'Harry, mate you look knackered.' said Ron at breakfast, watching Harry pick at the rapidly cooling food on the plate in front of him. He was hunched over, pale and his bright green eyes seemed dull and lacking in colour.

'Yes Harry, you really don't look well.' said Hermione, her head-Girl badge glinting in the light of the Great Hall – her hand wrapped around Rons'. She looked at Harry, concerned for him.

'I'm fine, I'm just not hungry.' he muttered, sounding non-committal. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her breakfast, Ron sighed. Harry ignored him, they asked him the same questions every morning, and it was really pissing him off, and yet he still couldn't tell them what was going on. Fed-up and sitting around in the Great Hall, he got up and walked out – without a word to either of them.

'God, what is wrong with him?' exclaimed Ron.

'I don't know Ron, I really don't.' she replied, squeezing his hand. 'There's something he's not telling us.'

'Tell me about it, Herm. He's being a really mardy git.'

'Maybe we should talk to him about it.'

'He'd probably storm off or something.' Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione sighed. 'Well, we should do something about it Ron. And I want to go for a walk, come on.' She stood up, pulled Ron up and they walked slowly out of the Great Hall, heading outside into the snow-blanketed grounds. She sighed, leaning on Ron's shoulder as they walked slowly along the path around the castle – sheltered from the vicious breeze blowing off the mountain range by the high walls of the castle.

'Geez, how can he stand that wind?' muttered Ron, pointing out the tiny figure of Harry, standing by the lake in just his shirt and jeans from that morning, no cloak, jumper, nothing. Hermione shivered just seeing him, herself balled up in a thick jumper, cloak, Rons' scarf and gloves.

'It's like he's numb or something.

'Desensitised.' suggested Ron.

His skin was still cold from standing out in the blizzard, but he didn't seem to notice, not even making any attempt to warm himself or change out of his damp clothes – which was bothering Hermione greatly.

'Look Harry, what is the matter with you? You've been like this for an age now. Can't you tell us what's wrong?' she implored, holding onto the armrest of his chair, he looked away – staring listlessly at the opposite wall, trying to ignore her and hoping she'd go away. He resented the nagging, which made him even more introverted and more pissed off. 'Harry talk to me, look at me. Come on Harry, please. I want to help, Ron wants to help.' she added, touching his arm and looking hurt as he flinched away.

'Hermione, just fuck off will you?' he snapped, finally turning to look at her, fed-up with the constant nagging. She stood up angrily; a mixture of hurt and anger crossing her face and stalked off out of the common room, no doubt searching for Ron. Harry rolled his eyes and hauled himself out of the seat, walking up into the boy's dormitory. He sat on the end of his bed, flicking at the dried blood on his wrist, waiting for Ron to come and yell at him for upsetting "his-precious-Herms", Harry smirked, that was part of the reason why he rarely stuck out the pair of them. The parting of the ways, as it were, seemed to loom over the trio – at Harry's hand.

'Harry, mate. I know you're not happy at the moment-'

'Not-happy, Ron, is a severe understatement.' interrupted Harry, hastily pulling his sleeves back over his arms and looking up and his red-haired friend. 'And you can tell Herm I'm sorry for telling her to fuck off, I'm tired.' He added, smirking.

Ron smirked back at Harry. 'Yeah all right, she didn't think you meant it anyway. But, are you coming to Quidditch practise?'

Shit, I knew I'd forgotten something. He thought, standing up. 'Yeah, I am. Sorry.' He replied, reaching for his winter cloak, scarf, gloves and precious Firebolt.

Ron sighed. 'Oh, I need to tell you, Ravenclaw have a new seeker.'

'Again? What was wrong with bloody Holloway?'

'She's refusing to play now, I don't know why.'

'Right then.' Replied Harry sceptically. 'Who is it this time?'

'Uhm.. I don't actually know – we'll have to wait for the match to find out – all I know is, she's good.'

Harry made a contemptuous snort as they descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall, ignoring the little sharp knife-point of a reminder, triggering a long lost memory. 5th year, Valentine's Ball. What a fucking disaster that was. He rejected the memory, blocked out the twinge of loss, and smirked. As long as she's not pretty, I'll be fine.

They passed out of the Front doors, gasping as the extreme icy breeze bit into them, howling around their ears as they walked resolutely to the Quidditch pitch.

'Sure this was wise Ron?' shouted Harry over the wind.
'Probably not but the pitch is sheltered from this.' He replied, words lost in the gale. Harry shrugged, merciful for the brief respite of the Changing rooms.

Ron immediately went into Captain mode, moving over to a board covered in multi-coloured lines and squiggles as Harry sat with the chasers, Ginny Weasley and two other 6th year girls he didn't know. Ron started explaining their new strategy, well his, to the team – and going into painfully dull detail about it. Harry yawned, leaning back against the cold wall, and absentmindedly flicking at the scars high on his wrist – a habit he'd recently gotten into.

'Harry, what the hell are you doing?' hissed Ginny, slapping his arm and breaking him out of the twisted daydream, she was staring at him. Harry pulled his sleeves down, shot her an icy glare – and started half-listening to Ron.

'-So, I think that's everything now.' said Ron, obviously finishing up. 'So, I'll see you all at half eight on Saturday morning for the match.'