"Harry, Harry!" Ron shook the dazed Harry hard. "What's wrong with you?"
"Ron, you're going to shake Harry to death." Hermione stopped Ron. "Quit it."
Whether Ron's shaking had worked or Harry had finally come to his senses, Harry slumped into a nearby chair and sat in silence for a long time.
The scene from a few days earlier kept replaying in Harry's mind—Will lying on the ground, covered in mud, one hand clawing at the earth and the other reaching toward him, screaming at him to keep himself safe.
"Harry! Keep yourself safe, Har—ry—"
Whenever he thought of that scene, Harry felt so miserable he wanted to cry. Will had returned to school, but he was being so cold—did he blame Harry?
No, that was impossible. Harry immediately rejected the idea. He knew exactly what sort of person Will was. Will had still been shouting his name even as he was dragged away.
The Death Eaters must have done this!
He remembered the time in his second year when Strange had been badly injured shielding him from an attack.
Flames of anger blazed in Harry's eyes—he would get Will's memories back! He would make the Death Eaters and Voldemort pay!
He had to find Professor Dumbledore and continue his special training! He wanted to be able to step forward when it mattered, instead of always hiding behind Strange, Will, and Dumbledore!
Just then, someone Harry particularly loathed appeared in the Potions Classroom:
"Well, what have we here? A few Gryffindors lingering in the Potions Classroom after class. Perhaps they're trying to use those troll-like brains of theirs to pick out some potions ingredients from the cupboards that might serve as snacks?
For your behavior, Gryffindor loses one point. One point each."
Harry looked up at Snape, his emerald eyes