the rain, half-starved and apparently transparent and naturally emo with her black hair and pasty skin. She is freezing in the rain, with only a frayed dress to keep out the cold, and is soaked to the bone.

ANGSTY ENOUGH FOR YA? Oh, but it gets better.

*snip lengthy description of how nice and warm it is inside and how the Dursleys are eating a big an sumptuous meal, leaving the angsty little girl outside to sit and watch in the rain—and it is very angsty*

Yeah—I really wrote that. Actually, she really wrote that.

Oh, but I don’t think it was angsty enough. Let’s have some MORE angst!

A faint smell of the delicious meal wafted through the cracks of the


window, and the girl’s small mouth began to water.

*plays a tiny violin*

She watched as each of the plates were quickly cleaned and then refilled, noticeably flinching as the father took third helpings of everything.

And already the angst is beginning to wear on me.

She was forced to look away, her eyes gleaming with pain when the son started on his fifth serving.

Now, let’s see—did the Dursleys ever do this to Harry? Was Harry completely skin and bones? I don’t think so. And if he were, somebody would’ve definitely noticed and done something about it.

Soon, there was not any food left on the table, not even miniscule crumbs.

Oh, don’t crib from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” just so you can be angsty!

*gah—snip even more, they go through dessert, and cue the hint of abusive!Vernon, and it’s all EXTREMELY angsty and borrows rather badly from the Roald Dahl School of Abusive Parents and I’m very, VERY tired of it*

Now let’s move on. She’s had her angst, and it’s very, very angsty and it’s sickening and absolutely ridiculous the level of angst she’s trying to pull from this shit, but we want to move forward. Remember how I mentioned the author has “I’ve read ahead” syndrome in spades? Well, she decides to drop a whole load of her syndrome on us right in the prologue.

The girl simply laid her head against the cool glass in a gesture of defeat,

*sighs and pulls out the violin again*

attempting to gain enough resolve to rise and enter the house.

Am I supposed to feel sorry for her through all this? All it did was annoy me.

Belatedly, she noted that the rain had finally stopped

Oh, her soul was so tormented that she didn’t even know the symbolic rainstorm had stopped. Such is the level of her angst. Well, this isn’t angst. It’s wangst and we all know it.

and that the air had a crisp, damp smell to it. She glanced up to see that the sky had cleared enough for a few stars to shine through,

Don’t make me break that damned violin over your head, girly girl.

but it was still rather cool outside, making her shiver.

She again attempted to force herself to rise, but

—her tortured soul was simply too heavy, and the angels descended from the heavens to cry tears of blood upon her—dear God, I’m making myself sick.

instead, she only inched quietly to the side of the window where she would not be visible from inside.

Because Vernon Dursley is mad-dog-drunk abusive in this story, and we’d hate to have her been seen by him and be beaten, right?

I hate mad-dog-drunk abusive Vernon Dursley.

She rested her head on the freezing brick of the house, which still managed to be warmer than the glass, using her hair as a pillow.

This is so angsty I seriously can’t think of anything good to say. I mean, it just doesn’t STOP. Every time I think it can’t get any worse, it does.

She looked up at the joyfully twinkling stars, momentarily wishing she could share in their happiness and exhaled slowly as she gazed at them longingly.

Okay. This is getting ridiculous. Let’s ease up on the angst, hmm?

She quickly noted Sirius, the Dog Star, remembering that it was supposed to be the brightest one of all.

DING!!! First one down! The author has clearly read ahead and it shows.

And is Sirius even still visible in winter in England?

As always, a sense of profound calm filled her small body.

Yeah, yeah, her small, half-starved, angsty little body.

It was a common sensation when she stargazed, especially when viewing that particular one. It was her very favourite, though she was not really certain why.

WE all know why, you turd. You don’t need to tell us about it. Stop with the heavy-handed foreshadowing.

For some reason, it brought to mind a dark-haired man with the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen, like silver mixed with sapphires.

Or just ignore me, your choice.

He always smiled impishly with a mischievous cast to his face, sometimes raking a hand through his long hair to purposely muss it.

That was James Potter, not Sirius Black.

Oftentimes in her memories, it felt as though the man were holding her tightly,

—hopefully squeezing the life out of her—

beaming down as he twirled her about, giving a barking laugh as she giggled.

Though, for the life of her, she couldn’t clearly remember who the man was… or if she had ever really known him at all.

And how could someone have such vivid memories of someone she’d only met when she was one-year-old? Harry couldn’t even remember his parents at this point, much less his godfather. Oh, but we’ll find out soon enough. Don’t worry. What Girl-Who-Lived story would be complete without Sue-per powers that Harry never had because he sucks?

Regardless, a small smile touched her chapped lips as she thought of him, and she began to hum a nameless tune.

Oh, and she’s even got chapped lips. Does it get any angstier than this, ladies and gentlemen? I ask you that.

Instantly, she pictured flashes of a lovely lady with emeralds for eyes and vivid red hair.

Great. On top of everything this story has, she’s even got the “Let’s describe everybody’s eyes like precious stones and metals!” syndrome, too.

In the girl’s mind, the woman murmured loving words and hummed the same song as she smoothed back the child’s hair. The lady beamed, and the girl could almost feel the woman rub her lips across her forehead.

That’s not exactly a pleasant description.

A full moon peaked through the clouds,

It peaked, and then it fell into the Earth and destroyed it, thus saving us from this hideous, HIDEOUS fic.

bathing the entire house in a silvery light, distracting her completely. The images shifted to a man with honey-brown hair and very gentle hands.

Bad touch, yo. Bad touch.

He waved a toy, a greyish-brown wolf, in front of her. His lips twitched with laughter as she quickly exchanged it for a stuffed,

Get stuffed, you pathetic wanker.

black dog. And he kneeled on a wooden floor, trying to prevent her from chucking a toy rat into the nearby fire.

Oh, another one! Yes, author, we know you’ve read ahead so you know Pettigrew was the bad guy. That doesn’t mean your stupid little Sue would automatically know he was going to go bad.

At a nearby home, a car pulled into the drive. She glanced over to see a mother and her son get out. The boy’s round glasses reflected the streetlight,

If that’s a jab at the actual Harry Potter, I’ll be pissed.

and another man appeared in her mind.

Jimmy Carter, perhaps?

His warm, hazel eyes were hidden behind round-rimmed glasses, and she tugged on his messy hair that stuck up in the back.

How did she reach all the way around back there to pull his hair?

Like the first man, he held her in his arms, cradled to his chest, murmuring enchantingly in her little ear.

Why is everybody attempting to romance the baby?

The girl sighed, hugging herself at the thought.

*has had enough and breaks the violin over this little twerp’s head*

She could hear his wonderful voice in her head, whispering to her lovingly.

“Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a young and beautiful girl named Holly…”


Seriously. Does it get much worse than this? We’ve got the starving little orphan who wears rags for clothes, is forced to sit outside in the rain and watch the other family eat a sumptuous dinner, has chapped lips, and is obviously being beaten by her uncle, and then she has memories of the warm life she used to have juxtaposed to the horrible one she has now. All she needs to do next is say, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” and she’ll be set. So, I ask again—does it get any angstier?

Oh, yes, it does. We haven’t seen chapter one yet—that was only the prologue. Hopefully, Sands will play with me next chapter so I don’t have to do it alone.

AN: Hello, everyone.

Hi, you. You’ve completely torn up the Harry Potter books with one chapter. Are you done yet?

I am a big fan of the girl Harry stories, so I thought that I would try my hand at one.

Oh, believe me, you’re doing very well so far—Girl-Who-Lived stories generally suck ass, and you’re is sucking with the force of ten thousand Hoovers.

Also, I am not sure when Sirius is visible, if it even is in the Northern Hemisphere at all.

You know, how hard would it be for you to CHECK?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Believe me when I say I hate it.

Chapter One: More Than They Think You Are

The wind whispered, leaves rattled, and tiny droplets of dew shimmered in the pre-dawn light.

The prose was purple, the setting was urple, and everybody yawned, because we’d heard this all before.

Inside of a perfectly normal house, a small girl lay huddled on an old cot. Her rickety bed trembled as she shivered uncontrollably and burrowed deeply into the flimsy mattress, her raggedy sheet was not enough to keep out the cold that permeated the area.

D’oh! Immediately!

It was pitch black, the only discernable light coming from a pair of eyes, which gleamed despite the darkness.

You know, Rose Potter’s eyes glowed, too. I wonder if you have perhaps heard of that story?

Instead, the girl-child

…girl-child. That’s like she-elf, and equally stupid.

snuggled into the night as if it was a blanket, one much better than the physical cover on top of her.

Starting the emo early today, aren’t you? Why don’t you do some bartending while you’re at it?

Faint sounds escaped her lips.

“Please… no. Please… don’t.”

Little Holly Potter lay trembling in her cupboard, begging the dawn not to arrive.


The darkness surrounding her expanded as if by magic.

Was it, perhaps magic?

It wrapped around her more tightly, comforting the shivering girl with its embrace. The air stirred, and the wind whistled through cracks. Dawn was still approaching, though it seemed to have slowed.

Harry Potter accidentally shrinks sweaters and winds up on rooftops. Holly Potter can control the sunrise.

Doesn’t Harry suck, and isn’t Holly so much better?

The dark’s grasp was loosening, but it continued to hold on.

Murmurs were heard, words of love and comfort. But the darkness continued to fade.

You know, she is literally controlling the darkness. And the darkness is oh-so comforting to her poor, tormented little emo soul. Isn’t it…sickening?

The child sighed heavily

Oh, and what fic would be complete without angsty, emo sighs? Where’s the Single Tear of DoomTM?

and sat up, rubbing her eyes with bony fingers.


“Goodbye,” she whispered to the night.

(Night): Fuck you.

She shifted, swinging her feet to the floor. The loose floorboards creaked slightly under the sudden weight, and she again sighed heavily.

And there’s number two for our angsty, emo sighs. I wonder how many more we’ll get before this is out?

Holly truly hated that sound;

Well, I truly hate you, but that can’t be helped, either, now can it?

it often gave her away when she was stirring within her cupboard.

And we’re REALLY sick of you hinting about how you’re beaten, too. Either talk about your precious bruises that we know you absolutely love because you hope to make the audience pity you, or just shut up.

She almost wished that the house was more sturdily built, but then, she wouldn’t have a hiding place for her books.

Petunia would kill her if she found her copies of Playgirl hiding in there.

The girl hesitated for a moment longer, and her hand reached for a pair of bent glasses that were lying on the floor. The spectacles were slightly crooked and taped at the nose, as though the owner had been repeatedly punched there.

Oh, I’ll bet you loved that line, didn’t you, you angsty piece of crap?

And if Dudley would have beat up his girl cousin, I’ll eat my own shoe with ketchup.

Her pale hands lifted them to an equally pale and tired face,

Okay, we get it now.

before travelling downward to rub the knots out of her back. Her lumpy but thin mattress was much too small, forcing her to curl up into a ball as she slept.


‘But at least I have a bed now.’

WE. GET. IT!!!!

Sinister thoughts entered her mind,

Things like “Barney” and “The Teletubbies.”

but the child forced them away. It was not good to dwell on such things.

That’s why you’re making US dwell on them, by CONSTANTLY TALKING ABOUT THEM!!!!

She shook her head and shrugged, eyes tightening in sudden pain, and her fingers went to the large, purpling bruise on her shoulder. It was still quite tender, and Holly winced as she softly ran her fingertips over it.

*stares* You know, I was just kidding when I said either mention the bruises or shut up. I didn’t really mean talk about how you’re being beaten by your relatives.

Because Harry’s relatives never beat him like this. And you know, somebody would’ve noticed bruises. This is ridiculous, and I hate it.

The girl shook her head again, dispelling her earlier line of thought

“And yet, through it all, Cinderella remained ever gentle and kind.” Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard this story before.

as she gently eased to her feet and took the single half-step needed to reach the door of her cupboard.

You know, a cupboard is generally thought of as small. There’s no need to emphasize it.

And I know I’ve said this before, but, since you like to repeat things, I might as well repeat things.


She turned the knob slightly, quietly, and the wooden door glided open noiselessly.

Holly went into the hallway, greeted by the light of a false dawn and the welcoming shadows.

This is so…purple. I can’t get over it.

The child smiled gently at them, as if greeting an old friend. After all, they and the characters from her books were the only companions she had…

Her only companions were the shadows. Does it get anymore emo?

I need to stop asking that—because every time I do, she does, in fact, go more emo.

well, at least the only ones that didn’t abuse her in some way.

*sighs* It just doesn’t stop. It just doesn’t! It just goes on and on and ON!

She gracefully walked down the hall into the dimly lit kitchen, her bare feet treading softly on the tile.

Words cannot begin to describe how much I hate Sue Cinderella stories. I truly hate them with the fiery passion.

In fact, I hate them so much, we’re going to script for a little while, until I get tired of it and want to spork again. I’m so sick of this ANGST. The author just can’t get enough of it.

Holly: *enjoys the outdoors*

Me: Wait a minute—wasn’t she just talking about how the shadows are her only friends and the dawn is false?

Holly: Oh, now I have to carry all of Dudley’s presents in from the car, woe is me, I am treated like a poorly respected servant, and allow me to give a very long and detailed description of me barely managing to carry in one of Dudley’s gifts because I am so weak with hunger, etc. etc. etc.

Me: *is completely ignoring everything by this point*

Holly: Oh, for I am despised at school as well, and cannot escape my cousin’s torment at home. Woe is me, woe is me.

Me: Am I supposed to be feeling sorry for you? Is that right? I’m supposed to feel pity of some kind for you? Well, I don’t. This is all false canon, and obscenely ridiculous. While he was not beaten like you’ve made your character out to be, Harry Potter did not in fact grow up in a loving environment, and yet he just kept on going, and didn’t act like an angsty little turd like you. You’re no better than Rose Potter, who did the opposite of you—you wallow in your misery and do nothing but talk about how woe is you–as opposed to just abusing them back tenfold the way Rose did.

Holly: She was somewhat safe at school since the teachers could partially protect her from Dudley. Besides, Vernon dare not harm her in front of so many witnesses.

Me: Okay, you know, when you do nothing but talk about how abused you are, it loses its effect. If I ever could have almost had the tiniest smidgeon of pity for you, it’s gone now, because you’re doing nothing but floundering about in your angst and hoping I will feel sorry for you.

Holly: Allow me to now give you a heart-wrenching and detailed description of my first day of school. Oh, woe is me, how nobody walked me in, and how I got to watch all of the other kids and their happy parents leading them in, and how I so wish for somebody to braid my hair and put it in ribbons, and how I must pretend that it is somebody else braiding my hair even though it isn’t. Woe is me, dammit.

Me: Woe is ME, actually—that was revolting.

Holly: Observe as I nimbly maneuver towards the open car door.

Me: What was so nimble about walking about the open door to get another present out? Did you do some kind of ballet move while you were there?

Holly: My golden locket!

Me: That Harry never had. Dammit, I hate changes that exist solely for the sake of changing things. At least try to blend with the canon!

Holly: Somehow, it triggers a badly marked flashback.

Flashback: *Holly says the pictures in her locket move just like magic, so Vernon hits her, and the audience is disgusted by this display of OOCness*

Holly: Oh, I know in my heart of hearts that Vernon Dursley is lying about magic not being real, for how could the pictures move otherwise? How could you explain the other strange things I am somehow able to do? How else could you explain the voices I hear! Somehow, I automatically know that they are other people’s thoughts.

Me: Oh, great, here we go. Yep, folks, you didn’t think we could go very far without having a Sue-per power, did you? Not to mention the fact that she’s so much cooler than that dipstick Harry for figuring out that magic is real without being told.

Holly: Insert long descriptions of how I can hear people’s thoughts and how it makes me made of awesome, and at risk for more emo beatings from the Dursleys. But I cannot dwell on such things now, even though woe is me! I must unload all of the gifts! Woe is me!

Me: High time I got back to sporking.

The child groaned and shook her head.

Why is it always “the child”? I thought this was written from Holly’s POV, not Third Person Omniscient.

Her hands went to her forehead, brushing back her bangs, and she started to rub circles on her temples, avoiding the lightening shaped scar that was always tender to the touch.

*throws up her hands* She’ll do ANYTHING to whine! She even made the scar tender so she could angst about it!

She exhaled and began to stack, her earlier memory resurfacing.

Vernon had called her a worthless freak.

So she had literally sat there and had a flashback, a la Willy Wonka from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?

While a freak she might be, she would be damned before she allowed herself to be worthless. But how was she to prevent it?

By investing in silver, maybe?

After much planning and contemplation, Holly had had an epiphany.

*singing* They all deserve to die!!! Even you, Holly Potter, even I!

The best way not to be worthless was to make something of herself, and to do that, knowledge was what she needed.

That, and pancakes.

After all, knowledge led to power: the power to do anything that she wanted, the power to succeed.

Why, hello, Rose Potter. I’ve missed you.

…dear God, did I actually really say that? *is ill*

So she studied and learned and studied even more. Holly fervently read and re-read her school books, and she completed all of her homework and did extra assignments.

Doesn’t Harry suck? Don’t you like this version of him so much better?

And Holly was careful not to over do it since no one liked a know-it-all.

*gawps* What a rotten jab at Hermione!

However, an unforeseen problem had popped up: Vernon and Petunia would not allow their tiny, freakish niece to outshine their own son, especially not in academics.

…they never really cared about Dudley’s academics. Oh, wait, you labeled this AU, that makes you able to do whatever the frick you want.

Yet, that was easily solvable.

To kill you! *jumps into the fic with a knife*

The girl simply changed her grades on her progress reports,

With her mind, apparently.

so to all appearances, she did not make above an average. And as for the teachers and their attempted praise, Holly begged them not to say anything. Of course, they reluctantly agreed,

Because everybody just loves Holly.

thinking she was either too shy or humble to desire the attention.

But we know better.

Holly’s academic endeavours soon exceeded the classroom.


Every morning, she checked a new book out of the school library, reading as much as she could during the school day. When she returned home, it was immediately hidden underneath her floorboards.

You know, I like the canon!Dursleys better. They really just didn’t care what Harry did outside of his magic antics. These Dursleys will friggin’ beat her for reading. She’s not Harry as a girl—she’s Matilda Wormwood!

After she had finished her chores at night, she secretly read using the torch she had nicked from her relatives.

And when the school books began to bore her, she journeyed to the main library a few streets over.

Okay, she hints that they’ll beat her for reading, but they’re fine with her wandering off for who knows how long to go to the library?

The librarian there, a kind and elderly lady, liked her and allowed her to borrow as many books as her “little heart” desired.

*dully* Isn’t this sweet.

And borrow books she did, everything she could get her hands on. She read every type of book imaginable: literature, science, history, and especially fantasy.

Because Harry sucks.

Holly finished stacking gifts, dismissing her thoughts. She rose to her feet and promptly returned to the car for more, adding them to the growing pile.

Several trips later, the girl made one last journey outside.

“Finally,” she breathed, “the last one.”

I agree—thank GOD. I’m getting very tired of hearing about how angsty going to the car to fetch presents is.

She went to the box

Good—she’s been very bad and deserves to go into the box.

but quickly stopped. Holly hesitated, staring at the last package.

It was an odd shade of green, almost luminescent.

Oh, great—the package fetching wasn’t angsty enough, so now she’s going to bring up the dead parents, I just know it.

She had seen that colour before in the dead of night, when she strained her memory and tried to remember the death of her parents.

See? What did I tell you.

An odd feeling rose up inside of her, agony mixed with despair and loneliness.

*sighs* Dammit, I need another violin.

Flashes. Images. Memories filled her mind.

There was plenty of room for them to do so.

A bright, green light followed by a high and cold laugh. More light… Then, an intense pain on her forehead.

There—that’s all she should be able to remember, because that’s all Harry can remember.

Wait a second—wasn’t she just going on in the Prologue about how she can remember her parents, and Remus and Sirius? What is this crap?

Holly shook her head, forcefully dispelling the images. She again gazed at the box.

And then a lion jumped out of the box and shot her. Everyone was much happier for it.

A shaking hand gently touched the package and lifted it. She shut the car door with a snap, but her eyes remained on the box clutched in her hands.

Come on, lion, don’t let me down.

Why did this colour remind her of her parents? Why did this colour make her feel so very sad?

Green is the color of SATAN! And you’re the Devil’s child, so that’s why it makes you sad! Dammit!

AN: This chapter is mainly exposition.

No, it’s manly ANGST, just like the last one, and just like the one after it will be, I’m sure. I can’t wait for us to get away from the Dursleys—this is beginning to drive me slowly insane.

Basically, I just wanted to introduce Holly and portray a little of her character.

What character? She’s an emo little cardboard cutout who annoys the frack out of us all.

We’ll get to the good stuff next chapter.

I dread the thought.

Chapter Two: Magically Delivered

It’s Lucky Charms!

Anyway, here we go, head-first into chapter two! It’s angsty as well, but it at least lightens up a bit. Still no Sands, though—he just won’t play.

*snip the Hogwarts letter, save for one bit that’s changed:*

We are aware of your unfamiliarity with both the wizarding world and Hogwarts School. A staff member shall arrive on July 31 to answer any and all questions you or your guardians may have.

Okay. Just how the hell do they know she’s unfamiliar with the wizarding world? How come Harry didn’t get this consideration at all, I ask you? Oh, that’s right—because he sucks and your character is just so much better. That’s right.

You know, I hate, hate, HATE it when people think the words “Alternate Universe” mean “I can change whatever I want whenever I want because it’s AU.”

Green eyes stared at the letter grasped tightly in her hand,

Oh, for crying out—would you just say Holly, instead of all this “the girl,” “green eyes,” and “tiny hands”?! It’s getting annoying!

shadows cast by her stolen torch dancing across the parchment. Her cot creaked as she shifted her weight, easing it off of her legs, which were curled underneath her.

Thank you for that entirely pointless sentence, other than to mention your precious cot again.

Another hand rested on the girl’s cheek,

Which seriously implies she’s got three arms or there’s some other person in the cupboard with her. That’s what you get for writing like this.

rubbing small circles as she dazedly blinked, surprise clearly written across her face.

Little Holly Potter was very, very confused.

So am I—how many arms does she have? Will the question ever be answered?

She sat quietly, locked within her cupboard. The Dursleys were gone, celebrating Dudley’s eleventh birthday.

Wait a minute…

They had taken Piers, one of Dudley’s many bullying accomplices, with them.

Of course, Holly had been forbidden to go.

She had been taken rather forcefully by Petunia and shoved into her cupboard. Holly could still see the pleased smirk that the woman had had on her horsy face as she had grabbed her niece tightly by the arm, bruising the tender flesh. Undoubtedly, the smirk had remained as the key was turned, locking Holly in.

Oh. Naturally. She needs the angst, after all. I mean, it’s not like she already has TWO MILLION TONS OF THE FUCKING STUFF ALREADY!!!!!!!!!! *throws a very large tantrum and destroys downtown Tokyo*

As Vernon had stated, “We don’t want to come back and find the house in ruins.”

And why did they not do this with Harry? Because he wasn’t an angsty little toad, that’s why.

Holly began to stir, finally recovering from her stupor. But she continued to stare at the mysterious letter.

(Holly): Oh, if only I could read big words, like that “t-h-e” one there.

“Hogwarts… school… wizarding world!?’ Holly murmured excitedly to herself, “Wizards… Witches… MAGIC!” She inhaled deeply. “It isreal!

Israel? Yeah, it’s a real place—what about it?

I knew it!” She giggled ecstatically.

However, nasty and unbidden thoughts surfaced.

Like, “Why can’t you eat six Laffy-Taffys in a minute?”

A hateful, pessimistic voice whispered in her mind,

(Me): Get the fuck out of my fandom, you sick imitation of Harry.

‘What if it the letter is false? Some cruel joke concocted by the Dursleys?’

Oh, I wish it was.

‘Like the Dursleys even know what a joke is,’ answered another, kinder voice.

Okay, now I’m starting to doubt that whole, “I hear people’s thoughts” thing. Because now she’s just hearing voices.

‘True,’ the first replied dryly. ‘But they are cruel enough to do such a thing,’ it added with a mental sneer.

These imitation Dursleys are, surely enough. But these aren’t the canon Dursleys, so we’ll pay them no mind.

‘But are they actually smart enough to concoct such a plan?’ the second responded sweetly.

The girl shook her head, dispelling whatever retort the former was forming.

The former was forming a form that formed the former forming its form.

‘It is a bad sign,’ she thought sardonically, ‘having so many voices suddenly appear in my head.

No it isn’t! It makes you more speshuler!

But then, I usually hear strange things.’ She smirked slightly. ‘Oh, the wonders of being a mind-reader.’

You wanna toot your own horn a little louder, there?

She shook her head, surprisingly smiling.

‘Though voices that talk back are a rather new addition.

It’s called talking to one’s self. I do it all the time, and there is nothing special about it.

At least now, I have someone to talk to who actually speaks back.’

*rips the frickin’ violin to shreds*

Holly exhaled sharply, mentally shoving the bizarre, but all too true, thought from her head. She growled, her tiny hand balling into a fist.

Let’s all emphasize how small she is. It adds angst to her already huge truckload of the shit.

This was just not her day.

Well, it’s not mine, either, but you don’t seem to be too concerned about it!

Flashback: *badly marked*

Holly: Oh, woe is me! I have to wake up early and start my day with some form of hard labor! And today, I had to haul all of those gifts inside. I mention it because you might’ve forgotten about the very long and very drawn out descriptions of me hauling in his gifts from the car last chapter, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?

Me: How the hell COULD we forget?! It’s all you whined about!

Holly: And now I must cook breakfast, and the only food I’ll get is the food I steal from cooking it. Woe is me. And I must work for three hours to complete my strenuous task and I will receive no gratitude, while they sleep in comfortable and fluffy beds—notice how I juxtaposed that to my threadbare cot? Oh, woe is me.

The Dursleys: *come downstairs and are described as unflattering as possible, complete with ingratitude*

Canon: *scene where Dudley counts his gifts is summarized*

Holly: *eyes will with disdain and lips twist into a sneer* Displays of greed always made her feel nauseous, churning her stomach at the very thought of such gluttony. She sneered, wishing that Dudley would learn the consequences of his greed, and a small and treacherous part of her wondered when he would finally get his comeuppance. Hopefully, at the worst possible time.

Me: That reminds me unpleasantly of Rose Potter.

Holly: Oh, woe is me. I’ll go check the mail. *gasp* A letter for me!

Me: …Harry didn’t receive his letter until after Dudley’s birthday. Well, chalk this up as one more thing that the author decided to change to make it more convenient for her, instead of going with canon and exploring the infinite possibilities Harry-as-a-Girl could open up.

Vernon: Blast! Hurry up! What are you doing? Checking for letter bombs? Maybe we will luck out, and one will get you! *his voice carried with satisfaction since verbally torturing Holly was his favourite entertainment*

Me: You know, it’s pointless additions like that which make this fic even more painful than it already is. WE GET IT. WOE IS YOUR CHARACTER. SHE’S GOT ANGST RUNNING OUT HER EARS AND SHE IS SO PUT UPON AND NOBODY LOVES HER, EVERYBODY HATES HER, GUESS SHE’LL GO EAT WORMS. NOW STOP IT.

Holly: Well, since I’m ten times better than that loser, Harry, I have enough sense to hide my letter in my dress. I know the Dursleys would confiscate it immediately if they caught me with it. Aren’t I just that much better than Harry?

Me: No.

Holly: Aren’t I awesome with how calm and collected I remain, even though I’m very excited about my letter?

Me: It’s also random insertions like that which make this fic even more painful than it already is.

Phone: *rings*

Petunia: Figg can’t take the Sue. Since I’m Petunia Version 2.0, and am cruel beyond my canon counterpart, I suggest we lock her in the cupboard all day! *is malicious*

Flashback: *badly ends*

Holly: *is bitter about being left in her cupboard while the Dursleys enjoy their day out and wonders if it’s all true*

The last day of July started out like many others for Holly. Wake up, cook breakfast, steal some breakfast for herself, fetch the morning paper, and on.

Just a typical angsty day, hmm? Are you enjoying yourself, Holly, trying to make the audience feel sorry for you? Because it sure as hell isn’t working with me. I don’t feel the slightest bit sorry for you and never will. You revel in your subjected cruelty too much for me to feel sorry for you.

Yet, it was a far from normal day. Today, her secret dream could finally come true… or she could suffer the greatest humiliation of her young life.

Now, look, being pants’d is horrible, but it’s not that horrible.

At the moment, both options seemed equally plausible.

The slender girl

She’s being starved to death and you describe her as “slender,” when not a single chapter ago you were talking about how bony she was. Make up your mind. Is she skeletally and unhealthily thin or perfect? I’m betting the latter.

was currently standing on a small stool by the sink, scrubbing the breakfast dishes. Her ears twitch slightly, listening.

And suddenly we are thrown into present tense. Thank you.

And although her hands were hard at work, her green eyes were glazed over thinking, waiting.

Don’t put an eye glaze over thinking and waiting—they’re fine without a glaze.

Holly had not told the Dursleys about the mysterious letter, scared that it was only some form of cruel joke. She just could not take the chance.

See how much smarter she is than Harry? Isn’t she more awesome?

She had teetered with the


decision but had ultimately adopted a wait-and-see approach. She had even gone as far as searching their surface thoughts for any hints of deception, discovering nothing helpful to her situation. Though she did learn that Dudley had a crush on the girl who lived three doors down.

Thank you for that random fact that we don’t care about that does little but show how awesome your character is for being able to read minds.

And why does she have this power in the first place, and don’t go on about your great plans for your story. Harry never had this power. Why does your character have it? What prompted this? How did she train herself without any knowledge of what it was? How did she even figure out she was hearing other people’s thoughts? Children just don’t do that—they assume everybody can hear things like they can when they are little—they assume it’s normal. It usually takes outside verification to confirm that there is, in fact, something wrong. This makes no sense and your work is doo-doo.

But still, Holly had not told them. She had not even hinted about the letter; she just could not risk the ridicule.

You know, we got that point two paragraphs before. You don’t need to repeat it.

So she waited, heart pounding in her throat, for some sign that it was not just a joke.

Why so serious? *cackles*

That it… all of it was true.

DUN DUN DUN!!! Or not.

*snip long, lengthy description of how normal and monotonous the Dursleys’ neighborhood is, and Hagrid’s arrival, complete with purple prose just about him walking up to the front door*

AN: I know that in the book Harry did not get his first Hogwarts letter until after Dudley’s birthday, but I want to hurry up and get this part of the story over with. I want to get to the good stuff.

It’s so nice that you just flat-out admit you’re throwing out chunks of canon for your own personal amusement.

Oh, Holly is not crazy for hearing voices. She is just lonely.

Yeah, we know all about how lonely she is. YOU DO NOTHING BUT REPEAT IT EVERY OTHER WORD.

And remember she is a mind-reader, so hearing voices is normal for her.

There’s a difference between hearing other people’s voices and hearing voices come from within your own head. One of these indicates insanity, contrary to your opinion. So, is she crazy or not?

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