There was a lot to be concerned about, and Harry was concerned. His outlook on things in general had changed drastically since the beginning of the year, when he'd been feeling like a weight had been lifted, and the end of heartache was in sight. The virus had been concerning. Bole hiding in the woods had been concerning. But some psycho beheading Dean's mother was more than concerning. What if a handful of Death Eaters came up with some way to rob everyone else of their magic, even temporarily, so they could take over?
It was difficult to concentrate on schoolwork during all of that, but he was clinging to some shred of normalcy. His secret relationship with Draco, Quidditch, Potions essays, those things he could handle. He knew what to do. Even the DA seemed so fractured, with everyone going off on their own and not telling each other what they knew. Last year his closest friends gatherered around him and told him he didn't have to do it all alone, that they were all in it together. This year, it seemed as if everyone believed they were the only ones who could protect everyone else.
So each day it felt like he was doing nothing, making no progress, helping no one. Mired in worry and reflection until Hermione would scold him for having only written three words in an hour on his classwork. Now that most everyone had wandered off to bed, he found himself staring into the fireplace, turning over the endless loop of things he wished he could do but couldn't figure out how. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his neck one way and then the other, and he spotted Lavender from the corner of his eye. He'd seen her in that same spot it seemed like hours ago. Her and that damn paperweight.
He stood up and walked over to the table she was sitting at. "All right there, Lavender?" he asked quietly, trying not to startle her. She'd certainly been skittish since the school year had started again. Not that he could blame her.