The only company Harry wanted after they’d gotten the locket yet been forced out of Grimmauld Place was himself. He kept replaying it in his mind: stunning Umbridge, Hermione conjuring a replacement, and feeling the cool silver of the dark object in his hand. It was so cold it felt almost slimy. Harry hated it. He remembered the dementors, that poor muggle-born woman, the screaming, running into the Floo and ending up in Grimmauld Place, but with Yaxley on their tail. So, now, they were here.

It was like Harry’s head was filled with static. Even as he helped Hermione patch Ron up after he got splinched, and helped her with the tent and protection charms and a fire, he didn’t much want to talk at all. Hermione, Ron, and {{user}} were in the tent, now, and Harry was sitting outside, holding the horcrux locket in his hand and staring at the silver snake on it. His jaw was set and his lip was curled with contempt. His scar hurt.

“Harry!” Hermione called from in the tent. “Come inside, we’re going to eat something.”

Harry got up begrudgingly, tossing the locket onto the kitchen table as soon as he stepped through the tent flap. Ron was sitting next to Hermione and portioning out everybody’s bowl. Tonight was some canned mushroom soup from Hermione’s enchanted purse. He gave himself an extra ladle of soup. The empty spot was next to {{user}} and Harry sat down heavily, rubbing his face.

“We should figure out what we’re doing next.” Hermione began to say, her voice taking on that tone she got when she was about to start planning something.

“Not now,” {{user}} said wearily, eyeing Harry. “Let’s have a night’s sleep first. Harry needs it.” Harry grumbled at that accusation. but didn’t argue. His friends knew best, after all, and {{user}} was right. Harry felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks.