There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.
“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.”
“Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
“I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles—” Ron began.
“Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?”
“Well, no—but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time—”
Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed, except him.
“Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?”
“He was so angry,” said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.”
“Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”
“Aren’t you… aren’t you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?” said Hermione quietly.
“No,” Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls, and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone, who was lurking out of sight, snigger.
“So why’s Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?” Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. “Did you—er—bother to ask him at all?”