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Nothing else to say.
It was appropriate weather for a funeral thought 10 year old Harry potter as the rain fell down on the three freshly dug graves.
The graves were that of his last remaining relatives, his cousin, his aunt and his uncle. He supposed he should be shedding tears. Not out of sadness because he would never cry for the Dursley's but because of the 2 dozen or so other funeral attendees who he knew were looking at him, judging him seeing how he was reacting to his relatives deaths.
He knew it would be easier if he cried, if he cried he would gain sympathy from some and he would need that sympathy soon nought if he had any hope of not speeding the rest of his life in a living hell.
But he would never cry for the Dursley's.
So he sat there unmoving almost unblinking for the entire service listening to the priest prattle on about how well respected the family had been In the community and about how they were now in a better place, and he waited.
He waited until the service was officially over and as one the two dozen or so seated mourners rose from there chairs and started to make there way down the gravel path toward the church. Were they would tell others how much they had liked the Dursleys and how they would miss them, thought these being the Dursley's they would probably struggle to keep a straight face.
He sat on his chair as the rain pored down and waited, soon he heard the sound of foot steps behind him and turned his head a fraction to see who was approaching him. Outwardly his face wore the same blank look that it had for the past 5 days but on the inside he jumped for joy.
Approaching him and sawing slightly with each step ( Harry supposed that she had been drinking) was Vernon sister aunt Marge as his uncle had insisted he called her.
Harry felt a flutter of apprehension inside him. If this didn't work if she didn't act as he wanted her to then he would spend the rest of his childhood in her care and that was a terrifying thought.
She stopped a foot from him, looking down at him.
Harry sensed that this was the critical moment that if he didn't do something here and now then it was all over.
"I'm sorry" he said looking straight in to her eyes.
The words were well chosen.
To the priest, to the onlookers they were the sweet innocent words of a child trying to comfort a adult even as he himself struggled to cope with the pain of losing family.
To Aunt Marge however those words were a confession, the admit ion of guilt from a boy that Vernon had always insisted was trouble and the guilty have to be punished.
The first blow knocked Harry to the grown, the second knocked the wind from his stomach an d the 3rd smashed his left kneecap.
"MURDERING FITH" screamed Aunt marge with each blow that rained down on him.
He grimaced and bore the pain, he could snap her arm like a twig with a wave of his hand if he wanted to but he had to wait, he had to let the others at the funeral see what she was like, why he could never be sent to live with her.
Suddenly the blows stopped. Marge was being hauled away by a pair of muscular men from Vernon company and as harry looked up from the grown at the looks of fear and horror on the faces of the onlookers and knew that he had won.
There was no way that anyone would send him to live Aunt marge now, he closed his eyes and let darkness take him.
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