Without increased scrutiny from the zoo incident, summer was no more difficult than usual. I spent a great deal of time hiding out in the library, a place Dudley and his gang would never voluntarily step foot into. After ten years I'd pretty much read every book in there, so most of my time was spent helping the librarians re-shelve and playing Trail to Oregon on the guest computer. I happily ignored all the Dursley's noisemaking about Smeltings, going so far as to nearly forget to stay for breakfast on the 24th of June.

The first thing I did when sent to get the mail was take my Hogwarts letter and stuff it through the vents on my closet door, so that I could look at it later without anyone getting in the way. I think Uncle Vernon was unsettled by the smile I was sporting as I handed him the rest of the mail, but at that point the Dursleys had gotten very good at ignoring when I made them nervous.

Later that day, I sat quietly in my cupboard and turned the envelope over and over in my hands, looking at the heavy green letters on the front, clearly addressed to:

Ms. H Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

I went to open it, but paused. I wasn't sure if the letters were spelled so that the school would know if they had been read or not, but it seemed likely. I didn't have to open this one. After all, I already knew what it would say, and I didn't especially feel like making this process any easier for Dumbledore or the Dursleys. With that in mind, I neatly tore the envelope into pieces, and stuffed the fragments down a crack between the wall and the floor.

The next day another letter came, and this one I let them see. I'd put up with living in a cupboard for long enough, and if inducing some magic panic was what it took to get me a bedroom, I was not above milking it.

It only took a single trip to move all of my stuff out of the cupboard and upstairs, so obviously the next step was to go interrupt the frantic conversation the Dursleys were having in the living room. "Excuse me," I said in the same polite, even tone I always used, "Would it be alright for me to clean up the room a little bit?"

They all three whirled to face me. Aunt Petunia's face was pale with shock, Dudley's all red and screwed up at what he thought was the unfairness of it all, and Uncle Vernon's face was nearly purple with rage. "What the devil are you on about, girl?" he roared.

I made my eyes go wide and guileless. "It's just that I thought it would be easier for Dudley to find what he wants, if I cleaned up the room and threw out the broken things."

Uncle Vernon was turning away from me halfway through, flapping one hand dismissively. "Yes yes, go on then." I had to remind myself not to smirk in glee.

...

The next week was great fun, and I deeply enjoyed watching Uncle Vernon slowly losing his mind. The most difficult part of it all was not bursting out into song every time he muttered "shake em off" during the long car ride.

We reached the miserable little spit of rock the day before my birthday. My spirits were so high, in expectation of what would happen at midnight, that neither the storm outside nor the blasted cold brought me down. I curled up under the thin, raggedy blanket the Dursleys had left me, fixed my eyes on the door, and counted down the minutes.

The clock hit midnight, and a battering ram hit the front door.