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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related concepts are owned by someone who isn't me. I will never seek or accept money for the circulation of this work. Don't even ask me about Flock of Seagulls songs.



Author's Note:For those riddling over last chapters title, the expression Mutatis Mutandis means 'to apply appropriately in all the matching places'. In this case, substitute 'mutative effect of Basilisk venom, Phoenix tears and Flamel stone' where describing 'puberty'.



Holly Evans and the Spiral Path



Chapter 15 - Empty Places



23rd June, 1993



Harry,

Just bear with me on this one. I have to apply some pest control.

Transcription: 23rd June, 1993 starting 8:14 AM GMT

Holly Evans (HE) lies across her bed wearing a pair of oversized boy's pyjamas. Quill transcribes directly to journal sitting on her plywood desk. HE speaks aloud.

HE: I had the strangest dream just now. I think it may be one of those prophetic dreams I've had lately- Y'know, the ones that came true? I hope so. This one was just so hot it was too good to be true. (Gasp!)

Dudley Dursley (DD) stops at the slightly open door and leans against the doorframe just out of sight of the bed.

HE: I was laying on my bed, just like I am now, and I was busy touching myself in that special way. Well, as I start to get reeeaallly into it, my cousin Dudley walks into the room. His strong beefy arms sort of flexed as he walks toward me- I have to look at him upside down, as I had been thrashing about on the bed, getting all hhhott.

HE squirms a bit on her bed, moving a hand to rest between her legs. DD can be heard breathing heavily.

HE: So then Dudley says in this real deep voice. "Heh, Dad says whatever I do, I should use a condom." I look at him from my upside down position and say "It's alright Dudders; I'll make sure nothing goes wrong." As he turns to close the door, I twist up onto the bed and let these oversize tents just fall away from my otherwise naked body. I don't want anything to get ruined, after all. Dudley turns back and walks up to me where I am kneeling at the edge of the bed, my arms open wide. With a flick of my hand the door seals shut and all the locks latch together, then with a swish of the other hand I throw a Silencing Charm over the room, so our time together will be private. Dudley reaches forward to caress my young breast, and as his fingers glance over my nipple, I swing out my arms once more. With an erotic thrust of my arm I cast the immobilizing charm, and then his body lifts up towards the ceiling with my levitation hex.

DD grunts from behind the door.

HE: (voice deepens and rises in excitement) Now that his succulent body is so perfectly positioned, I am able to truly appreciate his rolls of fatty flesh. The claw of my right hand slices open a six inch gash in his abdomen. I can see the blood and intestines just spilling out on to the floor. Such tasty, tasty flesh, not all skin and bones like before...

DD stumbles in the hallway, then is heard stomping down the stairs to the main floor of the house at a run.

DD: MUMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY!

Transcription ends.



That should keep things lively. Dudders had been giving me an unwelcome eye for the last few days. I think it may have occurred to him that his parents may not interfere in his plans for my despoilment given their previous biases. What really disturbs me is that this dream I recounted was close to what I remember from last night's horror show. Dudley didn't stay long enough to hear me describe how I plucked out his eyes to chew or sucked the marrow from his detached leg while he lay there weeping and moaning to my utter annoyance. The attitude pervading my mind during this seemed to be one of 'I just wish the food would shut up already!' It seems to me if I'm to be saddled with fever dreams in this place, they should share in my joy.

I have to commend my own performance here. I barely have enough energy to thrash about at the moment. In fact, I think I'll go back to sleep.



Holly



*



6th July, 1993



Harry,

Normally nothing happens here, so I haven't had much to write about aside from my nightmares. Dudley has kept an appropriate distance for the past fortnight, and I have been surviving well with Dobby's assistance. I had him bring my trunk to my room almost immediately after Vernon locked me in here the first night, and his expertise at Notice-Me-Not has made its presence a non-issue ever since. Occasionally, I even lose track of it. Dobby has been providing nourishing food from the limited options in the Dursley's icebox. It turns out the betrayer's scar on his cheek prevents Dobby from getting any aid from other elves and most magical merchants won't deal with him. I made one foray with his assistance into Diagon Alley and used up the money from the stipend pouch Prof McG gave me at the end of term to buy some extra clothes and preserved food. With the limited selection of acceptably muggle-styled clothes available from Madam Malkin's, I now have six identical school uniforms to work with. I consider it nearly miraculous that Malkin's had any knickers than weren't sized like winter-wear. Someday, I'll shop at a proper economy or second hand store, if I ever have the energy. Thank providence my breasts haven't really developed yet, as I was aghast at the armor she had for sale as training bras.

The rest of my days have been a never-ending cycle of sleep-nightmare-read-clean-sleep-nightmare-eat-read...I'm not always sure that what I'm dreaming isn't happening, until I wake up the next day to find that Vernon's feet haven't been removed, or Petunia's head wasn't twisted backwards in a fit of pique. I can't say for sure about that dream with Dudley, though. He does seem a bit slimmer now than when the summer started.

Part of my dis-temporal depression has to do with being cut off from my friends and acquaintances. The Grangers went on holiday, and the Weasleys carted the whole family out to Egypt to visit their wayward eldest, after winning some newspaper sweepstakes. Good on them, but it rots for me and Hedwig. I've had her trade a message apiece to Hermione and collectively to the twins, Ron and Ginny. The round trip kept Hedwig away a week each time, and I got very lonely in her absence. Dobby's alright but makes a poor conversationalist, plus we are keeping his presence here as much a secret as possible, so his squeaky voice is only heard during the late night hours or when the Dursley's head out for a dinner. He's still very jumpy, and acts like I'm about to do him harm no matter how many times I reassure him otherwise. At least the 'gone quiet' arrangement has broken him of the habit of calling me 'Mistress' every fifth word. He just nods and squeaks when I give him an order.

My last nightmare was quite the show. I won't go into details so as not to interfere with your chances for a restful sleep, but somehow during my fitful thrashings within the nightmare I ended up chewing off the metal point of the Quick-quotes Quill. So much for the advertised 'indestructible nib'. I found it depressing in the extreme, knowing I had ruined my favorite (and only functional) quill, one that I received from Hermione as a gift and improved with her thoughtful cooperation and aid. This may lead you to ask 'what are using to write this, then?' It's a fair question, and I hadn't realised the answer until I started writing this entry. My fingertip.

I think perhaps the mutative magic may yet be burning through my body. In an effort to solve a problem my fingertip has sharpened itself into a quill point. I can draw ink from the bottle through the tip into my fingernail. It is a bit odd, and I'm sporting a constant dark blue ink stain there from the last knuckle downward, but I have to say as a mutation goes this one works for me.

Hey, cool. It retracts. The ink stain remains, though. Now I just have to find a different way to record things. At least my homework is done, and with a personal touch for the Potions essay no less.



Holly



P.S.: Oh shit. I just realised that this was what my 'claw' looked like in the nightmare I used on Dudley. I'm spooked.



*



11th July, 1993



Harry,



Uncle Vernon made an announcement today that may spell the end of my career amongst the unincarcerated. His sister Marge is coming; 'Behold a pale hippopotamus; and the monkey that sat upon her was Liquor and Ripper followed in her wake.'Never has a more spiteful, hateful human being existed. In particular, Marge has in past taken great pleasure in sending her breeded dogs to gnaw on me; Ripper chased me up the garden pear tree when I was eight to the amusement of the family. I wasn't let down until nightfall. This will be the greatest test of willpower and restraint I can possibly imagine. Pray for me.



Holly



*



17th July, 1993



Harry,

I don't know if you're kept up on events, but if you're worried about me, don't be. I am safe. Don't send anyone after me. I'm fine.

Let me tell you my side, in case you're being fed bad information.

I had sustained a mostly even temper throughout Marge Dursley's visit using every trick I could dredge up from Perenelle's Occlumency notes to prevent a homicide. I almost made it. Marge would have been gone the next day, but I just couldn't let it go. She insulted Mum. I'll recount the conversation Quill-style and you can tell me if I truly did anything wrong.



Recounting of events starting after supper, the 15th July, 1993

Vernon Dursley (VD), Petunia Dursley (PD), Marge Dursley (MD) and Dudley Dursley (DD)surround the oak dining table in the Dursley household. Holly Evans is in the adjoining kitchen clearing the dishes and cleaning up from preparing the evening meal. My stuff is written with quotes when I'm talking.

MD: Ehhhhxcellent nosh, Petunia. Just excellent.

PD: Why thank you Marjorie, it was nothing.

I thought to myself: Of course it was nothing; I cooked it all. I've been operating this entire meal in a non-Holly mode. I am a not-person, just doing the work needed. I've been channeling Dobby's Notice-Me-Not-ness as well as I could muster all week.

MD: I see you've got that one [nods towards Holly] more properly trained of late. Where was it you sent her then, Vernon?

VD: Hogwarts ...um ...Academy for Girls at Risk.

I smiled inwardly; 'HAG-at-Risk'?

MD: And do they use the paddle at ehhh ...Hogwarts?

VD: I think their techniques may be a bit more medieval. She doesn't speak much at all anymore.

MD: All for the best I'm sure. Bad enough she was born out of wedlock, you said her mother had another child?

PD: Yes, our nephew, Harry Potter. He doesn't stay here.

MD: Well, there you go you little freak! See what happens to children like you? The legitimate ones get homes and the bastards get foisted on my overburdened brother, here!

VD: Eh, Marge, perhaps a bit more Brandy...

MD: Don' interrupt! It's obvious where this one's headed. I've seen it before. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup!No doubt you'll take to your mother's whoring ways like flies to shite!

I wanted to let Petunia field that one, except all I heard was silence. I asked quietly, "Aunt Petunia, have you nothing to say in my Mum's defense?"

MD: Hah! Obviously she is in accord...

I stopped being non-Holly and rose to my full height. My voice carried well and clearly.

"Your obsession with dogs wouldn't have anything to do with your poorly disguised background as a carnie, would it?"

MD: What?

VD: What?

PD: What?

"Well, I've always known you couldn't be directly related to Uncle Vernon. Despite bearing sufficient load to balance a raft against my uncle's girth, your physical resemblance to him ends at the size of your moustaches."

MD: Shut up.

VD: Enough out of you...

"Your slack-jawed ramblings in defense of a useless life devoted to raising bladder-emptying mongrels too hideous to be loved as a mutt are only tolerated round here for some leverage you must hold over my uncle."

MD: Shut Up!
VD: How dare you!

"I have always conjectured that one of your early show-winners was actually the mongoloid issue of some backseat sweat-fest between you and Vernon back in your school days. Such a scandal might motivate him enough to keep you sloshed on cheap brandy two weeks of the year. Was that it?"

MD: Shut Up!

VD: I'm warning you..!

PD: Vernon, is there something you need to tell me?

DD: Heh, good one!

"I can only assume you keep small dogs because the big ones can't ram their dog-parts up your constipated arse anymore."

MD: Shut up!

VD: That's the last straw!

PD: Vernon?

DD: Righteous!

"How often has Ripper been trapped within your abyssal knickers upon a Saturday night? No wonder he attacks at your command, you've been suckling him on your menstrual discharge until menopause struck, so now he's always hungry!"

MD: Shut Up! Shut Up! SHUUUUT UUUUUP!

"YOU SHUT UP, you stupid, hateful, drunken, abusive, slack-eyed, addle-pated GASBAG!"

That's when my magic finally took hold of the situation and then promptly sent it into a tailspin. With the last word in my rant I had flung my arms in the air in frustration, unfortunately releasing a crackle of power to arc across the room into Marge's chest. Before she could take another breath she swelled into a 1 1/2 meter sphere of apoplectic drunkard. The arc continued to flow from my fingertips, despite my urgings for it to stop. I could feel my magic flowing to inflate Marge into a painfully engorged humanoid zeppelin. Once she reached a full three meters diameter, balloon-Marge bounced away from the table out the open patio doors to the garden and began to float away, breaking the circuit between my fingers and her chest. I felt the last dregs of my magic seeping away from me and it felt like death was closing in on me. I was seized by panic. Then my heart started pumping a thousand beats a minute as I realised that soon Obliviators would arrive. They would take away my memories and then my magic and all I would be left with was a life at the Dursleys, until I died or was pawned off as the fucktoy of one of Dudley's less careful gangmates. I can't describe the sudden absolute loss of reasoning that struck me. Only one thought could form in my head at that moment.

'Run.'

So I ran.

I ran all night and day. Literally.

I kept running in no particular direction, changing course only when confounded by industrial parks or parkway embankments. I ran with nothing more in my head but the absolute conviction that if I were to stop, I was dead. I finally ceased running when I was startled by the sudden appearance of the rising sun when I vaulted over a broken plaster-covered wall. I then promptly collapsed into a heap at the edge of this play park somewhere and started crying in anticipation of the Obliviators catching up with me to rob me of my personality. I fell asleep at some point, certain I would never be whole when I awoke. As it was, I wasn't pleased when I did awake as it was the first cramps of my next cycle that brought me painfully to consciousness. I had been asleep for hours as the sun was now descending behind the wall, but with stabbing pains in my uterus I could barely stand, not that I knew where I was going to go next anyway. My salvation appeared then in a screech and a flurry of white feathers.

Hedwig landed at my side and began to nudge at me, first my head, then my legs and then she tried to rouse me from my painful clench by talking. Her barks, pops, squeaks and screeches began to fill a pattern in my head. The pain seemed to abate as I realised I could just barely understand what my avian friend was trying to tell me.

"... with me if you want to live. I will lead you to the cat-girl's nest."

I could have wept. She couldn't have said anything more perfect. Which is why I'm surprised to find myself here at the Granger's; something that perfect should have been just another nightmarish hallucination. I jumped up and followed Hedwig at a loping run, but this time my pace was fueled with anticipation of relief and sanctuary. Each league that passed beneath my feet felt easier than the last. I could feel all my strength returning to me, urging me on to Hermione's house. I arrived there late that night to discover one simple problem with my perfect solution.

The Grangers are in France.

I laughed exhaustedly for a good five minutes on their front lawn at the sheer absurdity of it all, then I summoned Dobby and we broke in through the garden entrance to raid their icebox. Dobby retrieved my things from my room at the Dursleys without risking any chance of being detected by anyone. After a long soak in their tub for me and 3 bags of popcorn, we ended up falling asleep on the couch in front of their projection telly, endless cartoons playing in the background to feed my much-improved dreams.



So not to worry, we'll stay here a bit. The Grangers have an extensive library; I'm particularly interested in their biochemistry and medical textbooks. It looks like they haven't left behind a book since birth. I have no doubt this is the house of Granger. Where I belong.



Holly



*



31st July, 1993



Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday. I asked Prof McG to send along my present. I hope she was able to get it to you, but she didn't seem certain it would work out. As you might not know, our holiday at the Grangers' house was cut short. It ended about eight days after it began with a knock on the front door. Dobby reported back from a quick reconnaissance that 'Professor McGonakitty is at the gate!' Even if I wasn't already sure the jig was up, my unsuccessfully repressed guffaw would have given me away. Prof McG came in, assessed that my use of the Granger's house was acceptably respectful, and then insisted that I should be relocated to the Leaky Cauldron here in Diagon Alley. Her argument was that I wouldn't make a good impression on my friend's parents by meeting them formally for the first time as a burglar in their home, particularly as they returned from along journey. She also assured me that my evasion of the Obliviators was entirely unnecessary, as what had occurred was obviously accidental magic. Marge has been deflated and the family is convinced my departure was planned and intentional. She said they were all a bit wary of me returning for the rest of summer, which I absolutely agreed was best avoided. I was a bit concerned at how she had found me, but Minerva reminded me that I wasn't the only person who could use their brain, and that this seemed the obvious choice assuming something horrible hadn't befallen me.

After a bit of cleanup, we (that is Dobby, Hedwig, Prof McG and I) transported to the Leaky Cauldron. Prof McG left a second pouch of coin, indicating that the first was only a holdover of what they could collect on short notice at the end of the year, and that this pouch was a complete assessment of my reimbursed tuition and expenses paid to date. I'm now 1253 Galleons to the good! Even more interesting, the pouch holds them all without weighing but three ounces. Why can't our book bags work like this?

Prof McG had a few warnings for me as well. Don't go into Gringott's Bank. Don't wander into Knockturn Alley. Don't leave the magical areas. She makes such an excellent tour guide.

I went immediately to the bank to convert some Galleons to pounds sterling, as there was a lonely clothing store out in the darkness calling my name. I can see why she might want to deter me from visiting though. The goblins who run the bank are some of the scarier folk I've met in the Magical world, which coming from me is saying something. Normally I'm drawn to those things others find detestable, but in this case my own senses were warning me to track every goblin within view. I was stared at by several throughout my brief visit at the teller box. My best guess at their intentions is either I would make an excellent main course for some upcoming feast, or I was simply worth seizing for parts but they hadn't worked out a plan for splitting the spoils yet.

With a pocketful of notes I headed back to the Cauldron and out to normal London. I won't bore you with the details, but if you were a girl who had been wearing skirts for the last year, you'd be feeling just as exposed as I felt. Denims rule. Bike shorts should be part of the uniform, at least in winter. I am not a clothes horse of any stripe, but there is something simple and satisfying in wearing clothes that fit comfortably and aren't likely to expose your arse during a stiff breeze. I even indulged in a few thigh-high socks like the ones Neville gave me, as they come in... yeah alright. You don't care.

The last stop was back in the Alley. I had promised myself I would return to that curio shop in Knockturn Alley I landed in from my mispronounced Floo expedition as soon as I had money to make it useful. The owner and I got off to a rocky start, but it turns out my escapades at school have given me a reputation with his crowd. Enough of one at least that he was willing to accept I was there intentionally. I was even able to arrange for Dobby to buy from him in my name, so long as the money came up front. That makes one. I walked out of the shop laden with books and a few other curiosities. What happened next is best considered a story I heard about the place, and I will relate it as such.

Imagine a young girl with an arm full of merchandise walking in a dark alley where criminals trade stories, treasures, and favors as well as their gold permits. She evades all the more forward offers as she wends her way through the wretched citizenry who would linger in such a place. As she approaches the exit out to the more well-lit spaces of the world, a shadowed man steps in front of her. He chuckles lightly and points his short wand at her from his hip and whispers 'Imperio'. A wave of comfort and ease washes over the young girl's mind, startling her so that she drops her purchases to the ground. With barely a whisper, the shadowed man says "Oh, no. You should bring your books along, my little dearie. Pick them up and go into that doorway there."

The little girl feels like everything the shadowed man says is the essence of alright, and follows his instructions to the letter. She glides gracefully into the otherwise abandoned shop, followed closely by the shadowed man who closes the door behind them and seals it with a key. "Now let me take a look at you, little dearie. Turn 'round, place the books on the floor, and take off that cloak. You might as well keep removing any clothes you have, my little dearie." Deep in her mind, the young woman marvels at how easy all this seems to be. There must be something special about the word 'Imperio' to make her feel so amenable to her current task. With a slight shake of her head, she stops removing clothing when she is down to her knickers and an undershirt."Why did you stop, little dearie?"

The young girl slowly strides up to the shadowed man who had taken a seat in a nearby side chair when the young girl began her striptease. The girl reaches out her right hand to caress the face of the shadowed man, noting his bald head, a distinctive black moustache and numerous small scars around his pale skull. As the shadowed man leans forward to kiss the girl, she allows her sharpened index finger to plunge deeply into the man's eye socket. The man jumps backward and out of the small chair, clutching his face in pain and surprise, dropping his wand to the floor. During his last moments of consciousness, he hears a buzzing come from the young girl as her fist approaches his face at a startling speed.

You should avoid Knockturn Alley. All sorts of criminals go there.



Holly