Harry had not been feeling well, health-wise. He'd been trying to keep Ron and Hermione from catching his cold, and trying to keep it from slowing him down, but he was tired. He didn't think he was feverish, though. It was just that he felt bad enough to want to sleep all the time, and bad enough that he couldn't ever seem to get comfortable. He wanted a real bed, and a big bowl of soup, but he couldn't afford those luxuries. This was not the first time he'd gotten sick while on the run -- that would have been hard to avoid, considering the fact that this was the fifth winter he'd been gone -- but it didn't make it suck any less.
It wasn't warmer outside, but he'd taken a couple of blankets and curled them around him on a rock, holding his wand in his hand underneath them as he always did when he was outside of Hermione's protective spells. And he was paying attention to his surroundings, or at least trying to, except the sunset was kind of hypnotizing, making his tired eyes lose focus, and his mind get fuzzy.
He startled as he became aware of someone moving closer to him, dropping the blankets from around his shoulders to be able to lift his wand. He got to his feet, keeping a grip on the blankets with one hand, ready to defend himself or Apparate away if necessary. But then -- he recognized the person approaching him. "Colin?"