The warm morning sunlight streamed through Harry's bedroom window, bathing the room in a golden glow. The tender rays enveloped him, awakening a profound sense of peace that had eluded him for weeks. Rubbing his eyes, Harry marvelled at how rejuvenated he felt. Gone were the mornings shrouded in fatigue; this day dawned with a refreshing vitality.
Slowly, he swung his weary legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled towards the kitchen, drawn by the mouthwatering scent of breakfast. Mrs. Weasley bustled about, humming softly, and to his own surprise, he found himself eagerly devouring a heaping plate of fluffy eggs, crisp toast, and savoury bacon. Though he felt uncomfortably full afterward, the small triumph filled him with a quiet sense of pride and satisfaction.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes softened with maternal affection as she dried her hands on her apron. "It's so good to see your appetite return," she said warmly.
Harry felt a twinge of discomfort at the unexpected compliment. "Uh, thanks, I suppose," he replied uncertainly.
The stifling room felt thick with an unexpected emphasis on health and nourishment. As he sank into the familiar comfort of his friends, a wave of bewilderment overcame him. What did it mean that he was finally starting to feel better? One part of him revelled in the prospect of regaining his well-being, yet another part hesitated, fearful of how quickly the tides could turn.
Harry's eyes gleamed with determination as he ushered his friends eagerly into his room. "Let's get to it," he said, his voice brimming with urgency.
"Wouldn't it be better to visit Hagrid in person and ask about the Thestral hair instead of sending him an owl?" Ron suggested.
Harry's gaze drifted to Ron's eager expression.
"He'd love that!" The excitement in Hermione's voice was infectious. "I mean, who wouldn't want a visit from us?"
Harry couldn't help feeling a twinge of worry about how Hagrid might react when they revealed their plan. "I wonder how he's been doing these days," he mused, his brow furrowing slightly.
Ron let out a light, amused chuckle. "I bet Hagrid's out there in the forest again, keeping a close eye on Grawp. Can you just picture that giant trying to learn some basic social skills? I'd pay good money just to hear him attempt it," he snorted dismissively.
Hermione frowned and crossed her arms. "I think Grawp has actually come a long way. He was a huge help to Hagrid during the war, you know. And if you'd seen him with the kids at Hogwarts, you'd realise he's been steadily improving his behaviour," she argued passionately.
Ron rolled his eyes, his expression thick with scepticism. "They were just tossing food around," he scoffed. "What's the measure of success here? Flinging your meal hardly counts as a social grace."
Ginny's eyes sparkled with amusement as she playfully ruffled Harry's hair. "Remember when he actually caught one and just started eating it?" she chuckled. "Now that was a sight to behold."
Ron grinned. "I guess that does sound pretty ridiculous," he conceded. His eyes then lit up with a new thought. "But can you imagine Grawp trying to teach Care of Magical Creatures? He'd barely squeeze into the front of the classroom!"
Harry let out a hearty chuckle as he vividly pictured the absurd scene. "Grawp trying to teach a class while wielding a mere stick of chalk—now that would undoubtedly be the strangest lesson we've ever witnessed!"
Hermione chuckled and shook her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "My goodness, we certainly have wild imaginations, don't we? But let's be practical—Grawp as a teacher is simply not realistic."
Ron arched an eyebrow at Hermione, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh, come now, Hermione. Where has your sense of adventure gone? Anything is possible in the wizarding world. Who's to say Grawp couldn't surprise us all and turn out to be a brilliant teacher?"
Harry's lips curled into a smirk as he considered Ron's words. "I suppose you're right, Ron. We've certainly seen our fair share of unexpected things over the years. But Grawp as a teacher? Now that would be an experience."
"Something tells me it won't be that simple," Hermione interjected, her brow knitted with concern. "Will Hagrid even want to return to teaching after everything he's been through?"
"We can ask him when we visit,"Ron's suggestion buzzed with hopeful energy. "It's worth a shot, isn't it?"
"Should we go see him today?" Hermione asked; her voice was laced with determination. "We need those ingredients, and Hagrid could really help us. But it might be a challenge."
"What if Hagrid doesn't want to leave Grawp?" Ron said cautiously, his tone reflecting concern.Last time he was too stressed to enjoy himself."
Harry furrowed his brow, considering the possibility. "But we can help with Grawp, can't we?"
"I mean, we do have experience with that," Hermione responded thoughtfully.
"Let's not worry about it until we talk to Hagrid," Hermione replied, hervoice holding a tone of finality. "So, are we all in agreement that we'll visit Hagrid today?"
Ron eagerly nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't go ahead with this plan," he said, his words brimming with enthusiasm for the idea.
A hint of relief crossed Hermione's features, as if they had reached a unanimous decision.
Ginny's brow furrowed with concern as she turned to Harry, her eyes searching his face. "Harry," she asked gently, "please don't take this the wrong way, but are you feeling well enough to travel? I'm just a bit worried about your health."
Harry took a steadying breath, pushing down the swirl of uncertainties within him. "I think I can manage it," he replied. "Besides, I miss Hagrid, and I think getting out of the house for a bit would do me good."
Ginny's hesitation was evident as she chewed her lip anxiously. Hermione seemed poised to speak, but her expression grew heavy with an unspoken worry.
"Maybe it's best I sit this one out," Ginny finally said, her voice soft yet tense. "You've been unwell, Harry. Shouldn't you give it more time to heal?"
Harry's frustration seeped into his response. "I'm fine! I feel good today. Please, I want to see Hagrid." His insistence carried an edge, betraying his eagerness to press on despite his recent illness.
"I understand where you're coming from," Ron said, his voice steady but tinged with empathy. "Hermione does have a valid point about the dangers involved in this situation. If something were to happen to you, I wouldn't feel comfortable having to physically support you."
Harry's expression soured, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "There's no way I'm going to pass out again," he declared, forcing determination into his voice. "I'm perfectly fine, as I mentioned before. Besides, I need to do this."
Ron let out a sceptical snort. He didn't say anything more, but the doubtful look on his face spoke volumes—he clearly didn't believe Harry.
Ginny gazed at Harry, her eyes soft and searching. "Harry," she said gently, "that burning sensation seemed to come and go without warning. It's happened before at strange times, so I figured it out. You can't hide something like that from me." She paused, her expression understanding. "I know you didn't want anyone to know."
Harry felt a twinge of unease stir within him. "But I haven't seen—" he began.
"Hagrid will understand, Harry," Hermione interjected softly, her brown eyes boring into Harry with tenderness. "He always does."
"Yeah, he'll probably come bursting in here when he finds out you're sick," Ron added, trying to lighten the sombre mood,but his words were heavy with foreboding.
Harry's anger simmered as he glared at his friends, his eyes narrowed with resentment. They remained oblivious to his inner turmoil, but he detested feeling so exposed and vulnerable. The looming possibility of falling ill without warning only heightened his frustration. Protectively, he folded his arms. "Fine!" he snapped, his tone sharp and laced with irritation. "I'll stay in bed if it will ease your mind."
"I won't be coming along," Ginny declared; her voice was firm and unwavering.
Harry glanced at her, his brow furrowed in surprise, despite knowing what her response would be.
"I knew that's what you'd say," Hermione admitted, a hint of sympathy in her expression.
Ron's stern voice carried a serious warning as he fixed Harry and Ginny with a terrifying, disapproving glare. "While we're gone, I expect you two to behave yourselves and keep your relationship strictly platonic," he demanded sternly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny's voice dripped with angry disbelief. "You won't even be here—how could you possibly know what happens between us?" she demanded.
Hermione's voice cut through the tense silence before Ron could respond. "Now we need to talk about your father," she said, her tone brooking no argument.
Ron's face twisted in anger. "And what about him?" he demanded, his words laced with frustration and a hint of defensiveness. He was still reeling from his earlier confrontation with Ginny.
"We'll wait for you to come back before speaking with him," Ginny replied, her tone softer now but still resolute. A subtle note of concern underscored her words.
Hermione nodded in agreement, her expression grave.
Harry's brow furrowed with concern as he leaned in, his voice low and serious. "Be very careful what you tell your father. If he finds out you plan to drink that potion, his reaction could be much worse than mine."
The others felt the gravity of Harry's warning settle over them, their stomachs twisting with unease.
"We'll tell him some details, but not all," Hermione asserted with growing resolve.
"Oh, you mean to leave out the part where you ingest the potion and risk your life?" Harry shot back, his face contorted in disapproval. "I can't believe you would even consider keeping something like that from him."
"Yes, that's right," she replied softly, trying to tread lightly around the building tension. "I just don't want to worry him unnecessarily."
"Great," Harry responded, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I can hardly wait to witness the expression on his face when he inevitably discovers the truth. He's going to be devastated."
"What's gotten into you?" Ron asked sternly.
Harry forced a casual shrug, but his heart pounded with a mix of frustration and longing. "Honesty is always the best policy, in my opinion."
Ginny turned to Ron and Hermione. "Don't worry about Harry. He's just upset that he can't visit Hagrid."
Harry shot Ginny a frustrated glare. "I told you, I'm fine."
"You'll see Hagrid again soon, Harry," Hermione said reassuringly, but uncertainty still flickered in Harry's chest, refusing to fade. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Finally, Hermione rose from her seat, meticulously smoothing down her clothes. "Let's get going, Ron," she said, her tone signalling that the discussion was over.
As the door creaked shut behind them, Harry and Ginny were left alone. Harry released a heavy sigh and turned to face Ginny, whose worried expression mirrored his own.
"Are you really okay?" she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry's throat tightened, the words he longed to say refusing to come out. "I... I don't know," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper as the walls of vulnerability crumbled around him. He felt like an iron shackle constricting his heart. This time, he was anything but brave.
"Harry, you don't have to hide from me. If something's troubling you, just tell me."
Harry's mouth opened, but the words caught in his throat, tangled in a web of jumbled thoughts and rising panic. He couldn't bear for Ginny to see the fear etching his features. "I'll be fine, really," he said, forcing a feeble smile.
Ginny's brow furrowed with worry, but her expression softened. "Just promise you'll tell me if it gets worse," she said, her voice laced with concern.
Harry nodded slowly, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat.
As the dying embers cast a flickering glow behind them, Ron and Hermione stepped into Horace Slughorn's expansive quarters. The pungent aroma of brewed potions still clung to the air, permeating the room. Slughorn's distinct personal style was evident throughout—decorative vials adorning the shelves, portraits of former students lining the walls, and the familiar pair of plush sofas dominating the space.
"Where do you believe he is?" Ron asked, hisvoice echoing faintly in the stillness as he glanced around.
"Maybe he's in the potion storeroom," Hermione suggested, her eyes glinting with a blend of curiosity and concern. "He's probably brewing potions in his lab. Remember when your mom asked him for more healing potion for Harry? He's likely working on those."
Reluctantly, they departed the cosy confines of Professor Slughorn's chambers and re-entered the castle's eerie, silent corridors. The once-vibrant memories of laughter, activity, and the clatter of dining in the Great Hall now felt like fleeting phantoms as they moved through the still, lifeless hallways.
"Can you believe all of this?" Ron said, glancing around as if expecting the spirits of celebrations past to materialise. "It's quite weird to see the castle devoid of its usual bustling atmosphere. But I'm glad they were able to repair the majority of the damage from the war. I just wish it didn't feel so strange."
Hermione's eyes danced with a hint of amusement, despite the sombre surroundings. "Of course they fixed it," she scoffed gently. "It would have been impossible to study with the classrooms littered with rubble."
As they emerged from the grand, imposing castle, their eyes were drawn to Hagrid's modest, unassuming hut nestled in the distance.
Approaching the weathered, wooden door, they gently rapped their knuckles, the familiar sound mingling with the enthusiastic barking of Fang from within.
Hagrid's towering figure filled the doorway, but Hermione felt an immediate sense of comfort as he enveloped them in a warm, bear-like embrace. His massive arms surrounded them with a surprising gentleness that belied his immense strength.
"Come inside, come in!" Hagrid beckoned, his thick, shaggy hair glinting in the soft light.
"Hello, Hagrid!" Hermione greeted him warmly, flashing a bright, cheerful smile.
"Fang! No, not me!" Ron exclaimed, chuckling as he tried to fend off the enthusiastic dog. Fang seemed to sense Ron's return and was eager for a game of affection, playfully pushing against Ron and threatening to drench him in slobber. Ron laughed as he pushed the dog away.
Settling into Hagrid's oversized armchairs, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the little details that captured the essence of his world—a tattered book on magical creatures, a half-empty pot of sticky treacle fudge, and a vibrant green plant curling brightly on the windowsill. These small touches reminded her of Hagrid's deep appreciation for the beauty that surrounded him, his love blossoming in the most unexpected places.
Hagrid set down steaming mugs of tea on the rickety table, the rich aroma enveloping them. But as the big man's smile turned momentarily serious, a clenching feeling formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She exchanged a pensive glance with Ron, sensing his equally sombre mood.
"Wha' are yeh two doin' 'ere?" Hagrid asked; hiseyes gleamed with a mixture of eagerness and curiosity.Hermione could see the flicker of hope in his gaze, a hope that Harry would be with them.
"Thanks, Hagrid," Ron said, taking a sip of his tea. His voice was warm and genuine. "We came to see how you're doing."
Hermione's words, however, began to unravel slightly as she tried to sound casual. "Actually, we were thinking about you, but we thought it would be better if we talked about Harry, too." There was a hint of apprehension in her tone, betraying her attempt at nonchalance.
The moment Hagrid heard the name "Harry" pass Hermione's lips, his expression shifted dramatically. "Where is he?" His voice was thick with anxiousness. "He's comin', isn't he?" He urgently asked.
Hermione hesitated, her heart racing as the truth loomed before them. "Uh, no, Hagrid. He's currently resting," she said, her tone laced with trepidation.
Hagrid's brow furrowed, his dark eyes scanning them desperately for answers. A gnawing sense of dread filled the room, palpable and heavy.
Ron cleared his throat, the usual humour in his demeanour dissipating. "He's really sick," he said, his words hanging thickly in the charged atmosphere.
At this, Hagrid's face blanched, all colour draining from it. "Sick?" he uttered, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with growing alarm.
Hermione felt a surge of urgency coursing through her. "Hagrid, we need your help," she said, her voice strained with worry. "It's a serious matter."
Hagrid's brow furrowed with concern as he leaned closer. "I've known Harry fer years, an' I knew most o' the injuries he sustained, but the way yeh put it, it mus' be somethin' real bad... What happened ter him?"
Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, her insides swirling with apprehension. "I'm afraid it's very bad, Hagrid," she said softly. "His soul is damaged."
Hagrid's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Damaged soul? What d'yeh mean?" he asked, his voice heavy with worry.
Hermione's voice was solemn as she spoke, her gaze searching Hagrid's face for any sign of comprehension. "Do you remember that fateful night when Voldemort attacked the Potters and killed Harry's parents, leaving him an orphan as a baby?"
Hagrid nodded gravely, the weight of that tragic event etched into his weathered features.
Hermione took a steadying breath, her own heart racing with the gravity of what she was about to reveal. "Well, Hagrid, on that dreadful evening when You-Know-Who's curse rebounded, a fragment of his soul was inadvertently transferred to Harry, turning him into an unintended Horcrux without his knowledge or consent."
The sombre word hung heavy in the air, weighing down on Hagrid's furrowed brow. Thick lines of confusion etched across his forehead as he grappled with the horrifying implications of Hermione's revelation.
"When you thought Harry had died in the Forbidden Forest during the battle," Hermione continued, her voice remaining steady. "It was actually Voldemort destroying the piece of his soul that resided within Harry... That's why Harry survived. But—"
Hagrid let out a low, anguished groan, his deep-set eyes darkening with the crushing realisation of the unfathomable burden now resting on Harry's shoulders.
Encouraged by Hagrid's grave expression, Hermione spoke with urgency the truth about Horcruxes.
"And now Harry is suffering... he's dying, Hagrid," Ron added solemnly.
Hagrid's heart plummeted as the devastating news rendered him utterly speechless. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat before finally forcing out a shaky, anguished reply. "No, this can't be true. This has ter be the most horrific thing I've ever heard in my life—and I've heard more than my fair share of terrible things. This must be causin' him unimaginable, unbearable pain."
"Sometimes he's alright," Ron confessed, his voice wavering. "But latelyhe's been in an awful state. He's forgetting things and coughing up blood—it's heartbreaking to witness his suffering. He's deteriorating so rapidly, you can't even imagine."
"Yes, we were searching for a way to mend his damaged soul," Hermione interjected, her tone clipped as she refused to dwell on their overwhelming despair.
"Did yeh find anythin'?" Hagrid asked, hiseyes gleaming with hopeful anticipation.
"We did," Hermione'sresponse was tinged with cautious optimism. "Professor Slughorn helped us locate a book with instructions for brewing a tricky potion. But we need to find the ingredients, and we need your help, Hagrid."
Hagrid's expression hardened with resolve. "What d'yeh need from me?" he asked, ready to lend his assistance.
"We need tail hair from a Thestral," Hermione said; hervoice was calm, but the gravity of their task weighed heavily upon her. "But it has to be a wild Thestral, Hagrid."
Hagrid's brows knitted together in perplexity. "Wild? It's quite unusual ter see 'em 'round here," he replied, his words tinged with confusion.
"Yes, do you know where we could find one?" Hermione pressed.
Hagrid fell silent, his brow furrowing in deep contemplation. Moments of pregnant pause followed before he finally broke the silence, a spark of understanding suddenly igniting in his eyes. "I think I know jus' the place. They're very rare, an' yeh have ter be an experienced wizard before yeh try ter handle 'em," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his gruff voice.
"You'd be able to, wouldn't you?" Ron asked; hecould barely contain his eagerness.
Hagrid puffed out his chest proudly. "Yeah, I reckon I could do it." But then his expression darkened with a shadow of concern. "Only it'll be a bit of a challenge, I must admit." He paused, brow furrowed. "When d'yeh need it?"
"As soon as possible," Hermione urged, her voice carrying a desperate edge.
Hagrid's expression hardened with determination as he nodded. "I would want ter come an' see Harry for meself when I have the tail hair. I wouldn't feel right not to."
A small smile broke through Hermione's worried features. "He'd like that, Hagrid. He's been so upset because he couldn't come and talk to you."
Hagrid's sadness lifted slightly, a hint of hope tempering his words. "Tell him I'm comin' soon, will yeh? I reckon he'd want ter know that."
Ron and Hermione silently affirmed their agreement with curt nods. Eager to linger and savour the moment, they engaged Hagrid in animated conversation for several more hours. They leaned in closer as Hagrid animatedly recounted his summer escapades. He had travelled far and wide, seeking out magical creatures to bring back to Hogwarts, and his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he described meeting a family of niffler cubs.
"Can yeh believe it?" he exclaimed, his excitement almost tangible. "They're so mischievous! I had ter chase one fer an hour before I could even get a decent look at it!"
Hermione giggled, her earlier resolve to avoid the responsibilities of the upcoming school year slipping momentarily as she was swept up in Hagrid's stories. But the atmosphere shifted when Hagrid, beaming, shared the news that he was finally returning to teach Care of Magical Creatures. His joy was evident, but it quickly dimmed as Hermione, with a slight hesitance, disclosed her decision not to enrol in his class for her final year at Hogwarts.
"Oh, Hermione," Hagrid sighed, his voice thick with disappointment. "You won't be in my class? But you're a natural, y'know? Yeh could teach it yourself!" His eyes, usually so bright and cheerful, clouded momentarily as he looked at her, longing for her presence.
"I know, Hagrid, but I want to focus on my studies for my N.E.W.T.s," Hermione replied, a mixture of guilt and determination in her voice. She could sense Ron's uneasy shifting beside her, aware that Hagrid's disappointment weighed heavily upon them.
"Hagrid, you should tell us about Grawp!" Ron quickly chimed in an effort to lighten the mood. "We've not heard from him in ages!" The mention of Hagrid's half-brother brought a small smile back to Hagrid's face.
"Ah, Grawp!" Hagrid said, his tone shifting to one of fondness. "He's been doing quite well, actually. Prefers the cosy confines of a cave near Hogsmeade now. Claims it brings him greater joy than the forest does." Hagrid's pride for Grawp was evident as he spoke of the towering giant and his newfound happiness.
Relieved to hear this, Ron and Hermione quietly exhaled, grateful they wouldn't be tasked with caring for Grawp while Hagrid was away searching for elusive Thestrals. As much as they adored Hagrid and his peculiar family, the thought of looking after Grawp filled them with trepidation.
"Perhaps we should pay him a visit soon, then?" Hermione suggested, eager to change the subject before Hagrid could dwell on their plans for Grawp. "I'm sure he'd love the company."
Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, he would! I'll let him know you're coming! You're always welcome, y'know?"
Ron and Hermione said their farewells to Hagrid, their hearts heavy with the weight of the coming challenges. With a shared glance of determination, they made their way to Professor Slughorn's office, their footsteps quickening with anticipation.
Reaching the door, they rapped lightly, their knuckles barely grazing the worn wood, wondering if the professor had returned from his errand. To their utter astonishment, the door swung open, and there stood Professor Slughorn himself, his round face breaking into a delighted smile.
"Why, if it isn't Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley!" he exclaimed, his voice warm and welcoming. "What a delightful surprise! Please, do come inside."
They stepped into the cosy room, immediately enveloped by a warm, inviting ambiance. Plush leather seats beckoned, while soft lighting cast a gentle glow on either side. Despite the alluring setup, they opted not to sit.
"What brings you both to Hogwarts?" Professor Slughorn enquired, his tone laced with curiosity.
Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief, knowing glance before she responded. "We went to Hagrid to retrieve an ingredient from the Anima book."
"Ah, I see you've deciphered the ingredients. Excellent!" he remarked, his voice brimming with impressed admiration for her intelligence. "I take it Hagrid will be procuring it?"
"Yes," she answered, her tone concise.
Professor Slughorn beamed with satisfaction. "Very good," he remarked appreciatively. Carefully cradling a cluster of potion vials against his chest, he made his way to a nearby table. "I was just on my way to the Burrow to drop off these potions for Mr. Potter. How is he holding up?"
"He's doing well since we left, considering everything he's been through," Hermione answered with a nod.
Professor Slughorn nodded thoughtfully in response. "I'm glad to hear that. Since you're here, would you mind taking the potions when you get back?" he asked hopefully.
"No problem," Ron replied casually.
Professor Slughorn's face lit up with enthusiasm as he gestured for them to accompany him into the fireplace to Floo back. "Wonderful!" he expressed. "Please convey my apologies to your mother for the delay in my return. I hope she didn't need any potions during my absence."
Ron nodded in acknowledgement. He and Hermione then stepped confidently into the roaring flames, vanishing swiftly from view.
Ginny bustled about the familiar Burrow kitchen, assisting her mother in the frenzied preparation of lunch. Mr. Weasley sat at the table, his brow furrowed as he pored over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Suddenly, a loud whoosh of emerald flames erupted in the fireplace, and Ron and Hermione tumbled into the kitchen.
"Oh, there you are," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her relief evident. Ginny must have already updated her on the pair's whereabouts.
With a look of focused concentration, Ron gently set down the delicate stack of potion vials on the worn wooden table. "Slughorn asked me to bring these by," he mentioned, his eyes scanning the room. "Do you happen to know where Harry's gotten off to?"
Ginny glanced up from the stove, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Oh, he's just upstairs taking a little rest before lunch," she replied in a calm, unhurried tone.
Hermione looked up from her knitting, her brow furrowed slightly in concern. "Here, let me take care of putting those vials away for you, Mrs. Weasley," she offered.
Mrs. Weasley beamed warmly at her. "Why, thank you, dear," she said gratefully.
Dread weighing heavily with each laborious step, Ron climbed the stairs. He trusted that Harry could sleep through anything but also knew too well the mercurial nature of his friend's condition. If there were any signs of trouble, Ron felt compelled as a loyal friend to investigate. The past few weeks had been a gruelling ordeal for Harry—more so than most realised—and an uneasy feeling gnawed at Ron that something was gravely amiss.
As he ascended the stairs, the retching sounds from the bathroom filled him with dread, confirming his worst fears. Anxiety knotting his stomach, Ron knocked on the door repeatedly. "Harry?" He called out. "You alright in there?" Ominous silence hung thick in the air, punctuated only by the horrifying noises. Heart racing, Ron decided he couldn't wait any longer. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open, stepping into a scene that sent sheer panic coursing through him.
A sickly pallor had drained the colour from Harry's face as he hunched miserably over the toilet, gasping for breath. Ron's heart plummeted with dread at the sight. "Harry!" he cried out in alarm.
Though visibly unwell, Harry summoned a weak, wavering smile that failed to reach his pained eyes. "I'm fine, Ron," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ron's gaze darted to the toilet bowl, where swirls of crimson blood vanished with the deafening flush. The unsettling sight ignited a surge of frustration within him. "Bloody hell, Harry, you're clearly unwell!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with a blend of anger and concern.
"Please, don't tell your mom," Harry pleaded, rising unsteadily to his feet, the strain etched across his features. "It's nothing serious. I only threw up, but I assure you, I'm perfectly fine now."
"Throwing up blood isn't 'perfectly fine!'" Ron insisted, his voice rising with anxiety. "You need medical attention!" He ran a hand through his hair, feeling helpless.
"I know, but it won't help," Harry's admission reluctantly came, his eyes downcast. Ron realised then that it was fear talking, old habits kicking in—slivers of a past where medical help had arrived too late or only made things worse.
"Yes, it will help, at least temporarily!" Ron argued, resolve hardening within him. He sighed heavily, frustration bubbling in his chest. "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn. Do you not realise that you are in need of help?"
Harry's eyes met Ron's, a flicker of vulnerability betraying the usual strength in his gaze. "I'll take a potion next time I'm not feeling well," he replied softly, but his words did little to ease the concern etched on Ron's face.
As they sat down for lunch, Ron's determination overshadowed the worry in his chest. "If I see even the slightest hint of pain from you, I'm making you take a potion—whether you want to or not!" he declared firmly.
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "Ron, I already promised I'd take a potion if I'm in pain," he whispered. "You don't have to keep threatening to force it on me."
"How was your nap, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly when she sat down next to him.
Harry's eyes darted nervously to Ron's, but he quickly averted his gaze, unwilling to meet the smouldering look on his best friend's face. "It was good," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a faint, unconvincing smile that did little to mask the unease he felt about deceiving his friends once more.
Hermione's features momentarily brightened with a warm smile, but it soon faltered as she observed the obvious strain and discomfort permeating the air around Harry and Ron.
The mouthwatering scents of Mrs. Weasley's home-cooked feast wafted through the air as the group gathered excitedly around the dining table. Platters overflowed with savoury shepherd's pies, juicy roasted chicken accompanied by a medley of fresh vegetables, and a steaming pot of hearty pea soup. For a moment, even Ron's annoyance towards Harry was forgotten as he eyed the delectable spread, eager to indulge.
Feeling uneasy, Harry cautiously dished out a small serving of shepherd's pie, carefully avoiding eye contact with Ron.
"Hagrid said he'll come visit you soon, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.
With a heavy heart, Harry plastered on a pained smile, desperately trying to conceal his inner turmoil. Mechanically, he twirled his fork through the untouched food on his plate, his gaze distant and unfocused. Though his stomach growled with hunger, the mere thought of eating filled him with revulsion. Forcing himself through the motions, he would occasionally lift the fork to his lips in a feeble attempt to feign interest in his meal.
"Did you two visit Hogwarts earlier?" Mr. Weasley asked, his curious eyes darting between Ron and Hermione, eager for their response.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Hermione replied, attempting a smile. "I'm sorry for not telling you about our plans. We had to leave immediately due to urgent circumstances."
From the stove, Mrs. Weasley turned to face them, her spatula pausing midair. "Why's that?" She asked, herworry replacing her initial cheerful demeanour.
Hermione's gaze drifted towards Harry, whose usual self-assured demeanour had dimmed. He averted his eyes, visibly uneasy about the subject at hand. Taking a steadying breath, Hermione steeled herself to push past her own trepidation. "We've uncovered a solution in Professor Slughorn's book that could heal Harry's damaged soul," she declared, her voice brimming with eager anticipation.
"Oh, wonderful news!" Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out with enthusiasm.
"What exactly does the book instruct you to do?" Mr. Weasley enquired, his brow furrowing with keen interest.
Hermione hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the delicate pattern of the tablecloth. "The list contains various ingredients that are required for a task," she explained carefully, her eyes flickering between Ron's pale complexion and Ginny's worried expression. "That's why we made a trip to see Hagrid earlier today."
Mrs. Weasley paused, dishing out a generous helping of the pie onto each plate. "What stuff are those?" she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.
"We need a Thestral's tail hair—" Hermione began, her voice tinged with apprehension.
Mr. Weasley's brows shot up in surprise, interrupting her. "That ingredient seems quite unusual," he noted, his forehead creased with a frown. "Is it listed in the book? And Hagrid knows where to find it?"
"He does," Hermione confirmed, her palms growing clammy.
"What else do you need to get?" Mr. Weasley pressed, histone turned steely with concern as he took a sip of water.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged anxious glances. Hermione felt the weight of their silent communication pressing upon her. "Uhm, the next one comes from you, Mr. Weasley," she finally said softly.
Mr. Weasley's head snapped up, his expression revealing a mix of astonishment and confusion. "Me?" he asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "What do you need help with?"
Hermione opened her mouth, the words catching in her throat as she noticed the growing worry etched across her friends' faces."Are you familiar with the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Weasley?" She asked in a hushed, desperate tone.
"The Veil?" Mr. Weasley echoed, his face suddenly turned grim.Beside him, Mrs. Weasley paused from her serving, watching the exchange intently.
Hermione nodded, anxiety pooling at the base of her stomach and choking her words. A heavy silence lingered for a heartbeat.
"Yes, I'm aware of it," Mr. Weasley replied quietly, caution evident in his tone. "What do you need there?"
"The archway is built in stone," Hermione explained, her heart racing. "We were wondering if you could get a piece of that stone?"
Mr. Weasley's voice carried a mix of curiosity and incredulity. "Is this information also referenced in the book you mentioned?"
Hermione gave a small nod. "Yes, it is."
"Obtaining a piece would require arrangements," Mr. Weasley replied, his brow furrowing deeper. "As you know, it's incredibly difficult to gain access to the Department of Mysteries without being invited. I can't simply sneak in without the minister's permission. The Unspeakables would never allow it, especially not for someone like me."
"Do you think the minister would grant you permission, Dad?" Ginny blurted out, hervoice trembling with a glimmer of hope.
Mr. Weasley shifted his gaze towards Harry, who was intently studying his plate. "Kingsley Shacklebolt was a proud member of the Order of the Phoenix before becoming Minister for Magic," he said with a thoughtful expression. "I'm confident he'd be eager to assist Harry in any way he can. Is there anything else you need before I contact the minister?"
Hermione felt a sense of relief wash over her, though it was tempered by the lingering anxiety in the pit of her stomach. "No, that should be all," she replied. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Weasley."
The air grew heavy as they resumed eating, but Mr. Weasley's concerned gaze remained fixed on Hermione. "What do you intend to do with the stone? How does it help Harry?" Worry clouded his eyes, pleading for more than just a technical response.
Hermione's forehead glistened with sweat as she felt the weight of everyone's expectant stares. Panic rose within her as she spoke, her voice quivering. "We make a potion from it."
Mr. Weasley's concern was evident. "I hope the potion tastes good before you drink it, Harry. Tail hair and stone don't sound particularly appetising to me."
The forced laughter around the table did little to ease the tension. Hermione's smile faltered as she tasted the bittersweet mix of fear and hope, while Harry managed only the faintest of smiles.
After lunch, Harry sank into the well-worn armchair in the living room, the cool fabric offering little comfort against his weary body. The weight of the conversation still lingered heavily in the air. It had begun with a spark of hope, driven by Hermione's unwavering faith in the book, but now it felt like a trap laced with responsibility he wasn't ready to shoulder.
Yet, this help felt more like a burden than a saving grace. How could he accept their support when he felt so fundamentally broken? How could he allow them to pour their energy into mending a soul he believed was beyond repair?
As they spoke, Harry watched Hermione navigate her worries with the finesse of a seasoned auror. Her intelligence shone through her carefully chosen words, and he felt a bittersweet gratitude for her composure in the face of his inner turmoil.
Hermione's comforting presence suddenly filled the space beside him, a welcome contrast to the heavy fog of fatigue weighing him down. She always seemed to arrive just when he needed her most.
Harry raised a teasing eyebrow, his words laced with a playful tone that cut through the silence between them. "You really know how to charm people with your words, Hermione. Your ability to articulate thoughts is truly commendable."
Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, the embarrassment softening the edges of her seriousness. "Oh, shut up, Harry!" she shot back, an underlying sarcasm in her voice that hinted at a touch of gratitude beneath. "You don't know how nervous I was. I was worried about making a mistake. And thanks for not helping, by the way."
"Most certainly welcome," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his face.
Hermione playfully nudged his arm, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. "You really should lend a hand sometime," she teased. "I have a feeling you wouldn't last more than a few seconds without my assistance."
He replied dramatically, rubbing his arm and feigning injury. "That's exactly why I leave the hard work to you. We both know I wouldn't last long at all." He flashed her a sheepish grin. "I'm much better suited for the less strenuous tasks."
Hermione rolled her eyes, a fond smile playing on her lips.
Harry stole a glance at Hermione, his features etched with unease. "Hermione, does the book say mending a soul requires three people? Or can it be done alone?" The weight of his question pressing down on his heart.
Hermione's brow creased with deep contemplation as she carefully considered his question. "Truthfully, I'm not certain," she replied hesitantly, her fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "We still haven't fully reviewed the instructions. Ron, Ginny, and I have simply decided to assist, no matter who tries it." Her eyes briefly fell to her lap before lifting to meet his gaze once more. "Are you upset that we've made this choice?"
"No," he murmured solemnly. Despite his gratitude, a wave of conflicted emotions surged through him. "I appreciate everything you've done more than you know, but I'm overwhelmed by your willingness to risk your lives to help me heal."
As he spoke, his composure crumbled. "Ever since my parents died, I've felt like I was living on borrowed time. After the war, I thought I'd finally be free, only to be dragged through another kind of suffering. I'm unsure what fate has in store for me, Hermione, but I'm exhausted from fighting against a destiny that was never meant to be mine. I just want it to end."
Hermione's gaze was steady yet compassionate as she absorbed his words. "Harry, I know you feel trapped and restless, like life is mocking you while you struggle. I see that frustration in you every day." Her voice quivered slightly with emotion. "But you were given this difficult road because you have the inner resolve to get through it. Even in your darkest moments, believe that there is a purpose. Hold on to hope, Harry. We'll never give up on you."
Harry felt a swell of emotion catch in his throat as he watched Hermione hesitate for a moment before continuing, "And—"
"And what?" he pressed, a glimmer of intrigue breaking through his melancholy.
"I still want to see you and Ginny marry and have children," she said, her cheeks flushing with colour. "Don't you want to have a family?"
The question hung in the air, and Harry felt his heart racing, a mix of confusion and dread stirring within him. "Why bring this up now?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Because you don't want to miss that chance," Hermione urged gently, her expressive eyes searching his face. "You deserve happiness."
The deep-rooted conflict within Harry wrestled with her words. "I know," he finally whispered, a hint of sincerity laced with weariness. "Thanks, Hermione."
He wanted to believe her, to imagine a future filled with the family and joy she described, but the weight of his past still hung heavy on his heart.
With a small nod, Hermione stood up, her hand brushing against his as she prepared to depart. "I'll leave you to rest. I believe I interrupted you earlier."
He almost reached out, a flicker of desperation igniting within him. "No, stay," he said quickly, but she offered a reassuring smile and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before making her way upstairs.
As Hermione's footsteps faded into silence, Harry sank deeper into the familiar comfort of the armchair. Torn between despair and hope, he felt his heart beating steadily—a reminder that he was still alive, despite the turmoil. He wasn't sure how to mend himself, but the fierce belief of his friends gave him a glimmer of hope to cling to.