Harry woke early the next morning and slipped out of the dormitory as quietly as he could, careful not to wake the others.
After a quick stop at the kitchens for breakfast, he made his way to the Room of Requirement.
He paced in front of the blank stretch of wall, focusing his thoughts: I need a place to practice dangerous magic.
The room responded immediately, materializing a door.
Inside, it looked remarkably similar to the chamber the DA had used earlier that year—before Umbridge had discovered and destroyed their efforts.
Harry shed his outer robes and pulled out the first book from his newly acquired collection.
He chose a dueling manual written by Salazar Slytherin himself.
Facing a stationary training dummy positioned about fifteen feet away, he reviewed the theory behind the first spell he wanted to attempt: a severing curse.
The text was frustratingly vague about the spell’s exact effects.
Harry decided the best way to learn was through experience.
He felt confident in his ability to cast it, but one detail stood out—Slytherin had strongly emphasized the advantages of non-verbal casting.
Harry had never truly mastered the technique, though he had seen both Dumbledore and Voldemort use it flawlessly during their duel at the Ministry.
If he wanted any hope of standing against the Dark Lord, non-verbal magic had to become second nature.
He raised his wand, focused intently, and tried to cast the curse without speaking.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
And again.
Ten minutes passed with growing frustration.
He could feel his magic coiled and eager, straining to be released, yet it fizzled out before it could properly form at the tip of his wand, leaving only a faint tingling in his fingers.
Irritation finally boiled over into anger.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, a jagged purple bolt tore from his wand and slammed into the dummy’s chest.
Success—brief and painful.
The moment the spell left his wand, the holly wood grew searing hot, burning his palm.
Harry yelped and dropped it instinctively, shaking his hand as he hissed in pain.
“Shit—what the hell?”
After a few moments of blowing on the tender skin, he forced the discomfort aside and approached the dummy.
The damage was staggering.
The head, neck, and one shoulder had been violently severed in a jagged, uneven line.
The cut was brutal.
Harry shook his head in disbelief.
He was certain he had performed the spell correctly, yet something was clearly wrong with his wand.
He picked it up cautiously from the floor, relieved to find it had cooled.
Deciding the severing curse was too risky for now, he moved on to others.
The result was the same each time: successful cast, followed immediately by the wand becoming unbearably hot.
He was forced to drop it again and again.
After the fifth time, Harry gave up on advanced curses for the moment.
Instead, he focused on casting basic spells non-verbally.
These worked without burning him, though the wand still grew unusually warm—something he would definitely need to investigate later.