"I don't know," Harry snapped back. "For the love of God, I am fourteen years old. This year, I got torched by a dragon, nearly drowned in the Black Lake and fought my way through a maze just an hour ago. I'm exhausted and hurt and ... and I don't know!" He felt close to tears but desperately tried to suppress them. He would not cry like a little child, not here, not now. Not when he wanted to be taken seriously but his current/former adversary. He felt Voldemort studying him.