Harry. Harry! Harry, open the door.-“Aunt” Marge or Aunt Petunia
Harry: Uncle Vernon. I need you to sign this form.
Uncle Vernon: What is it?
Harry: Nothing. School stuff
Uncle Vernon: Later perhaps, if you behave
Harry: I will if she does.
Marge: Oh, you’re still here, are you?
Harry: Yes.
Marge: Don’t say “yes” in that ungrateful way. Damn good of my brother to keep you. He’d have been straight to an orphanage if he’d been dumped on my doorstep., Vernon. Is that my Dudders? Is that my little neffy-pooh? Give us a kiss. Come on. Up! Up! Up!
Uncle Vernon: Take Marge’s suitcase upstairs.
Harry: Okay.
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Marge: Finish that off for mommy. Good boy, Rippy-pooh
Vernon-Can I tempt you, Marge?
Marge: Just a small one. Excellent nosh, Petunia. A bit more. Usually just a fry-up for me, what with 12 dogs. A bit more. That’s a boy. You wanna try a drop of brandy. A little drop of brandy-brandy windy-wandy for Rippy-pooh? What are you smirking at? Where did you send the boy, Vernon?
Vernon: St. Brutus’. It’s a fine institution for hopeless cases.
Marge: Do they use a cane at St. Brutus’, boy?
Harry: Oh, yeah, yeah, I’ve been beaten loads of times.
Marge: Excellent. I won’t have this namby-pamby wishy-washy nonsense about not beating people who deserve it. You mustn’t blame yourself about how this one turned out Vernon. It’s all to do with blood. Bad blood will do out. What is it the boys father did, Petunia?
Petunia: Nothing. He-he didn’t work. He was unemployed.
Marge: And a drunk to, no doubt.
Harry: That’s a lie!
Marge: What did you say?
Harry: My dad wasn’t a drunk.
Marge: Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t fuss. Petunia, I have a really firm grip.
Vernon: I think its time you went to bed.
Marge: Quiet, Vernon. You, clean it up. Actually, it’s got nothing to do with the father. You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there’s something wrong with the pup.
Harry: Shut up! Shut up!