Lying in bed, Harry stared blankly at the blankets for a while. Only when the sky grew brighter and brighter, casting the pure white of the world outside through the window, did he fumble for his glasses and climb out of bed.
The air outside the warm covers was dry and cold. His arms, exposed beyond his pajamas, felt as though they were being scraped by knives. Ron had buried himself completely beneath his blankets on the bed next to his, while Seamus, Dean, and Neville were in much the same state on the other beds.
Rubbing his arms, Harry got out of bed, grabbed his wand, and lit the fireplace.
The flames roared to life, gradually warming the dormitory. Several of his still-sleeping roommates let out contented murmurs. Even Scabbers, curled up in his cage beside Ron's bed, stretched his legs straight, occasionally twitching with a little hop.
Harry sniffed, warming himself by the fire, the flames reflected in his reddened eyes behind his lenses.
He had barely rested at all that night. Whenever he closed his eyes, it felt as if he had returned to the dungeons, watching Snape summon that raging wind, seeing the look Snape had given him when he glanced back a second before fleeing into the maze.
He could not stop wondering what would happen to Snape after he and Malfoy had left.
Would he see him today?
Although Malfoy had told him that Snape was probably fine, for some reason Harry was still terribly worried. It felt as if an invisible hand had seized his heart and lifted it into his throat.
He squatted before the fireplace, lost in wild thoughts for a long while. As daylight fully broke, he finally heard movement behind him.
It was Ron. "Hey, Harry. Morning. Did everything