AU. Older!Fem!Harry. I own nothing.

And happy birthday, Alan Rickman, xx (Tuesday 21st February 2012)


CHAPTER ONE: THE FREAK AT NUMBER FOUR

To look at the trio in the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey, you'd think they were the most ordinary family in the world.

First came Daddy Member. He was a rather large man with a big bushy moustache and an even bigger belly. Then again, he liked to tuck away the pies and pasties while at work, so it wasn't really surprising. He was managing director for a firm called Grunnings which made drills; an ordinary job for an ordinary man.

Next there was Mummy Member. She was pretty much the opposite of her husband. He was big and beefy, she was small and slender. Mummy was a housewife; her ideal job, as she liked to clean and cook, though her favourite activity was spying on the neighbours, grasping for any bit of juicy gossip she could feast her ears on. She also enjoyed fattening up her husband and son (no consideration for her son's health.)

Then there was Baby Member. Today, Baby was celebrating his eleventh birthday and was hoping to get even bigger than he already was. Baby was spoiled and had the audacity to whinge and whine about the fact that he had more presents for his last birthday, but the whining soon stopped when Mummy told him when they went out for his birthday that day that they were going to buy him two new presents.

But this family wasn't as normal as one may think. They had a secret. Mummy had a niece who lived with them but they didn't like to talk about her. She was Freak Member.

"Get out of there, you spoiled little brat!" Mummy screamed and yanked Freak from the downstairs cupboard. Freak was then thrown onto the kitchen floor. "We do absolutely everything for you and this is how you repay us? By lounging around all day! You're a pathetic enough excuse for a human being as it is, now you get over that stove and cook Duddy his breakfast. And don't you dare burn anything or you'll be the one on the hob next time!"

"Give me my breakfast now!" Baby, now 'Duddy,' screamed.

"Please..." Freak begged. "It takes a while for the pan to heat up. Please don't shout at me." Freak's voice was soft and sweet and she tried to keep her tears at bay; those she had to save for her featherless pillow.

"You hurry up with that breakfast, Freak!" Daddy yelled. "You're willing to do anything to take away Dudley's limelight, aren't you? Well, it won't happen! Now cook!"

"GIVE... ME... MY... BREAKFAST!" Dudley began having a full-blown temper tantrum. Temper tantrums were expected of toddlers not pre-teens.

"You give my Duddy his breakfast," Mummy seethed. For some bizarre reason, Mummy and Daddy allowed bratty behaviour and Freak thought about what Dudley would get if he'd been her child. A time-out, probably (and not the chocolate kind.)

"But please, Aunt Petunia," Freak whispered, meekly. "Bacon takes time. You can't have it raw, it will make you ill." No word Freak ever spoke was with malice or spite, yet somehow, her speech was always misconstrued.

This statement led to a violent smack across the face and Freak fell to the floor, banging her head on the fridge door and burning her left hand as it fell from the pan she was holding which then clattered to the floor beside her, the sizzling bacon flying out and scorching her bare shin.

Sometimes, Freak wondered if life could actually get any worse.


A/N: Please let me know if this is good or bad. I am hoping it'll get better over time but I'm always so worried about Mary-Sues. I abhor them and I sincerely hope I don't wind up with one.

Constructive criticism please. It would be appreciated. Any questions on language for Foreign English Speakers, please PM me and I'll explain. For instance, mentioning Time Out. In Britain, Time Out is a chocolate bar, not time to be spent in the (what Jo Frost calls) Naughty Corner. xx