He was not sure how much more of Marge Dursley he could take.

It was going on two weeks that Marge had been with the Dursleys. Over that time, she had managed to belittle everything that Harry had done. From the food to the gardening to how he spoke to the family, nothing was ever good enough for her.

Harry thought he should get an award for how often he bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her. He had already gotten one heavy wallop to the head from Uncle Vernon after a cheeky retort early on in her visit, and Harry did not want to risk a meeting with his uncle's belt. He tended not to do it when they had his sister over, even if Marge thought Harry needed a good caning, and Harry did not want to risk what the Franksons would do if he showed up injured. Though he was good at hiding his injuries, that was before the Franksons had taken him under their wing.

The one good thing about Marge Dursley being at the house, was that in the evening, when the family stayed at the house instead of going out, Harry was allowed to just go to his room and pretend not to exist, especially after he had cleaned up from dinner. Because of this, Aunt Petunia had allowed him to move his school trunk from the cupboard under the stairs to his bedroom, so that he could have something to do while he was in his bedroom. She had looked like she had swallowed a lemon when she gave him permission, but she had also sniffed and said that the ladies at her bridge club had given her lots of compliments on the tea sandwiches. Harry supposed this was the closes he would ever come to Aunt Petunia giving him any sort of thanks.

But it did allow him hours of uninterrupted study time, which he appreciated. He had been somewhat panicked to think about how he was supposed to do his summer homework if he spent all summer at the Dursleys. Last year he had done his homework at the Burrow. This year, with his trunk in the cupboard, he had thought he would only have the train ride to Hogwarts to get it done. That would not have started the year off well.

Unfortunately, the tense but tentative peace of Privet Drive began to deteriorate. It began when Dudley and Piers decided to "take Ripper for a walk" which resulted in them setting the dog on Harry. As Harry ran through the neighborhood trying to avoid the dog, he happened to pass the Lindes who lived at Number 7. Mrs. Linde had been out in the front yard with her three children and the Frankson twins teaching them croquet when she saw Harry racing down the street with Ripper nipping angrily at his heels. She had immediately sent the children into her house, grabbed Harry as he had raced by, and dragged him inside, slamming the door just as Ripper had attempted to follow them inside.

Ripper had then proceeded to prowl around the front stoop. Dudley and Piers had laughed and crowed about it from across the street before running off to cause mayhem somewhere else. Ripper had eventually sat at the bottom of the front steps and any time anyone tried to leave via the front door, had jumped up and growled and attempted to attack.

Then Mrs. Linde had done something Harry had not expected. She had called the police. Their arrival got the attention of Aunt Petunia and Marge who had been inside Number 4 the entire time. Both of them insisted that Harry must have done something to provoke Ripper even though Mrs. Linde reported seeing Harry doing his chores, then Piers and Dudley coming out with the dog, and then the dog was chasing Harry. The officers politely told Marge that she would still need to keep her dog under control whether or not anyone had provoked Ripper and that if he ended up biting someone, there would be trouble.

Aunt Petunia had called Uncle Vernon and he had come back on his lunch break to "speak with Harry".

Which is how Harry found himself making dinner with a sore back and legs. His uncle had been merciless in taking the belt to him that afternoon. Harry was certain that there was some broken skin along a few of the lashes, if how his shirt and pants were sticking in random places was anything to go by.

"It truly is a shame," Marge said from the table as Vernon poured her a glass of wine, "that there are some people in this world who are so easily taken in by rift raft. All they need is a sob story of a little orphan boy and suddenly the child can do nothing wrong." She sent a sharp eye at Harry as he came over, placing piping hot dishes in the center of the table. Dudley immediately served himself.

"You and Petunia ought to be given a medal," Marge continued, turning her attention back to her brother. "For not only taking in your sister's child, but for allowing him to stay here when I'm certain there are year-round programs for children such as him."

If only Hogwarts had a year-round program, Harry thought. If only he could go somewhere else!

"Where is it that you said you sent him?" Marge questioned Vernon.

"St. Brutus' School for Incurable Criminal Boys," Vernon answered. "I also wish they offered year-round, unfortunately, they don't."

"Hmph. Tell me, boy—" Harry hated when anyone called him that, "do they cane you at that school of yours?" Harry glanced up from wiping down the counter to see Uncle Vernon give him a slight nod.

"Oh yeah," he answered, trying to sound contrite, though he thought that perhaps he did not do too well at it. "Loads of times."

"Fat lot of good it's done you. No, no, Vernon, you should've gotten rid of him at the beginning like I told you to do."

Harry went back to wiping the counter.

"Just like his parents I suspect," Marge continued, taking a large gulp of the wine in her hand. She motioned for Vernon to pour her some more. Vernon did so cheerfully, though Harry caught his aunt looking a little annoyed at the idea of a tipsy Marge.

"What was it that his father did again?" Marge questioned.

"He was unemployed," Aunt Petunia answered. Harry scowled. Remus had told him in one of his letters that, when James had died, he had not been currently working, but that it had more to do with the fact that Voldemort was after the Potters and not because he couldn't find work. According to Remus, James Potter had been an Auror, which was like the Muggle police. He almost said something but decided against it. If Marge thought he went to a reform school, he could not exactly make up an excuse about how he would know this bit of information. Still, anger simmered beneath his skin. His magic responded and he stamped down on it, willing it to listen to him. The glass in Marge's hand exploded. Wine spilled all over the table.

"Marge!" Vernon cried.

"Oh don't worry," Marge answered with a wave of her hand. "I've just got a strong grip. You!" She pointed to Harry. "Come clean this up."

Harry came over with a rag, gathering up the glass from the table and floor. Uncle Vernon slapped a hand against his back, catching the welts. Harry understood the warning.

"Of course," Marge continued, once she had a new glass of wine in hand, "it might not be his father's fault entirely. In dog breeding, we put as much stock in the mother as we do the father. Of course, Petunia, I'm sure your parents raised you well, how could they not? You've turned out very well. However, you must admit, there must've been something quite wrong with your sister if this is the sort of boy she produced . . ."

Harry clenched the dishcloth tighter.

". . . if something's wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup—"

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, throwing the rag down. Glass fell out around his feet but he did not care. He glared at Marge, entire body shaking. "You don't know anything about my parents!"

Marge pointed a finger at Harry.

"Listen here you ungrateful . . ."

Harry watched in fascinated horror as Marge's finger expanded, followed by the rest of her hand, almost like she was having an allergic reaction. But the swelling continued up her arm and that's when he noticed that her other hand and arm were also swelling up. There were sharp pops as the buckles on her shoes popped off, followed by several buttons on her shirt. Her clothes began making tearing sounds as she continued to swell like a balloon. She even began to float to the ceiling like one!

Aunt Petunia began to scream. As did Marge. Uncle Vernon began shouting, trying to grab at his sister to keep her from floating further away. She traveled along the ceiling, bouncing off of it and a wall on occasion. Any attempt to pull her back down had her floating back up.

Terrified at the enlarged floating woman, Harry tore out of the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time to reach his bedroom. This was it, he thought, he was going to be expelled for underage magic! Not only had he gotten that warning last summer because of Dobby the house elf, now he really had gone and used magic on a Muggle! Blown her up! If he was going to be expelled, there was nothing to keep him here then. No Dumbledore, nothing!

And there was no way he was going to stay and see what Uncle Vernon had in mind to deal with him.

Grabbing his clothes and his few school belongings, including what he hid under the floorboard under his bed, Harry was quick to begin yanking his trunk behind him, not carrying at the banging it made as he made his way down the stairs.

"You turn her back!"

Uncle Vernon came out of nowhere, large hands reaching out to grab at Harry. He whipped out his wand, pointing it at the man, even though his hand shook.

"You can't use magic outside of school!" his uncle sputtered, backing away, eyes narrowed and face an interesting shade of puce. "They'll expel you."

"Yeah?" Harry demanded, deciding not to point out that any minute now he would probably receive a missive informing him of his expulsion. "Try me."

"Turn her back! Get her back!"

Harry could see that Marge had floated into the living room.

"No," he stated, backing up to the front door. "Not after everything that she said. She deserved it!"

Vernon lunged at Harry. Harry managed to make it out the front door and tumble down the steps onto the front walk with his things before his uncle could catch him. There was a screech from inside the house from Aunt Petunia which distracted Vernon long enough for Harry to scramble to his feet and dash away, trunk wheeling behind him.

He did not stop until he reached the playground. Once there he dropped his trunk to the curb, collapsing on it. His entire body shook and he clenched his hands tightly between his knees, willing his body to stop shaking. He had run away, he was probably expelled from Hogwarts, what was he to do now? Should he go to Aria? He knew that she was in the country at least, the few letters she had sent with Hedwig had mentioned Ron and Hermione being abroad for most of the summer.

But what if . . . what if Dumbledore came to find him? What if, even if he was expelled, Dumbledore still wanted him to go back to the Dursleys? No, he could not go to Aria or Professor Snape up north.

He would go to the Leaky Cauldron, he decided. He had enough money left over from last summer that he could rent a room, then he could go to Gringotts and get more money and figure out what to do from there. Granted, someone would probably be looking for him to snap his wand like they'd done to Artemis Gambol and Alex Sykes, but at least he would be in the wizarding world already.

But how to get to London?

A memory from last summer niggled at the back of his mind. Something Mrs. Weasley had said when he had shown up at the Burrow. What was it? He had told them about taking the Muggle bus . . . and she had said something about a Night Bus? He thought harder, working to dig up the memory. She had said to . . . lift his wand?

Lifting his wand into the air there was a few seconds of nothing then BANG! A purple double-decker appeared in front of him. Harry almost fell off his trunk in surprise. A tall, skinny man stepped down from the bus' stairs.

"Hello," the man said, "my name is Stanley Shunpike and I will be your conductor this evening. We can take you anywhere in Great Britain! Can I have your name . . . young man?"

It took several seconds for Harry to get his mouth working. He had a sudden terror of being recognized.

"Neville Longbottom," he blurted. Why had he chosen Neville of all people?

"Well, Neville, glad to be of service. Hop on board and I'll store your trunk!"

Harry climbed into the bus, surprised, and delighted to see that it was bigger on the inside with beds and two other stories above the one he was one. He noted a few beds occupied with sleeping people.

"It's eleven Sickles to go anywhere you want," Stan told him. "Thirteen Sickles if you want a hot chocolate and fifteen if you'd also like a hot water bottle and toothbrush in the color of your choice."

"Oh . . . um . . . I'll just take the ride. I'm heading to the Leaky Cauldron in London." Harry dug through his trunk for his money pouch and handed Stan the eleven Sickles. Stan waved him off to find a bed and Harry eventually found a nice, secluded bed on the second story of the bus.

The next morning Harry awoke to the sound of a something pecking at the window. He instantly jumped from his bed, afraid that the Dursleys would hear, only to stop short when he realized he was not at Number 4, Privet Drive.

Hedwig continued to peck at the window, and he finished hurrying over, opening it so that his familiar could glide in and settle on the horizontal bed post at the foot of the bed. She hooted at him as if scolding him for taking so long.

"Sorry, girl," Harry murmured, coming over to stroke her feathers. "I forgot where I was for a second." He looked around at the nice, spacious room he had been given at the Leaky Cauldron.

He had arrived last night to find that the Minster of Magic was waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron. How the man had known that is where he was headed, Harry had no idea, but the man had been there with a tall auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The three of them had had a late cup of a tea while Minister Fudge had assured Harry that "we don't expel people for blowing up their aunts" and that the ministry would be covering his room and board at the Leaky for the remainder of the summer "since his relatives had made it clear they did not want him back until next summer".

Harry was certain that Minister Fudge misunderstood his relatives and that his aunt and uncle had not meant "until next summer" but rather "forever". But he decided to cross that bridge later. Auror Shacklebolt had assured Harry that the Ministry had sent a team of wixen to restore Marge Dursley to her original form and to obliviate any memories of the incident. In fact, Shacklebolt had told him, Marge Dursley would think that she got very drunk so any possible memory leakage would get attributed to that.

"Not that there will be any memory leakage," Shacklebolt had said. "We employ only the best for Obliviators."

Somehow, that was more assuring than when Minister Fudge seconded Shacklebolt.

Crossing over to the round table in his suite, because it had to be some sort of suit based off how large the bedroom and bathroom was, he found a pad of parchment paper labeled: ROOM SERVICE. He also found a food menu for downstairs.

Taking the quill sitting on the table, a Never-Out Quill, he curiously jotted down on the parchment what he wanted for breakfast. A moment later someone wrote a reply underneath which read: Your food will be ready in fifteen minutes.

Getting ready for the day, he had just finished dressing when there was a knock at the door and he opened it to allow one of the maids to come in with his breakfast tray floating behind her. When she was gone, Hedwig was quick to fly over and steal a whole slice of bacon from Harry's plate!

"You can't stay mad at me," Harry muttered at her. "You like Aria."

Hedwig hooted in agreement then rubbed her head against his.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I missed you too."

He had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron several days when he had the sudden realization that, in his excitement about being an unaccompanied child with unlimited access to Diagon Alley and Muggle London, he had completely forgotten about the Franksons! What was the rumor mill on Privet Drive saying about his sudden disappearance if anything?

Slipping quickly out into Muggle London, Harry found a phone booth with a thick phone book covering London and its surrounding counties. It took him a few minutes but he eventually found Surrey though there were at least six different Frankson families! Thankfully four of them had their town listed next to their numbers so he knew to skip those. It took him two tries before he found the right number.

"Frankson residence, this is Mel speaking."

"Mrs. Frankson?"

"Harry?"

Harry heard a commotion on the other end of the line, like distant voices raising. He thought he heard his name a couple of times.

"Harry, I put you on speaker," Mrs. Frankson said, "I've got Len here with me." She probably also had the kids listening in from somewhere else, Harry thought with some amusement. It was nearing dinner time.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Frankson questioned. "Where are you? Do I need to come get you?"

For a second Harry's throat felt full and it was a little hard to breath. His eyes burned with the start of tears which he fought back.

"You'd come get me?" he managed to say, though it came out as nothing louder than a whisper.

"Do you need me to?"

Harry sniffed and wiped away the tears that had escaped.

"No," he muttered, "no, I'm safe. I'm fine. I just . . . wanted to let you know that I was okay. I didn't want you to worry."

"Where are you?" Mrs. Frankson asked.

"London."

"London! Oh, Harry, you didn't travel there all on your own, did you?"

"I did. I'm pretty good at that sort of thing."

"I know you are, sweetie, but I just . . ." he heard Mrs. Frankson take in and let out a deep breath. "Are you staying with friends?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, slipping another fifty pence piece into the pay phone. He felt a little bad lying to them. "I made it to a friend's house. They're going to let me stay for the rest of the summer."

"The Dursleys said they'd sent you off for the rest of the summer but wouldn't say where. Jason's been putting around a rumor that they killed you," Mr. Frankson told him. There was deep disapproval in his voice, and Harry heard Jason laugh in the background. He could not help giggling at the idea.

"I'm not dead," he assured them. "And the Dursleys know where I am. They don't want me back until next summer though. I'll stay at school over the holidays until then."

Not that the Dursleys wanted him back next summer, he thought darkly, but he would have to cross that bridge again when he got there.

"You keep this number, all right?" Mr. Frankson told him, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. "I want you to call if you need anything okay?"

"Is there a number we can reach you at?" Mrs. Frankson questioned. "Or an adult we can speak to?"

"Mum," Harry heard Jason cry, "he said he's with friends."

"I know, I just worry—,"

Suddenly, something slammed against the side of the phone booth. Harry's hand, which wasn't holding the phone, went for his wand. A look through the glass showed a group of rough looking teens walking by, shouting, and laughing loudly at each other. It seemed that one of the boys had shoved another on into the booth. Now the second boy was cursing out the first as they continued down the street.

"What was that?" Mrs. Frankson demanded. "Harry? Harry! What was that?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Harry hurriedly replied, though he was a bit shaken by the experience. "I'll keep your number. I'll try and call when I can."

"Harry, are you really at a friends' house?" Mr. Frankson questioned.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, hoping his voice sounded confident.

"Harry—,"

"I've got to go," Harry interrupted. "I'll call again. Promise." With Mr. and Mrs. Frankson still calling his name, he hung up. With shaking hands he used the pen attached to the phone to circle the correct number in the phone book, then he ripped out the page, folding and stuffing it into a pocket so that he would not use it.

Leaving the phone booth, he hurried away and back to the safety and privacy of his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Hedwig looked up from her water dish as he entered, throwing himself onto his bed. Not for the first time, he wished the Franksons were his relatives.

Percy took in a deep breath, allowing the cool sea breeze to ruffle his curls. Behind him he could hear Oliver and Marcus already squabbling with Prudence putting in her two cents every couple of sentences. Out on the beach he saw Tracey and Penny looking for seashells, having rolled their eyes at the squabbling trio before skipping off with each other to find shells.

"Lemonade, Master Weasley?"

Percy glanced down at the Wood's house elf, Lissy, who stood with a tray of lemonade. He took a glass with a small thanks and turned back to the sea. It was calm and quiet here, very unlike the Burrow, and unlike Egypt. Oliver had commented how the sun had made Percy's freckles stand out more and had then proceeded to try and kiss every freckle on Percy's face.

That had been before the others had arrived, of course. Percy was not sure he wanted their friends to know about him and Oliver. Oliver had mentioned that Prudence suspected something, which meant that she knew exactly what sort of relationship they were in. And if Prudence knew then there was a good chance Marcus and Tracey at least suspected something, or else thought someone had a crush on the other. And he could never get a good read on Penelope.

"Oi, Weasley!" Prudence bounded up beside Percy. She plucked her own glass of lemonade off the tray from Lissy as the house elf walked by her. "I saw in the paper your family won that drawing thing and went to Egypt. How was it?"

"Amazing!" Percy cried, glad to have something to talk about. "We got to tour several museums and pyramids and tombs. Several of the tombs Bill, that's my brother who's a cursebreaker, helped cleanse."

"So no cursed mummies walking about?" Prudence questioned. "Sounds a bit boring."

"The twins did try and lock me in one of the formerly cursed tombs," Percy admitted. "I'd've come back and haunted them."

"Good for you," Prudence cried. "An eternal prank. Very Weasley I suspect." She leaned over the porch railing, sipping at her drink, watching Tracey and Penelope crouched on the rocky shore. "Are you related, by any chance, to Caedmon Weasley?"

Percy racked his brain.

"Er . . . probably," he answered. "I think I've got a cousin named Caedmon who's older than me?"

"You think?"

"Well . . . my family doesn't really talk to the Weasley side of the family. Dad and my grandfather had a falling out long before I was born and Uncle Bilius' kids are all older than even Bill!"

"Oh, I know," Prudence cried. "Mother's been nagging me and my father about securing a betrothal contract. Father's not too keen on them, says the only good thing that ever came from his arranged marriage are his kids. But Mother's trying to make it more palatable by presenting . . . families with the least amount of problems attached to them. Her latest suggestion was Caedmon Weasley who's twenty-four!" She stuck her tongue out and made a gagging noise.

"Larger age gaps have existed in marriages," Percy pointed out.

"It's not the age gap that I mind, it's that I just turned seventeen! I haven't even taken my NEWTS! I've got things to do. Places to see. Things to learn. I don't want to graduate Hogwarts and then immediately get married and start a family!"

"So . . . what's this got to do with me?"

"I thought you could tell me about Caedmon. If there was anything I needed to be aware of so that I could better state my case against the union. Though I'm pretty sure Father'll say no to Mother. He always does. He had not even set a contract for my siblings and they're closer to Caedmon's age than I am!"

"Yeah . . . Weasleys aren't exactly known for arranged marriages," Percy told her. "I'm pretty sure my grandmother, the current Lady Weasley, ran off while betrothed to someone else to marry my grandfather. At least, that's what I've heard."

She had, Percy recalled, but no need to reveal that he did have some contact with that side of the family.

"I should mention that Mother," Prudence muttered.

"I hope your mother sees reason," Percy told her. "At least enough reason to stop badgering you and your father."

"Thanks. Father would like us all to be happily married and give him a boat load of grandchildren, but he's not so desperate that he won't wait for it to happen naturally." She waggled her eyes at Percy. "Speaking of falling in love naturally . . . you and Oliver?"

Percy sighed, knocking back the last of his lemonade.

"Does every know?" he asked.

"Nah," she answered. "Just me. Well . . . I know Marcus and Tracey suspect something, the three of us've discussed it before, and I doubt Penelope hasn't suspected something either. Everyone else is too stupid to think that you and Oliver are an item."

"I know most people think he's being stupidly kind to me," Percy told her. "I know I'm neither easy to get along with or . . . to like."

"You can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but then again, with Fred and George as your brothers, and the amount of pressure people seem to put on you to keep those two in line, I can understand why you would be."

"Like that's endured me to people," Percy muttered. "Most see me as a killjoy. I know that. I'm fine with that."

"Really?" Prudence laughed, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "Percy, I might not know you as well as I know Tracey or Marcus, but I have a hard time believing that you're actually fine with people seeing you as a killjoy fuddy-duddy."

Percy shrugged. If people thought he was a fuddy-duddy, they were less likely to give him a second glance. The less attention outside what was necessary the better. Not all attention was good. Yet, he did have to admit, that he had enjoyed this summer where no one really knew him, and he did not have to look over his shoulder as much. None of the other interns at ICW had seemed to dislike his organizational by-the-book work ethic. No one had thought him a killjoy. In fact, he had seen many interns taking in the same sights as he had been taking or going on the same tours he had gone on, even the ones not directly sponsored for ICW interns. It was really only his schoolmates who did not appreciate his adherence to rules and even his family teased him about it. Well . . . except for the twins, he believed they tried to do it in good fun. He was sure the twins meant it to be in good fun, but sometimes he felt extremely picked on by them. They never bothered Bill or Charlie when they were around, or Ron and Ginny. Just him.

"What're you two lovebirds talking about?" Oliver demanded. He and Marcus had finally put aside whatever Quidditch thing they were arguing about to come drink their lemonade with Prudence and Percy.

"Lovebirds?" Prudence cried.

"Just complaining about the twins," Percy told him.

"I'd love to join that!" Marcus insisted. "I'm convinced they're not actually human but either demons or fairies."

"No need to insult magical beings," Percy argued. Then, feeling a little brave, he slipped his hand into Oliver's and grabbed his lemonade at the keeper's hand. He took a sip of the drink while Oliver gave him the goofiest grin he had ever seen. Marcus rolled his eyes while Prudence cackled gleefully, nudging Marcus with her elbow.

"Oi!" they heard from the beach. Tracey and Penelope were coming back their way. Penelope was grinning from ear to ear. "Are Percy and Oliver holding hands?"