Harry pushed open the Dursleys' front door as the setting sun's afterglow slanted across the entrance hall floor. The familiar scent of Petunia's industrial-strength cleaning products mixed with the lingering aroma of Vernon's evening pipe tobacco, created an atmosphere that was suffocating.
He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging with the exhaustion and anxiety, still feeling unable to calm his mind despite the peaceful evening at Adrian's shop.
The encounter with Remus and the revelation about Sirius Black had left him feeling like a deer caught in headlights, constantly looking over his shoulder for threats that might appear from any shadow.
Passing through the entrance hall, he glanced into the dining room where Marge and the Dursleys were having dinner.
Harry had already eaten at Adrian's place—it was prepared by Dobby. The house-elf's cooking skills were indeed impeccable.
At that moment, fragments of conversation drifted from the dining room.
"What exactly did this Black guy do..." Vernon's rough voice rumbled through the air.
"Just look at him and you can tell he's no good," Marge said chewing her food with the same determination she brought to training her bulldogs, speaking unclearly through a mouthful of roast beef. "He appeared on the news at least ten times today. That hollow-eyed look—I've seen it before in the worst sort of criminal."
"Ah, I think so too..." Vernon agreed with the enthusiasm of a man who had found someone to share his prejudices.
"You're absolutely right, dear," Petunia chimed in.
Hearing Black's name again, Harry couldn't help feeling irritated.
He felt that this murderer named Black must have committed a very serious crime, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed on television for so long, dominating both wizarding and Muggle news cycles.
And the more serious Black's crimes were, the more dangerous his current situation became. Harry thought about this as he quietly made his way to the stairs.
When he stepped on the first step, conversation in the dining room suddenly stopped, as if someone had turned off a radio mid-sentence.
Then Vernon's voice came.
"Hey, boy," He shouted angrily at Harry. "It's dinnertime now. Come sit down!"
Harry pursed his lips and slowly shuffled to the dining table, his feet were dragging like a condemned man walking to the gallows.
Usually, the Dursleys would have been happy for him not to appear at the dinner table. But doing this today was rather unusual.
He guessed it was because of Aunt Marge's presence.
Sure enough, as soon as he sat down in the chair they had reluctantly set for him, Marge's harsh voice rang out like a foghorn resounding through harbor.
She looked at him with her small, pig-like eyes that were so similar to Vernon's. "You're still freeloading in this house, are you?"
"Yes," Harry replied expressionlessly, his voice flat and emotionless as fresh concrete.
He really didn't want to talk to this woman who was as sharp-tongued as his aunt but lacked even Petunia's thin layer of social grace.
Hearing Harry's reply, Marge let out a cold laugh that sounded like chalk scraping against a blackboard.
"Very good, you rude little brat," She turned her head toward Vernon, "Is he always like this? So sullen and ungrateful?"
Vernon put down his dinner knife, savoring the moment before he spoke in that tone Harry was all too familiar with, the one full of malice and petty satisfaction. "This is exactly why he's going to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys—it's full of hopeless cases like him. They know how to handle delinquents there."
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes so hard they would fall out of his head.
Marge let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a seal barking, her fat body was swaying in the chair like a ship in heavy seas. "Ha! This might be the most correct thing you've ever done, Vernon. Finally showing some backbone!"
Then she squinted at Harry with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly disgusting specimen. "Do they use whips there? Proper discipline, I mean, not this modern nonsense about understanding children."
"Yes," Harry endured and continued speaking expressionlessly, his voice showing nothing of the anger burning in his chest. "As soon as you cause trouble, you get beaten immediately."
Although he didn't want to participate in this charade, he was being so cooperative for a very specific reason.
That morning, Vernon had used the Hogsmeade permission form to blackmail him, once Marge asked where he was going to school, he had to say St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.
He had promised Vernon this in exchange for the signature he needed. But as long as telling such lies could save him from trouble and get him what he needed, he didn't care about maintaining the fiction. After all, he didn't mind what these people thought of him.
He belonged to the wizarding world, and he would live in the wizarding world in the future. Hogwarts was his real home, his friends were his real family, and magic was his real inheritance.
As for how people in the Muggle world viewed him, he completely didn't care. Their opinions were as relevant to his life as the weather on Mars.
However, he was somewhat regretting his decision now—his Aunt Marge was even more detestable than he remembered, and his memories of her were already quite unpleasant. She made him feel physically disgusted, like he needed a shower just from being in the same room as her.
After that, although Harry kept giving in and playing the part of the sullen delinquent, Marge didn't let him off.
"You should be grateful that the Dursleys adopted you," She lectured Harry in a disgusting tone filled with false moral superiority. "If it were me, I'd have thrown you straight into an orphanage."
"That's right," Vernon chimed in from the side, nodding vigorously. In fact, he had always thought this way.
Harry sighed inwardly. Although he didn't know the full details of why the Dursleys had adopted him, he had vaguely guessed some reasons.
It must be related to the protective magic on him. The Dursleys hadn't taken him in out of love or duty, but because they had been compelled to by forces, they didn't understand.
But given his previous treatment over the years, he might as well have been in an orphanage. At least there, he wouldn't have been actively resented and mistreated on a daily basis.
If not for the protective magic that kept him safe from Voldemort's followers, he would have moved out of this house long ago. If nothing else, Professor Westeros would definitely welcome him to stay temporarily, Adrian had made that clear on several occasions.
Dinner continued in a suffocating atmosphere that seemed to press down on Harry, at least, that's how Harry felt as he mechanically ate the food on his plate.
When Marge began describing in detail how her dogs were better behaved than certain people with glances in Harry's direction, Harry excused himself to tidy his room and slipped back upstairs.
This time, his uncle and aunt didn't stop him.
Marge stayed at the Dursleys' house for exactly one week, not a day more, not a day less, though to Harry, it felt like a month of torture stretched into an eternity.
During those seven days, Harry tried to appear only in the morning and evening, minimizing contact with this detestable woman as much as possible.
But on the last day, when Marge began insulting his parents, Harry almost couldn't resist drawing his wand.
He ultimately didn't do it, though every cell of his body screamed for revenge. He knew he couldn't use magic spells—that would bring unnecessary trouble from the Ministry of Magic and potentially expose the wizarding world to the Dursleys' neighbors.
However, some revenge was still possible. He was a wizard, after all, and there were ways to settle scores that didn't involve flashy spells or obvious magic.
Before Marge left, Harry secretly added a few drops of a failed beauty potion to her water glass.
Three days later, he overheard Petunia on the phone comforting a sobbing Marge—her face was covered with stubborn pimples that even doctors couldn't cure.
Harry was very satisfied with this. Those pimples would probably take about a month to go away, and Marge would most likely not find an antidote in the Muggle world.
Meanwhile, Black's wanted notice continued to dominate television and newspaper headlines. His face had become as familiar as a celebrity's, appearing on every news program and newspaper front page.
Just in case, Harry began carrying Guru with him everywhere. Even though Guru now spent most of the day sleeping, Harry knew that as long as he was in danger, Guru would immediately jump up and tear the opponent to pieces.
This little creature was terrifyingly strong, despite his innocent appearance.
The vacation flew by like pages turning in a book, each day bringing him closer to his return to Hogwarts.
For the remaining time, Harry had a pretty good time overall, especially when he was away from Privet Drive.
He successfully cracked the assignment Adrian had given him. The potion he brewed made him grow a cat ear.
One morning, Adrian brought out a pair of tattered gloves that looked like they had been through a war—they were a Portkey, he explained, enchanted to transport them across great distances.
The two took a three-day trip to Egypt, traveling through the sensation of Portkey travel to emerge in the bustling magical quarter of Cairo.
This was probably the happiest three days Harry had during the summer vacation. Egypt was indeed an interesting place, especially magical Egypt, where ancient magic still thrived in ways that made even Hogwarts seem modern.
He saw many interesting things there: mummified cats that could dance to ancient Egyptian music, glowing scarab specimens, crystal balls that could predict sandstorms, and ancient hieroglyphs that moved and changed when observed by magical eyes.
Finally, Adrian even gave him a flying carpet. Although it was cool and incredibly exotic, Harry still preferred his Nimbus 2000.
After all, nothing was more thrilling than riding a broomstick.
Soon, the last day of August arrived, which meant he would return to Hogwarts tomorrow.
In the morning, Adrian brought Harry to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, using the Floo Network to travel from his shop to the pub.
Harry had arranged to meet his friends there to shop together for school supplies, then spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron before taking the Hogwarts Express the next morning.
However, it was still early, and the pub was relatively quiet except for the usual collection of witches and wizards who seemed to live there permanently.
Tom the barkeeper was polishing glasses with a cloth that never seemed to get dirty, while a few patrons drank their morning drinks and read the Daily Prophet.
After booking rooms, Harry planned to wander around by himself first, to reacquaint himself with the magical street he had missed all summer.
Adrian also had no particular plans at this time, so he followed Harry as they casually strolled down the street, past shops that were just beginning to open for the day.
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