This became Harry’s routine for the remainder of the school year.
He rose early each morning, ate a quick breakfast in the kitchens, and then spent the rest of the day inside the Room of Requirement, pushing himself relentlessly in combat training.
Dueling came to him as naturally as flying ever had, and that small comfort kept him going.
His wand, however, remained stubbornly temperamental.
After the painful incidents with more advanced curses, Harry focused instead on perfecting wand movements and stances from the books.
He drilled combinations over and over, striving for speed, precision, and efficiency.
For the most part, the others left him alone.
Ron hadn’t spoken to him since the hospital wing, and Harry wasn’t inclined to seek him out.
Hermione had woken a week after the events at the Department of Mysteries.
She held no grudge against him, but her gentle insistence that he needed to grieve Sirius quickly became irritating.
Neville and Ginny were another matter.
They kept finding excuses to spend time with him whenever he wasn’t hidden away in the Room.
Harry didn’t mind their company, but it was obvious they were watching him—monitoring for signs that he was “falling apart.” He had endured enough surveillance over the past year to last a lifetime.
He mostly managed to avoid them when he needed solitude, grateful for the Room’s protection.
He had hoped to board the Hogwarts Express without any further complications.
Life, as usual, had other plans.
Two days before the end of term, a summons came from Dumbledore’s office.
Harry went reluctantly.
It wasn’t unexpected, but it was hardly welcome.
He entered the circular room and took the seat opposite the Headmaster, saying nothing.
He had nothing he wished to discuss.
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking.
“How are you, Harry?”
“Fine, sir,” Harry replied with a small shrug.
He truly was.
Whenever grief or anger threatened to rise, he simply pushed it down.
Dumbledore nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.
He moved on.
“I’m afraid you will need to return to your relatives for at least the beginning of the summer, my boy.”
“I expected as much,” Harry said calmly.
“We may be able to arrange something better later on.” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“I’m not going back to Grimmauld Place,” Harry stated firmly.
The thought of being in Sirius’s house was unbearable.
“And the Burrow isn’t likely, since Ron isn’t speaking to me.”
“I’m sure Mr. Weasley will come around in time,” Dumbledore said soothingly.
“Actually, sir, I’d prefer to be left alone this summer,” Harry replied.
“I have more important things to focus on than Quidditch and dodging Fred and George’s pranks.”
Dumbledore sighed, looking weary.
“I do not believe it is wise for you to spend the entire summer in isolation, Harry.”
“It’s my choice, sir,” Harry answered, a trace of irritation slipping through.
The Headmaster sighed again but eventually nodded.
“Very well. However, there will be a member of the Order on guard at all times.”
“You mean to keep an eye on me,” Harry said flatly.
“They are there to keep you safe.”
Harry let out a short, bitter laugh.
“The wards are supposed to do that already. You told me yourself that no one who means me harm can pass them. Having someone watching me is pointless.”
“It is an extra layer of protection,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
“Do not take it for granted.”
“So I get no privacy at all,” Harry muttered, frowning.
“Living with the Dursleys is bad enough without being watched by people who are supposed to be on my side. I’m not a child, Headmaster. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I’m afraid that is how it must be, my boy,” Dumbledore said sadly.
Harry shook his head in frustration.
“Is that all?”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Goodbye, Professor.” Harry stood and headed for the door.
“It is not healthy to stifle your emotions, Harry,” Dumbledore warned quietly.
“It will only breed bitterness and lead you down a dark path—one you are better than. I implore you to reconsider your plans for the summer.”
Harry paused at the open door but didn’t turn around.
After a moment, he simply shook his head and left without another word.
The second unwelcome encounter came as he was leaving the castle to board the train.
In the Entrance Hall, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stepped into his path. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
The blond boy looked furious.
“You’ll pay for what you did to my father,” Malfoy hissed.
Harry found the threat almost comical after everything he had faced.
He folded his arms casually.
“Go on, then.”
Malfoy blinked.
“What?”
“Go on,” Harry repeated, his hand discreetly gripping the wand hidden up his sleeve.
Malfoy glanced at his two lackeys, who stared back dumbly.
When no help came, he fumbled for his own wand.
Before he could draw it, Harry moved.
In a blur, the tip of his wand pressed against Malfoy’s cheek, and his wrist was caught in an iron grip.
The wood felt uncomfortably hot in his hand, but Malfoy was too distracted by the cold green eyes boring into his own.
“If you threaten me again, Malfoy, your father getting buggered in Azkaban will be the least of your worries,” Harry whispered, voice low and dangerous.
“Got it?”
Malfoy swallowed hard and nodded frantically.
“Potter!” Snape’s sharp voice cut through the tension as he strode toward them.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Just saying goodbye to Draco, sir,” Harry replied cheerfully, patting the blond boy condescendingly on the head.
Snape’s lip curled in disgust.
“Get out of here, Potter.”
Harry didn’t need telling twice.
He made his way to the carriages and boarded the train without further incident.
He found an empty compartment, locked the door, and drew the blinds, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.
With a sigh of relief at finally being away from the castle—a feeling he never thought he’d experience—Harry pulled out a book on wandlore that Dobby had acquired for him and began to read.
He had meant to ask Dumbledore about his wand’s strange behavior, but irritation during their meeting had driven the question from his mind.
He would need to address it soon.
The problem was he had no realistic way of doing so.
There was no chance Vernon would take him to Diagon Alley, and escaping Privet Drive would be nearly impossible with the Order—especially Moody—watching his every move.