“Do I have to go?” whined Hari, standing at the bottom of the stairs and frowning.

“Yes, Hari, you do. You know the rules,” replied Minerva sternly.

Hari sighed, grumbling under his breath. It was a couple of days after Hari’s birthday and he was being made to go and stay with the Dursleys, his only living relatives. As per Dumbledore’s agreement when Minerva insisted on having Hari come stay with her instead of the abusive Dursleys, Hari had to spend at least a few days every year with them in order to maintain the protection that Hari’s mother Lily had given him when she died to save him almost 12 years ago. The last time Hari stayed with his aunt and uncle, a house elf brought news that someone would try to kill him that school year and then dropped his Aunt Petunia’s cake on the kitchen floor and he was sent a formal warning from the Ministry for illegal underage magic.

Needless to say, he was not looking forward to the visit.

“Finish packing your overnight bag, Hari, or I’ll lock your broomstick in the cupboard for the rest of the summer,” Minerva snapped, fixing Hari with a glare. He huffed irritably and stomped up the stairs to finish shoving a few clothes and his toiletries into a backpack, grabbing a book off the shelf on his way out again. As he came grumbling back down the steps, Minerva said, “All packed?”

He nodded, crossing his arms and begrudgingly pulling on a pair of trainers. Minerva rolled her eyes and unlocked the front door, letting Hari stalk outside to the front of the house. She was fiddling with a cracked pocket watch, tapping her wand on it.

“Don’t act like a child, Hari. You’re 13, not three,” Minerva said, going to join him by the front gate.

“How would you know what I was like when I was three? You only took me when I was almost 5, Minerva,” Hari grumbled, unlocking the gate and walking through the small field until he saw the cottage disappear out of sight by the Fidelius Charm.

Minerva ignored his statement and took his arm, perhaps a little tighter than necessary. After a moment, the pocket watch started glowing slightly and Hari and Minerva each grabbed one side of the watch between them. After a few uncomfortable, breathless seconds, they arrived in a small side alley, just around the corner from Privet Drive. Minerva pocketed the pocket watch and pulled Hari down the street behind her.

They walked in silence up the plain, Muggle street, past lines of identical houses with perfectly mowed lawns and cars of similar makes to the next. They passed a jogger going in the opposite direction and Minerva nodded in greeting, though Hari continued to sulk moodily.

“I suggest you at least pretend to be cheerful or I assume the Dursleys will not be amused,” said Minerva as they walked along a small path lined by brick fences. “Or at least they will be even more unamused than usual.”

Hari huffed a sigh but straightened up, giving Minerva a forced smile. It felt more like a grimace. She chuckled and patted his cheek, tutting.

They reached Privet Drive next and Minerva led Hari up the path of the third house on the street. She rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait, gripping Hari’s arm. “You’ll be fine, Hari,” she muttered soothingly before the door opened a split second to reveal the thin, pale face of Aunt Petunia glaring back at them. “Good afternoon, Petunia,” said Minerva, putting on her false polite tone Hari only ever saw her use on people she disliked.

“Get inside, boy, it’s going to rain soon and I don’t want you mucking up the carpet. It was just washed,” snapped Aunt Petunia, ignoring Minerva’s greeting and glaring at Hari.

Minerva huffed but let Hari step inside. “See you,” Hari was able to say before the door slammed in Minerva’s face. He had a feeling she would not be happy about that for a long time and amused himself with imagining her Flooing to Severus’ house to complain over a glass of wine.

“Put your bag upstairs and then clean up Dudley’s mess on the kitchen table,” ordered Aunt Petunia. Hari nodded dully and climbed the stairs, frowning.

He dropped his bag on top of the duvet, which smelled strongly of mildew, then made his way down the stairs. He could hear Uncle Vernon ranting to Aunt Petunia about something in the kitchen. Bracing himself, Hari opened the door to the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was standing with a bowl in her thin arms, stirring something with a whisk, apron tied around her waist. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the tv and scowling, his bushy blond moustache the same as it always had been. Dudley was lounging on the couch, looking bored with a bowl of potato crisps in his lap. The news was on, apparently reporting about Sirius Black, much to Hari’s surprise.

“When will they ever learn that the best thing for these people is hanging?” Uncle Vernon was saying, pointing his remote at the television. He turned as Hari entered the kitchen. “Oh, you’re here.” He turned back to his television, which was now talking about the weather.

As Hari used a paper towel to clean up the spill of orange juice Dudley left on the table, Uncle Vernon announced, “I’d best be leaving, now. Don’t want to hit the rush hour.” Hari paused his cleaning and glanced up curiously at Uncle Vernon. Where was he going? “Marge’s train gets in at ten.”

“She’s coming to stay?” blurted out Hari in horror, almost kneeing the corner of the table.

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon’s sister. Hari had only met her once before, shortly before Minerva took him in, but she had been one of the most unpleasant people Hari had ever met. At Dudley’s fourth birthday party, she had brought her bulldog, Ripper, which chased Hari around the garden, trying to nip at his heels and then she hit him with her cane for scaring the dog, apparently. She spent the majority of that party complaining about Hari, claiming he was scrawny and ungrateful and that his parents had been drunks.

“She’ll be staying for a week, but you’re only here for two days,” said Uncle Vernon, pointing a finger in his face. “And before I get her, I want to set a few things straight with you. You will not mention that school of yours and you will keep a civil tongue with Aunt Marge the entire time. You also will remember not to mention the ‘M’ word or I will have you shipped straight into the ocean regardless of what that crackpot old fool says.”

“I’ll behave if she does,” said Hari petulantly, glaring up at his uncle.

Uncle Vernon’s cruel eyes narrowed into slits and he pointed his finger into Hari’s chest roughly. “You will do as I say while under this roof, boy!” he snarled. Hari rolled his eyes and Uncle Vernon stepped back, looking at his watch with the leather wristband and a silver face. “I’m headed to the station then. Want to join me, Dudders?”

“Nope,” said Dudley from the couch, already changing the channel to something else.

Once Uncle Vernon left, Hari wandered over to the couch to see what Dudley was watching. It was some British soap opera, a pair of middle aged women arguing about someone’s dead husband. Dudley changed the channel again to some American sitcom and Hari perched on the edge of the couch, watching the television because he had nothing else to do.

Dudley silently offered Hari the bowl and he muttered a thank you as he grabbed a handful of the crisps, shovelling them into his mouth. Dudley laughed at a joke from the comedian, spraying crumbs onto his shirt.

“Who is this guy?” asked Hari, grabbing another handful of crisps from the quickly emptying bowl.

Dudley shrugged. “No idea,” replied Dudley, eyes glued to the screen. Hari snorted, turning back to the television.

In next to no time, Uncle Vernon arrived with Aunt Marge and her favourite bulldog, Ripper at her heels. He barked and slobbered everywhere as he skidded into the kitchen, much to Aunt Petunia’s clear disgust. Hari was made to bring her suitcase upstairs while Aunt Marge doted over Dudley, handing him a twenty pound note.

When he returned downstairs again, it was to find the rest of the Dursleys sitting in the living room as Aunt Petunia poured tea into Marge’s tea cup. At his entrance, the light conversation between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge faltered as she turned her beady eyes on Hari, sneering. “I see you’re back again,” she commented, dribbling tea down her chin.

“Yes.”

“Don’t use that ungrateful tone with me, mister,” snapped Aunt Marge, pointing a finger at Hari accusingly. “You should be glad they let you stay here. If It were me, I’d have chucked you out ages ago.”

“Oh, they did chuck me out for most of the year, but I come to visit,” said Hari, pretending to inspect the dirt under his fingernails. “Much like yourself.”

“I can see you haven’t improved since I last saw you, then.” She took a large swig of tea from her mug, still fixing her eyes on Harry menacingly. “Where is it the boy now lives, Vernon?”

The Dursleys often spoke about Hari as though he wasn’t in the room. Dudley, sitting on the couch across from him with his video game, caught Hari’s eye, smirking. “He lives with a family friend of his father,” replied Uncle Vernon uncomfortably, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Clearly desperate for a topic change in fear of Hari slipping up, he said, “Heard the news, Marge? How about that escaped prisoner, eh?”

The rest of the evening passed much the same, Aunt Marge mocking Hari and comparing him to the far superior Dudley. She made comments about his dead parents and his messy hair and his small stature and even his race a few times, making Hari clench his fists at his sides, trying to focus on when he could finally go home again and away from here. Eventually, she grew bored of offhanded comments and they wrapped up the evening.

Hari was extremely grateful to be able to go upstairs to bed that night, no matter how uneven the mattress was.

¤¤¤

The next day, Hari spent most of his day trying to avoid Aunt Marge, wandering down the street to a nearby park. It was much warmer down south than up in Scotland, the sun beating down on Hari’s skin, warming him and causing beads of sweat to form along his hairline. Sitting idly on a swing, metal creaking horribly from age, Hari was safe from the cruel slap of Aunt Marge’s words. He detached himself from the Dursley household, separate and solitary, watching young children run around the playgrounds or people walking past with their dogs on leads.

Eventually, as the sun began to set and the sky turned into a cloudy navy blue and purple, Hari traipsed his way back to the Dursleys.

When he got inside, he could smell Aunt Petunia’s cooking and heard the droning of the television and lulling conversation among the adults. Aunt Marge’s shrill, booming voice carried right through the closed door and along the hall to where Hari stood in the entrance. With a sigh, Hari resigned himself to stepping into the kitchen.

Dudley was sitting on one of the couches, hunched forward over his Super Nintendo controller, playing a game in which a large furry creature was chasing after Dudley’s cartoon character. Aunt Petunia was standing at the stove, casting a withering look over her shoulder as Hari entered. Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon were sitting on another pair of seats in the living room, their conversation drawing to a stop as Hari came in.

“Where have you been all day?” asked Aunt Marge gruffly.

Hari shrugged, moving over to the couch to sit next to Dudley. “Out,” he said shortly.

Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon returned to their conversation again and Hari rolled his eyes, sitting back on the couch and watching Dudley playing his game. Once Dudley’s character died and the colourful, blocky text on the screen said ‘Game Over’, Dudley reached over and plugged in the second controller, passing it silently to Hari.

As Hari and Dudley’s characters ran away from the big furry creature on the screen and Harry managed to defeat the creature, Aunt Petunia called the family into the dining room where dinner was served and Hari and Dudley were forced to finish their game and go to sit down with the adults.

They managed to get through almost all three of the bland and unseasoned courses—Hari only got a plain bowl of pasta while the others had equally bland looking salmon—without Aunt Marge making any comments about Hari’s ‘flaws’. Aunt Petunia made cups of coffee and tea while Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy and some glasses for everyone but Hari and Dudley.

“Can I tempt you, Marge?”

Aunt Marge’s face was already bright red from the copious amount of wine she had had over dinner, but she chuckled heartily and grinned. “Just a small one,” she chortled, “A bit more than that… Come on, a bit more… There we go.”

Dudley was staring longingly at the black tv screen, eating a slice of lemon meringue pie. Aunt Petunia was silent, sipping a cup of tea from a dainty little tea cup, sticking one of her slender pinkies out. Hari wished he could disappear up to his bedroom before Aunt Marge could make anymore comments about him, but Uncle Vernon’s glare in his direction told him to stay put.

Aunt Marge finished her glass of brandy, smacking her lips in satisfaction. “Excellent nosh, Petunia, as always.” She patted her stomach, belching. Petunia flinched, grimacing. “I do prefer a healthy-sized boy,” Aunt Marge continued, patting Dudley on the shoulder. He blinked up at her. “You’ll be a proper-sized man when you’re older. No more of this prissy vegetarian nonsense.” She held out her glass to Uncle Vernon and he poured her another large glass of brandy.

Hari stiffened, shoving a bit of pie in his mouth and trying to remind himself to calm down. Only a little while longer and then he could go to bed and be gone the very next day. He dug his fingernails into his leg as Aunt Marge turned her beady eyes on Hari, pointing a finger at him.

“Unlike this runty thing here,” she said. “You get that sometimes with dogs. If he were a dog, I’d have had him drowned. Weak like one of those ratty little dogs we sometimes get. Colonel Fubster had to do it to one of them last summer.”

Hari desperately forced himself to think of his new Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare book that came with Hermione’s gift, steadying his breathing with difficulty.

“It all comes down to blood, as always. I say nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was clearly a bad egg. Running off with some good-for-nothing wastrel and look what she got.” She gestured at Hari dismissively. Hari’s blood was fizzling with anger, which he struggled to tamper down with thinking about flying. Aunt Marge’s voice was boring right into him, maddeningly unyielding. “This Potter. You never told me what he did?”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were incredibly tense while Dudley gaped back and forth between the others, shooting a questioning look Hari’s way.

“He was unemployed,” said Uncle Vernon, shooting a glare at Hari, daring him to contradict him.

Aunt Marge hit the table with her hand, looking triumphant. “As I expected!” she exclaimed. “A lazy, good-for-nothing pa—”

“He wasn’t,” Hari blurted. The table went silent. Hari was trembling from head to toe, his palms aching from how tightly he held his hands in fists. His heart was thundering, ringing in his ears.

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, pointing his own finger in Hari’s face. “You, boy,” he snarled, spitting slightly in Hari’s face. “Go to bed—”

“No, Vernon,” interrupted Aunt Marge, hiccoughing and sloshing brandy onto the table cloth. “Go on, boy. Proud of your lousy parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed—drunk, I expect—”

“SHUT UP!” Hari shouted, getting to his feet. He felt no control over his body at all, his eyes burning and body trembling.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you filthy vermin!” screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with cruel anger. “You are an insolent, ungrateful piece of—”

She stopped. For a second, words seemed to have failed her. She was swelling with incoherent fury… and then she was really beginning to swell up. She was growing and growing, like a grotesque balloon, bulging out of her clothes as they became tight around her round body. A button burst off her blouse, hitting the wall and bouncing off, shattering one of the glasses so that brandy splashed onto the floor and tablecloth.

“MARGE!” screamed Uncle Vernon as she started to float upwards out of her seat, clothes tearing against her still growing body.

She seemed entirely inflated and she bounced up against the ceiling while Ripper barked madly and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon both screamed, trying to get her down from the ceiling as she continued to float around like a human blimp.

Hari knocked over his seat as he jumped away, anger overpowering his every thought as he took in the horrifying scene. Dudley seemed to be the only one not panicking, laughing unapologetically at his aunt bobbing on the ceiling.

Hari tore out of the room, racing up the stairs, stumbling in his haste. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and shoved his discarded clothes and book inside his bag, kicking the door open again as he stormed back down the steps. His skin was crawling as he nearly toppled down the steps where he met Uncle Vernon at the bottom, red faced and his trouser leg torn by Ripper’s teeth.

“YOU GET HER DOWN! COME BACK IN HERE!” he bellowed, pointing a shaking, furious finger at the doorway. Hari could still hear Aunt Petunia’s shrieks on the other side.

But a reckless, impulsive fury was racing through Hari, alighting him from inside. He instinctively yanked his wand out of the front pocket of his bag, pointing it at Uncle Vernon, chest heaving.

“She deserved what she got,” he snapped. “You get away from me.” Hari turned and threw open the front door. “I’ve had enough. Fuck you,” he said.

And then, without looking behind him, Hari was storming down the street, hyperventilating as he separated himself as much as possible from the Dursleys.

Several streets away, Hari finally collapsed on the side of the street, head in between his knees as he panted heavily and ran his shaking hands through his hair. He felt hot and yet cold all over, a strange sense of urgency flooding through him, listening to the unsteady thrum of his blood running through his ears.

Alone in the ugly, sputtering yellow beam from the lamppost beside him, crouched on the side of Magnolia Crescent, the nature of his situation suddenly flowed over him like a bucket of ice water. His anger dissipated into bubbling panic, realisation of what he had done making his heart skip a beat. Hari’s hands shook as he remembered the warning he received last year, telling him that if he used magic again outside of school, he would face expulsion. Inflating his aunt in blind fury certainly would fall under that if a house-elf’s Levitating charm counted…

He needed to decide what to do now, but none of his thoughts were properly coherent or logical, all of them overlapping and twisting in a tangle of panic and recklessness that Hari couldn’t even hope to unwind.

What would Minerva say when she found out he had been expelled for breaking yet another rule, for acting out on his recklessness? He had nothing left if he could not return to Hogwarts and he couldn’t possibly go back to the Dursleys after he blew up Aunt Marge. Minerva’s disappointed frown ebbed into the forefront of his mind and dread joined with his panic.

Hari’s skin crawled with the sensation of being watched. He was probably just being paranoid, panic setting heavy in his bones as he trembled all over, but he turned over his shoulder anyway. Something was moving in that bush over by the garden well, but Hari couldn’t see it, hidden in the shadows, away from the glaring fluorescent light.

Hari got up on shaky legs and edged closer to the bushes. Poking out between the bushes, Hari saw a pair of glowing eyes and the silhouette of a big, shaggy black animal staring directly at him. Gasping, Hari stumbled back in surprise and felt his heel stumble over the edge of the pavement. Heart leaping, Hari felt himself flying backwards, throwing his hand out to save himself from cracking his skull on the ground. His hand stung from catching himself, rough against the pavement.

A split second later, Hari heard the distant, high pitched screech of tires skidding on asphalt and he only managed to scuttle off the road before he was blinded by headlights and a violently purple, triple-decker bus appeared right where Hari had just fallen. Hari read the words The Knight Bus in fancy script on the front of the bus.