Chapter Summary: Uncle Vernon is surprisingly perceptive.

Chapter 3: The Long-Expected Letter

Harry had remembered from his previous experience that his punishment for the escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor was a long one, so he was not at all surprised that by the time he was let out of his cupboard the summer holidays had already begun. In fact, he was quite pleased it worked out that way, for it gave him some much-needed time to think. He whiled away his time in the cupboard sitting in the dark, conserving the light bulb until it was truly needed, and planning. There may have been some panicking and existential crises intermixed with the planning, but that was overall irrelevant. When Uncle Vernon threw open the cupboard door, pompously declaring Harry's freedom and threatening a return sentence with 'anymore funny business,' Harry had a fairly good idea how to proceed with the coming year.

He decided he would maintain a façade of innocence and ignorance of the wizarding world, just as had truly been the case last time around. He would not hold back in his classes, unless he was afraid it would give himself away. He would take the admittedly annoying Dumbledorian route of doing everything in his power to help his friends prepare for the coming war while still letting them be children (while fully acknowledging his hypocrisy, as that had been one of his largest points of contention with the headmaster during his fifth year). And finally, he would try to figure out how, in the name of Merlin, one was supposed to clear one's mind. Having Voldemort in the castle this year, a Master Legilimens, terrified Harry. The depth of destruction he could do with the knowledge he could easily pick out of Harry's brain while he sat in Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was beyond imagining.

His isolation in the cupboard gave him ample opportunity to practice. Delving into the depths of his memories and trying to see past the red haze of anger associated with his private lessons with Snape, Harry was able to recall the man telling him to make his mind "blank and calm." The ability to do so, he remembered, should allow him to shut down his mind at a moment's notice. How he had been expected to do that with Snape staring him down with a wand pointed in his face was beyond him but that was neither here nor there. Even in the privacy and safety of his cupboard, Harry found this to definitely be easier said than done. He came to the uncomfortable realization that he felt strongly about everything all the time. So, to practice, he started with memories of Snape, about whom he felt quite strongly.

Learning that his most antagonistic and difficult professor had devoted the past seven years to keeping Harry safe in memory of his mother had forever changed how he thought about the man. Snape was a complicated, sneaky, snarky, git of a dark wizard, but since his death, Harry had come to accept that Severus Snape had grudgingly wormed his way into his heart. It was all his mum's fault, really. Nothing to be done about it.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh upon that realization, Harry reviewed his earliest memories of Snape with an adult eye. Being sneered at and singled out in his first-ever potions class had really upset him when he was eleven. Reviewing critically, Harry recognized he was sharing a class with his Slytherin year-mates, many of whom had Death Eater parents. Even then, before Voldemort had made himself known, Snape was still walking that treacherous line between Dumbledore and Voldemort. He was a highly intelligent wizard and Harry realized that Snape would have expected Voldemort to return eventually. Having inside knowledge of Voldemort's plans would give him an advantage to protecting Harry. So being a git to Harry was strategic. And I'm sure being practically a carbon copy of my father had nothing to do with it, Harry thought sarcastically.

Snape, as far as Harry was concerned, was still a sneaky, snarky, git of a dark wizard. And complicated. Very, very complicated.

Once freed from his cupboard, Harry was, to put it in auror-training terms, immersed in a hostile environment greatly conducive to occlumency training. It took practice and a recollection of how Snape looked when he was occluding, both in their lessons and without. Harry thought back to some of Snape's interactions with people he disliked who weren't Harry Potter. His face would always go neutral, very cool and calm. And he would blink slower, which Harry found to be a rather strange detail to remember, considering he had never paid much attention before. But sure enough, if he recalled correctly, Snape seemed to blink slower while occluding.

Thinking of it as a training exercise, Harry emulated Snape when interacting with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. As soon as one would go on a rant about his "good for nothing freakishness" he would rest his face in a neutral expression, blink slowly, and focus on maintaining calm. With practice, he found his mind beginning to clear naturally. Of course, this change in his behavior as he no longer rose to the bait or cowered in fear caused Petunia and Vernon to exchange pointed looks with one another over his head. They were afraid he was becoming an even freakier freak, if that was at all possible.

The days passed slowly as they tend to do when one is anxiously expecting something, but finally the morning Harry had been waiting for arrived. Aunt Petunia was standing at the stove, dying some of Dudley's old clothes grey for Harry to wear at Stonewall high, when he came in for breakfast. He smirked and decided not to mention that he would, in fact, be going to a much different school and would have no need to wear what would inevitably look like discarded elephant skin. Uncle Vernon sneered at Harry's hair before disappearing behind the newspaper and Dudley eagerly loaded more breakfast food on his plate, leaving less behind for his cousin. Harry had just tucked in to his food when they heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind the paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Poke h-, what?" Uncle Vernon peered around the paper and glared suspiciously at Harry's retreating back as he complacently went to gather the mail.

Harry stifled a chuckle knowing full well Uncle Vernon had been expecting him to argue. He bent down and shuffled through the mail, his heart stopping momentarily before engaging in a frantic tap-dance in his chest. His Hogwarts letter had come!

"Hurry up, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted impatiently. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?"

Harry quickly slid his Hogwarts letter under his cupboard door and brought the rest into the kitchen, handing them to Vernon before sitting down to finish eating. Once the dishes were cleared and everyone was occupied – Vernon on the telephone with an ill Marge, Petunia hanging the horrid, dyed clothes, and Dudley outside playing with Piers – Harry snuck back into his cupboard and ripped open his letter.

It was just as he remembered, informing him of his acceptance and signed by Minerva McGonagall. We await your owl by no later than July 31. This part left Harry stumped as he did not have an owl yet. "Hmmm…" Harry tapped his fingers restlessly against his leg. "Perhaps…" he muttered as he poked his head out of his cupboard. Looking left and right, he assured himself the coast was clear of irritating muggle relatives before scampering out. He slipped out the front door and scanned the sky before spotting a small, tawny owl perched in the neighbor's tree. "Aha!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. He waved the owl over and tied his response to its leg. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, okay?" he instructed. The owl hooted and bobbed its head before taking flight.

He was still staring absentmindedly at the cloud the owl had disappeared behind when a shout caught his attention. "Oi! What 'ave we here?" Harry groaned and attempted to clear his mind as he recognized Piers Polkiss' voice. He turned around, blinking slowly, to see Piers, seemingly alone, sauntering over to him. Harry flicked his eyes back and forth searching for Dudley before he spotted him, huffing and puffing two blocks away.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, trying to stifle his exasperation.

"I want to know what your problem is," Piers spat.

Harry cooly regarded Piers and raised one eyebrow mockingly while crossing his arms, in clear imitation of Snape for those in the know. Piers' nostrils flared and Harry smirked, faintly amused by how easy it was to wind him up. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind calling him a hypocrite for all the years he was on Piers' end of this exercise.

"Oh?" he said, still smirking.

"I saw that look you gave me the other day!" Piers said with narrowed eyes.

An eleven-year-old's face trying to look menacing struck his funny bone and Harry snorted. Color began to rise in the other boy's cheeks, and he had to duck as Piers swung out at him. By the time Dudley caught up to Piers, Harry was already out of sight, ducking through alleys and backyards as the two bullies began their favorite game of Harry Hunting.

The next day Harry was outside weeding the garden when the same tawny owl from the day before swooped down and landed on his head.

"Gah!" he yelped in surprise and dropped a handful of weeds. The little owl hooted cheerfully, its talons digging in his scalp. "I know my hair may look like a nest, but seriously, do you have to rub it in?" he grouched. With a hoot that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, the owl hopped onto his shoulder and stuck out its leg. Harry took the letter and smiled at its contents.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Since you are unfamiliar with the wizarding world, a representative will be sent to your house to take you to Diagon Alley, where you will find the school supplies necessary for your first year at Hogwarts. Your guide will be more than happy to answer any questions you and your family may have. You may expect Rubeus Hagrid at your house on July 31 at 8:00 a.m. If this date and time are inconvenient for you, please send a reply owl immediately to reschedule.

Sincerely Yours,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Excited to see Hagrid again, Harry found the wait until his birthday nearly unbearable. That night at dinner the Dursley's kept looking suspiciously at him as he could not stop smiling. "What are you smiling at, boy?" Vernon grumped.

"Nothing," Harry grinned.

"Stop it!"

"I can't!"

Vernon glared, his beady eyes examining him calculatingly. His walrus-like mustache twitched, and his eyes swung to Petunia. "How old was your sister when she went to that ruddy school, Hogwash, or whatever it was called?"

Petunia looked as if she had suddenly swallowed a lemon. "Eleven," she ground out. Dudley's eyes swung curiously back and forth between his parents as he chewed his chicken. Harry just kept grinning.

Petunia pursed her lips. "You got the letter, then?"

"Uh-huh," he speared a piece of chicken.

"WE WILL NOT PAY FOR YOU TO GO TO SOME CRACKPOT OLD SCHOOL!" Vernon roared. Dudley dropped a piece of chicken, startled by the sudden bellow.

Harry shrugged, "S'alright."

"What's going on?" Dudley asked curiously, plucking the chicken from the tablecloth and sticking it in his mouth.

Vernon's face was a violent shade of purple while Petunia looked pale and strained. They both glared at Harry.

"What's going ON?!" yelled Dudley, not used to being ignored.

"Nothing important, Diddykums," Petunia replied. "Here, have some more chicken."

The rest of dinner was a tense, silent affair, punctuated by the scraping of silverware. Vernon's face had yet to return to its normal coloring and Aunt Petunia kept shooting nervous looks between Harry and Vernon, unable to finish eating. Harry, on the other hand, appeared outwardly calm and relaxed while he was inwardly laughing for joy. Everyone was alive and well! He was going to see them all again!

A/N: Thank you so much for reviews! ~Love, SS~