Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? - HP x MCU x PJO WTM

Meanwhile, Hazza

NUMBER 4 PRIVET DRIVE

'Oh no' sighed Harry.

A/N
This part will be based off the books because it's too early for angsty Harry. It'll be in book format too because I'm lazy.

Harry went down to breakfast in the morning to find 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 the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.

Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of moustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys gave any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room, but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the newsreader on the television, who was halfway through report on an escaped convict.

'...the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous A special hotline 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!'

The trio and some members of the order were fuming at this ignorant man.

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon.

The newsreader had reappeared.

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

'Hang on!' barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the newsreader. '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 hotline number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on her boring, law-abiding neighbours.

'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.

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.'

Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with his letters was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.

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

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her 'Aunt' all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay in Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind.

At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop him beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerised robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry had started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the paw of her favourite dog. Ripper had chased Harry 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.