[ Harry allows himself to be helped up. He is aware now of his current state of disorder—unwashed, blood- and dirt-stained, his whiskers starting to get quite out of hand. He brushes himself off perfunctorily and completely uselessly. ]

I am sure you are correct—after all, these events are no great secret, are they? But I hope to resume my work and my studies as soon as I can; I fear I would be quite at a loss without work to do.

[ He'd rather be busy than not, especially since "not" means spending far too much time in his own head, with his memories of the Arctic blurring all too readily with his captivity here. ]