Thud!

Harry kicks the dorm room door shut, basically collapsing on the softness of his bed. Yet another day of Ron ignoring him, everyone siding with Cedric, and desperately trying to find out the tasks for the Trǐwiźarð tournament.

He hasn’t seen you all day, but he assumed that you joined Ron in ignoring him. You four were completely split up, like the Golden Quartet never even happened.

With a tired groan, Harry lifts his head from his white covers and stares at his Quiďdiťcħ poster, then at Ron’s bed, then at Seamus’s, then at Neville’s, then at Dean’s, then to his closed dorm door.

Rolling onto his back, he stares up at the plain ceiling. You might as well call him brain dead, because his mind certainly isn’t processing anything. Except for the soft knock on his dorm door and the faint noise of your voice calling his name from the other side of the wooden door.