Ron's shocked cry of "WHAT!" reverberated through the room as Hermione calmly explained the dire consequences of their efforts to rescue Harry's soul.
"Mending a soul is no simple task like drinking a healing potion, Mr. Weasley," Professor Slughorn stated solemnly. His eyes, usually twinkling with warmth, now bore a serious, foreboding gaze. "Nature's laws are unforgiving when dealing with something as formidable as this." He swept his eyes over Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, each mirroring Ron's initial stunned reaction. "There is always a price to pay."
Ron's throat tightened with nervous apprehension as Professor Slughorn's grave words sank in, the full gravity of the challenge they faced now dawning on him with chilling clarity.
"I had a feeling that this moment would arrive," Hermione observed, her voice calm,but Ron detected an underlying steeliness.Her gaze remained transfixed on the ancient, leather-bound book before her, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and ominous warnings."Creating a Horcrux carries grave repercussions," she continued, her brow furrowing with concern. "As Professor Slughorn noted, undoing this damage will be no easy feat. We must prepare ourselves for whatever challenges lie ahead."
"I urge you to thoroughly consider all the consequences before committing to this course of action," Professor Slughorn cautioned, his brow furrowed with deep concern. "Your life will be at grave risk once you undertake this mission. The irreversible transformation you will undergo will be permanent and profound."
Ron's eyes narrowed as he regarded the book with disdain, its obscure language clashing jarringly with the plain, uncomplicated existence he yearned for. "Just what are we supposed to do?" he asked, his curiosity tinged with rising disquiet. The weighty, unanswered question lingered, as if the book's timeworn sorcery itself was reluctant to divulge its requirements.
Hermione sat deeply absorbed, her brow furrowed in intense contemplation. The book's cryptic contents had consumed her, her mind racing to decipher the hidden instructions, the looming dangers, and the unknown cost they might have to bear. Ron watched her, his gaze flickering with both worry and admiration. He sensed this was more than just a quest to save Harry—it was a precipice they teetered on, a path into the unknown that threatened to change them forever. For the first time, Ron felt a deep sense of helplessness in the face of such powerful magic.
The living room had been silent until Mrs. Weasley's urgent call for Harry shattered the peace. Rushing in, they found Mrs. Weasley standing cautiously a few steps from the sofa, her hands outstretched as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
Harry felt the room pressing down on him, the air thick with tension and confusion.The familiar, cosy Burrow now felt suffocating, though Mrs. Weasley's presence was warm and nurturing, yet tinged with a rare panic.
Desperation etched across her face, her wide, pleading eyes locked onto Harry's. "Harry, please pay attention," she begged, her voice quivering with emotion. The raw urgency in her tone ignited a matching sense of alarm within him.
Overwhelmed by a sense of unease, Harry stood paralysed just steps from the battered sofa. The familiar living room had transformed into an ominous battlefield, brimming with invisible dangers. The relentless ticking of the clock pounded in his head, intensifying his dread as time rapidly slipped away.
"Mum, what's happening?"Ron's bewildered tone cut through the thick air. He glanced back and forth between Harry and his anxious mother, who was now wringing her hands.
Barely registering his friend's worried question, Harry locked eyes with Ron, feeling the deep exhaustion pulling at his weary limbs. "Ron, we have to leave this place immediately," he urged, his gaze darting towards the cosy knick-knacks lining the shelves—each one a fragment of the safe haven he so desperately craved. "Time is running out."
As a surge of adrenaline flooded Harry's senses, Mrs. Weasley hurried to his side, her hands fluttering nervously around him like frantic butterflies. "Your fever is alarmingly high, Harry!" she exclaimed, her worry only intensifying his growing frustration. "You really must rest," she urged, her tone laced with maternal concern.
"I'm okay, Mrs. Weasley, really," he insisted, pulling away from her comforting grasp. Though her warm touch had been soothing, it now felt like shackles restraining him. He was acutely aware of Ron and Hermione exchanging concerned glances, but the pounding urgency within consumed his focus. "Why haven't we left yet?" He whispered, glancing nervously at his perplexed friends.
"Leave? Where are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in that familiar, thoughtful way.Her voice carried a hint of confusion, as if she were lost in her own logical world, unaware of the urgency of the moment.
"Right here!" Harry replied impatiently,casting a quick, anxious glance towards the door."We were supposed to leave hours ago."
"But why?" Ron asked, his bewilderment evident, and his voice held a note of disbelief.For a moment, Harry felt the urge to shake him, to make him understand the gravity of their situation.
Turning to Ron, he felt his heart pounding. "We need to leave and start the search for the Horcruxes," he whispered. The impatience in his voice stood out sharply against the unease radiating from Ron and Hermione. "Are we going or not?" he snapped.
Hermione's words carried a sombre weight as she broke the oppressive silence, speaking softly after a moment's hesitation. "Harry, we've already destroyed the Horcruxes." The heavy, sun-drenched quiet outside only amplified the gravity of her statement.
Shock and bewilderment etched across his face as he whipped around to face her, his brow furrowed in frustration. "What do you mean, 'already destroyed'?" he demanded, his tone sharp with confusion. The grave expressions and deep concern that clouded their features only heightened his puzzlement. "When did this happen?"
"There's so much to explain," Ron replied, his voice strained. Shadows of worry flickered across his anxious face.
Harry's thoughts spiralled in a dizzying confusion, his mind teetering precariously on the edge of a vast, unsettling chasm. "When did we even leave the Burrow?" he asked, his voice tinged with a disconcerting blend of disbelief and mounting unease that washed over him in unsettling waves. Memories felt jagged and fragmented, scenes blurring and merging into one another like the flickering, malfunctioning frames of an old, damaged film reel.
Ron's and Hermione's brows furrowed with concern as they traded another anxious look."After Bill and Fleur's wedding," Ron replied, a note of urgency in his voice. "We were gone for months, Harry.We planned, we infiltrated the Ministry... Gringotts... we've been through so much." His voice trembled slightly, the strain of their harrowing ordeals now etched into his features.
Harry sank deeper into a dense, disorienting fog. Swirling confusion and dread clouded his mind with every thought. "No," he whispered, his temples throbbing with a building headache. A sense of urgency gripped him. "Voldemort must be stopped. He's still out there. I can't rest; I won't rest."
With a tender touch on his arm, Mrs. Weasley's voice pierced the fog, firm yet laced with motherly warmth. "Harry, you're unwell. You must rest." Peering into his eyes, her gaze overflowed with profound concern.
His mind raced with visions of dark shadows and echoing laughter, fragments of a nightmare that refused to fade. "But the mission—" he protested, his voice wavering with unease. "We have to find the Horcruxes. We have to—"
Mrs. Weasley guided Harry back towards the battered sofa, but he resisted. The homely comforts of the Burrow felt like shackles, anchoring him down when his mind raced with urgent worries. "Harry, please," she pleaded, her voice soft yet insistent. "You need to rest. Dumbledore would want you to take it easy."
Harry fought against her gentle yet firm grasp, desperate to break free. "I can't rest; you don't understand!" he cried, his eyes wild with desperation. "This isn't over; I have to keep going!"
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged deeply troubled looks, their faces etched with profound concern as they watched Harry's mental state rapidly deteriorating before their eyes.
"Ron!"Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out with urgency."Come help me with Harry!" She struggled to restrain him as he fought against her. "Ginny, please fetch some calming draught and sleeping potion right away," she instructed, her tone laced with worry.
Harry's frantic energy erupted into a whirlwind of anger and despair. "No! You can't do this!" he cried, panic lacing his desperate pleas as he felt their grip tighten around him. "Please! Don't make me sleep..."
Ginny appeared at the doorway, tears streaming down her anguished face. In her trembling hands, she clutched two vials, their glimmering contents reflecting the overwhelming weight of her desperation. "Harry..." she whispered, a heartbreaking plea echoing in her sorrowful eyes.
"No, not the potions!" He cried out, a desperate sob breaking free as the world around him began to blur once more, plunging him into a terrifying abyss he couldn't comprehend. "Don't—"
His pleas were cut short as Ron and Mrs. Weasley held him steady, while Ginny and Professor Slughorn manoeuvred the vials to his lips. He tensed with a final, feeble attempt to fight the encroaching darkness, but then...
As consciousness slipped away, Harry's vision blurred into a kaleidoscope of swirling colours. Emotions frayed and faded as the pull of sleep overwhelmed him. The last thing he saw were the worried faces of Ron and Mrs. Weasley, their figures backlit by the glow of the sun streaming through the window.
When they finally released him from his sleep, Ron and Mrs. Weasley rushed to check Harry's temperature. Dismay washed over them as they discovered his fever had persisted, despite the previous treatment.
Mrs. Weasley's brow furrowed with worry as she expressed her concern to Professor Slughorn. "My potion supplies are running dangerously low," she said, her voice tinged with apprehension. "I must purchase more ingredients to brew additional doses."
"I can brew the potions myself, Molly," Professor Slughorn offered. "I have a plethora of ingredients in my potion storeroom, and I can even ask Madam Pomfrey for additional supplies if necessary."
Mrs. Weasley nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Horace. I deeply appreciate your assistance," she said, her features softening with relief.
"It would be wise to bring him to his room," Slughorn suggested, his voice laced with concern for Harry's well-being. Despite his advanced age, he displayed remarkable physical strength as he effortlessly lifted Harry's limp, slight, and undernourished body into his arms. Rather than using magic to levitate the unconscious teenager, Slughorn opted to carry him upstairs to his room, his movements gentle and caring.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny watched apprehensively, their eyes fixed on the professor as he tenderly laid the feverish boy down on the bed.
In the muted glow filtering through the drawn curtains, unease permeated the air of Harry's bedroom. Mrs. Weasley kept a vigilant watch at his bedside, her heart pounding with worry as she gently brushed a damp strand of hair from his feverish brow. The raging fever within him filled them all with dread, the next spike looming ever nearer.
Ginny's voice trembled with fear as she gazed at the still, vulnerable form of Harry. "Will he be okay, Mum?" she asked, her usual resolve melting away.
Molly's brow creased with worry as she turned to Ginny. "I'm not sure, dear," she murmured, her words heavy with unshed tears and the uncertainty of Harry's condition. "He's been through a terrible ordeal. And when he wakes up... he may have to face it all over again."
The room seemed to swell and shrink with Ginny's muffled sobs, each shuddering breath a whisper of her anguish. "He's slowly losing his memories," she said, a shadow of fear creeping across her face. "I'm scared he might forget us too."
A heavy, dreadful silence settled over them. Ron's and Hermione's eyes darted to Harry, their own fears mirrored in Ginny's words. Ron's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the bed, anxiety pooling in his stomach like a pot about to boil over.
"I share that fear," Ron admitted in a hushed tone, as if afraid to disturb the sleeping Harry, though he knew his friend could not hear him. Despite his deep admiration for Harry's strength, Ron felt the sobering grip of reality tightening around him. "If his soul continues to deteriorate at this pace, there may come a day when he no longer recognises any of us." The words drained from Ron's lips, leaving dark splotches of worry on the once-vibrant fabric of their friendship.
Arthur's pulse quickened as he rushed through the Ministry's bustling corridors. The usual hum of conversation and magical activity faded to a dull roar, drowned out by the anxiety gripping his chest. Molly's news had left him reeling, the haunting image of Harry—pale and frail—seared into his mind.
Percy, standing at the entrance of the Department of Magical Transportation, watched as his father rushed by, confusion knitting his brow. Arthur's abrupt exit had raised numerous questions, and the sight of other wizards whispering and casting curious glances in his father's direction didn't help comfort Percy. "Dad! What's going on? Why the rush?"
Arthur hesitated, his heart pounding as he felt the weight of anxious eyes upon him. With a worried glance at Percy, he delivered the news with a sense of urgency. "I've just heard from your mother. Harry is gravely ill, and his condition is only worsening." The words spilt out, tinged with a heaviness he could scarcely contain.
Percy's mouth fell open in utter disbelief. The very thought of Harry Potter, the legendary hero who had vanquished the darkest of wizards, being struck down by illness was simply unfathomable. Harry was a paragon of strength and courage, not someone weakened by sickness. "What do you mean Harry's fallen ill?" Percy asked, his voice laced with incredulity as a wave of bewilderment washed over him.
Arthur raised a finger to his lips, his eyes pleading for silence. In a world where the slightest whisper could spread like an uncontrolled blaze, discretion was paramount. Behind him, a group of eager witches and wizards had perked up, their eyes alight with rapt attention at the mere mention of Harry's name. They craved the allure of fame and the chance to be part of history, welcoming the shadow of Harry's plight into their lives like an electrifying rumour.
Arthur understood their intrigue, but he couldn't afford to indulge in it right now. "I don't have time to explain everything at the moment, son," he said softly, his eyes pleading for Percy's understanding. "I'll fill you in on all the details when I get back."
Percy opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off. "This isn't the right time," he insisted, placing a reassuring hand on Percy's shoulder. Arthur could feel the tension vibrating between them.
"I have to go. I'm sorry." Arthur steeled himself, hating to leave Percy behind in a tense knot of worry and bewilderment. "I'll update you as soon as I can." With that, Arthur hurried away, his heart heavy with the weight of the situation.
Molly stood in the dim, shadowy kitchen of the Burrow, the warm glow of the lamp casting a flickering, golden light across her worried face. She welcomed Arthur back with a tight, sombre embrace, her usual warmth tinged with a heavy, dreadful weight. Arthur could feel the overwhelming sorrow in her touch, her brow furrowed with the weariness of sleepless nights plagued by relentless worry.
"Horace came by to see Harry," Molly informed Arthur, her voice steady, yet tinged with a subtle undercurrent of anxiety. "He's on his way back to Hogwarts now."
Arthur watched intently as Horace lifted his gaze from the crackling fireplace. With a slight, solemn nod towards Arthur, Horace then vanished into the emerald flames, leaving behind a lingering silence punctuated only by the soft crackle of the wood.
"Where's Harry?" Arthur asked,his voice tense with concern. He felt a tightness growing in his chest.He realised he had been holding his breath, fearful of Molly's response.
Molly's expression was tense, her throat constricted as she struggled to find the right words. "We've moved Harry to his bedroom upstairs. We gave him a calming draught and a sleeping potion, as he was experiencing delusions and showing signs of aggression." Her voice wavered slightly, and Arthur felt his stomach sink. "His memory is deteriorating once again—just like at the train station. He's convinced that You-Know-Who is still alive and is determined to seek out and destroy the Horcruxes."
"Ron and Hermione are with him." Molly added softly, almost as if trying to reassure them both.
Arthur's mind raced, each anxious thought more alarming than the last."What about Slughorn? Has he managed to locate the book we need?" He asked in a desperate attempt to cling to any glimmer of hope.
Molly's shoulders slumped, the weight of the world bearing down on her. "Yes, Slughorn found a book. It's in Harry's room upstairs, but we haven't even had a chance to go through it yet. Horace needed to brew more potions..." She sighed, her voice heavy with worry. "I'm starting to run low on supplies, and I don't know what else to do."
The kitchen felt suddenly frigid, the once-roaring fire's warmth now overtaken by a creeping chill of despair. "How's Harry holding up? Has he been eating?" Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.
"No," Molly replied, her voice cracking with emotion. "He hasn't been eating at all. He even fell asleep during lunch. If this pattern continues, I may have to make him some nutritional potions." Molly's heavy heart weighed visibly in her eyes as she sank into a nearby chair.
Arthur stood, silently absorbing the bleak reality before him. Sensing the shift in mood, Molly tried to redirect the conversation. "How are things at the Ministry, dear?"
Arthur sighed heavily, his heart weighed down with a profound sadness as he allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. "On the surface, everything appears fine," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "The Aurors have apprehended several Death Eaters, and for the first time in seventeen years, the wizarding community is filled with a sense of hope and optimism."
He paused, his eyes darkening with a deep, personal anguish. "They've been clamouring to express their gratitude towards Harry, excitedly bombarding him with autographs and questions, believing he should be celebrating as the saviour, not hiding." Arthur could almost feel the disgust and frustration welling up within him. "But they don't understand the true, devastating situation," he added in a whisper, his expression etched with sorrow. "If only they knew the immense pain and suffering Harry is going through."
Molly leaned forward, her brow creased with deep worry. "I truly hope they stop pestering that poor child," she said, her voice laced with concern.
Arthur nodded solemnly, well aware of the immense pressure the world placed upon Harry.
"No one else knows about Harry's condition besides us, correct?" Molly asked, her anxious gaze fixed on Arthur, the flickering flames casting shadows across her troubled features.
"On my way here, I ran into Percy," Arthur admitted, a hint of guilt seeping into his tone. "He asked why I was hurrying home, so I told him Harry was unwell."
Molly's eyes widened with worry, the dancing firelight reflecting her unease. "He won't tell anyone, will he?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, Percy understands this is a private matter. I assure you, he will keep it confidential," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
Molly's eyes were clouded with worry as she sighed. "But what if people start to notice that Harry is gone for too long without any change in his health? That could raise concerns and prompt an investigation."
The weight of that realisation hung heavily between them, and Arthur felt a fresh pang of anguish.
"Let's take it one day at a time," he said finally, trying to soothe the gnawing dread in both their hearts.
Molly nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the world kept spinning while they were trapped in their fragile bubble of worry. Deep down, she knew no amount of hope could easily dispel the looming shadows as dark and real as the threat to Harry.
Ron shifted uncomfortably on the floor of Harry's room, the familiar scent of worn books and the faint musk of Quidditch gear enveloping him. He felt out of place, knowing his friends were traversing the mountain of mystery laid out before them while he struggled to remain conscious.
Beside him, Ginny nestled close to Harry. She clutched the Anima book tightly, its spine creaking under her grip.
Meanwhile, Hermione paced back and forth, her frantic energy adding to the urgency in the room. The weight of the book's enigmatic knowledge pressed upon them all as they delved deeper into its pages.
"That's not helpful, Ron," Hermione snapped,pulling him from his pensive reverie.The clock on the wall ticked away monotonously, as time seemed to stretch on endlessly while they struggled to unravel the riddle of the soul-healing potion.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," Ron replied, drumming his fingers on the wooden floor. "Can't we just take a break? I mean, Harry's asleep—we don't have to worry about him running into a werewolf or something, right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, her voice tinged with exasperation. "A werewolf is just one of many potential creatures represented in the text, Ron. We need to come up with concrete ideas, not get distracted."
Ginny's brow furrowed as she read the line from the book, her voice ringing out clearly. "'A strand of an untamed creature that is a visage of death,'" she recited, her tone laced with uncertainty as the implications of the words settled over them.
Ron's half-listening murmur broke the silence. "So many creatures could fit that description—dementors, werewolves... even boggarts can take on the form of dreadful things."
Hermione paused her pacing, her exasperation evident as she directed it towards Ginny and Ron. "You think we can just charm a boggart into submission? They're nightmares spun from our deepest fears!"
Ron's body trembled as he contemplated the prospect of confronting a werewolf. A chill ran down his spine as his mind drifted to Professor Trelawney's foreboding prophecy about Harry and the Grim, filling him with a deep sense of unease.
Ginny's voice, laced with gravity, cut through the tense silence. "Do we even need to tame a werewolf?" she questioned, her brow furrowed with concern. "Just imagine the challenges and dangers that would entail."
"I've never heard of a werewolf being tamed before," Hermione pondered, her brow furrowing in concern. "I really hope we don't encounter one, as they completely lose their human sense of morality, making them extremely difficult to control. It's a dangerous situation that I hope we can avoid." Her face grew sombre with worry as she added the warning.
Ginny nodded in agreement, her expression grave. "You're right. I read a book that described how werewolves permanently lose their moral compass. I can't even imagine living with that kind of heavy burden."
"Are you referring to 'Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live'?" Hermione enquired, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration.
"Yes, that's the one," Ginny confirmed, recalling the distressing title.
Hermione grumbled as she continued to pace back and forth. "It's a load of rubbish; don't pay it any mind. Professor Emerett Picardy's description of werewolves is simply intolerable. His ideas are riddled with inaccuracies."
"Yeah, I mean, what if we just decide to go after a dragon instead?" Ron suggested, hisvoice took on a lighter, almost desperate tone. "They're quite nasty, too."
"That's not the point, Ron!" Hermione interjected sharply. "Focusing on scary creatures won't solve our riddle!"She shifted her attention back to Ginny, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Let's think. What other creatures represent death?"
Ron tried not to pout as he considered the question. "Dragons, thestrals..." he began, warm memories of flying on a broomstick with Harry flooding back. But the thought of the Grim soon invaded his mind, and he trailed off, his enthusiasm waning.
Suddenly, a spark of insight flickered in Hermione's eyes. "Thestrals!" she exclaimed.
Relief washed over Ron. "Right! Luna mentioned only those who've seen death can see them," he remarked, feeling they were finally making progress.
"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. "They're intelligent creatures, and they could lead us straight to what we need."
Ginny's face brightened, her spark of hope becoming contagious. "That's it! That must be why they're in the book!"
"Wait," Ron interjected, straining to catch up with their enthusiasm. "Aren't thestrals usually used for pulling carts?"
"Do you ever pay attention?" Hermione countered, exasperated. "Hagrid taught us all about them!"
"Don't yell at me, Hermione!" Ron whined, feeling that familiar flame of irritation ignite within him."I was just—"
"Getting ready for a nap?" Hermione interrupted him sharply, brushing him off with a flick of her wrist. "You need to focus!"
Ginny's voice rang out, breaking through Ron and Hermione's heated argument. "I still have the book on magical creatures!" she exclaimed, her words brimming with excitement and urgency. Without hesitation, she sprung into action, scurrying off to her room to retrieve the prized volume, leaving Ron and Hermione locked in their battle of wills.
"Do we really have to rely on more reading?" Ron lamented dramatically, his face pressed against the floor.
"You're not helping at all, Ron," Hermione's sharp reply cut through the air. "All you do is sleep!"
Tousled strands of hair tumbled across his furrowed brow as he whipped around, determined to interject himself into the heated discussion without escalating the tension."I was just resting my eyes, Hermione," Ron retorted.
Ginny returned with the hefty book, her face alight with eager curiosity. With a singular, determined focus, she meticulously flipped through the pages until she found the section on Thestrals. Holding her breath in anticipation, she finally handed the book to Hermione. "Look at this," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.
Hermione peered at the page, her expression a blend of excitement and an undercurrent of trepidation. "I discovered something," she whispered, her eyes scanning the text. "It is rumoured that thestral tail hair is believed to be a potent wand core."
Ron's scepticism quickly surfaced, as it often did during their academic debates. "Rumoured? Is there any truth to that claim?" he asked, his brow furrowed in doubt.
"There may be a legitimate cause," Hermione affirmed, her brows knitting together. "Maybe we can ask Professor Slughorn for more insights when he returns."
Ron's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Might the Elder Wand contain that core? It's the most powerful, isn't it?" he suggested.
Hermione's gaze grew distant, her thoughts flickering between the pages before her and the memories in her mind. "Possibly," she murmured.
Ginny's heart raced as she considered the implications of their task. "So, we need Thestral hair, right? Should we rely on this information to move forward?"
Hermione answered with unwavering resolve, her voice steady despite the weight of their circumstances. "Yes. The properties described in the book align with Thestral tail hair, and I can't think of any other creatures associated with death. Can you?"
Ginny shook her head,while Ron contemplated the next steps. "Assuming we choose Thestral, how do we obtain the hair since we can't see it?"
A heavy silence fell over them, their task feeling almost sacred. Outside, the wind whispered secrets through the trees, a backdrop to Harry's steady breathing.
Hermione's gaze was distant."I believe we may be able to spot them now," she finally whispered,her voice heavy with emotion."We've witnessed enough death in the war."
A sombre shadow fell over Ron's and Ginny's faces, the collective grief of the war etched deeply into their lives.
"Are the Thestrals at Hogwarts trained?" Ron asked, curiosity igniting once more.
Hermione's mind drifted back to their fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures lesson. "Hagrid suspects the Hogwarts herd is the only trained large group of Thestrals in all of Great Britain," she shared.
"So we'll need to find a wild one?"Ron's brow furrowed as he considered the prospect. The mere mention of tracking down a wild creature filled him with a conflicting blend of hope and unease.
"I'm afraid so," Hermione replied, her tone laced with regret. "Thestrals are notoriously evasive creatures, making them incredibly difficult to track down."
"Where on earth will we find one?" Ron asked, his growing concern etched across his face."Will we have to venture beyond our borders to find one?"
Hermione paused, the weight of their daunting challenge evident in her weary sigh. "Thestrals are primarily found in Ireland, Great Britain, and a handful of locations in France and the Iberian Peninsula, but sightings are exceedingly rare, no matter where we search."
Ginny broke the heavy silence with a thoughtful suggestion. "Hagrid might be able to help us. He's the most knowledgeable person at Hogwarts when it comes to Thestrals and magical creatures, so he's our best chance at getting Thestral hair."
Determination flickered in Hermione's eyes as she nodded. "You're right. We should contact him right away, either by owl or in person."
Ron's face darkened at the idea. "I can already picture his reaction when he finds out why we need it. He's going to be furious," he grimaced.
"We have no other choice now." Hermione's tone was a blend of urgency and defiance. "Harry's safety is on the line, and we can't afford to wait any longer. We have to act, and the sooner the better."
"I'm certain Hagrid will understand once we explain the situation to him," Ginny said in acheerful, optimistic tone, hoping to alleviate the unease among them.
"Oh sure, he'll be all understanding—right after he gives us an earful and a good scolding first," Ron scoffed sarcastically.Ginny shot him a playful, yet pointed, glare in response.
"Regardless of how Hagrid initially reacts, it won't be easy for any of us to reveal the details of our plans to him, or anyone else for that matter," Hermione interjected firmly.
Harry stirred awake, his mind still hazy with sleep."What?" he askedin a groggy voice as he pushed himself up, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny jumped in surprise when they heard Harry's voice. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing with embarrassment at being caught off guard. Ginny gently placed his glasses on his face, helping him focus his bleary vision.
Harry frowned with confusion as he scanned the faces of his friends. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny wore expressions that were a mix of relief and concern. "What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked, his voice laced with bewilderment.
Hermione's reply was tight and evasive. "N-nothing, Harry." She refused to meet his gaze, instead throwing an apprehensive glance at Ron and Ginny, whose worried expressions mirrored her own. They knew all too well how Harry would react if he learnt they had been putting themselves in danger for his sake—something he had repeatedly urged them not to do.
"How are you feeling, mate?" Ron asked, concern etched on his face.He was desperate to steer Harry away from the uneasily lingering topic.
"I'm a bit weak," Harry mumbled.Still groggy, he struggled to piece together his hazy surroundings. "But I think I'm okay. Did I miss breakfast? I can't remember anything."
"You tried to eat earlier," Ron said, shifting uncomfortably. "But you missed lunch. Do you really not remember anything from earlier today?" Worry deepened in his eyes, and he ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair.
Harry felt his heart sink as he strained to recall the events. "Why? Did something happen?"
The concerned gazes of his friends weighed heavily on Harry, creating tension in the air. "You were talking about hunting for Horcruxes and planning to leave the Burrow to confront You-Know-Who. Do you remember any of it?"
The words echoed in his mind, but no memories surfaced, only a growing sense of confusion. "I said what?" he asked, his heartbeat quickening as the reality of the situation sank in.
Ginny's gentle, reassuring tone cut through the haze. "Don't stress about it now, Harry," she said, her warm eyes meeting his. "You must be hungry after everything. Let's head down to the kitchen and find you something to eat."
Agreeing weakly, Harry mustered what little strength he could muster and slowly tried to stand. His legs trembled unsteadily, wobbling beneath him like wobbly jelly.
Ginny gripped his arm tightly, her steadfast support unwavering. "Don't worry, I've got you," she murmured reassuringly.
"Are you sure you want to try walking, Harry?" Hermione asked cautiously, her anxiety slowly unravelling.
"Yes," he replied feebly. "But I'll need help. I don't think I can walk steadily on my own." His voice was laced with trepidation.
They began their cautious descent down the stairs, each step taken with painstaking care. Harry's eyes focused on the familiar wooden bannister, the smooth grain of the wood a comforting reminder of the countless times he had navigated this space.
As Mr. and Mrs. Weasley spotted them coming down, they rushed forward, their faces etched with concern.
"Is everything alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice tinged with worry.
Ginny glanced at Harry, sensing his discomfort. "Mum, is dinner ready? Harry's famished," she said, her tone gentle and reassuring.
Mrs. Weasley's expression softened as she glanced at Harry. "Of course, dear," she replied warmly, and hurried to prepare something for him.
Mr. Weasley guided Harry gently to a chair at the end of the table, settling him down with a caring touch. "How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Harry exhaled heavily as he sank into the chair. "Still quite weak," he admitted, casting his eyes around the cosy kitchen, which was filled with the inviting aromas of herbs and roasted vegetables. "But I'm doing well, thank you," he added gratefully.
Mr. Weasley sank into the chair next to Harry, folding up the Daily Prophet and setting it aside. Harry felt a rare sense of ease wash over him. "I've been meaning to ask," he said tentatively, "how's the ministry holding up these days?" He searched Mr. Weasley's face, hoping to find a shred of stability in the turbulent times.
Mr. Weasley's expression softened, and he offered a sad, sympathetic smile. "To be frank," he said, clearing his throat as Mrs. Weasley filled their bowls with hearty stew and crisp vegetable salad. "The post-war celebrations seem endless." His brow furrowed with worry. "People are eager to see you, Harry. Kingsley Shacklebolt is doing his best to keep your whereabouts unknown for your safety, but your absence only makes them more curious and insistent on having you in the spotlight. I'm concerned things may escalate if you continue to stay hidden."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes were wide with maternal concern as she gazed at Harry. "Don't worry, dear," she assured him gently. "We'd never reveal anything." With a flick of her wand, she summoned more steaming bowls of stew to the table.
Harry felt a familiar pang of shame tug at his heart. "I'm sorry," he murmured quietly, bowing his head.
All eyes turned toward him, filled with understanding and deep concern. The unspoken reminder of his importance to this family only twisted painfully in his gut.
"Why are you apologising, Harry?" Mr. Weasley askedin a soothing, gentle tone.
"Because I'm causing you all this trouble just so I can have a normal life," he muttered.His words hung in the air, heavy and dismal.
Mr. Weasley shook his head, a firm resolve in his gaze. "You're not a burden, Harry. There's no need to apologise. Seeking safety and normalcy is a natural desire, especially considering the unwanted fame thrust upon you. You have every right to a normal life."
"Oh, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley chimed in, squeezing Harry's shoulders affectionately. "Let's eat before it gets cold."
The rich, savoury aroma wafted through the air, captivating everyone and drawing their attention back to the feast before them.
Harry's stomach let out a loud, eager rumble, eliciting a burst of laughter that swept around the table, dispelling the earlier heaviness.
Ron leaned back in his chair, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Blimey, mate, you look like you could gobble up a whole hippogriff!" He teased, and Harry chuckled along, feeling the weight of his previous worries melt away in the warmth of the laughter.
As Harry took a bite of bread, he lifted his gaze from his plate and across the table, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "What were you all discussing earlier when I dozed off?" he asked, his voice tinged with intrigue.
Suddenly, Ron's eyes went wide, and he began to choke on his stew, the thick liquid sloshing down his chin. An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Ginny bit her lip anxiously.
Hermione, her eyes darting nervously, quickly jumped in to dispel the discomfort. "We were just discussing job applications," she said, her voice a touch too measured and rehearsed. "We're exploring our options for after graduating from Hogwarts."
Harry's brow furrowed with concern. "So, does that mean you won't be returning to Hogwarts for your final year?" His gaze shifted to Ginny, who stared down at her plate, her usual vibrant spark now dimmed. "But you're going back to school, right?" he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone.
Ginny's face remained stoic, devoid of any enthusiasm, as Hermione spoke up again. Hermione's voice carried an undercurrent of unspoken emotion. "I'll be finishing my final year at Hogwarts," she stated firmly.
"But you mentioned..." Harry began, his voice laced with growing confusion, but Hermione quickly cut him off.
"I meant that Ron is exploring job options, while Ginny and I will do the same after graduating," Hermione clarified.
"So, what's the Anima book about?" Harry asked as he grabbed a bite of his salad.
Harry pressed, trying to steer the conversation towards safer waters as he took a bite of his salad. "So, what's the Anima book about?" he asked.
At the mention of the book, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged curious looks, their expressions shifting into something Harry struggled to decipher. Ron dropped his fork with a clang, and Hermione froze, her spoon hovering in mid-air with stew clinging to it. The table's ambiance rapidly turned tense and heavy.
Ginny's eyes flickered nervously between Ron and Hermione, something unspoken pulsing in the air.
Harry's heart raced as he watched the uneasy reactions. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and concern.