A/N: So this one is a bit longer (hopefully the length each normal chapter will be) and it's a bit earlier, I have just moved to uni and want to spend my first week getting used to it, so I worked on it a lot more before I moved. Here you have it! disclaimer: nothing belongs to me oofy
So far, Harry's studying had gone well; he had managed to get almost all the way through the first year content with ease, although he couldn't test his new understanding of the theory as practical use of magic outside of Hogwarts was expressly forbidden. Despite this, he thought his magic would benefit from the fact he had a much better understanding of how things worked, and he regretted not properly looking through his books before Hogwarts had started, as he might've found the classes more enjoyable. In part, he knew it was his fault, but he also couldn't help but blame his best friend, Ron Weasley, for his lax attitude and his reaction whenever Harry suggested they do homework or study in the library. It seemed to Harry that Ron was lazy and expected the things he wanted to be handed to him on a platter, instead of working for them like everyone else.
He did worry that if he started trying harder at Hogwarts and doing well in classes that Ron would get jealous, as Harry already knew of Ron's jealousy over his fame and money. This was probably why he held himself back, he thought to himself as he blew on the ink of his last page of notes on first year theory. He waited for it to dry, and then added it to the already large stack on his old worn desk. He then used the hole punch he had found amongst Dudley's broken or discarded possessions and punched a hole in each page, tying them together using some yarn from his Aunt's knitting kit that she had seldom used.
"Boy! Come down here, me and your Aunt need to speak to you!" A gruff voice yelled up the stairs, followed by heavy footsteps stomping away, presumably to the living room where his Uncle could sit on the couch and watch television whilst stuffing his face with whatever his Aunt had baked or bought him.
Harry quickly stuffed his books, quill and parchment under the loose floorboard he had previously found to be sure that Dudley wouldn't enter his room whilst he was out and see he had somehow got his hands on all his school stuff. After that, he scrubbed the tips of his fingers on his hand to try and get rid of some of the ink smudges and then left for the living room.
When he entered, Uncle Vernon was sitting on the couch, his body making it groan and bow under his weight, whilst Aunt Petunia was standing very primly at the window, spying on the neighbours through the curtains. "Don't sit on the sofa! You'll just mess it up!" She screeched at him as he entered the room, leading Harry to just stand awkwardly in front of the doorway.
"Now boy, my sister is coming to visit us next week and we won't have any of your freakishness upsetting her! So, for the last time, you go to St Brutus' in the year, your freaky friends do not exist and you better keep that owl quiet whilst she's here if you know what's good for you!" Vernon practically spat, not once taking his beady little eyes off the glowing tv screen. Harry said nothing but groaned in his head. His Aunt Marge was a horrible woman, with even more horrible dogs that she bred in her house in the country. Her favourite, Ripper, seemed to have it out for Harry ever since he was little and he could not escape the incessant barking and snarling from it.
"Alright. Can I go now?" Harry asked, straining to keep his voice polite and not snide like he wished. "Get out of my sight." Vernon grunted, and Harry turned to leave just as Aunt Petunia cut in "And finish those chores! The lawn still isn't mowed, the kitchen is filthy and my bushes are a mess!" Her high pitched voice called, making Harry roll his eyes when he was sure they couldn't see him. He walked back up to his room, changed into his worse hand me downs and prepared himself for a long day at work.
Some time later, whilst Harry was sitting at his desk, staring at the material from last year that he had neglected even more than the first year due to the string of attacks from the basilisk, Harry saw a big black dog lurking about the garden of one of his neighbours. He watched the animal for a minute, looking at how it hunted around, sniffing the air occasionally and trudging its way through the garden, probably looking for scraps to feed on as it looked like a stray. Harry continued to watch the dog until it froze, sniffed some more and then looked up, seemingly staring right at him. For a moment, their eyes locked and they stared at each other from afar, until a bang from two streets over startled Harry and he flinched away. By the time he looked back, the dog was gone.
Harry shook his head and returned to his work, determined to at least get a start on his theory for Transfiguration and Charms before he was overloaded with chores for the rest of the week in preparation for his Aunt Marge. He found he liked Defence Against the Dark Arts best, but he also quite liked Charms and Transfiguration. He thought potions sounded interesting, as to him it seemed like a mix of chemistry from his muggle primary school and cooking, which he frequently did for the Dursleys, but Harry knew that with Snape still teaching at school, he would never grow to love or even really like the subject, so he settled for a healthy respect of the accuracy and knowledge needed to be successful in that area.
Harry had realised going through his books how lacking he seemed to be in basic knowledge in terms of theory. He didn't know many of the laws of Transfiguration, which were quite frequently referenced in his texts, nor did he have a rudimentary understanding of how different potions ingredients interacted with each other, which would greatly help in his betterment of potions as understanding what ingredients reacted with what and why would likely stop so many people from mixing them wrong by accident and blowing up or melting their cauldrons.
This made Harry think; was this done intentionally? Many of the muggleborn or muggle raised students like him don't come to Hogwarts with a basic understanding of each subject, unlike many of the half blood and pureblood students. He wondered if this was so that schooling was geared for purebloods and those with magical parentage to succeed better than those who were muggleborn, or without magical parentage that they were aware of. He also considered the fact that his introduction to the wizarding world had been quite unusual, as Rubeus Hagrid had come to collect him, which he later found out was not the protocol at all. He had asked Hermione how she had been introduced, and she told him that Professor McGonagall had came to see her and give her an introduction pack, which suggested many different books and places to go to better understand the wizarding world. Maybe Hagrid had forgotten his, and therefore doomed him to a lesser understanding of the content he was studying.
Harry decided he would resolve this as soon as possible, as he would not have the basic building blocks for the theory behind each subject when he was trying to rectify his poor performance on his exams and in class over the past two years. It was one more thing he was adding to his very lost list of things to do, which so far included somehow getting to Diagon Alley, purchasing far more books as well as somewhere to put them; his trunk would get very heavy if he loaded it full of all the things he wanted to buy. He also wanted to purchase some casual wear for wizards, as well as muggles now that he knew he had money, which meant somehow getting to muggle London, although that would be easier once he figured out how to get to Diagon Alley. In addition, Harry also thought it'd be a good idea to explore the Alley a bit more, as both times he's gone he's never really been allowed outside the supervision of a specific adult, severely cutting down on the amount of shops he could visit based on whether or not said adult deemed them necessary. He'd like to see if there were specific shops for wizarding furniture, or maybe wizarding eyewear.
Most of all though, Harry wanted to research his family more, find out what his parents really were like and why he'd never heard anything about his grandparents. He wanted to find out why his parents' friends never showed up for him, never tried to contact him or check in with him, and why they would do that in the first place if they were such good friends with his parents, like the pictures Hagrid had given him suggested.
The rest of the week passed in a daze of chores, the frying pan being thrown at him, his Uncle threatening him with the belt, a few games of Harry Hunting and, when he had the time and energy, studying late into the night to make sure he understood the content from the past two years in its entirety. So far, he was a little over halfway through the theory for all of his classes, except History of Magic, with which even his new found determination to be better and find out more about the world he now lived in couldn't make the subject any less of a drag.
Finally, the dreaded day arrived and his Uncle got into his car, which he had demanded Harry clean inside and out the day before, just as the sun had passed overhead and went to the train station to pick up Aunt Marge. Harry was still in his room, having been sent there when the heavy downpour had started in the early hours of the night, with Aunt Petunia fearing he'd mess up her perfectly clean house before Marge got here if she made him go outside and do his chores.
Harry made his way downstairs as he heard their car pull up, resigning himself to one of the worst weeks of his life as he prepared to get the luggage that Uncle Vernon had informed him would be going to the guest room when they arrived. The door banged open and Petunia stiffly walked into the hall, Dudley waddling behind her holding a tub of ice cream. "You! Boy! DOn't just stand there, you useless brat! Grab my luggage and take it to my room now!" Snapped a nasty, grating voice. Harry sighed.
It had begun.
The minute Aunt Marge had arrived in the house, Harry was forced to cater to her every whim. She made him walk her dog, Ripper, who she had decided to bring with her because she couldn't bear to leave him at home. She made him bring her drinks up, bring her food, cook every meal to her exact specifications and always fix a plate for Ripper. He was still made to do all the chores on top of that, so Harry was finding it very hard to do much more than sleep, eat the scraps he was allowed, work and repeat.
The first day Aunt Marge was crawling by slowly, with Harry dreading each shrill call of his name or screech of a laugh from his Aunt, who wasn't really his Aunt at all. He bemoaned the injustice of it all to his owl, Hedwig, who he'd let out of the house to hunt for her own food and make herself scarce whilst Aunt Marge was around. Harry knew, however, that if he wanted to survive the week without a sore back and new set of scars, he had to do as he was told to the letter, lest he upset Marge and therefore his Uncle Vernon.
He had hoped that maybe he could convince his Uncle to take him to London if he followed the instructions he was given by him by ensuring he never mentioned Hogwarts, or magic, or his friends or anything like that. He had even suggested it to Vernon after Marge had arrived, quietly loitering behind him as Marge took Ripper upstairs to show him where he would be sleeping. His Uncle's face had contorted in a very funny way, slowly turning red and then purple and said he would not be taking Harry anywhere that would encourage his freakishness, so Harry had given up on that idea very quickly.
Day two was arguably worse, having been kept up all night by the howling of Ripper in the next room, who seemed to think that the treatment he had received so far was appalling and was letting the whole neighbourhood know. After feeding everyone a hefty breakfast, including Ripper who had licked one of Aunt Petunia's finest plates clean as she grimaced and winced, Harry was pushed outside and told to clean up after the dog. The dog in question chased him around the yard, snapping at his heels and barking at him for fun, as Dudley watched on in amusement, snacking on some sour laces Petunia had bought him from the local corner shop.
After that it was lunch, where Petunia had her book club round and Harry had to provide tea and sandwiches to 8 snobby women who all looked down their noses at him and whispered nastily as he left the room. Marge and Vernon had gone out to look at new tellys, as they had stated earlier that morning that the one they had simply was not big enough or good enough, and Dudley had tagged along to see if he could weasel his way into getting a couple of new games for his gaming console.
The evening was much the same as the night before, Harry prepared everyone a dinner, everyone commented on how terrible it was, saying there was too much salt or it was too dry but scoffed it down all the same, then Uncle Vernon brought the sherry out and Aunt Petunia pulled a face like she was sucking on a lemon and he handed Marge one of her nicest glasses. Harry dismissed himself early after washing up the dishes to further study his school books and to get started on his Astronomy charts that he was remaking, as the ones he had made in second year were very poor quality and fairly inaccurate to boot.
It was on the third day that the tentative balance Harry had managed seemed to break.
The morning started out the same as the two before, with breakfast and snide comments and a demand that he start on his chores right away, whilst Marge complained that St Brutus' clearly didn't instil a respect for authority and his 'betters'. Dudley would come out and harass Harry until it wasn't fun anymore, then Harry would come in and make lunch. However, everything came to a head after the evening meal.
Harry had just finished washing up and drying the dishes after the roast chicken dish he had made when Marge was already on her third rather large glass of brandy, having forgone sherry this evening. So far, all she had managed was to spill a bit down herself, drop some food on the floor which Ripper quickly slobbered up and make some slurred under the breath comments about Harry.
"You! Boy!" She half shouted, either not realising her volume or not caring. "You go to St Brutus' yes? Well, how are you finding it? Are they firm enough with you? Use the cane enough? It doesn't seem like it with the attitude you've had so far! Vernon, like I said, you need to contact them, let them know they're free to give the whelp a right beating!"
Her words merged into one another as she sloppily poured herself another glass, to the delight of Dudley and the horror of Petunia. Vernon spluttered and stammered, struggling to get words out whilst his pig-like little eyes darted between her and Harry, the fear evident in his face.
"It's not your fault he turned out this way Vernon, you know what I always say, if there's something wrong with the bitch then there's something wrong with the pups! What were his parents? Drunkards?" Her smug face quickly morphed into one of pain and horror as the glass in her hand shattered.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Harry shouted, shaking in anger as he slammed his hands down on the countertop.
Everyone paused, and then Marge broke out into loud, obnoxious laughter. "Oh, don't worry Petunia dear, I have quite a firm grip! Now you, you don't talk to me like-" Marge was cut off as she noticed the end of her finger slowly ballooning in size. Her eyes scrunched in confusion, and she felt the rest of her body slowly swelling just like her finger was.
She continued to swell, ballooning into a great size, the buttons on her jackets popping off one by one and shooting in every direction. Marge began to screech, whilst Dudley fled in fear, remembering what happened last time someone with magic was angry. Petunia stood in shock, her mouth agape as Marge slowly lifted out of her chair, floating to the ceiling and leaving the house through the back door, which was wide open due to the heat.
Vernon chased after her, shouting for her to grab his hand as Ripper yipped and barked in the background, latching onto Vernon and trying to rag him away, thinking he was the cause. But it was no use, Marge slowly lifted into the air and simply floated away, her screams and shouts becoming more distant by the second.
Harry, who had watched all this in half amazement, half horror, suddenly realised what he had done. He had blown up his Aunt Marge like a balloon, and made her float away into the dead of the night. Harry knew he'd be in for it now, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to survive the punishment Uncle Vernon gave for inflicting his magic on Marge. So, with that in mind, he bolted up the stairs, grabbed an old backpag of Dudley's and began stuffing his belongings into it. All of his textbooks, his quills, his new notes and the treats he always made sure to buy extra for Hedwig, worrying that the Dursley's would decide to lock her up and starve her again. As if sensing the trouble, Hedwig had swooped in through his open window to perch on the end of his desk, her head tilting in confusion at his haste.
"Not now, Hedwig! You have to go!" He said to her as he stuffed some of his better looking rags, courtesy of the Dursleys, into the rather full backpack.
"I blew up Marge and now Vernon is going to kill me so I need to leave. Now." He said firmly to Hedwig, "You fly off. Go stay with Ron. Or Hermione, whoever is closest and safest for you, now go now before Vernon comes up or he might take this out on you." He told her, and paused very briefly as she bobbed her head in understanding before taking off into the night sky to fly to wherever she felt was safest.
Content with that problem solved, Harry zipped up his rucksack and rushed his way downstairs, still hearing Vernon screaming after his sister as Dudley cowered and whimpered in fear behind his mother standing in the kitchen watching in shock and horror at the scene before her. He wrenched open the cupboard door and pulled out his trunk, which contained the rest of his belongings, and his broom which he loved dearly. Just as he thought he had managed to do a quick getaway, he felt the angry and rather rushed stomps of Vernon, and heard him shouting "You! Boy! You freak! What did you do to my sister? Bring her back! You bring her back if you know what's good for you!" Spittle flew everywhere as he yelled, and Harry pulled out his wand and ducked the outstretched fist that had either been trying to grab him or hit him, which he didn't know.
"No. She got what she deserved. Now don't make me do the same to you. You saw what I could do without this wand didn't you? Now imagine what I could do to you with it!" Harry saw a look of fear start to glint in his Uncle's eyes, but soon it was smothered by the rage that made his whole face purple and his rather ratty looking moustache quiver.
"You're not allowed to do magic outside of school, boy." He half-whispered, sounding rather dangerous.
"Yeah well, I just did, didn't I? And look at that, no letters, no one mad about it, so I'd be careful if I was you and I'd let me go." He responded, hoping that Vernon wouldn't call his bluff; Harry had a very small knowledge of offensive spells and he was entirely confident in his ability to perform them right now.
Vernon said nothing, only strained and glared, hesitating as if he was thinking about what Harry might be capable of. However, this was enough time for Harry, as he sprung into action, opening the door to Number 4 Privet Drive and slamming it shut. Then, he ran. He ran all the way down the drive and down the street, past the park and past the group of shady teenagers in the fields next to it. Finally, once he was a couple blocks away, he looked behind himself and panted with relief as he saw that nobody had followed him. He sat down on the curb and sighed, leaving his heavy trunk and rather awkwardly shaped rucksack next to him.
It was then he saw him. A tall, lanky man, who's clothes looked as ragged as his, and hair the length of his shoulders. His face was gaunt and hollow, with sunken eyes that almost looked haunted. Harry froze, barely daring to breathe as this stranger stared at him. After a few minutes, the man began to approach him and Harry reeled himself up, ready to fight, his wand in hand until he heard the soft, gentle croak of "Harry? Harry… is that you?"