"So it's just Harry who's allowed to feel sorry for himself, is it?" he called after her, before slumping angrily back against the log he'd been leaning on. His face was burning, and not from the proximity to their not-overly-impressive fire. So what if he couldn't come up with a good next move by himself? None of them knew what they were doing. She couldn't very well expect him to be racking his brains when not even she could find any better way to use her time than pampering bloody Harry. Well, let her. She could do that just as well without him. They could do all of this just as well without him, this sitting in the frigid woods and starving and wandering around with no idea where to go or even, really, why.