Petunia Snaps: Part Nine. The Last Supper
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter is the creation of JK Rowling and is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. I do not own it or its characters, nor do I expect or deserve financial remuneration for my efforts. I am writing for my own amusement and ego gratification.
Yes, I like having my ego gratified. Please write a nice review.
Author's note: rated "T" for language.
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The Dursleys came back from their stroll about twenty five minutes later. Harry had been taking deep breaths to calm himself before he had to deal with Aunt Marge, and was able to deliver Mrs. Derwent's message with a straight face and a polite manner, which still didn't spare him from Aunt Marge accusing him of smirking.
After telephoning Mrs. Derwent back, Marge briefly discussed the upcoming dog show and enthusiastically agreed to be one of the judges. She then announced her change of plans to the Dursleys. "There's a local dog show. One of the judges is sick and they asked me, me, to help judge it," Aunt Marge said with pride. "I'm afraid that I'll have to cut this visit short, Vernon. Maybe I can visit again in September."
I don't care if you do come by in September, thought Harry. I won't be here.
Dudley retired upstairs to play video games after he returned home from the house. He called his friend Gordon, who told him that he and the rest of the gang were invited to go to the cinema with him that afternoon; Gordon's mother would be driving them.
Harry went upstairs and set to sorting his own room and belatedly making his own bed. He looked up and saw Dudley.
"Bloody clothes don't fit," said Dudley.
"I didn't have anything to do with it," said Harry. "I was either here or on foot to the Sainsbury's. If I wanted to jinx your clothes, I'd have to be right there to charm them while you were trying them on, and I'd have to be thinking about it. And most of my mates are at school, not here." Dudley turned around and walked out.
Harry realized that the clothes problem bothered him. Dudley had a golden opportunity to go downstairs and accuse Harry of using the M-word but let it pass. His cousin came back in with a couple of shirts and a couple of pairs of pants with the price tags and pins still on them.
"Well these don't fit, and they're supposed to be in my size," he said. "You explain it."
Harry opened them up, looked at the shirts, looked at Dudley, then looked at the size tags. He opened a shirt, stared at it, then looked at the size tags again. This was ridiculous, he thought.
"Someone put on the wrong size tags," said Harry. "Did Aunt Marge get these off a sale table?" asked Harry.
"Yeah," said Dudley, "what about it?"
"Somebody stitched on the wrong size tags," said Harry, "One of the third years, his Mum used to work in a store in Birmingham. He told me that his Mom watches the sales tables like a hawk. Occasionally the stores get a lot of shirts or trousers with the wrong size tags stitched on. A bloke or two trying on clothes finds out the hard way that they don't fit, and the bad batch gets thrown on the sales table to get rid of it. I bet that's what happened to you. No you-know-what, just some idiot with a sewing machine."
"What the bloody hell do I do with them?" asked Dudley. "If I throw them in the rubbish bin, Aunt Marge will pitch a fit."
"Well, wait 'til she's gone," said Harry. "She's leaving tomorrow to go judge her dog show."
Harry's conversation with Dudley was interrupted by Marge's bellow from downstairs.
"I gotta go," said Harry.
Harry returned to the salon. Aunt Marge favored him with an evil look. "I don't know what tripe you used on my friend Vivienne," she said. "But I'm not fooled. You're still a littlesneak."
"This institution of yours," said Marge, "do they use the cane?"
"Yes," said Harry. Well, they used to, he thought. Mr. Weasley mentioned a couple of his scrapes when he was going to Hogwarts.
"Have they ever used it on you?" Marge asked.
"Yes," said Harry.
"They didn't use it nearly enough," said Marge. "If they'd caned you enough they'd have beaten that insolence right out of you."
Ripper shook himself awake and started growling. Not wanting to get nipped, Harry edged over to Aunt Petunia, whom he'd noticed had picked up a brown leather-bound book that looked a little bit like The Monster Book of Monsters and had started stroking it. Ripper gave both Harry and Petunia dirty looks, but remained by his mistress.
Vernon and Marge provided much of that afternoon's conversation, which centered around people and places they'd remembered when growing up, with occasional side discourses on dog-breeding, politicians, and out-of-control teenagers. Once in a while Marge would comment on the Harry's absent expression while he tried not to let Marge upset him by tuning her out. By the time the time for lunch had come around, Marge had accused him of being a drug-user.
Helping to prepare and serve lunch was a blessed distraction. Harry was able to concentrate enough on the process of serving and preparing food that he was able to tune out Aunt Marge.
Harry was relieved when Aunt Marge took her nap. One more night, he thought. One more night. Aunt Marge will be gone in the morning. If I can hold out that long, Uncle Vernon will sign my form and I'll be able to visit Hogsmeade.
Harry knew that he was not going to have any free time this afternoon. He set to work helping Aunt Petunia to ready Aunt Marge's farewell dinner. Aunt Petunia set him to cutting and peeling vegetables and preparing sauces while she went to work on the cake she was planning to serve for dinner. Harry had brief flashes where he found himself in a triple potions class, not with Professor Snape standing over him, but Aunt Marge.
Dudley must have left to go to the movies by mid-afternoon, but neither Harry nor his aunt noticed; they were too busy. Unfortunately, neither had thought to keep an eye on Ripper, who responded to their new behavior by leaving poo on Vernon's newspaper.
Dinner preparations were well underway when Aunt Marge roused herself from her nap. Marge came back downstairs, saw Ripper's mess, then denounced Harry for his inattentiveness for failing to notice and clean up after Ripper. Vernon added choice comments of his own and told Harry to get to work cleaning it up.
Happily, Aunt Petunia not only had plastic trash bags, but also rubber gloves, and Harry was able to pick up Ripper's ordure and the soiled newspaper, put it in the plastic garbage bag, then take the mess to the rubbish bin. After vigorously washing his hands, he resumed helping his aunt. Harry wondered bitterly if that was going to be Uncle Vernon's excuse for not signing his form.
Marge noticed his failure to deter Ripper's action. She began to upbraid Harry for his slovenliness, but was interrupted by Aunt Petunia.
"Harry, come here," she said.
Harry turned away and headed towards Aunt Petunia's kitchen. If it got him even a little relief from Aunt Marge's non-stop commentary and criticism, he was glad to take it, even if it was directly under Aunt Petunia.
"You, boy, come back out in the living room. Don't you dare turn your back on me when I'm talking to you," said Aunt Marge.
"I need him in the kitchen," replied Aunt Petunia. "There's only so much I can do by myself."
A short time later, matters in the kitchen were sufficiently under control that Petunia set Harry to putting on the table cloth and setting the table. But even as the boy went about doing her bidding, she felt a rising sense of discontent. She had worked hard at being a proper hostess for Marge, yet she realized that she not only felt that Marge was being ungrateful, but that her hospitality was being abused.
Dudley had not come back down since his return from the cinema with his mates. His closed bedroom door soon proved to provide no relief. "Dudders!" boomed Aunt Marge. "Why don't you come in and keep us company?"
Seeing no escape, Dudley walked into the salon as unwillingly as Harry supposed an inmate of a real St. Brutus' would walk to the horse to be caned. Harry didn't know if there was a real St. Brutus' Secure Center or if they used canes, but he had seen a real caning horse; the headmaster between Phineas Nigellus Black and Amado Dippet was an enthusiastic advocate of caning, and Mister Filch had lovingly and carefully maintained the old headmaster's equipment against the day that caning would again be a punishment at Hogwarts.
Marge looked at her nephew and frowned. "That boy of yours," she said. "I like to see a man with a large brisket, but Dudders has more fat than meat on him. Doesn't he exercise? At least the skinny one seems to be moving, even if he spends most of it sneaking around."
Petunia saw the look of distress on her son's face and something inside of her began to melt. She shot a resentful look at her sister-in-law that Marge failed to pick up.
She then cast a glance at her other problem child. Her nephew looked like someone trying to keep a grip on his temper. For all that he looked like the git with the glasses, Petunia had to concede that he had the Evans temper underneath his skin.
Petunia had a sense that the calm in the household was hanging by a thread, and either she'd blow up, or the boy would blow up, or both of them would. She feared the consequences. She'd put in years making herself into a proper middle class housewife. This was her world, and she didn't want to lose it.
She decided to do what she could to lessen the chances of her exploding at table. She decided that whatever happened, she'd drink as little as possible. She still had those fancy bottles of European mountain water; she'd set them out by her place.
The peace continued from the appetizer through the salmon. Vernon went on a long discourse about Grunning's, which Petunia noted that her nephew responded with a vacant expression of polite inattentiveness. If she could just maintain the present atmosphere, thought Petunia, dinner could end on a peaceful note and everyone could retire peacefully to bed.
It was not to be. Aunt Marge produced a brandy bottle and Petunia despairingly realized that dinner conversation was about to take a turn for the worse.
"This Potter," said Aunt Marge, interrupting Uncle Vernon's consumption of a second helping of cake. "You never told me what he did."
Uncle Vernon had just taken a bite from his second helping of cake. He grinned evilly at Harry, took a bite of cake, then took a deep breath. Uncle Vernon's face took on a look of alarm and he started coughing.
"Vernon!" said Aunt Petunia, and rushed over to behind Uncle Vernon and started pounding him on the back.
Harry looked alarmed himself. The last thing he wanted was for his uncle to choke or have a heart attack at the dinner table. If the Ministry didn't blame him for his uncle's demise, the Dursleys certainly would.
Uncle Vernon looked alarmed and gestured. He grabbed Dudley's water glass, gulped down the contents, drew in half a breath, then coughed into his napkin.
"Damned cake!" he said.
"He was a free-lance book-keeper," said Aunt Petunia hurriedly. "He was between jobs when he and my sister died in a motor crash."
"Drunk driving, no doubt," said Aunt Marge. "He probably spent most of his time on the dole."
Harry realized he was losing control of his temper. The lights started to flicker.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again," said Aunt Marge. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding. You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup. Of course, sometimes the best thing to do in some cases is to put down the whole line. Not just the pup, not just the bitch, but also the litter the bitch came from."
Marge was too far in her cups to see Petunia's face turn to stone and her knuckles turn white.
"The skinny one is a hopeless case," said Marge. "It's a pity he's still too young to be kept institutionalized full-time." Dudley began to grin at Harry's predicament; watching Aunt Marge criticize Harry was one of the highlights of her visits to Privet Drive.
"This other one, though, I see him picking up some of the skinny one's bad attitudes," Aunt Marge continued. "You need to come down on him and you need to come down on him hard before he sets down on the road the skinny one's taken. A firm dose of the strap will begin to set things right."
Dudley's expression of enjoyment at Aunt Petunia's commentary turned to a look of alarm at Aunt Petunia's latest suggestion.
See how it feels, Dud, thought a nasty part of Harry's mind.
Harry knew he was losing control and his prospects for regaining it was slipping away. Harry didn't dare look at Aunt Marge. It wasn't that he was afraid of her; it was what he was afraid he might do. Instead, he decided to look at Aunt Petunia.
Aunt Petunia wore an expression that Harry had never seen on her before. She sat still and expressionless in her chair, her eyes seemingly staring at nothing, her breath slow and controlled. He knew what that meant when he did it; he was trying to control his emotions and not explode. He didn't see that Aunt Petunia ever getting angry with Aunt Marge's remarks; she never had before. In fact, she'd usually been glad to join in with Uncle Vernon's criticism.
"Petunia!" bellowed Aunt Marge. "You're staring off into space like you were mental!"
"As I was saying about Dudley," she began. "I think he needs a dose—"
"Don't tell me how to discipline my children, Marge!" said Petunia dangerously. "I am quite capable of disciplining them myself." The lights began flickering on and off again and the table began trembling.
"Petunia!" began Marge.
Petunia looked Marge in the eye. "Not another word!" she said.
Marge opened her mouth to say something back, then something strange happened. Marge's eyes widened in alarm, she put her fingers to her throat, began feeling around where her Adam's Apple should be, then her eyes widened again.
She looked at Petunia accusingly, then banged her fist on the table.
"DON'T YOU DARE!" said Petunia. Marge sat in her chair speechless in shock and anger.
"You, boy!" said Petunia to Harry. "The garden. Now!"
Harry got up from his place at the table and opened the sliding glass door. Aunt Petunia followed him outside and pointedly slid the glass door closed before anyone else could follow.
"We are going out," she said. "Get your wand and let your bloody bird out—out the window."
"I told Hedwig to go stay with the Weasleys," said Harry.
"Good," said Aunt Petunia. "Then bring your wand."
"But my wand. Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and Aunt Marge will see it," said Harry.
"Cover it with a sweater or something!" said Aunt Petunia.
"No back-chat. Set to it. Now," she added.
Aunt Petunia opened the sliding glass door and re-entered the parlor, Harry trailing behind.
"I've decided to go shopping. I'm taking Harry with me. I'll be back later," said Aunt Petunia.
"But Petunia, dear, you have so little use for the boy," said Vernon.
"He's got a spare pair of hands and I can put him to work instead of letting him loll around in idleness," said Aunt Petunia. "Dudders and Marge get along well enough. You can keep Marge entertained until I get back."
Harry thought this was absolutely bonkers, but the situation in the dining room was already threatening to drive him to cut loose. Harry raced upstairs to grab his wand and a sweat-shirt. As an after-thought, he lifted the floor-board in the spare bedroom, grabbed the small money-bag he kept there, then raced back downstairs. Aunt Petunia had already started the engine when he reached the front hallway.
Dudley looked longingly at Aunt Petunia's car, but only reached the front door before Aunt Petunia had started the engine, backed down the short driveway, and had swung onto Privet Drive.
She did not stop to pick him up. Harry and Aunt Petunia left Privet Drive, reached a cross-street, then turned onto a through road.
"You're probably wondering what happened," said Aunt Petunia.
Harry said nothing. He'd never seen Aunt Petunia quite this incandescent with anger.
"Marge reminded me that I'm an Evans. If I stayed there I would have done something I'd regret."
"But why am I here instead of Dudley?" asked Harry.
"You have a lot of faults, boy, but you don't whine," said Aunt Petunia. "I need to put some distance between me and Marge and if Dudley were with us, we wouldn't get two blocks before he'd start whinging about something."
Aunt Petunia drove the car onto the motorway. Harry saw the signs for the city, wondered where Aunt Petunia was going, and began to settle back and enjoy the ride.
Harry's descent into relaxation came to a sudden and abrupt end. Something made a loud, wet bang under the bonnet, the car's gauges went red and yellow, and the engine shut down. Aunt Petunia quickly shifted the car into neutral and let the car's dying momentum carry over onto the shoulder.
SPOILER: No, Petunia's car's breakdown was NOT due to magical causes.
