A Woman's Intuition (Fem!HarryPotter)

Prologue

The Dursley residence at Number Four Privet Drive was a normal, if sometimes noisy household. The head of the household, Mr. Vernon Dursley, worked for a company called Grunnings, where they sold drills, while the lady of the house, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, stayed home to look after their son, Dudley.

The lawn was well manicured, and the house always swept and dusted. The rosebushes were the envy of the lady at Number Six. They had a nice car, a conservatory with sparkling glass panes, and all the finer things in life.

In fact, one might think that with all the time Petunia spent with the garden and bridge clubs that she had a housekeeper to help with everything.

One might even be correct, in a manner of speaking.

One of the things that upset the perfect picture of normality was the other child in the house, Ms. Amaryllis Euphemia Potter. She was a small child, with long dark hair and vibrant green eyes. She was rather pale, and if you were to ask her teachers, very odd. She didn't answer many questions, and they never saw her play with the other children. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had been called by the school to discuss her, but they already had a story that explained all of it away.

"We took her in as a baby, after her parents were killed in a car accident. The doctors said that the scar was the only problem at the time, but a few years later they said that was wrong. If they had caught the brain damage earlier, something might have been done, but she'll never fully recover now."

This was the lie that they had woven. Amaryllis was a little girl whose problems stemmed from a rather serious brain injury as an infant. Not once had anyone questioned their story, and little Amaryllis wasn't thought about past the first day of school.

The teachers never asked why her hands were covered in scars, or why she always had tape on her glasses, or why she always wore rather ragged second hand clothing. They never questioned why she avoided her cousin, or why she walked home when Dudley would get a ride. They never question why all her school supplies were in such bad shape when Dudley's were all brand new. No one did.

No one, that is, but batty old Mrs. Figg.

Mrs. Figg was a widow who lived just a street over on Wisteria Walk, and she had been Amaryllis's babysitter for as long as Amaryllis could remember. She was a strange woman, with wild grey hair and several cats with rather absurd names, and her house always smelled like cabbage. Despite that, she was always kind to Amaryllis, whom she called Amy. Whenever Amaryllis was there Mrs. Figg would tell her all manner of strange stories, and teach her to bake cakes and biscuits. She showed her how to play piano, and gave her lessons on etiquette. And when Amaryllis turned 10, Petunia turned Amaryllis over to Mrs. Figg to learn the facts of life.

If there was anyone in the world Amaryllis loved more, she didn't know it.

Mrs. Figg was the only one Amaryllis trusted, and the only one who knew what went on behind closed doors at Number Four.

The manual labor, the continual hunger, and the punishments she endured whenever something went wrong. She knew about Dudley's penchant for violence both at school and at home. She knew just how hard Aunt Petunia had lashed her hands with the ruler, how hard Uncle Vernon yanked her arm, and most of all, she knew about the cupboard under the stairs.

There were four bedrooms at Privet Drive. One was the master, where Petunia and Vernon stayed, and there was a guest room where Vernon's sister Marge would sleep when she visited. The last two bedrooms were Dudley's. One for sleeping, one for storing all of his broken toys that he wouldn't let his mother throw away.

That left Amaryllis in the boot cupboard.

The cupboard was small, cramped, and full of spiders, but Petunia had shoved an old camp cot in there for Amaryllis, and called it good enough.