I am not the heir of Slytherin, I am Slytherin.

Chapter 6

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed. He had to be the answer. Now he only needed to find Helga, but that had to wait until he went back to Hogwarts.

First he would escape this hellhole.

He had received his Hogwarts letter along with the Hogsmeade permission slip a bit earlier than usual.

When he went down for breakfast next morning, his uncle was watching the news.

"... 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, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!" 

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man  television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed. 

The reporter had reappeared."The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today —" 

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

Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hot line 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, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?" 

"Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door's runner beans. 

Harry was internally rolling his eyes. But that man on the news looked familiar... He was a Black. Black was a really old wizarding family. Harry knew that he could be a wizard, probably why they didn't tell the location of his escape as the possibility was that he was an Azkaban escapee.

Harry looked up at his aunt and asked, "Aunt Petunia, my friend has invited me to stay with him. If you allow me, I will leave within ten minutes. May I?"

Aunt Petunia stared at him for a few moments before replying, "But what will I tell Marge if she asks where you are? She is coming here today."

Harry was horrified. Not Marge. She hated him, and the feeling was mutual. 

Though suddenly he had an idea, "Alright I will stay, but only on one condition. We go to a village during a few of the weekends and I need your signature to go there. If you sign, I will stay. If not, goodbye."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged a glance and seemed to be silently discussing. "Alright. We will sign."

The next week was the most boring time of Harry's both lives. He couldn't get time for himself in his trunk. His Hogsmeade form had been signed so that was only the thing that kept him going. Even being the master occlumens did not help being patient with that excuse of a human whose name was Marge.

It was his birthday two days after Marge came to number four of Privet drive. He had received a sneakoscope, a birthday card, a letter and a newspaper clipping from Ron, a broom service kit, a letter and a bithday card from Hermione, and a monster book and a birthday card from Hagrid. They were all shrunk and hidden inside his special trunk, which was shrunk and hidden inside his normal trunk.

The final evening of Aunt Marge's stay had come. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and 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 all 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.  

"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 in anger. He cleared his mind with occlumency and ignored her as much as he could. Then she began insulting his parents, calling them drunk and bitch. 

As much as Harry was another person, Lily and James had given him another life and had died protecting him. Marge insulting them made his blood boil in anger. When she called his parents drunk freaks who died in a car crash, he had had enough. He got up, blew Marge up intentionally, rushed to his room, got all of his stuff inside his pocket and left he house, ignoring the protests and threats of his 'family'.

~Hope you all likedd the chapter. Happy Christmas Eve. Enjoy!

Signing off~