Percy Jackson and the Hound of Hogwarts [Book 3]

3) Harry Blows up his Aunt

After helping Harry get the suitcase into the spare bedroom, we walked quietly into the kitchen, where Marge had tea and fruitcake. Ripper, the dog, was lapping tea up disgustingly, and I watched spit and tea spill onto the floor.

"Who's after the other dogs, Marge?" Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," Marge boomed. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

I sat by Harry at the table, staring awkwardly at the dog growling at my friend.

"So!" Marge barked at Harry. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," Marge hissed. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."

I watched Harry force a smile on his face.

"Don't you smirk at me!" Marge bellowed. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you." She gulped down her tea and wiped her mustache. "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon."

"St. Brutus's," Vernon said. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see," Marge said. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" Marge boomed.

Harry hesitated, so I said, "Oh, loads. My hand still has the bruises." I held my bandaged hand up, and Marge looked satisfied.

"Good, good. You go to St. Brutus's, too?" Marge asked.

I nodded, and she seemed pleased.

"Glad your parents recognized they needed to send someone like you to that school. Speaking of your parents, where are they?"

"Well, they're on vacation in America, visiting some family. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley offered to watch over me so I wouldn't ruin their vacation," I said, glancing at Petunia for approval. She nodded slowly.

Marge started off again about beating the students, and quickly turned the conversation to Harry. I watched his eye twitch, and lightly tapped my knee against his thigh.

Thankfully, Vernon changed the subject, "Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

***

I wouldn't call my time at the Dursley's fun. Marge compared Harry to the oh so perfect Dudley the entire time, and had me doing as much work as I could for her. We were kept under her watch most of the time.

During the third day at lunch, Marge said, "You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon. If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

I tensed, watching Harry's hands shake and his face go red.

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," Marge said, grabbing her wineglass. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup—"

Marge's wineglass exploded, shards of glass flying everywhere, wine covering her face.

"Marge!" Petunia squeaked. "Marge, are you all right?"

"Not to worry," Marge said, wiping her face off. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip..."