chapter one

"i get up again and again because i'm me,"

"Girl!" Loud banging startled Isolda Lilian Potter awake from her sleep, and she rubbed her eyes blearily as she struggled to sit up properly, and with it, went the last traces of a warm laugh, blue eyes and gentle hands. "Girl, wake up!" With an irritated roll of her eyes, Isolda instinctually lifted her hand to properly flatten her fiery auburn hair down. And in the next moment, Isolda froze completely in her actions, eyes widening in wonder and dread. Mouth parting in awe, she ran her fingers repeatedly through the long, silk-soft strands. Hair that just yesterday, had been shorn to her scalp. Her mind whizzed, struggling to piece her thoughts together.

"Girl! Wake up–" When Petunia wrenched the door to her cupboard open, only to see Isolda's long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the words about to spill out of her mouth stopped abruptly, and her mouth snapped shut with an almost audible snap. At the age of eleven, Isolda Potter had never looked more like Lilian 'Lily' Potter née Evans in her entire life, with the most strikingly distinct shade of green eyes Petunia knew she had inherited from Hyacinth Evans, Isolda's grandmother and her mother, and the same straight, upturned nose. Her fiery auburn hair, however, was an elegant shade of red Lily's burnt orange could never compare to, and instead of lying flat-sleek and straight like Lily's had, Isolda's was wild and rumpled. On bad days and if cut short, it stuck out messily in different directions. However, when left to hang over her shoulders, it spiraled down in wavy and elegant curls, draping over frail shoulders in a delicately pretty manner that made Petunia irritable and snappy.

All in all, Isolda Potter, with her pale skin, delicate cheekbones, and effortlessly graceful manner, was everything Petunia wanted to be–not that she would ever admit it to anyone, of course. So, subconsciously, without her even realizing it, Petunia Dursley dumped ill-fitting and worn clothes on her niece, perhaps in an attempt to downplay and diminish her beauty, an action that was done in an effort, however unaware of it she was, to make it so that no one would favor the child–freak–over her. It was an insecurity she carried with her all throughout her childhood. All that, of course, was not needed in its entirety, for Isolda Potter, at least not for a good few years anyways–or perhaps never in her life, would not even think, or contemplate about using her beauty to manipulate and sway people to do what she wanted.

Instead of screaming at her like what Isolda had expected, Aunt Petunia turned away from her, and headed up the stairs to wake Dudley and Vernon up, brows drawn and lips thinned into an angry, disproving line, only tossing a 'get the breakfast started, girl.' over her shoulder. Isolda knew better to think that Aunt Petunia had felt some sort of pity for her, for she saw the tensed, coiled way Aunt Petunia held herself as she stormed up the creaky stairs, and knew that Aunt Petunia was resisting the very tempting, at least to Aunt Petunia, it may have seemed, urge to lunge into the kitchen to cuff her over her head with a heavy skillet pan.

As Isolda climbed out of small, cramped cupboard, and hurried into the kitchen, she took note of the presents on the table, almost overflowing, despite how they were all neatly stacked up into tidy piles. Altogether, she counted at least thirty-five of them. However, Isolda paid them no mind, despite the disappointed sinking in her stomach when she realized that it was Dudley's birthday, quickly tying her hair with the worn out blue elastic band she had found in the Clean-stone Corner's donation box–she had only one elastic, the others she had, however, were simply ribbons, which Isolda had two of, one black, and one green.

Isolda desperately tried to look as presentable as possible with the little she had to work with–quickly washing her face with the cold water and combing fingers through her somewhat messy hair, which seemed to have startlingly, regrown overnight. Isolda dismissed the thought almost instantly, not wanting to frustrate herself over it, for the idea was ridiculous, freakish, even, despite the fact that she had no clue or theory on how it had happened. Isolda also, very quickly, dismissed the forbidden word that came to her almost instantly, though it remained, lingering and refusing to leave. Efficiently, Isolda turned up the fire and laid the strips of bacon into the meltingly hot pan and shortly after it was done, carefully filched one and stuffed it into her mouth. Skillfully, Isolda cracked five eggs, and began to scramble them.

It was at this point that Dudley and Vernon began their distinctive thump down the stairs, followed by Petunia's measured, but somehow inelegant and clumsy steps. Isolda slowly started to curl into herself, shoulders hunched slightly to make herself seem smaller. It was an unconscious gesture, and one that once Isolda took notice of, she immediately sought to remedy. It was an ingrained urge to make herself seem as small as a target as possible so that Uncle Vernon wouldn't take notice of her and find some sort of reason to give her more lashings. As soon as she realized she was doing it, Isolda immediately, she tilted her chin up a fraction, and straightened her spine and shoulders.

"Comb your hair!" Uncle Vernon barked at Isolda as he took a seat that creaked ominously under his weight. Isolda winced at his harsh tone as she began to serve the plates of food to Dudley–whom once he took a seat, immediately went at his presents, eagerly tearing the paper apart savagely–Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon. About once a week, or more, when Isolda was having a particularly bad day, and since her hair got wilder with her bad mood, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his daily newspaper and shouted that Isolda needed a haircut, despite the fact that Isolda had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together and the fact that Aunt Petunia had mostly given up on snipping her hair away when it went back to its previous length the very next day. Haircuts or no, it made no difference. Her hair simply grew that way, responding to her unhappiness in the Dursley household, curling into wild spirals, as it tended to do.

It was at this moment, that Dudley finished tearing into his presents. He looked at his mother and father, face darkening slightly in his displeasure. "Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year." Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel–Isolda often thought in the privacy of her mind that Dudley looked a little like a pig in a wig.

Aunt Petunia hurried quickly to soothe Dudley, obviously wanting her son to snap out of his bad mood on his birthday. "Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Isolda, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began to chew her bread and bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over, for she didn't want her breakfast, possibly lunch and dinner to become unsalvageable. Aunt Petunia seemed to have scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, pumpkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?''

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Isolda pressed her lips together subtly to keep herself from laughing at the snarky thought. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Aunt Petunia supplied helpfully.

"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.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Isolda watched placidly as Dudley unwrapped a racing bike, a video camera, a remote-control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR, occasionally sipping at the water in her glass. She had just downed a cup of milk a few minutes before, when Dudley was whining, and for once, she was pleasantly full of toast and milk. Dudley was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg–she can't take her." She jerked her head in Isolda's direction. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Isolda's heart leaped in joy for not having to smell the stink of cabbages in her hair when the Dursleys' came to pick her up. Every year on Dudley's birthday, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. And every consecutive year, Isolda was always left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Isolda had a love-hate relationship with Mrs. Figg. Whilst the whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned, Isolda could, at least, use the soap and water to clean herself–in secret, of course.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Isolda as though she'd planned this. Isolda knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she remembered it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again. "We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested. "Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl." The Dursleys' often spoke about Isolda like this, as though he wasn't there–or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't make a lick of sense of what they were talking about when they spoke, like she was slug. It also made Isolda bristle angrily every time she heard it.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend–Yvonne?" Uncle Vernon asked hopefully.

"On vacation in Majorca," Aunt Petunia snapped.

"You could just leave me here," Isolda put in hopefully, mind racing with ideas for what she was going to do once she was alone–take a shower, for one. Her skin itched with the urge to scrub grime and dirt away from her skin. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled nastily at Isolda, face pinching as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. "I won't blow up the house, Aunt Petunia," Isolda said calmly, pushing down the urge to butt in their conversation in her own defense, knowing it would earn her lashings, but they weren't listening to her at all. "I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...and maybe leave her in the car..."

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone." Uncle Vernon interjected angrily, and Dudley began to cry loudly. Isolda knew for a fact that Dudley wasn't really crying, for it had been years since he'd really cried, but her cousin knew that if he screwed up his face just right and wailed loud enough, his mother would give him anything he wanted. "Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" Aunt Petunia cried, flinging her arms around him. "I–don't–want–her–t-t-to come!" Dudley wailed between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!"

He shot Isolda a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms, and Isolda resisted making a rude gesture in response. Just then, the doorbell rang, "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" Aunt Petunia cried frantically, and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother, Amy Polkiss, Aunt Petunia's friend from book club. Piers was a scrawny boy with a pointed face like a rat, and he was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. And once he walked in, Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once, something Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't seem to notice, but Isolda did.

Internally, Isolda scoffed, wishing even more desperately now, that the teachers saw Dudley for who he really was, and not slow, but much less troublesome boy as compared to Isolda. She wished that they saw how it was he who took her homework to masquerade for his own, how he pushed chairs over and destroyed papers, and not Isolda, whom Dudley made Isolda made out to be.

And so, it was a reluctant, upset Isolda, dressed in her only nice dress, who was forced into Uncle Vernon's car, green and woozy for almost the entire trip. Although, Isolda had to admit she was excited when they arrived at the zoo, her yearning for a good shower put off in favor of excitement for seeing things she hadn't seen before. However, it had been generally boring, the excitement of seeing new animals wearing off in record time. At the snake enclosure, however, was when things took a more exciting and not to mention slightly scary turn. In all the mayhem, which involved the keeper of the reptilian house repeating 'the glass, but the glass, how'd it disappear?' and people screaming, a small snake slithered up Isolda's leg.

Scuttling away to the side, Isolda lifted her right arm, which the snake, as small as it was, was curled. "Hello, pretty sspeaker." Strangely, Isolda could make sense of the tiny snake's words, though the words seemed a little…hissy?

"Hello," Isolda said gently, tentatively stroking one finger down the little snake's head. The little snake hissed happily at the gentle touch, and flicked a forked tongue affectionately against her fingers. Despite the fact that she was almost hyperventilating with the fact that she was talking to a snake, Isolda felt calmer than usual, perhaps from the fact that maybe, just maybe, she was making a friend, a friend that Dudley and his gang couldn't scare away, because they couldn't talk to it. Then, Isolda wondered if she was really a freak like Uncle Vernon said for having the ability to speak to a snake. "what's your name, little snake?"

The small snake puffed out proudly. "My name is for yours to choose, pretty speaker, for I have chosen you." Isolda felt a sort of warm sensation in her chest as she gazed down at the snake. "So, you are my friend, little snake?" Isolda asked hopefully, heart lifting when the snake uncoiled from her wrist to slither up her shoulders, flicking a black forked tongue against her cheek. "Of course, pretty speaker, now, give this one a name." Isolda smiled a small smile, looking at the little snake's eyes with glittering eyes–was this what having a friend felt like? If so, Isolda wanted to feel this sort of warmth all the time. "Auryon, then, little snake, that shall be my name for you."

As she was forced back into the cupboard, Isolda curled up into her small, thin, lumpy mattress with Auryon curled happily around her neck. Before she drifted off into a deep slumber, a thought raised itself in the forefront of her mind, and Isolda opened her eyes. "What type of snake are you, Auryon?"