Harry Potter and the Grim Truth

Harry woke up early that morning to the sound of Petunia knocking on his door. He felt so unenergized he nearly went right back to sleep. It took him much longer than it should've to find his energy, but when he finally did, he found the Dursleys eating at the kitchen table. On the counter, before his usual stool, sat a plate with bacon, toast, and half a pancake.

He sat down, facing the new Television-- a welcome-home gift for Dudley, who found the walk from the fridge to the living room telly all too far-- whuch he could barely see between Vernon and Dudley. Harry took a bite of toast, as the morning news reporter said, "The public is warned that Black is armed, and extremely dangerous. A special hotline, for any sightings of Black need to be immediately reported, has been set up..."

Harry thought about how the summer had been so far as he ate. The Dursleys had been considerably nicer, not making him do any work. Though that may have been because he wrote up a fake note saying that things would end horribly for them if he did not get proper rest and food, telling them it was from Dumbledore. He was surprised it actually worked.

"You haven't got to tell us he's no good! Filthy layabout-- look at his state, mangled face! And his hair," Vernon grumbled, glaring back at Harry. Harry only shrugged, taking another bite of his toast. His hair, short, curly(when Petunia hadn't recently flat ironed it), and untameable, had always been the one thing Vernon hated about him. Maybe even more than how he was a wizard, it would always be his hair.

His Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. She would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and Harry suspected she’d spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding next-doors who could mind their own business. 

"When will they learn," said Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging’s the only way to deal with these people? Manic- unsavoury- beasts! Ought to be put in their place before they too far out of line!"

"Very true, darling, very true," said Petunia absentmindedly, still squinting into next door’s runner beans. 

Vernon finally calmed down, as Harry finished his breakfast, "... Marge's train gets in at ten." 

Harry, who was still trying to comprehend Sirius's letter-- and why he had the feeling that this escaped convict, Black, was him-- was caught off-guard at once. "Marge? Aunt Marge? She can't come here-- I mean-- er, she's got so many dogs, can she really leave them all behind?" 

His 'Aunt' Marjorie, or Marge, had hated him. More than Vernon hated how wild Harry's hair was, if possible. She wasn't really his aunt, but he wouldn't have as much "freedom" he had if he hadn't called her as such. Marge lived out in the country, with a house and a large garden, and more bulldogs than any person in the world would ever need. She rarely left them, but the times she came to visit number four left atrocious memories that stood out in Harry's mind.

At Dudley's fifth birthday party, where she first met him, she hated Harry so badly that she hit him with her cane every five minutes; Just about approximately. She wouldn't let him leave her side, and hit him on the head every five minutes, as far as Harry could tell. He couldn't even play musical chairs without getting dizzy, and he could've sworn he had half a concussion by the time she left.

A few years after that, she turned up one Christmas morning with an expensive toy for Dudley, and a bag of dog biscuits for Harry. Which wasn't as funny as Dudley found it because Ripper, Marge's favourite bulldog, had jumped on him when Harry threw the biscuits at him. He couldn't even remember how long he had been locked in the cupboard for it.

And then, the year before Harry went to Hogwarts, he accidentally stepped on Ripper's tail, and was chased right up a tree. Marge didn't call him off until midnight; To her surprise, though, the dog's fur had been the same colour as a cloud. Yet again, he had been put to his cupboard for the rest of her stay(which was, fortunately for her, how long it took for Ripper's fur to go back to normal). 

So to say, she brought out the worst in his already "bad" behaviour, and she treated him the worst she could.

"Marge'll be here for a week," Vernon snarled. "And while we're on the subject, boy," He pointed a finger threateningly at Harry, "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

"Vernon, he can barely talk most days, I doubt he'd go as far as to make Marge that mad," said Petunia, but Vernon hadn't been listening.

Dudley immediately turned to watch. Watching Harry being bullied by Vernon was Dudley's favourite form of entertainment, much more than anything the telly could offer.

"Firstly," growled Vernon, "You'll keep a civil tongue when you're talking to Marge."

"I will." Harry said slowly, "if she does."

"Secondly," said Vernon, acting like he hadn't heard Harry's reply, "Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any- any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got it?"

"If she does," repeated Harry through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," said Vernon, his little eyes now horizontal slits in his fat face, "We've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"Excuse me?"

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble," spat Vernon.

"I am not a criminal, and I wouldn't be incurable," Harry said, angrily.

He watched as Vernon asked Dudley if he wanted to go-- though he did not-- and as Vernon waddled out the kitchen.

Suddenly, Harry had gotten an idea, and hopped off his stool. Vernon was pulling on his coat, and noticed Harry-- "I'm not taking you," He said.

"Like I want to go." Harry scoffed. "I have a question. See, third years at my school are allowed to go to the nearby village, and--"

"So?" Vernon disrupted, grabbing his car keys. 

"I need you to sign my permission slip. And before you ask why you'd do that, I think you should know, it'll be hard work pretending for Aunt Marge that I'm a troublemaker, and that I go to St. Whatsits--"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!" Vernon barked.

"Exactly, you see?" Harry gestured wildly. "I can't even remember the name of my so-called 'school!' What's stopping me from letting a little word or two slip? I'd have to remember so many more things, and have to make it sound convincing... I'd need real motivation, wouldn't I?"

"You let anything slip and you'll get the stuffing beat out of you!" Vernon threatened, waving a fat finger in Harry's face, though he wasn't deterred.

"Beating the stuffing out of me won't make Marge forget when I tell her all about my school, and what if I told Dumbledore how you're mistreating me, especially with the note he sent? Who knows what spell he'd hit you with, and not to mention Dudley," Harry said, as sweat slid down Vernon's forehead much like rain down a window. He hated mention of Dumbledore-- and even more, he hated any mention of the note instructing Harry get lots of rest.

"Sign my slip, and I won't let anything slip." Harry offered.

"I'll sign your ruddy slip if you behave while Marge is here," Vernon pulled his coat collar tight around his barely visible neck.

"Thank you, Uncle Vernon," Harry said airily with a wicked smile.

Vernon turned around so quickly, and slammed the door so hard, that a pane from the top of the glass fell out. Harry walked up the stairs, rather than back to the kitchen. Petunia couldn't have cared less if he did or didn't do the dishes-- less freaky magic on her nice tableware, she'd say-- and Harry thought he better get a start on acting like a Muggle now.

He let Hydrus out his case and forced Sly into a make-shift baby carrier to put her back in-- he couldn't trust her for a minute, seeing as she constantly "forgotten" that he'd strictly told her not to wander this summer, but she was so fond of biting at the lock on her case that it had really broken. People down the street of Privet Drive had gotten used to Harry's "badger" taking things and having to knock on the Dursleys' door, asking for whatever had gone missing. The Dursleys were less than pleased to call him down and demand for whatever belonging had disappeared. 

Hydrus slithered around the floor, before settling on Harry's bedside table, where a letter, a box, and a small light blue present sat. Harry, however, was busy sending away Hedwig and Errol. He told Hedwig to go to Draco, and Errol to go back to the Burrow. Errol had already been gone, but Hedwig had been much more resistant.

"Hedwig, please, Draco's a very good person. Don't look at me like that," Harry pleaded, and Hedwig almost seemed to glare her beady eyes at Harry. "Just for the week. That's all. If you've really got a problem with him now, then just go to Hogwarts. Just-- just a week." He swore, and finally, Hedwig bound out the window.

Harry let out a breath of relief, and then thought about what to do with Sly and Hydrus. Hydrus was independent, always finding food and what not, but his size was much larger than the average garden snake. And Sly... well, she had to be in a baby-carrier. It was very large, considering it was formerly Dudley's, but it kept Sly somewhere he could see her. Before he could find someplace to leave her safe, Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for him to come down.

He swore under his breath, dropping the carrier on his bed defeatedly, before he went walking down the staircase.

"Fix your hair," Petunia said.

"I can't." He said, and Petunia scoffed at once.

"Ridiculous! My idiotic sister, marrying some man with genes like that! I'll be straightening your hair again before the day's over!"

Harry rolled his eyes as she spoke. He supposed it was helpful, sometimes, but really, didn't she get tired of straightening his hair? 

Vernon and Marge came walking up the garden path. Petunia went to open the door, putting on a smile.

In the open doorway stood large, heavy Vernon, and Marge, who looked just like him; Large, beefy, and purple-faced-- she even had a moustache, though not nearly as prominent as his; It looked as though she'd tried to shave it, for once. In one hand, she was dragging an enormous suitcase, and under her other arm, she held her favourite-- and Harry's absolute least favourite-- bulldog, Ripper.

"Where's my Dudders?" Marge said. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

Dudley came down the hall, his hair stuck flat to his head. A small bow tie was barely visible under multiple chins. Marge opened her arms wide, and thrusted her suitcase into Harry's stomach.

"Careful, Marge, he had a lung injury in May. We can't have him coughing on everything." Vernon grunted, as Harry wheezed for air. A little too late, Harry figured, fixing his posture. For Hogsmeade, he reminded himself.

Marge pulled Dudley into a one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek. He held a twenty-pound note in his palm when he was let go.

"Petunia!" Marge said, chortling, waddling over to Petunia. Marge and Petunia kissed cheeks, or rather, Marge knocked her large jaw against Petunia's bony cheekbone.

Vernon now came in, smiling as he shut the door. "Tea, Marge? And what will Ripper have?" He asked.

"My little Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," Marge answered, as she, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley all began walking to the kitchen. Harry was left in the hall alone, but he didn't mind; Marge was a nightmare, genuinely, and he would enjoy not having to be in the same room as her for as long as he could. He heaved the suitcase up the stairs as slowly as possible to the spare room, and suddenly, right when he'd gotten there, Sly came barrelling out his room, dragging the carrier behind her, and scratched at the suitcase-- he didn't know how, but Sly knew that Marge had jewellery in her bag. 

He looked back at the door. Nobody had been walking through the hall. As annoyed as he was that she'd escaped-- somehow, though really, he ought to have expected it-- he hated Marge much more than he could ever be annoyed. 

"One thing," he said, picking up Sly and lowering her halfway into the purse. He noticed, obviously, that she was barrelling much more than one thing into her stomach pouch-- whatever it was called, because he didn't know-- but he didn't care to scold her about it. Marge got what Marge earned, and Sly had decided for herself that it included a long list of missing jewellery. That was... mostly out of his control.

When he returned to the kitchen, atleast ten minutes later, Marge had tea and fruitcake infront of her, and Ripper was yapping noisily in the corner. Harry saw Petunia's smile tighten slightly as tea and drool flecked her clean floor.

Petunia hated animals. She hated Hydrus, because he was always everywhere and nowhere or slithering here or there. She hated Sly, because whenever Harry didn't have a hold on her, another one of her shiny or pretty golden necklaces or bracelets went missing. She hated Hedwig, who'd screech in the dead of night, demanding praise for one reason or the next. She hated animals. Harry remembered very well one of Dudley's first experiences being told "no"-- he'd asked what must've been a thousand times for a pet dog, and while Vernon was very fine with it, Petunia had put her foot down at once and had never given in; Which was rare for her to ever do, especially when it came to Dudley. Harry appreciated it, honestly, and hardly for his own sake-- if Dudley had a dog, it wouldn't last a month. 

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Vernon asked, sipping his own tea. "Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," Marge said. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

Ripper, ironically, began to growl again as Harry sat down on his usual stool with a fidgety Sly. He began barking loudly, spinning around Harry's legs. Marge's attention went to Harry for the first time.

"So!" she shouted. "Still here, are you?"

Harry nodded.

"Well! Say something! So ungrateful, can't even admit you're housing him! You're too kind, Vernon, Petunia. If he showed up on my doorstep, he'd have been out to an orphanage that minute!" Marge yelled. Harry nearly rolled his eyes again; She'd have acted the exact same if he said anything.

Don't forget why you're doing this-- he thought back to the Hogsmeade slip. Just keep quiet. He was very capable of that, and he knew it.

"Found a sibling, have you? A little rodent?" Marge taunted. Harry forced a smile. "Don't smirk at me! Horrid little boy! You haven't improved at all since I last saw you, I see. I hoped school would've knocked some sense into you. You aught to do it yourself, Vernon. Where do you send him again?"

"St. Brutus's," Vernon said. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"Best place for him," Marge bellowed. Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?"

Vernon nodded frantically behind Marge's back.

Harry nodded. "All the time."

"Excellent," Marge said. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"

"Oh, yeah," lied Harry easily, feeding Sly a piece of bacon, "Loads of times. Tons. It's how I got my lung injury. Punctured right in the center." 

Vernon obviously seemed to think he was too obnoxious-- and Marge narrowed her eyes, clearly thinking the same. "Tell them to use extreme force with this one, Petunia. If you can speak of your beatings so casually, you need to be hit harder." Marge said. Harry's face was beginning to look a deep red and he could no longer stop his smile from being a grimace; Perhaps Vernon was worried that Harry might upset Marge, and he changed the subject abruptly.

"Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

As Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself wishing he was anywhere but there. Vernon and Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which he was only too happy to do. But Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement.

She's always loved comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, her eyes daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She continuously hinted at Petunia or Vernon to send him overseas or to an orphanage, or that they should do something more severely; Petunia always denied rather sharpish, and Harry supposed that only made Marge do it more. And whatever had them disagreeing showed particularly at dinner that night; it was relatively silent, save for Vernon and Marge's conversing, and Dudley's television program. 

"Harry, Dudley, go upstairs." Petunia directed suddenly, as Marge and Vernon approached a new topic-- apparently, one she didn't want them hearing.

"No, no, make the orphan stay, you go, Dudley," Marge insisted. 

"Sorry Marge, he needs extra rest. His lung injury, and what not, doctor's orders." Petunia said, gesturing for him to leave.

Marge and Petunia disagreed on whether or not Harry would stay in the kitchen, but they had been so indulged, they hadn't noticed he'd already been gone. Dudley had very simply retreated for the living room, continuing to watch his show.

Harry fell down on his bed before even closing the door-- how anyone could even consider wanting to be in the same room as Marge, he didn't know.

"Snake..." Hydrus hissed. Harry was too tired to pay him any mind. Hydrus didn't seem to care however, suddenly slithering out Harry's line of sight.

Suddenly, a very small box had been beside him.

"You forgot." Hydrus said, before he curled into a ball happily. Harry couldn't help his snort, pulling up the top. It was a golden necklace that had a shape Harry couldn't explain, and an hourglass dead center. He picked up the note underneath it;

Harry, this is a Time-Turner. I'm sure you know about those, but if you don't: It allows you to go back into the past, but with this one, you can only go back up to five hours(max, sadly). It was mine last year, but I don't need it anymore. It may seem a little suspicious how I got my hands on one, but it's thanks to my dad. You turn the knobs the number of times however many hours back you want to go(like turn it once if you're trying to go back one hour). Dad stole one from magical Bulgaria and gave it to me. He's been dragging my mother all over the place, you wouldn't believe me if I said that they met Mr And Mrs Malfoy in France over Christmas! I don't need it now that I'm an Animagus. I've been using it mostly to get to places easier. But since you signed up for like twenty classes, I think it'll help you a ton.

P.S- try not to get caught in two places at once! It's totally embarrassing to try and explain(and I would know), but I bet you'll get in a ton of trouble if you get caught at school.

Harry picked it up and tied it around his neck. He'd have to look for a book about Time-Turners when he went to Diagon Alley.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," said Marge over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Harry tried to concentrate on the book in his hand-- Occlumency wasn't any good if he didn't have his emotions under control, as the book said; An agitated person is a vulnerable person-- but he lost place as his hands shook and his ears were beginning to burn. He hated when his ears felt like that-- it only put him in a worse mood.

Remember the form, he told himself. Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't get in more trouble than you need to.

Marge reached for her glass of wine. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup--"

At that moment, the wine glass Marge was holding exploded in her hand, as did Vernon's. Shards of glass flew in every direction. Marge spluttered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping with wine.

"Marge, Vernon!" squealed Petunia. "Oh my-- are you two alright?"

"Not to worry," grunted Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must've squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip... it's in the genes of a Dursley. You, clean it up," She snapped her fingers at Harry.

Yet Petunia and Vernon were both looking at Harry the whole time, who had been beginning to feel rather faint anyhow, so he decided he'd better skip pudding and escape from the kitchen as soon as he could. He cleaned up the broken glass, threw it out, and rushed into the hall. He leaned against the wall, nearly hyperventilating. It had been a long time since he'd lost control that badly. He knew better-- he could've done better to stop it. He had done things when he was younger, albeit, not on purpose, but that was before he knew what magic was. He couldn't let it happen again. He'd be lucky if there wasn't a letter heading his way now saying he had been expelled from Hogwarts.

He heard the Dursleys standing up from the table and scrambled out the way, into the living room.

Harry had planned to get through the rest of the day's Marge was visiting distracting himself by trying his hardest to seclude himself in a bubble within his head, blocking out all noise-- that would help better with Occlumency, he figured. If there was nothing to hear, there was nothing to be mad at, so then there was nothing to distract him.

And for the next three days, it worked. He'd cough and pretend that he was having trouble speaking whenever Marge made a hit at him. One downside of that, however-- it gave him a glazed look that made her think he was mentally sub-normal.

Finally, the last day of Marge's stay arrived, and Harry felt much better than any other day. Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; During the lemon meringue pie, Vernon bored them all stupid with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; Then Petunia made coffee and Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy whilst Harry put the dishes in the sink.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?"

Marge had already had rather a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.

"Just a small one, then," she chuckled. She urged him as he poured her glass. "A bit more than that.... A bit more... that's the ticket."

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wished to disappear into his bedroom and take a long, nice nap, but he met Vernon's angry little eyes across the counter and decided he'd rather not risk it.

"Aah," said Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after..." She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Hah! Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. "You'll be quite a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I do think I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon...

"Now, this one here--" She jerked her head at Harry, who had been scraping clean a pot. 

Not a single thought, he thought quickly, trying to clear his mind. It was the best way he'd thought of yet, and he had gotten rather good at it, in recent days, he'd argue. 

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred." 

Harry was trying to get the thought of whether or not Sly's cage had been sealed on tight out of his mind as she spoke. Marge's voice was getting overwhelmingly clear.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day; Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia--" she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one, "-- but, oh, your sister was such a bad egg. They turn up in the best families, you know. Then she ran off with a wastrel, immigrant of a man, and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry was staring at the counter, beginning to lose trace of his bubble-- Clear skies, clear skies, he thought desperately, trying to quickly straighten the trembling image in his head. But then he realised just where he was. Very slowly, the noise got louder-- the running water in the sink, Marge's voice, then the sound of the television in the background.

Great, he was back here.

"This Potter," said Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"

Vernon and Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents and paused the telly.

"He... didn't work," said Vernon, with half a glance at Harry, who had begun to lose touch with reality-- only, not in the way he'd needed. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" Bellowed Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who--"

"He was not a scrounger," snapped Harry, speaking out of turn. "and if anything, you are worse than he ever could've been."

It had gone silent, yet even the silence had begun to get loud. Marge's glass, although she did not notice, cracked right down the middle of the rim and the lights flickered weakly. Harry supposed it was just light-headedness, and he was simply watching his vision gradually fail him. 

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the remainder bottle into Marge's glass. "You, now," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on--"

"No, no, Vernon," hiccupped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on and speak. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash, drunk, I expect--"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" shouted Harry, but before he could get any more words out, his steps were too unbalanced-- he had to steady himself on the counter. It was getting hard to breathe. Over the island, he saw another crack down the rim of Marge's glass, and the lights flickered again; this time, Harry was sure it was not just him imagining it.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little--"

But Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger- but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech. The next second, several buttons burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls-- she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami...

"MARGE!" yelled Vernon and Petunia together, as Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair towards the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Marge's glass fell out her hand and hit the ground with a loud shatter. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly. 

"NOOOOOOO!"

Harry found his breathing only got worse as Marge's inflation only grew bigger. She bumped the ceiling-- another button off her jacket popped and hit Dudley dead between the eyes.

Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but it was effortless, as he'd let go at once-- Ripper had sunk his teeth into Vernon's leg. Marge bumped the ceiling again, and started airily drifting out the back garden door that Petunia insisted stay open for 'scenery.' Harry gripped the counter tightly, trying to think. It was a shock when he realised his nose was running with blood like a leaky faucet, and stumbled out the kitchen while Vernon ran out to try and stop Marge from floating away into the sky. As Harry got into the hall, the door to the cupboard flew open, the lock breaking before he even looked at it.

He swiped all his belongings, before sprinting upstairs, dragging his trunk. He pushed open his door, and once he grabbed it, an absentminded flick of his wand was all it took for all his things to begin wrapping themselves up neatly and quickly. His birthday presents placed themselves all in his pillowcase and fell right on top of everything else, beside Hydrus and Hedwig's now-tiny cases, and Sly's forced itself into a snug corner. As if she knew he was preparing to leave, Sly came scrambling down the hall, dragging along far too much jewellery along with her and lunged for her case before his trunk shut on its own. He jumped the last five steps of the staircase and grabbed his broom just as Vernon burst out the dining room with a bloody, tattered pants leg.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" He shouted. "YOU COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

Harry raised his wand to Vernon's face without a second thought.

"Good riddance," He said loudly, and he fumbled with the latch for the door. "She deserved what she got. And you– you can stay away from me, or you'll be joining her! I- I've had enough-- ten- bloody years- too long! I'm leaving! And I'm never coming back!" 

"You're not going to make it anywhere!" Vernon threatened. "Your school is closed until September!" 

"I said stay away from me!" Harry raised his wand to Vernon's face again- he couldn't think right, but it wasn't helping that Vernon wouldn't get out of his face. "I- I used magic on Marge without a wand- just imagine what I can do with one! Stay- stay away from me!"

The Dursleys didn't even wait for him to get off the lawn to slam the door shut. 

Harry was atleast three streets away from Number four of Privet Drive before his heart rate returned to normal, no longer thundering in his ears and allowing him to think, and it finally dawned on him-- he really didn't know where he would go. Where he could go, even. The only person who was anywhere nearby was Draco-- but he didn't know where he lived.

He was really lost and alone. But that wasn't new. It was just... an unwelcome return. And finally, finally... he was away from the Dursleys-- of his own accord, not assisted by anyone else... he got an immense sense of pride as he remembered Vernon's fearful face, as Harry had him at wandpoint, and finally he was the defenceless one. It wasn't the great, tell-off he imagined it would be, where they'd suffer for all the times he had suffered, but this was just alright. He was free.

And in his much better mood, Harry thought, he'd figure something out... eventually.