The idea of coming face to face with Harry made him feel faintly sick with the clenching swirl of emotions in his stomach. He was nearly crippled by the turbulent exchange of  anger-fear-hurt-love-regret in his gut, and by the time he was on the lawn and striding towards the quidditch pitch (the only place he could think to try and find Harry that wasn’t the common room), his hands were trembling faintly at his side. He didn’t know how this interaction was going to go, but if he could avoid shouting at Harry, he’d count it as a win.  