Harry was shivering like his bones might break, but he sat up, shaking his head and pulling the locket off, or trying to at least. Shaky hands didn't want to grip it properly. He got it finally, breaking the tie that held it and looking down.
Inside he saw the clear image of eyes that were entirely familiar. It took him a long moment to place why though. Voldemort. Or Tom Riddle, before he was Voldemort. This was how his eyes had looked in the memories Harry saw.
He didn't know what that meant, and his fumbling fingers dropped the locket anyway, sending it to the half-frozen ground, shaking too hard and too sluggish-minded to actually make himself grip it.