Who cares about the last book. Harry and the others are fighting Voldemort's war in seventh year.
Auror camp. Tents. Shelters. "Always remember to check your sneakoscope before you enter your tent, Harry." "Never forget to Seal your tent before you leave, Harry" Don't do this, Harry… Don't do that, Harry… SHUT UP! Harry yearned for his thoughts to stop about all of these annoying precautions and warnings drilled into his mind when he had entered the battle against Voldemort. He arrived before his tent "Always remember to check your sneakoscope before you enter your tent, Harry." He lifted the little golden device out of his robe pocket. Silent, no spinning. As usual. He Un-sealed his tent and entered.
Something's not right… His senses were telling him. He checked the sneakoscope again. Silent. Maybe it was just the stressful day, he told himself, tapping his wand against his thigh. He carefully slipped in, lit his wand. Nobody was there. He flopped onto his big, comfortable bed, that possible, thankfully to the magically enlarged space in the tent, or else he would be sleeping on the hard muggle bunks that would only make his aching muscles worse.
Day after day, he went through the same routine, the sneakoscope kept telling him that he was alone, but he didn't somehow really trust it.
Winter came, and the Aurors arrived at a small wizarding village to buy some thick fur coats and provisions. The bitter chilled cold and snow gave many wizards painful frost bites on their fingertips or their noses. Harry showed no signs at all of being affected by the cold or the chill while other witches and wizards complain so much about it. Harry always felt warm without needing to wear lots, so, he bought a relatively thin coat.
Apart from one particularly chilly night.
They had to leave camp for one day, carried some of their food, water and some excess robes for change and hiked up a mountain. Death eaters have left some trails that might lead them to Voldemort.
Harry was warm all along the trip. He was becoming less and less aware of himself with all the endless fighting and dueling with the Death Eaters. He is
often dreamy, drifting through the day, almost soullessly, occupied by all the Voldemort business.
"HARRY!" Tonks yelled into his ear. Harry jumped. "What?"
"Stop day dreaming. We've been hiking for hours… you sure you're not tired, hungry, or cold?"
Harry gave a soulless chuckle, "Tired, hungry, bloody hell, of course. Cold, never." And kept hiking up with the rest of the group. They reached the high part of the mountain, snowcapped. Higher up, the entire group was caught in the middle of a blizzard.
Their leader, Kingsley told them that the day's work should be enough, so the group just huddled together, used the shared tent magically enlarged ten times bigger than the normal ones. Kingsley chose a few elite Aurors, including Harry.
Harry groaned and walked forwards to the smaller group. "Look…" Kingsley said uneasily. "Come here, follow me." And lead the group on. They walked for a while and reached what they were looking for.
"Look here," He cast a spell on the dark snow. It glowed, and then a dark trail of blood appeared. "Muggle blood, so the spell says. There have been muggle baiting here. The snow's only two inches thick, and the blood is still fresh. Separate, and look for more clues, if you find any, send green sparks up the sky.
Harry starts to feel cold
He traipsed around, rubbing his hands and breathing warm air into his palms, trying to thaw the now freezing fingers, at the same time, trying to find any signs of Death Eaters around.
After awhile, green sparks appeared northbound. That ends their Death Eater hunt for the day.
Harry didn't really have enough clothes. The fur coat he bought at the village was way too thin to stand this colder weather, and his teeth began to chatter and his hands began to go numb in the chill. Even the warming spell couldn't help such extreme weather. He knew he had to return to Kingsley's group to
reunite, but his limbs didn't obey him, his body couldn't move, while his mind screams for him to return to the group, and hypothermia sets in.
At the edge of falling into the darkness of the cold sleep, he thought he might have just seen silver and gold. But he thought that he was just dreaming