Harry sat in the room for about an hour, hearing the sound of a car engine downstairs, followed by Vernon's loud voice colliding with another, even louder voice.
It was Aunt Marge who arrived.
Her voice came up from downstairs, and could be heard clearly even through the floor:
" Vernon! Your house is still the same as always! And Petunia, you look thinner, haven't you been eating properly?"
"No, no, I'm fine." Petunia's voice drifted from the kitchen, carrying a gentleness that Harry rarely heard.
Because it was almost dinnertime, Harry wasn't in his room, which is why Aunt Marge saw Harry at the corner of the stairs.
She stood in the living room, leaning on a cane with one hand and carrying an old travel bag in the other, wearing a thick, dark green coat.
Her face was big and red, exactly as Harry remembered.
She looked Harry up and down, a look that made Harry feel as if someone had poured cold water on him from head to toe.
"This is your nephew?" Aunt Marge's voice was laced with sarcasm, her lips curling into a sneer. "He's still living in your house?"
" Marge— " Vernon coughed beside him.
Aunt Marge ignored him, put her travel bag on the sofa, and walked towards the kitchen, leaning on her cane.
"Let me tell you, Petunia, if I were you, I would have sent him to an orphanage long ago. This child has no manners at all; he doesn't even say hello."
Harry unconsciously clenched his fists; he had been standing on the stairs for less than five seconds, not even having had a chance to open his mouth.
Vernon stepped forward, blocking Harry's path, his voice lower than usual. " Marge, don't say that. Potter is still just a child."
Aunt Marge turned her head, her small eyes lingering on Vernon's face for a moment, as if she didn't understand what he was saying.
"Why are you protecting him?" she said, her voice filled with genuine confusion. " Vernon, you weren't like this before."
Vernon didn't answer, but simply repeated, "Don't say that."
Aunt Marge shrugged and looked away from Harry.
Her gaze passed over Vernon's shoulder and landed on Dudley, who had just come down the stairs, and his gloomy face suddenly lit up.
" Dudley!" Her voice suddenly rose several octaves, becoming so enthusiastic it was as if she were a completely different person, "My little darling! Come and let your auntie see you!"
Dudley grinned and went over to give Aunt Marge a hug.
Aunt Marge took a beautifully wrapped box out of her travel bag and handed it to Dudley: "This is for you, open it and take a look."
Dudley opened the box; inside was a set of video game cartridges that looked very expensive. He was so happy he almost jumped for joy. "Thank you, Auntie!"
"You're welcome, darling." Aunt Marge patted his shoulder, her eyes crinkling with laughter.
For the next week, Aunt Marge had a very regular schedule at the Dursley family.
Every morning, she would sit in the living room drinking black tea and flipping through the gardening magazine Petunia subscribed to—she would only look at the pictures, not the text—before she would go to the backyard to sit for a while and chat with Dudley.
She spoke gently to Dudley, and in a normal voice to Vernon and Petunia, but her tone would drop by half an octave whenever she spoke to Harry.
"Can you walk a little quieter? You walk like an elephant."
"Can you please eat quietly? You have no manners."
"You look just like your dad, that good-for-nothing."
Harry tolerated all of this. It wasn't that he didn't have a temper, but rather that every time Aunt Marge started being sarcastic, Vernon or Petunia would chime in with a comment.
" Marge, don't say that."
" Marge, he's just a child."
" Marge, have some tea."
Sometimes Vernon would simply stand in Harry's way and push him upstairs, saying, " Potter, go back to your room first. I need to talk to your aunt."
Aunt Marge would always show that puzzled look, but she wouldn't lash out in front of Vernon.
She would turn around and look for Dudley, completely forgetting what had just happened.
Throughout the week, Harry and Aunt Marge did not have a single direct confrontation.
On the one hand, Vernon and Petunia were always standing in the way, and on the other hand, Harry himself didn't want to make a big fuss.
He had maintained a relatively peaceful summer with the Dursley family and didn't want to ruin it in the last few days.
He was even somewhat relieved that Aunt Marge was only staying for a week during the summer vacation, instead of spending the entire summer there.
On the last night, Petunia cooked a very big dinner: roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and a large plate of roasted vegetables.
Aunt Marge sat at the head of the table, a glass of brandy in front of her.
She took a sip, put the glass down, and poked the beef on her plate with her fork. "The cooking is alright, but there's not enough salt."
"Put in more next time," Petunia said.
"Next time you come, you have to change my room. That room is too sunny; it gets unbearably hot in the afternoon."
Aunt Marge took another sip of brandy. "And that staircase, it's too steep, my knees aren't good."
"Next time I'll give you a room on the east side," Vernon replied.
Aunt Marge nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
She picked up her glass and took another big gulp of brandy, her face flushing slightly.
Harry sat at the other end of the table, the furthest away from her.
He kept his head down, eating the beef on his plate, trying not to attract any attention.
Dudley was eating pudding with gusto, and Aunt Marge glanced at him, her face once again showing that doting smile.
" Dudley, my darling, would you like to stay at your aunt's for a few days? I have lots of puppies there, I'm sure you'll love them."
"Real?"
"Of course it's true. When has your aunt ever lied to you?"
Harry silently swallowed the last piece of beef.
He watched as Aunt Marge picked up her glass of brandy again and figured the night would probably pass peacefully.
What he didn't know was that Aunt Marge was already on her fifth glass of brandy.
Moreover, her voice was getting louder and louder, and her face was getting redder and redder.
"I said, Vernon," her voice slurred with alcohol, "What trouble has this child gotten into this year?"
"No," Vernon said. "He's very well-behaved."
"Behave yourself?" Aunt Marge scoffed, turning to look at Harry, her eyes, reddened by the smell of alcohol, sweeping over his face twice.
"You're starting to look more and more like your dad; I can remember his face instantly."
"Your father is just a good-for-nothing." Aunt Marge leaned back in her chair, swirling the brandy in her glass.
"He spends all his time fooling around with his cronies and doesn't do anything productive. Your mother is the same, following him everywhere, I don't know what she's after."
Vernon had stopped using his fork at some point.
Harry's ears went blank.
His fingers clenched under the tablecloth, his nails digging into his palms. He told himself to ignore her, not to argue, that she would leave tomorrow.
But Aunt Marge continued, "... a good-for-nothing, lazy parasite—"
"He's not!" Harry exclaimed suddenly.
Aunt Marge paused, her hand holding the wine glass still. She slowly turned her head, her small eyes narrowing as she stared at Harry for two seconds.
She then placed her glass on the table, tilted her head to look at Harry, and a smile slowly spread across her face, as if she had heard something particularly funny.
"Go on, kid. You're proud of your parents, aren't you? They went out, got into a car accident, and died—"
"They didn't die from a car accident!" Harry said, and before he knew it, he had stood up.
"Oh, how did they die?" Aunt Marge's voice carried a feigned curiosity. "Are you trying to tell me that your parents died with great dignity? With great honor?"
" Marge— " Petunia began.
"Shut up, Petunia," Aunt Marge interrupted without turning around, her gaze fixed on Harry's face. "You little brat, you're full of nonsense."
"Do you know what you're saying? Your parents were alcoholics and died in a car accident. Do you think you can make yourself sound more pitiful by making up a story?"
"Let me tell you, you're a liar, a little rascal, you've been since you were a child, and you still are."
"They even dumped this burden on their respectable, hardworking relatives! You're an arrogant, ungrateful little brat—"
"Alright!"
Vernon slammed his hand on the table.
The plates and dishes on the table rattled loudly, Dudley's spoon fell directly into the pudding.
The entire restaurant fell silent instantly.
Aunt Marge was stunned by the slap and remained seated in her chair. Her hand, holding the wine glass, hung in mid-air, and her eyes stared straight at Vernon.
Vernon stood at the other end of the table, his hands resting on the edge, his face flushed red.
His lips trembled, and his chest heaved more and more violently, as if there was a breath stuck inside him that he couldn't exhale.
" Marge," he said in a low voice, each word seemingly squeezed out between clenched teeth, "You leave now."
Aunt Marge blinked, as if she didn't understand.
"What did you say?"
"I said, you should leave now," Vernon repeated. "You've had too much to drink; you should go."
Aunt Marge's lips moved, and her expression slowly shifted from confusion to disbelief.
" Vernon?" Her voice was a little dry. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Yes," Vernon nodded, "I'm trying to get rid of you."
Aunt Marge stared at him for several seconds, then turned to look at Harry, and then at Petunia.
Petunia sat in the chair with her head down, her hands clasped together, and she didn't say a word.
"You did this for him?" Aunt Marge pointed at Harry, her finger trembling slightly. "You drove me away for him? Vernon, I'm your sister!"
"You've just had too much to drink." Vernon straightened up and released his grip on the table. "Go pack your things, I'll take you to the station."
"I'm not leaving." Aunt Marge slammed her wine glass on the table, making a crisp sound as it hit the bottom.
"I came all this way to see you, and you're going to kick me out just because I said a couple of things to that kid?"
" Vernon, have you forgotten? What is that kid? You picked him up! He's your wife's dead sister's—"
"Enough!" Vernon's voice rose considerably, his tone filled with unprecedented urgency. " Marge, I said enough."
Aunt Marge slowly stood up from the chair, swaying slightly.
The flush from the alcohol was still on her face, but her eyes were much clearer than before.
Her gaze swept back and forth between Vernon and Harry twice, and her lips curved into an ugly smile.
"Okay," she said, her voice much softer than before, "Okay, okay, of course I'll go back."
"I have my little darlings (her bulldogs) waiting for me at home, and they're much more sensible than some people."
She tapped her cane on the ground, turned around, and took two steps toward the living room, her voice drifting toward the dining table.
"Don't worry, at least I won't die in a car accident like some drunkards."
"I have my little ones waiting for me at home, and I won't let them become neglected bastards—"