When June arrived, Harry found that cupboard was exactly as he had left it, dark, cold, and filled with the musty smell of a ten year old boy. Harry had barely been able to believe that it had been a year since he had seen it, but since he had returned to Privet Drive number four they had become distinctly reacquainted. As far as he could tell, Professor McGonagall had sent Aunt Petunia a letter that informed the perfectly normal Dursley's that Harry had an awful knack for getting into trouble, thank you very much, and that as a student Harry did not have the right to practice magic during the summer. Their grins, Vernon's in particular, had been absolutely feral.

They were quick to shove him into the confined space underneath the staircase, stripping him of the extra upstairs bedroom and were savage in wringing every drop of usefulness from the boy during the summer. Petunia had evidently found the workload she granted Harry everyday unsatisfactory, and had had to hire a gardener and maid in order to maintain the house. This meant that Harry was blamed for the expense. The only positive thing about this set of affairs would be the extreme amount of time Harry had that he was able to dedicate to thinking, just as the small child mulling over dirty dishes was now.

He thought of his last year at Hogwarts, and of the friends he thought he had made during it, and of course, of the friendship he had rejected with Draco Malfoy. Ron and Hermione occupied his thoughts infrequently, mostly for self pity. Neither had written him all summer long despite the connection he thought the three of them had formed during their first year of Hogwarts. While the quiet voice inside him whispered that it was okay, that his two best friends were simply busy, it was also very true that Harry was disappointed.

He sighed and rested the cleaned dish on the counter, and tried to rephrase that thought, because it sounded whiny and- well- needy. He wasn't disappointed persay, just lonely and tired of being at Privet Drive. Yes, he thought as he drained the sink of soapy water, that sounds much much better. And perhaps, to him, it did.

"Boy! Are the flowerbeds weeded? The Mason's will be here tonight and everything must be perfect for Vernon's dinner." Petunia's shrill voice resonated down from the second floor.

" Yes, Aunt Petunia!" Harry yelled back rolling his eyes. The flowerbeds were always the first thing he did, as Aunt Petunia watched them like a hawk, and would know if he tried to skimp on them at least once. Besides, outside work was always better in the morning versus now, where he might die from dehydration if he tried to go out and do manual labor in the June heat.

"What about dinner then? Dessert?" she said quieter as she walked down the stairs in a white bathrobe and green face mask with her hair in purple curlers. "Dudley will be home in half an hour or so and Vernon at half past four. The Mason's at five... You do remember, right?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Dinner is in the oven, and dessert will be ready just before Uncle Vernon is home." he rolled off the answers to everything she asked.

"Hmpf." his aunt snorted, moving back up the staircase to finish getting ready for the Mason's," well, it better impress them boy, or it's Vernon you'll have to deal with this time."

"Of course"

Harry resumed his place at the sink, rinsing the remainder of his cookware before stowing it away underneath the cabinets, his skin crawling with reminders of the last time Vernon truly had to deal with him. It had been before Harry realized he was a wizard, though he had only known for a year now. Still he tended to think of the time as Before his letter and After his letter.

He had been trying to escape Dudley and his friends who were playing the game Harry Hunting, which unfortunately consisted of Harry running until he was caught and suffering their punches, or hiding until the bullies got tired of looking. That time he had sought to hide in the garbage bin behind the school, but somehow miraculously, had ended up atop the school roof.

At the time, Harry had been understandably confused. He had ended up somewhere he had absolutely no right to be and had absolutely no way to get down, as the door to the roof was locked from the inside. Harry had had to wait until the school noticed him missing and someone found him, which resulted in the Dursley being called.

The Dursley hated many things, but Harry making trouble for them was probably the worst of them, second only to magic and the magical world. For that alone, he would have received days in his cupboard with nothing to eat or drink, maybe a bathroom break during his confinement, but Dudley had to whisper out as soon as they got into the car," He just appeared on the roof, Mummy. I dunno how he did it, but he did it!"

Vernon's face had gone pale, down to his brown mustache that looked as if it had decided to turn prematurely gray, but outside of that nothing was certain until Harry arrived at Privet Drive number Four and only he and Vernon left the car.

The first strapping Harry had gotten had left welts across his back, sores that seemed to ooze pus and ache like they were on fire. The week he had spent locked in the cupboard afterward had only made his fever worse, and Harry remember little outside the measly protest Petunia had put forth, to which Vernon had responded, "It's time the little freak learned his place, Petunia! I will not have it in my household! I will stamp it out of him!" to which her mild protests has floundered and then altogether halted. He had been nine years old.

Now though, Harry was nearing twelve. He hadn't grown much, as he was kept confined in the dark, and his black hair had only grown shaggier, but he was older, he mused. If not larger, if not smarter, he was at least older.

And as the doorbell rang at five o'clock sharp, Harry folded himself away inside his tiny cupboard and contented himself to the soft, silence of the tiny, dark room. He was confident in the success of his meal, although that didn't mean the deal wouldn't go south. The Dursley's had taught him that some things were beyond his control, and sometimes he would suffer for them.

This was very true as of tonight.