Well, if he had to start acting more muggle, he'll need to send Hedwig away.
"Hedwig," he said gloomily, "you're going to have to clear off for a week.
Go with to the burrow. Ron and Crystal will look after you.
I'll write them a note, explaining. And don't look at me like that" — Hedwig's large amber eyes were reproachful —
"it's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron, Crystalline and Hermione."
He didn't have long to brood as he heard Aunt Petunia shriek to him to come downstairs to welcome the guests, along with combing his hair.
Not that it would be of any use, for not only would his hair not lie flat, Aunt Marge always loved finding all sorts of faults in him.
As he made his way to the front door, he heard the tell-tale noise of a car, and the door burst open, letting Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge in.
Aunt Marge looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. Large and purple-faced with barely any neck. She even had a moustache, though not as bushy as Uncle Vernon's.
She had her favourite bulldog, Ripper, tucked in her arm.
A suitcase was thrust into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as Aunt Marge roared, "Where's Dudley! Where's my Neffy Poo!"
Dudley waddled down the stairs, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. He was closely followed by Aunt Petunia.
She seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.
Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist.
"Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat-stand.
Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunias bony cheekbone.
Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door.
"Tea, Marge?" he said. " And what will Ripper take?"
"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase.
But Harry wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could.
By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner.
Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.
" Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.
"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Aunt Marge.
"He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."
Ripper growled as Harry was sitting down, drawing Aunt Marge's attention to him.
"Still here, are you", Aunt Marge barked.
"Yes", Harry forced out, an all too fake smile making its way onto his face.
"Don't say yes in that ungrateful tone! It was damn good of Vernon and Petunia to take you in.
If you'd been left on my doorstep, I would've dropped you straight off at an orphanage!", she growled.
Harry personally would have preferred being dropped off at an orphanage, but didn't voice it out. He forced his face into a smile.
"Don't you smirk at me! I would've thought that the school would've knocked some manners into you. Where is it that you're sending him again?"
"St Brutus', a first-rate institution for hopeless cases", Vernon replied hastily.
"I see," said Aunt Marge. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table.
"Er –"
Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.
"Yes," said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, " All the time."
"Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it.
A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"
"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "lots of times." He added a painful grimace for the effect.
"Ah, good", Aunt Marge smirked.
As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do.
Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement.
She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too.
She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.
"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon,", she said over lunch on the third day.
"If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself.
Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise —
Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.
"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs.
If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup –"
Slowly an extremely visible stretched onto the glass, making the Dursleys blink and Harry to internally wince.
Just as Aunt Petunia turned her suspicious eyes to Harry, Aunt Marge boomed,
"Ah, not to worry. I've just got a very firm grip. It happens all the time back home."
It alleviated the suspicion, although Harry knew it was his fault.
After all he had felt a trickle of his magic break free from the control he had on it.
He was relieved once dinner was over, and he made his way to his room.
He took out his pouch and his hand delved in, ill he found what he was looking for and one after another, pulled out a few targets.
A now familiar dagger appeared in his hand, and Harry threw it at one of the targets, as hard as he could.
Smiling proudly as it hit the bull's eyes, Harry internally wished for the dagger to reappear in his hand, which it did.
Mentally taking a note to thank Hermione for the pouch, he repeated the process a few times, till the aggression finally died down.
Gathering up the targets back it the pouch, he slumped down onto his bed, grinning.
Finally, the last evening of 'Aunt' Marge's stay had arrived.
Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner (mostly heating store-bought things).
Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them a with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.
" Can I tempt you, Marge?"
Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.
" Just a small one, then," she chuckled. " A bit more than that… and a bit more… that's the ticket."
Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and knew he would have to sit it out.
" Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. " Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after…" She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. " Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. " You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…"
"Now, this one here –"
She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. The Handbook that came with the broom servicing kit, he thought quickly.
"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs.
I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."
Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers.
"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out.
Now, I'm saying nothing against yourfamily, Petunia" — she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families.
Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."
Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears.
Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he thought. But he couldn't remember what came next.
Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.
"This Potter," said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense.
Dudley 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."
"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 –"
"He wasn't", Harry growled softly, his eyes narrowed.
"MORE BRANDY! NOW YOU BOY, GO TO YOUR ROOM", Uncle Vernon roared.
"No no Vernon, let him say what he wants. Proud of you parents were you boy.
They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) –"
"They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry, who found himself on his feet.
"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury.
"You are an insolent, ungrateful little –"
Harry felt it all at once, everything he had been trying to control this past week.
His magic overwhelmed his senses, his back arched and his pupils dilated.
Aunt Marge began swelling, inflating like a balloon, her feet eventually lifting off the ground.
Uncle Vernon, panicking grabbed her leg, trying to pull her down, but only getting lifted too.
Ripper the dog jumped and sunk his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg, causing him to wince painfully.
"YOU, YOU BOY! SET HER RIGHT!"
Harry, who was only reacting subconsciously though, ignored him and ran to the front door, where his pouch, birthday presents, letters and the books he had smuggled from the cupboard floated downstairs.
Said cupboard sprang open and his trunk floated out and clicked open, all of his other belongings settling inside it before it closed once more.
His wand settled in his hand for the first time in a month.
He ran, as quickly as he could, till he was in the streets of Magnolia Crescent.
Sighing, Harry became aware once again of himself and his surroundings.
He panted, the amount of emotions mixed with his magic taking a toll on him.
The bushes behind him rustle, and Harry jumps and turns around, frowning perplexedly when he saw a creature that appeared to be a dog but was much, much too large.
It has its sharp, much too human grey eyes trained on him and Harry feels a spark of familiarity in his being.
Finally, turning away from the dog, he fetched a hooded cloak from the pouch (he seriously needed to thank Hermione, that is if he wasn't expelled) and donned it.
He raised his wand, waving it as though one might wave their hand to say goodbye, and as though out of thin air, a purple triple-decker bus appeared.