It was three in the morning and Harry Potter could be found stamping angrily around the Gryffindor common room. For the first time in a week he had been sleeping peacefully, but bloody Dean and Seamus had thought it a great idea to try and prank him in the middle of the night. He had been so furious with them, his already volatile temper driven to new heights of fury, probably caused by the lack of sleep, had caused him to shout at them for twenty minutes straight, not stopping until suitably cowed they had scuttled into bed.

That was two hours ago, and they were now asleep. The unfairness made Harry’s blood boil. He wanted to plan some type of revenge, but knew with this level of anger that any curses he cast could quite likely be dangerous. He had no intention of being responsible for another death, though he knew in theory Cedric’s death wasn’t his fault, he just couldn’t stop the ‘what ifs’ drifting around his head.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see Cedric’s face, slack and empty in death, and that was the best part of his nightmares. Inevitably the faces of the spirits that came from Voldemort’s wand twisted, and instead of protecting him from the dark wizard, they hissed curses and accusations at him instead. The nightmares were getting worse with every night, and it was becoming more and more difficult to act somewhat normally during the day.

Hermione had already noticed, as had Ron, and they were driving him crazy. He knew they only meant well but didn’t think he could take another worried look from Ron, or anymore pleas from Hermione to open up and talk. He was terrified of snapping at them and saying something that would permanently drive them away, they were all he had, but it was becoming harder and harder and he had only just restrained himself after dinner.

He had completely lost his appetite, something that he had been hiding from his friends by saying he was eating in the kitchen, but had promised to eat in the Great Hall with them tomorrow. It was not that he wasn’t eating at all, he knew he had to, it was that he felt so nauseous all the time, that even forcing dry bread down his throat almost had him gagging. Dobby was becoming almost hysterical with the amount Harry was eating, and Harry was mildly scared that he would try to help Harry again.

He sometimes liked the anger, he had been numb since the night he had brought Cedric’s body back, the only emotions that broke through were anger or fear. At least with the anger it would burn in him, hot and furious, and he would feel so alive, but it would subside quickly, leaving him numb once more. The fear lingered, the awful gut wrenching fear would twist his stomach and make him nauseous, until eventually the numbness would overcome even this and everything seemed to be coming at him through a veil or from terribly far away.

Above all this though, was the fact he was terribly tired, worn and old and stretched thin. He could always feel the edge of exhaustion under the numbness, and all he wanted to do was lie down and rest for a hundred years or more.

These thoughts seemed to drain him of his anger, and Harry collapsed into one of the squishy armchairs littering the room, feeling more exhausted than ever before.

He did not see the concerned eyes watching the teenager, noting the faint trembling in his hands and the shadows under his eyes, so dark they seemed to be bruises. Nodding once in what seemed a decisive manner, they vanished.

Harry eventually fell asleep again, but it was dawn by the time the young wizard’s eyes finally closed, again to only a few hours of restless, troubled sleep.

He was woken up just before breakfast by a concerned Ron ‘Hey mate, you don’t look so good. Do you want me to tell the professors you’re sick so you can catch a few more hours sleep?’

Harry just blinked at Ron, unable to focus, his mind still fogged with sleep and filled with a jumble of discordant images, residues of another restive night. He was so tired his body ached and his eyes burned, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up for the rest of the day, but knew that he had not a chance. A student could only miss out on class for being sick if they had visited Madame Pomfrey and she had ordered a day of bed rest in the hospital wing. He had no intention of being subjected to the gimlet eyes of the medi-witch who would fuss over him and proclaim him ‘delicate’ to all and sundry, nor to being forced to drink a revolting assortment of potions.

Barely suppressing a moan of discontent, he dragged himself out of bed, trying to seem as alert as possible. On seeing him in the full glare of daylight Ron gasped, apparently he looked as bad as he felt.

‘Thanks, I’ll meet you in the common room’ he said firmly before Ron could open his mouth to suggest a trip to the hospital wing.

‘Nah, it’s fine, I’ll wait for you here’

‘Really it will only be a few minutes’ Harry insisted, his temper beginning to rise, as Ron hovered over Harry, looking like he thought he Harry would collapse at any moment.

‘Ron, I’m fine, I can get dressed on my own’ Harry snapped, his temper beginning to rise.

‘I know, I know, it’s just that aah...’ he trailed off at the venomous glare Harry directed at him.

‘Right, I’ll just tell Hermione we’re meeting you in the common room’ and with one last covert concerned look he left the room.

Harry sat down heavily on his bed, his anger being replaced with numbness once more. He got dressed with a great deal more effort than he could ever remember it taking, but could understand Ron’s concern once he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His eyes were the most obvious; bloodshot, empty and dull, only emphasised by the dark smudges under them. His hair lay almost limply against his head, a far cry from its usual gravity defying state, and his face was gaunt and pale.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the mirror ‘oh duckie, you should pop off to the hospital wing right away. You look simply awful’. To which he mumbled a half hearted reply and left the bathroom.

Clearly Ron had told Hermione what to expect of his appearance as there was no startled look, only a warm hug before she took his hand and led him towards the great hall, Ron laying a comforting arm on his other shoulder. Harry felt the numbness recede a little with their actions, glad Hermione had finally realised he would not talk and Ron was only directing concerned looks at him when he thought he couldn’t see them.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure he deserved them.