Warnings: Abusive!Dursleys, noncon!, manipulative!Dumbledore, smart!Harry

Marge

When Ly had gone back to the shed after Harry distracted the gang, he had found himself too exhausted from the exercise and the adrenaline that had pumped through him upon being cornered to do anything besides curling up on his cot and falling asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was rising. Rubbing his eyes, Ly vaguely wondered how he'd slept that long, but when his tongue inadvertently brushed against the inside of his cheek where he'd mauled it, the previous afternoon came flooding back. I hope Harry's okay…I mean, I'm sure he can take care of himself, but I would hate for him to get hurt because of me. Those boys were mean! I wonder if Harry knew them…it sounded like he did.

Ly sighed, frustrated at his lack of knowledge about his protector. Glancing around, he noticed some food on a paper plate on the shelf next to him. There was also a jar labeled "Bruise Balm" next to it. Harry must have brought it after I fell asleep. Thank goodness he's here!

**********

Harry was floating in a sea of black. It was nice to be painless and worry-free for a little bit. His brief respite was interrupted far too soon, however, as he felt himself being shaken and then slapped.

SMACK!

The hand connected with his cheek again and his eyes flew open. "Get up, you lazy boy!" screeched his aunt, who was still shaking him by the shoulder. "Vernon will want his breakfast soon!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, as he attempted to get up from the floor where he'd fallen the previous night. His eyes watered as waves of pain shot up and down his back as the movements stretched the scabbing welts and he almost fell down again.

"Hurry up! I expect you downstairs in five minutes!"

Harry nodded, his vision swimming. He grabbed a change of clothes from his dresser and headed to the bathroom while his aunt watched coldly. She sneered when he stumbled, but he didn't notice, as he was focused on making it to the bathroom before he vomited. Luckily, he managed it. He hastily cleaned himself up as best he could, while avoiding looking in the mirror. He didn't want to see the red, black and blue mess that he knew he was at the moment. He finally pulled a T-shirt over his head, grimacing as it pulled on his tender skin, and headed down to the kitchen to begin breakfast.

Petunia met him in the kitchen. "Now, boy, thanks to your little stunt yesterday, I'm going to be supervising all of your chores today. We can't have you running off to torment poor Dudley, especially when your chores aren't finished. And the neighbors can't see you right now, so you'll be staying inside today, freak. Oh, and Marge is coming at noon and staying for the week, so the house had better be spotless!"

Harry's insides froze at the mention of his "Aunt" Marge, but he forced himself to continue setting the table.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he replied dutifully, his face and voice emotionless. Inwardly, however, he was in turmoil. Merlin, no, not Marge, please! What do I do if she…no, not again, oh God…! He then shook his head forcefully and tried desperately to think of something other than Marge's last visit. Shoot, now there's absolutely no way I'll be able to sneak food out to Ly. They'll be watching my every move! What am I supposed to do?...Maybe I can sneak out at night? Or early in the morning, if I wake up before everyone else… That'll just have to work. I'll save him most of whatever they give me. I mean, I'm older, so I can go longer on less food, he reasoned as he waited for the stove to heat up.

**********

True to her word, Petunia didn't let him out of her sight all morning. She sat at the kitchen table as he washed the dishes and scrubbed the kitchen floor, hovered as he vacuumed the living room and dusted the furniture, and observed as he made up the guest room for Vernon's sister. All in all, by the time Harry returned to the kitchen to make lunch, he was not only stiff and sore from the previous night, but also thoroughly sick of his aunt and his head was throbbing from getting slapped around all morning. His aunt obviously resented having to watch "the freak" all day, even if she technically didn't have to do any work. Of course, he also knew that his day was about to get ten times worse.

Lunch was just about ready when the expected knock on the door came. Harry braced himself inwardly as he finished setting the table. Petunia answered the door with a sickening "Oh Marge, how lovely to see you," which was quickly followed by a sharp "Boy! Get in here and take your aunt's things to her room!"

Harry complied, after ensuring that everything in the kitchen was in order. He entered the hallway and was met with a leering Marge. "Still here, boy? I'm surprised my brother hasn't thrown you out yet! If it'd been me, you wouldn't've lasted a day." She paused. "Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Grab my things, boy!"

"Yes, Aunt Marge," Harry gritted out form between clenched teeth, his body protesting as he bent to retrieve her suitcase. Marge's piggy eyes lingered on his backside as he straightened and resolutely trudged up the stairs. "And make sure everything's unpacked and put in its place!" she added venomously.

"Move it, boy! Look alive!" Petunia put in, glaring at his retreating form. She then turned to Marge. "Vernon should be home later this evening, he's out at a luncheon for work and Dudders is out to tea with his dear little friends, lovely boy that he is," she simpered.

"That's my boy. How was his school year? Is he still boxing?" Marge queried.

"Yes, he's the captain of Smeltings' boxing team. We're so very proud of him. Here, you go on into the kitchen. I'll get the boy down to serve us lunch."

"Oh, that's not necessary Petunia. Let me retrieve him. After all, I'm sure you've spent more than enough time with the brat, supervising and such. I know he can't be trusted alone in the house," Marge replied with a smirk.

Petunia huffed in agreement. "I had to follow the freak around all morning to make sure he was doing his chores. Yesterday the brat took off without finishing after we'd let him outside by himself!"

"Oh, you poor dear! Here, you sit down and have yourself a rest. I'll go take care of the little son-of-a-gun, don't you worry. In fact, why don't you just leave his supervision to me for the week. That way you can go out with your friends and relax and I'll keep the boy in line," Marge suggested, a sickening gleam in her eyes.

"But I couldn't ask you—"

"Nonsense! Consider it a week of vacation. And I'll not hear another word against it," Marge asserted, ushering her sister-in-law into the kitchen and pulling out a chair for her. Once Petunia was satisfactorily seated, Marge waddled back into the hallway and lumbered up the stairs, heading toward the guest room, where Harry was attempting to unpack her things as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for Harry, this wasn't fast enough to avoid Marge.

As he bent over to put the last of Marge's clothes in the dresser, Marge came up behind him. He resolutely ignored her until he felt her pudgy arms encircle his waist, pinning him against her voluptuous torso. He started violently and struggled in vain to get free of her grasp, but Marge just moaned slightly, apparently aroused by his attempts to escape her. He froze as she spoke.

"Now, now, my little whore-boy," Marge growled, running a hand over his chest. Harry couldn't suppress a shudder as his thoughts inevitably turned to the last time Marge had visited, the summer after second year. He knew she had been obliviated, but did she remember what had happened earlier that day? Oh, Merlin…

"Get your hands off me!" he choked out as he began to panic.

"Oh come now, don't be silly. You know you enjoy this—after all, you were begging for it last time," she taunted, a feral expression on her face. "It's been far too long, boy…"

Harry shook his head, shifting his body slightly in hopes that he could still get away. He stopped, though, as his back exploded in pain. "No…"

"Well perhaps you're right, this isn't a good time. After all, Petunia's waiting downstairs for her lunch and I'm rather hungry myself," Marge whispered roughly in his ear and her hand slipped under his shirt and caressed the waistband of his oversized jeans, leaving no doubt in his mind as to what exactly she was hungry for. Harry swallowed audibly.

"But we'll just have to continue this another time," she added venomously. "After all, we have all week." Harry was unprepared when she shoved him off of her and found himself sprawled facedown on the floor.

"Well, boy?! Let's get a move on! Your aunt's waiting!"