the ring︱harry potter x (fem.) reader

pøa: favorite crime

~ olivia rodrigo

I love reading your comments -- y'all are so sweet you make me blush. ily all.

"Even the (h/c) hair girl?"

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Harry's POV

I went down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room. Dudley had spent most of his summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually. 

I placed myself in between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of muscle. I didn't get a happy birthday from anyone, nonetheless, they didn't even acknowledge me entering the room, not that I cared, it was better they didn't acknowledge me rather than threaten me. I helped myself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:

"... The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, watching the television over top of his newspaper. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

Uncle Vernon shot a nasty sideways glare at me, because my untidy hair had always been such a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, I felt my hair was very tidy. 

The reporter reappeared.

"The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today --"

"Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring angrily at the reporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escape from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-face, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. I knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hotline number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors. 

"When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, who was now pounding the table with his large fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"

"Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into the neighbor's garden, as if Black would appear right there.

Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

I was just brought back to earth with an unpleasant thought.

"Aunt Marge?" I blurted out. "Sh -- she's not coming here, is she?"

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Technically, she was not a blood relative of mine since my mom's sister was Aunt Petunia. I was still forced to call her "Aunt" all my life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly and vividly in my mind. 

I remember at Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked me around the shins with her walking stick to stop me from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for me. On her last visit, the year before I started at Hogwarts, I accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased me out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.