When We Dream- Chapter 3
Aunt Marge's Big Mistake
He had forgotten how absolutely Vile Aunt Marge was- always keeping him in her sight, and barking out suggestions for his improvement- His Uncle flitting fretfully in the background- making sure Harry remembered 'The deal'. Which- Harry thought bemusedly- didn't really matter all that much considering he knew the way to hogsmead and owned an invisibility cloak- not to mention, he'd been there a load of times between his third through sixth years.
Aunt Marge also, He thought with slight derision, delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to as why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person. She had spoken Ill of Harry's mother, of his blood, his size, and, finally, on her last night there, during the dessert of Lemon meringue pie- she commented on his father.
"This Potter," said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle she was 'sipping' from and splashing more out the brim of her glass over the tablecloth and floor (where her dog ripper, lapped up quite a bit, and Aunt Petunia looked fearfully at the burgeoning stains to be caused from the rest), "you never told me what he did?"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudly had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.
"He-- didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."
Harry started piling all the meat left over from his plate into a napkin before tying it off and placing it in one pocket.
"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. " A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who--"
"You mustn't speak Ill of the dead." Harry whispered, letting his face fall forward with emotion to lie within his raised hand- his eyes closed, his posture slouched while his family looked at him in astonishment. This is the point from before that he'd exploded. It was time to meet Sirius. Time to leave.
"W-what's that boy!" Marge blustered, "Your dear Bitch of a mother going to curse at me from the grave?" She chuckled from her own joke- only to stop at the chalk white faces of the Dursley family members.
"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy, --" He started.
"No"
Marge's head whipped back in the boy's direction
"Imagine if you will, my dear Aunt Marge, what people will do once you're gone. Imagine what they might say about someone who cursed the dead, and what they might do upon your grave in spite."
Harry looked straight into her eyes, his hand falling to rest upon the table and pushing up, he rose from his seat to stand by the table. "People that hate others will find that they will have no one who does not hate them in return at the end. " He paused, and looked at his Aunt Petunia. "I'm going now. If anyone comes for me, tell them I've gone to the Alley." He waited only for her hesitant answering nod before calmly walking towards the cupboard under the stairs. And, with a bit of controlled wandless magic, unlocked it. Dragging his trunk upstairs, he filled it with all the presents and books he had stashed under his loose floorboard, grabbed his wand out of his trunk, and promptly shrank it to fit into his pocket.
As he descended the stairs, Hedwig under one arm, he came upon his family- who upon the sight of his wand cowered just the smallest amount. His Uncle- still as white as a sheet, stepped daringly forward, and for once in his life told his nephew in a calm, controlled voice- "You know if you step out that door, I'll never allow you back in this household again? I take a vow at this moment- never again."
"Yes, I understand you won't do it voluntarily, but there are ways of making you forget." and with that, Harry potter was out in the dark, quiet street, as the door closed behind him.