Harry couldn't sleep.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide open in the darkness. The silence in the room felt heavier than usual, almost suffocating. After a long moment, he turned his head and glanced at the small alarm clock beside him.
12:10 a.m.
He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself up and walked toward the wall. A crude calendar hung there, nothing more than a few sheets of paper marked with crossed lines. He reached out and scratched off another day.
Three days left.
In three days, he would turn seventeen. In three days, he would finally be free of the Dursleys.
The thought should have brought him relief. Instead, it left a strange emptiness behind.
Because he had nowhere he truly wanted to go.
Grimmauld Place belonged to him now. It was his house. But ever since Sirius died, the idea of going back there felt unbearable. The walls, the silence, the memories… it didn't feel like home.
Still, he held on to one small hope.
Ron.
Maybe Ron would invite him. Bill's wedding was coming, and Harry had already received the invitation. It would make sense. It would be normal. He wouldn't have to spend another second in this place or return to a house that reminded him of everything he had lost.
The letter had arrived a week ago.
And since then, nothing.
Harry returned to his bed, but sleep never came.
When morning arrived, he stayed in his room.
He didn't feel ready to face the house yet. Instead, he sat there, waiting. Listening. Hoping.
Hedwig might come.
Maybe she would bring a letter. Maybe Ron had finally written. Even if deep down Harry knew that returning to his godfather's house was probably unavoidable, he still clung to the idea that it wouldn't be today. The later it happened, the better.
Eventually, hunger forced him to move.
He went downstairs and reached the kitchen at the same time as Dudley.
"So," Dudley said, a smirk already forming on his face, "I hear that in three days, we'll finally be rid of you. Is that true?"
"Yes," Harry replied calmly.
Dudley let out a short laugh.
"So where will you go? Sleep under a bridge, or with the rest of your kind?"
Harry paused for a moment. A part of him wanted to ignore the comment, but something else pushed him to answer.
"At my place, probably," he said quietly.
Dudley blinked.
"Your place?"
"I have a house," Harry added, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. He wasn't about to tell Dudley how much he hated it. For once, Dudley looked almost impressed, and Harry wasn't going to ruin that.
"Where?" Dudley asked, clearly surprised.
"In London. Not that it matters to you. And I'm not planning on inviting you."
Dudley scoffed, quickly recovering.
"Like I'd ever want to go to your house…"
They walked into the kitchen together. Aunt Petunia was already there, placing bacon onto the plates.
"Duddy, my darling, did you sleep well?" she asked sweetly.
"Yeah, but it's too hot," Dudley muttered as he dropped into his chair.
"Ridiculous weather!" Uncle Vernon grumbled behind his newspaper. "Yesterday it was freezing, and today it's forty degrees in the shade!"
Harry sat down quietly.
For a moment, he simply watched them.
The same voices.The same complaints.The same routine.
It had always been like this.
And yet, something felt different now.
Maybe it was because he knew it was ending.
In three days, he would leave this house for good.
Harry allowed himself a faint, distant smile.
This was the last time he would ever sit at this table.
And somehow, even that felt unreal.