Harry looked at the pamphlet Professor McGonagall handed out during Transfiguration. It seemed ridiculous. A summer camp for wizards and witches? And it was mandatory, too. Of all the rotten luck!

Of course, he had heard of Muggle summer camps. Dudley had gone to one every summer called Camp Nuntinick for Boys. But a summer camp for his kind? He skimmed the pamphlet. It did seem appealing. Among others, it proclaimed, we offer Muggle-style cooking, archery, and hiking. He snickered. Just imagining Draco hiking put a grin on Harry's face.

...

Later, at dinner, Ron was in a sour mood. "What were they thinking? Blimey, Harry, can't you see it? A camp over the summer? For school?" he mocked.

"Our precious Quidditch time will be wasted!" he groaned. Harry nodded in agreement. "An' I was counting on being able to spend the summer at the Burrow just lazing off!"

"At least you have a home to go back to," Harry replied. "The Dursleys will probably be ecstatic when I tell them I won't be torturing them with my fancy wand in their sleep."

"You do realize that these are our last few days in the Hogwarts castle?" Hermione interjected. "Then after the summer, we have to find professions for ourselves?"

"Well, yeah- isn't that obvious?" Harry asked. "7th year is the last one, and we've just finished final exams."

"Well, fine! How about this: It might cut down on our Quidditch time," said Ron, "but we'll still get see our friends, and-"

"Maybe there'll be a Quidditch pitch!" Harry exclaimed, through a mouthful of gravy.

…

Harry found Draco out on the lawn talking with Blaise, a Slytherin who routinely challenged professors to midnight duels (they always, refused, of course, but that was besides the point). As soon as Draco saw Harry, however, he bade goodnight to Blaise and started walking towards Harry.

"Hello, Harry," he called from across the lawn. His voice carried surprisingly well considering they were a good fifty yards from one another.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked, still walking towards Draco. "Did you hear about the summer camp?"

"Ugh." Draco sighed, obviously not trying very hard to conceal the disgust in his voice. "Yes, and I'm none too excited."

"You're coming, right?" Harry asked.

"I have to, right? It's required. What kind of inhumane being sentences a student, no less, to summer camp?"

"It won't be so bad," Harry answered. "After all, you'll be there." He pecked Draco on the cheek and walked away quickly, leaving him bewildered and slightly wishing that he had made a move first.

…

Harry awoke to the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the window. For him, it was the last day he would ever be at Hogwarts, he realized with a start.

Perhaps I'll come back as a teacher, he mused. That way I could be near everyone I know. He stumbled out of bed and looked at the mess that his dorm room was. Packing would be an ordeal, he thought to himself. Best not to start right now; packing would make him stress more about leaving the only true home he'd ever known.

He dressed quickly, but, against his better judgement, decided to skip breakfast. He wanted to be alone for a little while. Stuffing both his wand and his invisibility cloak into his back pocket, he quietly slipped out the door.

He meandered down the hallways of Hogwarts with no particular destination in mind, walking up an unfamiliar staircase only to find himself in front of a familiar set of stone gargoyles.

"Chocolate frog," he mumbled, and the gargoyles parted to reveal a long, winding staircase. He trudged up the stairs, knocked once on the door, and walked in.

Headmistress McGonagall sat behind the oak desk, reading a copy of Witch Weekly with the stern expression she wore always upon her face. When she noticed Harry, she abruptly snapped the magazine closed and stuffed it in a desk drawer.

"Potter? What can I do for you? Please, have a seat." She gestured to a hard, wooden chair across from her. "What seems to be the matter?"

Harry gulped, unsure of what to say. Everything seemed to be the matter. Alright, maybe he wanted to go to camp, but he was pretty sure no one else wanted to. Was it one of those things he didn't understand because he didn't come from a wizarding family? Was camp so terrible it inspired tales of terror for wizarding children to tell one another, and he just didn't know?

Headmistress McGonagall noticed his hesitation and took a deep breath. "Potter," she said, "please sit down." Harry sat. "Now tell me," she said, "what seems to be the matter? You are a very articulate young person and in order to properly communicate you must express whatever is bothering you so to me. Now what is it?"

"Well," began Harry, "I'm not quite sure if I really want to go to camp. Honestly, its seems pretty terrible. No one really wants to go, and I…" Headmistress McGonagall cut him off. "Potter, it is required," she said, sounding miffed. "That does not mean you have a choice in the matter."

She looked at Harry's crestfallen face and added, almost like an afterthought, "for what it's worth, Potter, I went, and I survived."