The children who lived, Fought, and Loved

Chapter Thirty Three

Aunt Marge

[The screen opens up to show Harry and Primrose walking down to breakfast to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table.]

"Ugh, I forget about them." Barty groans.

Marlene whistled, "Primrose was always pretty but talk about a glow-up."

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,

Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, Neither one of them wished Harry or Primrose a 'Happy birthday', none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed the twins enter the room, but they were far too used to this to care.

"That's sad." Said Rabastan.

He helped himself to a piece of toast and then 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 hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately.'

Regulus and Sirius both look at each other.

"Which one?"

"There could be a muggle with the same last name," Sirius said, hoping that he was right.

"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!"

Sirius Touches his hair, "It can't be me. My hair is perfect."

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry and Primrose, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, The twins felt very well groomed indeed.

Peter squints at the screen, "Well Sirius that does look a little bit like you..."

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? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

Aunt Petunia whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Primrose 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 boring, law-abiding neighbors.

"She's still like that," Lily said, shaking her head.

"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?"

Primrose's eyes widened at the mentions of hanging, over the summer she had read a book about the Salem witch trials that happened in 1692, to say she is Traumatized is an understatement.

"The what?" Said a confused Narcissa,

"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."