Delilah grabbed her Hogsmeade form and followed Harry down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-present for Dudley, proving how they spoiled him endlessly. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, eating continually while watching the screen and making his five chins wobble.
Delilah sat between Harry and Aunt Petunia. Far from wishing them a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Delilah and Harry enter the room. Delilah was far too used to this to care. She helped herself to a piece of toast and looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:
"... 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, who was a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache, 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 at Harry, whose hair always had annoyed him. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry was very well groomed.
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? The 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. She would simply love to be the one to call the hotline number. She was the most nosy woman Delilah knew 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 the 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."
Delilah spat out the tea she had been drinking.
"What? That b— Aunt Marge is coming here?" Delilah angrily exclaimed. Dudley scooted back from her, he was still terrified of her from all those years ago, probably more so now that he knew she was a witch. She pushed the memory away.
Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Delilah, she had been forced to call her "Aunt" all her life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, luckily, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, the only things she cared about. Still, each of her visits were completely and utterly horrible.
At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked Harry and Delilah so that Dudley would win at musical statues. A few years later during Christmas, she had given Dudley a computerized robot and Harry and Delilah a box of dog biscuits. On her last visit, the year before Delilah had started at Hogwarts, Delilah had 'accidentally' trodden on the trail of her favorite dog. Ripper had tried to chase her but she stood him down, so instead he chased Harry up a tree. Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until after midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.
"Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, "and while we're on the subject" — he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Delilah and Harry — "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."
Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching Delilah and Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley's favorite form of entertainment.
"Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."
"All right," Harry agreed. Uncle Vernon turned to Delilah.
"I will if she does when she's talking to me."
Harry grinned.
"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Delilah's answer, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any — funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?"
"I will if she does," Delilah and Harry said.
"And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slitted in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Kids."
"What?" Harry yelled.
Delilah glared at Uncle Vernon. Really? He couldn't come up with a better lie? Like maybe they got sent to a random boarding school and only came back for summer break? Was it really that hard?
"And you'll be sticking to that story, or there'll be trouble," Uncle Vernon spat.
Delilah sat there, glaring furiously at Uncle Vernon, hardly believing it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit was bad enough, but her being told they had been going to a reformatory school? That was just unnecessary. At least Delilah would get someone to try her new pranking supplies on, especially since she suspected they were homemade.
"Well, Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, "I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?"
"No," said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the television now that Uncle Vernon had finished threatening Delilah and Harry.
"Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow tie."
Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder.
"See you in a bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen. Harry left to follow him. Dudley went upstairs to get dressed. Delilah was left in the kitchen with Aunt Petunia.
"I need to ask you something," Delilah stated. Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes at Delilah.
"Third years at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes, and I was wondering if you'd sign the form."
Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible.
"Why would I do that?" she snapped.
"Because it's either you sign it or I fake your signature, I thought I'd give you a chance to actually do something nice for me for once." Guilt tripping. Almost always worked.
Aunt Petunia glared, but signed the bottom of the form
Delilah thanked her and started clearing off the table then headed upstairs. Harry joined her and sent Hedwig off with Errold for some reason. Probably so Aunt Marge wouldn't hear screeching.
Just over ten minutes later, Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Delilah and Harry to come down and get ready to welcome their guest.
They both groaned and slowly walked downstairs.
"Do something about that hair!" she snapped at Harry, who didn't even bother. It was common knowledge between them that the messier they looked, the happier Aunt Marge would be. Not that Delilah really cared, but if Aunt Marge was happier, that meant that Delilah and Harry survived another day. If Delilah had her way, Aunt Marge wouldn't even exist or be slowly dying from rabies. Or even Delilah and Harry could just leave the Dursleys and live somewhere, almost anywhere, else. Sure their situation wasn't the worst, they still did get fed and clothed after all, but they were basically the Dursleys servants, just not to a Cinderella extent. Yet.
The door burst in and the woman who looked like torture itself walked in. Aunt Marge looked just like Uncle Vernon. She had the same thick, barely visible neck, and overweight body. Aunt Marge even had a mustache, though hers was much less noticeable than Uncle Vernon's. Her face also had the same scowl as his. It was creepy, honestly. Even their personalities were similar! They were like creepy, torturous, twins.
Aunt Marge thrust her suitcase and coat at Harry and Delilah while she hugged and kissed Dudley on the cheek. Dudley only dealt with Aunt Marge's hugs and kisses because he was well paid for it. Sure enough, when they pulled apart, there was a thick envelope in his meaty hands.
"You, go put Marge's things in her room," Uncle Vernon barked.
Delilah and Harry dragged Aunt Marge's things into her room. Delilah made a pitstop in their room to grab a stinking elixir. She was about to pour it in Aunt Marge's suitcase when Harry looked at her pleadingly.
"Please don't, Uncle Vernon made me promise that we'd behave and said he'd sign my Hogsmeade form when Aunt Marge left," he pleaded and Delilah groaned. Of course only Harry would do something that idiotic.
"Fine. But give your form here, and I'll copy Aunt Petunia's signaniture, I convinced her to sign mine," Delilah offered.
Harry shook his head. "That's dishonest."
Delilah shrugged, his choice. She'd offered.
"We should probably go downstairs and deal with that b—" Delilah glanced at Harry. "— brat. Come on, let's go."
Harry looked slightly confused, but nodded.
When they got to the kitchen Aunt Petunia was pouring Aunt Torture a cup of brandy. Aunt Torture's demon dog, Ripper, was sipping tea on the floor. It was making a mess and Delilah noticed Aunt Petunia wince.
"Who's looking over the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.
"I've got Colonel Fubster looking after them," Aunt Torture boomed. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines when he's away from me."
"Yeah, and we pine when you're here," Delilah muttered so quietly that only Harry could hear.
As they sat down, Ripper growled and backed away a step from Delilah.
"So! You two are still here," Aunt Torture barked.
"Yep!" Delilah said, fake cheerfulness.
Harry just nodded. Delilah was always better at dealing with Aunt Torture than him. He, however, was much better at stabbing basilisks and burning someone to death, not that Delilah had much practice at either, even Harry had only done each once.
"I don't like your ungrateful tone. It's good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. I wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep," Aunt Torture growled.
Delilah gave her a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. She really wanted to say, "An orphanage would be much nicer than the Dursleys," but resisted because of Harry's stupid promise and honesty. It wouldn't be the first time she'd forged a signature, but those times Harry didn't know. He just thought she had mad convincing skills, which she did.
"Don't you go smirking at me like that! And I thought school would knock some manners into you. Where do you send them again, Vernon?"
"St. Brutus's," Uncle Vernon said quickly, "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."
"I see," said Aunt Torture. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's?"
Uncle Vernon nodded behind her back.
"Yep!" Delilah said as if she was announcing that they went singing for fun.
"Have you been beaten often?" Aunt Torture asked.
"Loads of times," Harry answered.
"I still don't like your tone, if you can talk of your beatings so freely, they must not be hitting you hard enough! Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in their cases," Aunt Torture insisted.
Perhaps Uncle Vernon didn't want to risk Delilah breaking Harry's promise; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly.
"Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"
As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Delilah wished that she would just disappear. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Delilah and Harry to stay out of their way, which they were only too happy to do. Aunt Torture, on the other hand, wanted Delilah and Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for their improvement. She delighted in comparing them to Dudley, and took great pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Delilah and Harry, as if daring them to ask why they hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing dark hints about what made them such unsatisfactory people.
"You mustn't blame yourself for the way they've turned out, Vernon," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Delilah concentrated on her food, but she still was angry. She thought about all the jinxes and curses she'd like to put on Aunt Torture. Immobulus, Tarantallegra, Petrificus Totalus, Furnunculus, Rictusempra, Incarcerous, Densaugeo, Confringo, Levicorpus, Expulso, Avis/Oppugno, Impedimenta, Obscuro, Reducto, Aguamenti, Repello Muggletum (then the Dursleys would go too), Stupefy, Quietus, Confundo, Relashio, Flipendo, Silencio, Langlock, Scourgify, Wingardium Leviosa, and Locomotor.
Aunt Torture kept talking but Delilah tuned her out by continueing the list, finding ways to make the most common spells dangerous.
After a minute, Aunt Torture's wineglass exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Torture sputtered and blinied, her great ruddy face dripping.
"Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"
"Not to worry," grunted Aunt Torture, mopping her face with her napkin. "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..."
But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Delilah and Harry suspiciously, so they skipped dessert and left the table as soon as they could.
Out in the hall, Delilah turned to Harry, who was leaning against the wall.
"You better get your temper in control. If you don't, you won't just not get your Hogsmeade form signed and you'll get us both in trouble with the Ministry. I know it's hard, but I know you can. Maybe try remembering something more pleasant, that shouldn't be hard," Delilah suggested.
She heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way with Harry on her heels.
Delilah got through the next three days by forcing herself to think about her Jinxes and Hexes - Extended Edition whenever Aunt Torture started on them while Harry thought about his quidditch book. This worked well, though it seemed to give her an evil glint in her eyes, because Aunt Torture started voicing the opinion that she was insane. Which, in all honesty, she was slightly.
At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and salmon without a single mention of Delilah and 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 Torture had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red. But there was no way she'd say no.
"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. Delilah really wanted to disappear, and could tell Harry wanted to too, but when she met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes, she knew they would have to sit it out.
"Aah," said Aunt Torture, 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 kid," 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, these two here —"
She jerked her head at Delilah and Harry. Delilah's stomach clenched. Curses, just think of some curses.
"Those two have a mean, runty look. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."
Delilah was trying to remember curses, jinxes, hexes, anything, but nothing would come to mind.
"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia" — she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel like one — "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the results right in front of us."
Delilah stared at her plate, a funny ringing in her ears. Crucio, Veritiv Serum, Avada Kedavra, Imperio, Stupify, Confundo, Confringo, she thought. But she couldn't remember any more. Aunt Torture's voice seemed to be boring into her like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.
"This Potter," said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.
"He — didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry and Delilah. "Unemployed."
"As I expected!" said Aunt Torture, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who —"
"He was not," said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over, Delilah put her hand on his shoulder.
"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You two," he snarled at Harry and Delilah. "Go to bed, go on —"
"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Torture, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash — drunk, I expect —"
"They weren't drunks," Delilah snapped at Aunt Torture as Harry jumped to his feet.
"They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry.
"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liars, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Torture, swelling with fury. Delilah was pretty furious herself. "You two are insolent, ungrateful little —"
But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami —
"MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Torture's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.
"NOOOOOOO!"
Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.
Delilah and Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop them.
They grabbed their stuff from their room, and grabbed their birthday presents. Harry also snatched Hedwig's empty cage. In about a minute, they had heaved their trunks and stuff to the front door.
"COME BACK IN HERE!" Uncle bellowed, bursting out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.
But in a reckless rage, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.
"Harry we're in enough trouble, put that away," Delilah whispered in his ear, but he ignored her.
"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."
Delilah opened the door.
"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough. Are you coming?"
Delilah nodded. No way she was going to let Harry leave alone.
The next moment, they were out in the dark, quiet street, heaving their heavy trunks behind them.
"We shouldn't have done that," Delilah muttered as they walked down the driveway.