After leaving the hospital wing, Harry headed straight for the library, more determined than ever to distract himself from the confrontation with Ron.
He pushed every lingering emotion deep down, locking it away.
Focus was what he needed now.
Distractions could get him killed.
The library was nearly deserted, with only a handful of Ravenclaw students scattered among the shelves.
Harry moved through the aisles with purpose, scanning titles for anything that might prove useful against Death Eaters—real combat magic, not the defensive spells they taught in class.
After more than an hour of searching, he let out a frustrated sigh.
The standard collection offered almost nothing of value for the kind of fight he was preparing for.
His gaze drifted hungrily toward the Restricted Section, but he knew asking for permission would be pointless.
Dumbledore would never allow it.
Another realization struck him then—one he should have considered from the beginning.
Summer holidays were less than two weeks away.
Even if he found useful books, he wouldn’t be able to take them with him to the Dursleys.
And if Dumbledore caught wind of what he was studying, he would shut it down immediately.
I need my own books, Harry thought grimly.
He had more than enough gold in his vault, but no way to access it.
He couldn’t exactly stroll into Diagon Alley—let alone Knockturn Alley—under the Order’s watchful eyes.
Leaving the library in a foul mood, Harry tried to think of solutions.
Borrowing from older students seemed pointless; few would have the kind of advanced, dangerous material he needed.
He returned to the fifth-year boys’ dormitory, relieved to find it empty, and threw himself onto his bed.
“Maybe Remus would help…” he muttered.
But the thought of facing the werewolf’s grief-stricken eyes made his stomach twist.
Remus was mourning his last true friend.
Harry wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
He swallowed another wave of guilt and kept thinking.
“That’s it,” he said suddenly, sitting up.
He wasn’t entirely sure the idea would work, but it was worth trying.
“Dobby?”
With a loud crack, the house-elf appeared, practically vibrating with excitement.
“What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter, sir?” he squeaked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Dobby, I need you to stay calm and listen carefully,” Harry said.
The elf froze instantly, ears perked.
“Can I trust you to keep my secrets?” Harry asked bluntly.
“Dobby would never betray Harry Potter’s secrets!” the elf declared, shaking his head so hard his bat-like ears flapped wildly.
“Good,” Harry said, relieved.
“Can you get gold from my Gringotts account?”
“If Harry Potter gives Dobby his key, Dobby can do it, sir.”
Harry cursed under his breath.
“I don’t have my key. Is there any other way?”
Dobby’s ears drooped.
“No, Harry Potter, sir. What does Harry Potter sir be needing?”
Harry rubbed his temples.
“Books. The library doesn’t have what I need.”
“What kind of books, sir?”
“The kind that teach you how to fight Death Eaters,” Harry whispered, glancing nervously at the door.
Dobby’s eyes widened.
He leaned in closer, mirroring Harry’s caution.
“Is Harry Potter sir needing… unfriendly books?” he asked in a serious whisper.
“Yes,” Harry confirmed, nodding firmly.
A spark of excitement lit up Dobby’s face.
“Dobby knows where books like that are, Harry Potter sir!”
“Where?”
“In the Come and Go Room, sir,” the elf replied, looking positively mischievous.
Harry’s hopes rose, then faltered.
“You can’t take things out of the Room of Requirement.”
“These are hidden there by other wizards and witches,” Dobby explained.
“They are in a special place.”
Harry stood up quickly.
If the books were merely hidden and not part of the room’s permanent collection, they might be fair game.
“Can you take me there?”
“Dobby will meet you there, sir!” The elf vanished with another sharp crack.
Harry raced out of the tower, heart pounding with renewed purpose.
When he reached the tapestry of dancing trolls, Dobby was already waiting beside an ancient oak door.
“They are in here, Harry Potter sir,” the elf said, gesturing proudly.
Harry stepped inside and stopped dead, breath catching in his throat.
The room was a vast treasure trove.
Stacks of valuable artifacts filled the space like some forgotten antique shop.
He spotted several Pensieves, old broomsticks, and even a couple of invisibility cloaks that looked nearly identical to his own—each one worth a small fortune.
“Can you actually remove things from this room?” Harry asked, still stunned.
“Yes, sir. These items were hidden by people. They do not belong to the room itself.”
A second brilliant idea struck Harry in that moment.
He had very little spending money on him, and Dumbledore would almost certainly have Mrs. Weasley handle his school shopping.
Accessing his vault would be nearly impossible.
But if he could sell some of these valuables… no one would miss them, and the cause was more than justified.
“Dobby,” he said carefully, “can you sell things as well?”
The elf’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Dobby can do that, sir! Dobby used to sell things for his old master.”
Harry nodded.
“I want you to take anything valuable and sell it. Is there somewhere safe you can store the gold?”
“Dobby can use a trunk, sir. He can make the inside as big as needed.”
“Would you do this for me?”
“Dobby will, Harry Potter sir!” the elf exclaimed, beaming with pride.
“Dobby will even ask Winky to help!”
Harry smiled, the first genuine one in days.
Finally, something was going right.
“Now, where are the books?”
Dobby took his arm and led him through the maze of treasures.
They eventually reached a section packed floor-to-ceiling with ancient tomes.
Harry began sorting through them eagerly, setting aside anything that looked useful.
His pulse quickened when he found a dueling manual written by Salazar Slytherin himself.
While Harry worked, Dobby summoned Winky and the two elves began cataloging valuable items with surprising efficiency.
Hours later, Harry stepped back with a sigh of relief.
From roughly three hundred books, he had selected about fifty—many containing spells that were more than a little questionable.
He had accepted the necessity.
If he wanted any chance against Death Eaters—or Voldemort himself—he could no longer rely on luck or schoolyard hexes.
He would master whatever magic was required.
With Dobby’s help, he packed the chosen books into a trunk, then had the elf shrink it and cast a feather-light charm so he could carry it easily.
His stomach growled again.
Dobby promptly brought him lunch.
After eating, Harry returned to the tower, eager to begin studying his new acquisitions and get some rest.
Tomorrow, he would return to the Room of Requirement and start learning the spells he knew he would need.