Excitement and anticipation surged through Harry as he and George climbed the familiar, creaking stairs of The Burrow, eager to reach the room above.
Once inside, George swung open the window, the sound mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves outside. "This way, mate," he called, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Without a moment's hesitation, he wriggled out and vanished from view.
Harry paused, the momentary trepidation in his stomach warring with the thrill of adventure, before he followed George's path, clambering onto the slanted rooftop of the familiar home.
Gazing out from the lofty vantage point, Harry was awestruck by the breathtaking view that stretched out before him. The world below unfolded like a vibrant tapestry, with the bright greens of summer fields gently swaying in the soft evening breeze. Perched high above, Harry felt a profound sense of serenity wash over him. Inhaling deeply, he savoured the crisp, possibility-filled air, overwhelmed by the tranquil beauty that enveloped him.
"Welcome to my sanctuary," George said warmly, breaking the tranquil silence as he settled beside Harry, a bottle of frothy butterbeer clutched in his hand, which he extended with a mischievous grin. Nostalgia shone in his eyes as he continued, "Fred and I spent countless hours up here—hiding from Mum's wrath, planning our next big prank, or simply dreaming about the adventures that awaited us in the future."
Harry's eyes twinkled with mirth as he fondly recalled the frantic chases of Mrs. Weasley, her robes billowing behind her like a tempest. "Ah yes, I remember those days well. She was a tornado of fretful anxiety, but you and Fred always managed to evade her clutches, didn't you?"
George's grin widened as he spread his arms, embracing the sweeping vista around them. "Oh, yeah! Not when we had the perfect lookout point up here."
The night sky stretched endlessly above them, dotted with the first twinkling stars. George turned to Harry, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "So, how have you been? It feels like a lifetime since we last had a real conversation."
Harry took a thoughtful sip of his butterbeer, the weight of his past battles momentarily tugging at him. "I don't have any big plans right now. After everything that's happened, just resting and taking it easy feels right," he admitted quietly.
"Being the wizarding world's saviour must weigh heavily on your shoulders, the expectations placed upon you seemingly endless. Whispers suggest you could become the youngest Minister of Magic, with the eccentric Stan Shunpike as your deputy, should he fail to secure the position himself. I recently overheard such absurd claims being bandied about at the Leaky Cauldron—clearly Stan was once again trying to impress the patrons with his fanciful tales, as he so often does. You're no stranger to his peculiar stories, and I'd advise you to take these rumours with a healthy dose of scepticism."
Harry shook his head knowingly. "Yeah, that was definitely Stan," he said, recalling the other boy's grandiose and utterly fabricated claims after the Quidditch World Cup. Back then, Stan had boasted of becoming the next Minister of Magic, clearly trying and failing to impress the Veela who had been present. "That's just the kind of thing he'd say, trying to puff himself up again," Harry added with an amused chuckle.
George shook his head thoughtfully. "He's certainly not the sharpest wand in the shop, is he? Even after stirring up trouble at the ministry, he's still making those ridiculous claims. That bloke is about as subtle as a bludger to the head," he added with a derisive chuckle.
"It wasn't his fault," Harry defended. "He wasn't sure what he was doing at the moment."
George's expression shifted to a genuine grin. "Yes, but he's still a fool. So, you don't intend to follow in his footsteps and become a minister yourself?"
Harry looked at George with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Are you serious? Why would I want more fame and attention? I can barely go out without people staring at me like I'm some sort of zoo animal. I'd much rather live a quiet life away from the public eye."
George let out a relieved sigh. "Phew! I thought for sure that if you were asked to join a Quidditch team, you'd say yes and try to be the Seeker. Good news, right?" He grinned, eagerly awaiting Harry's response.
Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Play Quidditch? Why on earth would I do that?"
George stared at him incredulously over the rim of his drink. "Why wouldn't you? It's Quidditch!" he gasped. "Didn't Ginny mention to you that she wants to join the Holyhead Harpies someday?"
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know she wanted to join the Holyhead Harpies."
"Oh, she hasn't told you? She's got the drive, you know? Fred and I always encouraged her to pursue her dreams."
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips as a surge of pride swelled within him. "I can see that in her. You guys showed her that even the impossible is achievable."
George nodded knowingly. "We've been a bit protective over her, to be fair. Fred and I just wanted to make sure you were a good influence." His expression softened as he grew serious. "And I think you are."
The air was thick with unspoken emotions as Harry's heart swelled with gratitude, yet an undercurrent of fear tugged at his nerves. George's tone was light, but his words carried a heavy weight that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "Just don't break her heart, yeah? Ginny can get... creative when she's hurting."
Harry forced a smile, though anxiety bubbled within. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of the nervous energy coursing through him.
George leaned against the sturdy wooden support beam, one arm casually draped over a half-empty mug of butterbeer. The mischievous glint in his eyes was tempered by an unexpected sincerity. "She's very private about her love life," he revealed, interrupting Harry's brooding thoughts. A wistful smile played on his lips. "She probably believes Fred or I will pull a prank on her. I don't blame her for not trusting us," he added, winking playfully. George chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice. "You should be careful now," he joked. "Who knows what trouble I could stir up?"
Nostalgia washed over Harry as he grinned, his mind flooded with memories of George's mischievous antics. "You're right; I should be careful," he responded, feigning an exaggerated shiver. "I don't want to end up throttled by a red-headed wizard." Harry knew all too well the dangers of tangling with a skilled prankster, especially one as bold and confident as George.
"That's my boy," George affirmed, slapping Harry heartily on the back. Radiating vitality, his tousled, fiery hair and sparkling grin conveyed a boundless energy, even in the dimming light. He took another slurping sip from his drink, the sound eliciting a laugh from Harry.
"So, how are you and Angelina?" Harry's casual question caught George off guard. He coughed and nearly choked on his drink, the sudden shift in atmosphere catching him by surprise. "I didn't realise you two were a thing," Harry added, his voice brimming with surprise.
George shot back playfully, pretending to look offended. "Okay, now... Don't pry on my love life, young man. I wouldn't want to have to hex you!" he sputtered, the laughter in his voice giving away his feigned indignation.
George and Harry exchanged hearty chuckles, but as the laughter gradually faded, a more serious expression crept across George's face. He cleared his throat and spoke in a graver tone, "Actually, I plan to propose to her. And—" he raised a hand, cutting off Harry before he could respond, "Believe it or not, I'm completely serious about this."
The weighty words hung in the air, and Harry's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and genuine happiness. "Well, I'm truly happy for you," he said earnestly, a warm smile spreading across his face.
George's face softened with a sincere smile as he nodded in agreement. "Marrying her would be the best decision of my life. I love making her laugh with my jokes." The playfulness in his expression gave way to an earnest, heartfelt tenderness. He took a deep breath, his voice wavering slightly. "She's my source of comfort and stability, now more than ever after..." His words trailed off, the weight of his unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air like the last embers of a dying fire.
Harry felt the palpable shift in George, recognising the unspoken grief that laced his friend's words. The haunting memories of Fred's absence hung heavy, a looming shadow that permeated every conversation since his tragic death. Harry nodded deliberately, silently affirming the deep bond that had blossomed under the crushing weight of loss—an understanding that transcended mere words.
As twilight deepened, wrapping The Burrow in a shimmering blanket of stars, an unexpected breeze stirred, rustling the leaves in the garden below. In that moment, the realisation that their plans and dreams were tied to something greater than themselves made them both pause, reflecting on the profound impact of their shared experience.
"So what's your plan?" Harry asked eagerly, a hint of mischief returning as he tried to shift the mood. "Are you going to pull it off during a Quidditch match, or maybe in front of a gaggle of laughing gnomes?"
George's face lit up with spontaneous joy as he laughed. "I haven't decided yet," he mused. "But I promise, it will be unforgettable. Just not too much of a spectacle, or I'll have to endure your relentless teasing."
Harry grinned and leaned back on the warm roof, casting a glance at the evening sky where the first stars were twinkling. "That's the goal, right? An unforgettable moment."
The night sky stretched out before them, infinite and awe-inspiring. As their eyes drank in the twinkling stars, a hush fell over them, the unspoken emotions palpable yet comfortable. A soft wind caressed their faces, tousling their hair, and for that fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still, granting them a peaceful respite to simply exist in the tranquil silence.
Harry's voice broke the silence, hesitant and trembling like a timid bird testing the wind. "I wanted to get this off my chest, but—"
"But you don't want to worry your friends?" George interjected; his expression was knowing and kind.
Harry responded with a brief, solemn nod, the familiar internal struggle flaring anew within him.
"I understand," George replied, his eyes softening with empathy. "There's nothing wrong with setting boundaries. I used to think the same way until Fred showed me I could trust others, as long as I was honest. Since then, I've found that people trust me more easily. I used to think it was just a coincidence—being in the right place at the right time."
Harry raised one eyebrow, a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze. "Was it?"
George chuckled lightly, an infectious grin spreading across his features. "No, I discovered I'm blessed with an attractive appearance and a naturally charming demeanour that encourages people to open up to me." He leaned back, a playful glint in his eye. "Seriously, Harry, if I had known that from the start, I could've avoided so much unnecessary drama. I would've used my captivating personality to my advantage much sooner."
Harry couldn't help but snicker, though a hint of disbelief lingered in his expression. "I find that hard to believe—" he began, but the mischievous look George shot at him made him pause. "I meant the drama part," he corrected hastily, laughing at his friend's playful glare.
George's smile softened as he reflected, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "I know... it's hard to believe Fred and I were destined for greatness." His gaze grew distant, a faint sadness creeping in. "Let me tell you a secret—I never discussed my problems with anyone save Fred. I confided in him completely, trusting him when I couldn't trust even my own parents."
He tilted his head down, staring solemnly at the dwindling foam in his butterbeer. "Fred and I shared so many adventures together," George continued, his voice steady despite the emotions flickering behind his eyes. "Most people would have called us silly and stupid, but we took pride in causing trouble wherever we went. That made it all the more worthwhile because we had each other, you see? He had my back when I needed it, and I had his too. Without him, I couldn't have accomplished half of what I do today." George looked up, his eyes pleading. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Harry gripped his untouched drink, absorbing George's words. He nodded slowly. "I know," he murmured.
George chuckled. "Ron may be the biggest prat to ever walk the earth, but I know him—not just because he's my brother, but because I know for a fact he'd do anything for the one person he calls his best friend. Ron is fiercely loyal like that."
Harry felt a swell of guilt as George spoke. He hadn't given Ron enough credit lately, caught up in his own worries about safety for his friends, failing to recognise their unwavering bond. Harry knew he needed to make it up to Ron, to truly express his appreciation.
George's voice trembled as he spoke, "To lose an ear and a twin in such a short time... that's more than most people could handle. I couldn't even summon a Patronus back then." He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm only saying this because... I don't want you to regret it if you lose someone significant without telling them how much they meant to you."
A single tear streamed down George's cheek. "I never got the chance to say it to Fred," he added.
Harry felt the weight of George's memories fill the air. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his heart aching for his friend's profound loss.
George's face fell with sorrow as he spoke. "The hardest part of losing someone isn't saying goodbye. It's learning to live without them while constantly trying to fill the void they left in your heart. You never fully recover from a loss, but I chose to move forward. I believe that's what Fred would have wanted—for me to honour his legacy instead of being consumed by grief. I hope one day I'll find peace within myself."
Harry nodded, understanding the same raw ache in his own heart. If the world around him could reflect his inner turmoil, it would be a cacophony of unbearable pain from the losses he had endured.
"I understand how difficult this is," Harry said softly.He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the memories yet to come. "With time, it'll be the small, daily things I remember most—the laughter, the stories, the smiles."
George placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "Though the pain may seem endless, those very memories will help push the sorrow away and bring back happier feelings in time." His gaze was warm and compassionate. "You don't have to face this alone, Harry. People are constantly willing to help ease the ache. I'm available whenever you need it—even if it's just a change of scenery and a bottle of Firewhisky. My door is open."
Harry managed a faint, grateful smile, comforted by the kindness in George's words and offer of support.
The silence returned, enveloping them as the leaves whispered a soothing melody. After a pause, George reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, I'll knock some sense into Ron's thick skull myself. Now drink up, mate!" He flashed a playful grin that pulled Harry from his brooding.
Filled with renewed hope, Harry raised his bottle to the inky night sky. "Cheers!" he called, the sound of their bottles clinking together echoing under the watchful gaze of the stars as they savoured the precious moment.
The oppressive heat of the summer evening blanketed the living room of The Burrow, stifling the air. A tense atmosphere had settled, transforming the cosy space into something sharp and unnerving.
Ron paced before Ginny, his fists clenched and brow furrowed. "I told you to stay out of this!" he demanded, his voice tight with frustration as he faced his sister.
Ginny stood her ground, arms crossed defiantly across her chest. "How can you expect me to be silent when Harry is involved?" she retorted, her disbelief and concern etched into a fierce expression. "I won't sit idly by and watch. Don't even try to stop me. And stop treating him so poorly!"
Ron's face flushed with anger. "What am I supposed to do?" He fired back. "He refuses to communicate openly, and we have no idea what he's keeping from us. He wants us to pretend everything is normal, but I can't just go along with that!"
Ginny responded in a measured, even tone. "Ron, you really need to work on controlling your temper. That might be one of the reasons Harry avoids speaking to you."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "That's rich, coming from you!" He snapped. "You act like everything's fine when clearly something's bothering him."
Ginny took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Harry grew up believing he couldn't rely on others. Even when people show they care, he still doubts. Instead of trying to understand why, you lash out. He's not trying to hurt anyone, but he's been hurt so many times before."
Ron's voice lowered, the fire dimming. "I just wanted to help. Is that too much to ask? I feel like he'll never change." His frustration hung heavy, mingling with echoes of past fights and an abiding sense of betrayal.
"I understand you had good intentions, but can't you see? Harry is under so much stress right now. It might be difficult to get him to open up. Don't be disappointed if he doesn't feel ready to talk yet. Give him the space he needs to open up in his own time."
"He's shut us out before," Ron whispered. "Hermione and I had to constantly encourage him to communicate more. I know it's not easy for him, but..."
Ginny's eyes were downcast. "There's a lot more going on here than you realise." Her voice was tinged with a haunting sadness. "This isn't about trust—he's trying to shield us from his own worries, as if he's already moved on and doesn't want us to share his burden." She paused, a deep frown creasing her brow. "I just hope he'll open up to us instead of keeping everything bottled up inside."
Ron's words came out bitter and clipped. "It's his selfishness, plain and simple—he's always been exceptionally talented at that." He shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe he's shutting us out like this, after everything we've been through together." The harsh accusation in his tone stung Ginny.
"Why can't we ever figure out what he's thinking?" Ginny whispered, her voice trembling with anxiety. "There must be more to it." A sense of dread crept into her heart, leaving her feeling unsettled and apprehensive.
"Then screw this!" Ron said abruptly, abandoning the conversation. He stood and rushed toward the stairs, determination fuelling his steps. "I'll confront him tomorrow and hope he remembers how to use his mouth—to talk, that is!" He declared.
"Could you please stop and listen for once?" Ginny shouted after him, frustration bubbling over.She watched helplessly as he stormed off, his heavy footsteps betraying the hurt behind her voice. Despite her pleas, Ron's footsteps faded into the distance as he disappeared into his room, forcefully closing the door behind him.
The morning sun's golden rays poured into Ron's room, rousing him from his restless sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled downstairs, his mind still clouded. But it was a distressing sound that finally jolted him fully awake—a retching sob echoing from the bathroom next to Harry's room.
Ron's heart raced, a wild rhythm that matched his anxious pulse. "Harry!" he called out, knocking softly on the door, his voice laced with concern.
"I'll be right there; just give me a sec," Harry replied, his voice strained.
Ron pressed closer, his unease coiling tightly in his stomach as he listened to the unsettling sounds from inside—the toilet flushing, the sterile rush of water from the sink.
"Harry?" Ron prompted again, gripping the doorknob as the door creaked open to reveal a pale-faced Harry. The red veins in his tired eyes spoke of a restless night, mirroring Ron's own weary struggles.
"Ron, do you need anything?" Harry's voice was a mere whisper, carrying hints of fatigue thatdeepened Ron's growing worry.
Ron's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Harry's fatigued face. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?" He pressed, his voice tinged with worry.
Harry's weary gaze averted. "Nah—it's nothing. Just tired," he dismissed, retreating into the shadows of his room.
Stubbornness welled up in Ron. "I'll go fetch Mum," he declared, the words spilling out before Harry could protest.
"Wait—no!" Harry's voice rose in urgent pleading, but Ron had already dashed up the stairs.
Moments later, Ron hurried back to Harry's room, Mrs. Weasley in tow. She clutched an assortment of potion bottles, ready to tend to Harry like a healer preparing for battle. They found him huddled in the corner, his trembling hands covering his face as he shielded himself from the world. When their arrival finally registered, Harry looked up, his expression visibly etched with embarrassment.
"Harry, my dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured, her voice soft and laced with concern. She moved closer, her motherly instincts surging forth. "Ron told me you weren't feeling well."
"Mrs. Weasley, I assure you, I'm fine," Harry insisted, shifting away from the enveloping warmth of her concern. "I just need to rest."
Ron's arms crossed defiantly, his face etched with scepticism. "I heard you being sick—this isn't something you can just ignore," he challenged.
"I threw up because of something I ate," Harry defended,but a faint tremor betrayed the bravado in his voice. "But I'm already feeling much better," he added, though his pallor suggested otherwise.
Mrs. Weasley's delicate fingers tenderly brushed Harry's feverish brow, her expression creased with worry. "You're burning up, dear. Drink this." She pressed the vial of purple potion into his trembling hands, and Harry obediently swallowed the contents. "Now, you must rest. I'll be back to check on you shortly."
The door clicked shut, leaving Ron and Harry in a tense, heavy silence. The two friends stood frozen, their unspoken thoughts weighing them down. Ron shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words, while Harry stared at the floor, wrestling with the turmoil inside.
Finally, Ron broke the stillness. "Harry..." His voice wavered with hesitation.
Harry let out a weary sigh. "Are you here to pry into what's bothering me? Because I'm not ready to talk about it yet." He paused, then added, "At least not right now."
When their eyes finally met, Ron's demeanour shifted. His expression softened, revealing a glimmer of relief and a silent affirmation they shared, unspoken but evident between them.
"That's okay," Ron replied, a small smile breaking through. "I'm just glad you're still here, mate."
Harry hesitated, a flicker of warmth igniting in his chest. He missed this connection—the simplicity of their friendship. "Ron," he whispered, his voice a quiet rasp cutting through the air. "I could really use some rest. Would you mind giving me some space?"
Nodding, Ron quietly exited, gently clicking the door shut behind him.
Ginny stirred the simmering soup, the swirling steam caressing her face. Yet her mind was far from the kitchen. She glanced anxiously toward the staircase, the familiar creaks a painful reminder of Harry's absence. The usually cosy Weasley kitchen felt heavy and oppressive without him, and her heart sank a little more with each passing minute.
Finally, she broke the stifling silence. "What's got you in such a good mood?" she asked Ron, his buoyant grin standing out starkly against the fog of her worry.
Ron leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye as he savoured the moment. "I had a pleasant conversation with Harry," he replied, a teasing curl to his lips.
Curiosity and apprehension stirred within her as she pressed further. "What were you and Harry discussing?"
Ron hesitated, his grin faltering slightly. "Oh, just some casual chit-chat," he said, his nonchalance poorly concealing deeper meaning.
Confusion tugged at Ginny's brow. Something felt off, and a nagging sense of intuition buzzed in her mind—he was hiding something. "Where is he now? Still resting?" she pressed, unable to quell the whispers of worry.
"He woke up early," Ron answered, a hint of discomfort flickering across his features. "But he's back in bed now. Doesn't seem to be feeling well. I suspect he may have caught a cold."
Ginny's heart thudded with unease. "Sick? But he was perfectly fine yesterday. What could have caused this sudden illness?" Her voice rose slightly, the very notion of Harry being unwell igniting a spark of anxiety in her chest.
"Agreed," Ron replied, the worry now mirrored in his expression. "It's quite puzzling. I heard he was feeling unwell and in pain earlier this morning."
The unease gripped Ginny's heart, tightening with each passing moment. "Did he mention anything else? Any specific symptoms or how he's faring?" Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, the thought of Harry suffering without her by his side sending shivers of worry down her spine.
Ron shook his head, his demeanour shifting to one of deep concern. "He's running a high temperature. Mum gave him a potion to help reduce it. She said she'd monitor his condition closely later on."
Ginny rose from her seat, her expression resolute. "I'll go check on him now." But her mother's gentle voice halted her.
"Not yet, my dear. Let him get some rest." Molly's warm tone contrasted with Ginny's rising dread. "I'm preparing some soup for him, which you can take to him later. I'm sure he'll start feeling better soon."
Ginny took a deep, steadying breath. She returned her focus to the task at hand, outwardly helping her mother prepare breakfast, yet her mind remained consumed by worry and dread for Harry's well-being.
Suddenly, Ron's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Where's George, Mum?"
Molly's response carried a tinge of distant sorrow. "He left early this morning. I'm afraid it may be some time before we see George around here again."
Ginny's soft footsteps echoed down the hallway as she approached Harry's room. It was nearing noon when Molly had asked her to deliver a steaming cup of soup, hoping it would bring some comfort to Harry. Ginny's heart raced with concern as she gently knocked on the door, met only by an eerie silence.
With a cautious push, Ginny entered the room, her breath catching at the sight before her. Harry lay curled up in bed, his back to her, trembling as if the world had turned to ice. Drenched in sweat, he seemed lost within the cocoon of his blanket, a shivering, vulnerable figure.
Ginny's heart raced as she leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. "Harry?" The thick, stifling air was heavy with worry. Reaching out, she gently rested her hand on his shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from him.
A faint flicker of consciousness broke through Harry's feverish haze. He turned slightly to acknowledge Ginny's presence, managing a weak, weary smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Ginny," he murmured, his voice trembling with exhaustion.
"You're burning with fever and trembling," she said, her voice laced with growing worry. Ginny quickly wrapped the warm blanket tighter around him, hoping to envelop him in comforting warmth. "Have you taken anything to reduce the fever?"
Harry gave a small nod, the simple motion draining what little strength he had left. Ginny's heart twisted painfully at the sight—he looked so fragile, so vulnerable.
Hurrying downstairs, Ginny relayed the distressing news to her mother. Molly's brow furrowed with concern as she followed Ginny back to Harry's room. Ron trailed behind, his narrowed eyes reflecting the worry etched on his face.
Mrs. Weasley spoke softly, a hint of apology in her voice. "Harry, I'm afraid you'll have to wait an hour before taking another dose. We made you soup. Maybe it'll help until you can take your potion."
"Thank you," Harry murmured, his usual bravado reduced to a whisper.
Mrs. Weasley left the room, and Ron moved to fluff Harry's pillows, trying to make him more comfortable. Ginny tenderly placed his glasses on his face and settled at his side, a bowl of steaming soup cradled in her hands.
Harry's hands trembled as he cautiously accepted the bowl. Embarrassment surged within him, and he fought to conceal his vulnerability. "I'll be fine, Ginny," he said, trying to sound brave, but the unmistakable tremor in his voice gave him away.
"No, you won't," Ginny replied, her voice firm yet laced with softness. Her eyes locked onto his shaking hands. "Your hands are shaking too much. Let me help you." Ignoring his feeble protests, she gently scooped a spoonful of the warm, thick soup and held it to his lips.
Harry tentatively opened his mouth, his growling stomach momentarily distracting him from the chills wracking his body. A warm burst of flavour enveloped him, providing a welcome respite from his worries.
Ron chuckled from the doorway, his grin lighting up his face. "You better get better soon, Harry. Otherwise, Ginny will be the one calling the shots around here," he teased affectionately.
"Don't you have anything better to do, Ron?" Ginny shot back;there was a fond undertone to her words that softened their edge.
"I'm just here for support," Ron retorted mockingly, glancing at Harry. "And to make sure you both stay in line."
Tension clung to the air as Ron reluctantly lingered. The charged, unspoken energy between Harry and Ginny crackled with an electric intensity, yet they dared not give in to it under Ron's watchful gaze. Ultimately, Ron conceded defeat, dramatically groaning as he exited the room, leaving Harry and Ginny in a hushed, contemplative silence.
As Ron sauntered out of the room, Ginny could feel the weight of his teasing gaze lingering, but her focus remained solely on Harry. She noted the dark shadows under his eyes and the faint rattling in his breath, stark reminders of his fragile state. Holding the warm bowl of soup to his lips, Ginny felt a surge of unfamiliar emotions—a protective instinct coupled with a comforting warmth blossoming in her chest.
"Open wide," she coaxed softly, her voice light yet tinged with concern.
Despite his embarrassment at being coddled, the alluring aroma of the soup wafting towards him proved too tempting for Harry to resist. Surrendering to the demands of his grumbling stomach, he begrudgingly opened his mouth, allowing Ginny to tenderly guide the spoon past his lips. As the soothing warmth of the liquid slid down his throat, a wave of comfort momentarily soothed the raging fever that consumed him.
"How's the soup?" Ginny asked brightly, her tone hopeful as she tried to dispel the heavy, sombre atmosphere surrounding them.
"It's really good," he mumbled, his raspy voice betraying his weakened state. With each spoonful, a flicker of warmth cascaded through his ailing body.
Scooping more soup, Ginny began, "Sorry about Ron. He can be quite exasperating at times."
Harry responded with a small smile. "It's alright. He gets on my nerves too, but I'm actually glad he's my best friend. Life would be incredibly boring without him."
Ginny's voice took on a teasing lilt. "Definitely knows how to push everyone's buttons," she said, carefully bringing another spoonful to his lips."Even though he can be irritating at times, he's actually quite kind-hearted."
Harry met her gaze, giving a quick, solemn nod that affirmed her observation. "He can be," he conceded, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
"It's clear he cares about you deeply," Ginny said, her sincerity evident in her eyes. "He's determined to help you through whatever you're going through, no matter what."
"I wish it were that easy," Harry murmured, vulnerability creeping into his normally steadfast tone. "Sometimes, it feels like I have to carry this burden alone."
She leaned closer, her gaze fierce and unwavering. "You don't have to," she insisted, her voice quavering with raw emotion. "I promise you, we're all here for you. Please, don't shut us out." The plea in her voice startled them both.
Ginny's gentle, rhythmic spoon-feeding continued as she stole glances at Harry's expression. She had always savoured these moments of caring for him, seeing him vulnerable yet trusting her enough to let his guard down. There was something profoundly moving about witnessing Harry in these quiet, unguarded instants—stripped of the powerful hero persona the world constantly demanded of him.
"Just a little more," she encouraged, her voice soft and soothing, as he took yet another obedient bite. "You need your strength back before you can save the world again."
Harry managed a weary smirk. "Very funny," he replied, his exhaustion palpable but his gratitude evident.
Ron re-entered the room, quirking an eyebrow at Harry. "She used to have a major crush on you, if I recall correctly."
Ginny's piercing glare could have silenced a raging avalanche, but the damage was already done. A deep crimson flush spread across Harry's cheeks, betraying the fever that had only moments ago left him pale and sickly.
"Shut it, Ron," Ginny muttered, flustered yet not entirely displeased. With one last glance at her brother, Ginny turned her attention back to Harry. "Time for another spoonful!" she chimed brightly, her tone light and playful.
Ron had already left the room once again when suddenly Harry flinched, the movement catching Ginny off guard. His body jerked slightly, and the warmth in his eyes instantly dimmed, replaced by a disoriented haze. "Whoa..." he breathed, his voice tinged with confusion.
Concern flooded Ginny's chest as she laid a hand on his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. "Harry?" she asked, forcing calm into her tone despite the panic flickering in her heart. Setting the bowl aside, she focused all her attention on him now.
"It's okay... just a bit dizzy," he admitted weakly, struggling to steady himself. Ginny watched him intently, her pulse quickening as she considered her next move.
"Why don't you lean back?" She suggested gently, adjusting the pillows and then easing him upright so his head could rest comfortably against her shoulder. "I've got you," she murmured, her voice soft with reassurance.
Harry's heart raced as he nestled into Ginny, and the air around them seemed to grow warmer, not from the summer sun but from the heat of their shared intimacy. "I always thought you were the strongest person I knew," he murmured, his eyes fluttering.
"I'm not that strong," Ginny replied softly, her gentle tone betraying a genuine sweetness. "I'm just trying to help you."
"And you are," he said. In that moment, time slowed, and his worries melted away. There was only Ginny and the soothing sound of the spoon stirring the bowl.
Harry's eyes fluttered closed, and Ginny fought the urge to tenderly brush back his dishevelled hair or smooth the damp strands clinging to his forehead.
"I'm here," she said softly to Harry, her words infused with a depth of meaning that went beyond the simple declaration. In that moment, Ginny wrestled with the fear of losing him—a fear she had grappled with since the war's end but never fully confronted.
"Will you stay with me?" Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if surrendering the weight of the world to her.
"I'll stay," she promised, and though the words were simple, the fierce resolve behind them fortified her heart.
Mrs. Weasley's face was etched with concern as she poked her head into Harry's room. "Ginny, dear, I've drawn a lovely, cool bath for Harry. It may help bring down his stubborn fever," she fretted. Despite trying every remedy from both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, their efforts had yielded only disappointment so far in the face of Harry's unyielding illness.
Ginny solemnly nodded, accepting her mother's suggestion.
Ron hurried back to Harry's room just minutes later,only to find it unoccupied. He approached the desk and picked up the empty soup bowl. He could have easily dismissed the sight, yet something deeper grabbed his attention.Wedged between the pages of books, an array of papers caught his eye, revealing troubling glimpses into Harry's recent thoughts.
Frowning, Ron carefully pulled one out and read the words scrawled across it:"Internal torment, confusion, mental collapse, and antisocial behaviour."A chill ran down his spine as he reread the ominous descriptors, each one twisting with concern in the pit of his stomach. What on earth was going on with his friend?
The slanted sunlight filtering through the curtains illuminated the open book where Ron had discovered the list. Its pages detailed illnesses in a way that made him squirm—a grim catalogue of symptoms, impacts, and fatality risks that felt far too real and pertinent. Ron didn't want to linger there any longer, desperate to avoid the ominous thoughts weighing on his chest.
Yet his eyes were drawn back to the array of books on Harry's desk. Titles likeThe Soul, Souls and Their Mysteries, and Soul: An Introductiondominated the space, their seemingly innocent covers concealing depths of knowledge that suggested far more weight than the typical Hogwarts textbooks. Ron's heart raced. Why was Harry reading these?
Ginny's worried voice suddenly pierced through Ron's swirling thoughts. "Harry, are you alright in there?" she called, her words laced with a mix of concern and affection.
"I'm fine," Harry replied, but his slightly strained tone sent another jolt of worry through Ron. "I'll be done soon."
In that moment, something inside Ron snapped. He couldn't just stand by and watch his best friend suffer in silence. A wave of determination filled him as he turned towards Ginny, who was about to retreat to her room. He had to know what was wrong—this wasn't right.