Hermione's brow furrowed with scepticism as she posed the question to Harry. "Is there really a cave in Ireland?" she asked, the moment he relayed what he and Malfoy had discussed.
Though Malfoy was notorious for his deception, Harry couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that this time, he might be telling the truth—a notion he found himself grappling with, caught between old grievances and the possibility of forgiveness.
Across the room, Ron sat perched at the edge of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrow raised dubiously. "Do you think he's actually being honest, mate?" He asked, the hint of a scoff in his voice. "He's not exactly known for his truthfulness."
Fatigue tugged at Harry's eyes as his thoughts whirled. "I believe him," he said firmly. "He had an obligation to fulfil. Why else would he come if he meant to deceive us?" The fleeting recollection of Draco's anxious, sincere demeanour stirred uncertainty within him, but experience had taught Harry that outward appearances often masked hidden motives.
"Even if that's true, they're still dark wizards. Deception comes as naturally to them as breathing." Ron shot back, his brow furrowing with distrust.
Harry's expression softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "But shouldn't we at least give someone a chance? After all, you remember what happened at Malfoy Manor—he helped us then."
Hermione slowly nodded and crossed her arms. "Your father mentioned that the Malfoys were seeking exoneration and to restore their reputation by offering to assist the ministry," she said.
Ron shook his head solemnly. "I just can't bring myself to trust them, even if they claim they've changed," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "They need to feel the full burden of what they've done—the same way we've had to carry the weight of their actions for all these years. I want them to truly understand the consequences, to know what it feels like." His eyes narrowed as he spoke, a hint of bitterness underlying his words.
Harry's shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh escaped his lips. The Malfoys' misdeeds over the years weighed heavily on his mind, yet he couldn't help but ponder the possibility of their redemption. "I owe Narcissa a debt after what she did to save me," he said quietly, his voice laced with a complex mix of emotions. "It's a complicated situation, but I believe everyone deserves a chance to make amends."
"But Harry," Hermione gently interjected, "the consequences of their actions are important. We can't simply overlook their past transgressions because of one moment of compassion."
"Narcissa's overwhelming dread for her son's wellbeing compelled her to deceive Voldemort by falsely claiming that I had died," Harry recounted. "Her loyalty to Voldemort was not sincere but rather rooted in a fierce maternal instinct to shield her loved ones, no matter the personal cost. Isn't that the most fundamental human longing—to safeguard those we hold dear above all else?
Ron scoffed in scepticism. "They should consider themselves lucky that you're shielding them from a stint in Azkaban," he remarked dryly. "Without Narcissa's intervention, one can only imagine the destitution Malfoy would have faced if You-Know-Who had killed his parents. The rejection and hostility their family would have endured would have made it even harder for Malfoy to find acceptance in a society that now abhors them. It's a harrowing thought to contemplate being left penniless and alone in such a hostile environment."
"Kingsley was only threatening to seize their wealth if they lied," Hermione sharply reminded Ron. "I don't believe he would actually leave the Malfoys destitute, even if it came to that. That would be far too cruel a punishment. Draco would likely find a way to recover, one way or another."
"I find it hard to imagine Minister Kingsley being so heartless," Ginny stated, her voice tinged with disbelief. "I know him well, and he's never been the type for cruel decisions. He's always been fair and just in his actions."
Rage boiling over, Ron slammed his fist against the wall with a resounding crack. "The Malfoys are cruel, heartless individuals," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "And now they're finally facing the harsh, unforgiving consequences of their vile actions. I'll never forget how they mercilessly taunted our family for being poor. Well, I want to see them struggle and be labelled as the destitute, pitiful wretches they are. I want to see them suffer, just as we did."
Hermione's eyes shone with unbridled curiosity. "How do you intend to assist the Malfoy family, Harry?" she enquired eagerly.
Ron expressed his scepticism through a dismissive shake of his head. "I never imagined you'd be offering help to the Malfoys," he remarked, "given how intensely you've despised them for all the dreadful things they've done to you."
"I hold no animosity towards the Malfoys," Harry said quietly, the weight of their shared history evident in his tone. "Our past may be fraught, but I believe the time has come to move forward." Determination flickered in his eyes. "I plan to speak with Kingsley and share what I know. From there, we can chart the path ahead."
Ginny regarded him, a trace of uncertainty in her expression. "Do you think Kingsley will be receptive to what you have to say?"
"Appealing to Kingsley's sense of reason seems like my best chance, even though I dread the prospect of going to the ministry. I have unwavering faith in Kingsley's fairness, and I'm hopeful that a thorough account of the situation will persuade him to see things my way. Still, I'm anxious to resolve this matter discreetly if I can."
"What if we approach Mr. Weasley?" Hermione chimed in with a thoughtful suggestion. "Perhaps he could convince Kingsley to visit the Burrow instead."
"Yes, but shouldn't we focus on that cave Malfoy mentioned?" Ginny said with a sense of urgency. "It could be something important. If it really exists, we should investigate it ourselves."
Ron dramatically flopped back onto the bed, letting out a heavy groan. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you really think there's something important in that cave, then I'm in. Though it's probably just another one of Malfoy's tall tales."
Hermione's excitement was palpable as she grinned. "We should definitely consult Hagrid as well! He might have some valuable insight about the Thestrals in Ireland."
They all nodded in agreement, their expressions thoughtful.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Harry, his eyelids growing impossibly leaden. He could no longer keep them open, knowing sleep would soon claim him. Realising how late it had grown, they agreed to postpone speaking with Mr. Weasley until the next day, when they would all be well-rested. Concerned by Harry's lack of appetite, they gave him a vial of nutrition potion before leaving. By the time they exited his room, Harry had already drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
As the soft golden glow of morning streamed through the weathered windowpanes, warming the aged wooden floors, Harry found himself squinting against the persistent brightness, struggling to pry open his heavy eyes. He blinked slowly, attempting to shake off the lingering haze that clung to his mind. The familiar room enveloped him in a strange sense of comfort yet also left him feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable.
Panic gripped him as he sat up, disoriented and unsure of his surroundings. "Where am I?" he rasped, his voice rough and strained. Clutching the edge of the bed, he desperately sought to ground himself in reality as a tidal wave of confusion washed over him. The dull ache in his throat only added to the profound sense of bewilderment that coloured this unsettling start to his day.
Gingerly, Harry swung his weary legs over the edge of the bed, steeling himself to stand. But his limbs, trembling like brittle branches, immediately gave way, sending him crashing down. Heart pounding, he barely managed to catch himself against the crate beside the bed, gasping for breath as a profound sense of disorientation washed over him. After a moment, he summoned the courage to survey the room once more. Suddenly, recognition dawned, a wave of relief and familiarity flooding through his chest.
Harry's steps were tentative as he slowly approached the staircase, each movement a painful reminder of his depleted strength. He clung to the walls, his body feeling foreign and unbearably frail. A lump of discomfort rose in his throat, which he struggled to swallow down.
Exhausted, Harry staggered into the kitchen, where he found Mr. Weasley. Summoning a weak smile, Harry tried to muster the last of his strength. But as he shifted his weight, his legs suddenly buckled beneath him. Reacting swiftly, Mr. Weasley caught Harry and lifted him effortlessly, cradling the young man's weary body like a child.
"Just sit down here, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, setting him gently at the table.
A wave of embarrassment washed over Harry, his cheeks burning with heat.
Mrs. Weasley's brow furrowed with maternal worry as she gently cradled Harry's ashen face in her hands. "My dear, you look so pale. Did you rest properly? Are you unwell?" she asked, her voice thick with concern.
Harry's pulse quickened as her touch ignited a warmth that now felt foreign and unsettling. Mere moments earlier, he would have craved that intimate connection, but now a growing sense of unease swept through him, the room spinning and disorienting him. He struggled to recall why he was even there, overwhelmed by this unexpected shift in his emotions.
The hushed murmurs around him drew his attention, and he felt all eyes turn to him—a mix of concern and curiosity in their gazes. Though these faces should have been familiar, they now felt distant and unsettling.
"I'm—" Harry's voice trembled as he began to speak, the words barely audible. A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest, and he instinctively recoiled from her gentle touch.
"Harry, are you okay?" the woman asked, reaching out to touch him once more. He flinched at her, and she paused, her hand hovering uncertainly.
"Harry?"
Startled by the sound of another voice, Harry turned to face the unfamiliar woman sitting beside him. Her bushy hair framed a puzzled expression as she studied him intently. "What's happening, Harry?" she asked, her tone laced with concern. "Is everything alright?"
"Hermione. I... I'm okay," he managed, but his voice trembled with uncertainty. Struggling against the torrent of memories threatening to engulf him, he fought to focus, to find something solid to cling to amidst the chaos swirling in his mind.
Ron's brow furrowed, his lip caught between his teeth. "Are you sure, mate?" The apprehensive look in his friend's eyes only heightened Harry's unease. "You seemed lost for a moment there."
Harry nodded, but the gesture was strained, a futile denial battling within him as the familiar tightness returned to his throat. He took a deep, shuddering breath, grasping at the elusive past that felt insubstantial, like wisps of smoke. "I-I just need a minute. I'll be alright." His voice wavered, betraying the uncertainty he fought to conceal.
He teetered on the edge of panic, fearing his memories were lost forever. His situation had only deteriorated since the previous day. Though he resisted admitting it, his well-being was rapidly declining.
A sleepless night had left him with a splitting headache, bloodshot eyes, and a throat so raw that coughing drew traces of blood. The burning sensation had damaged his skin. Every sudden movement elicited agonising grimaces, and even the gentlest touch was unbearable due to his heightened sensitivity and lingering internal pain.
Harry's friends watched him closely during breakfast, their eyes fixed on his every move. They noticed his careful, delicate approach to eating, troubled by the visible discomfort etched across his face. Harry would wince occasionally as he slowly consumed his meal, his trembling hands causing his utensils to clang against his plate, the room falling silent with each jarring sound.
After each instance of dropped cutlery, Harry would bow his head, visibly struggling to maintain his composure before reluctantly resuming his meal. Despite the evident concern radiating from his friends' worried gazes, Harry seemed to withdraw into himself, avoiding eye contact and relishing his solitude.
Ginny's kind offer to assist evoked a tumultuous blend of humiliation and gratitude within him. "I'm so sorry," he said in a faint, self-conscious murmur, struggling to grip the spoon. The simple task had become an insurmountable challenge, bruising his pride. Yet, the sincerity reflected in Ginny's empathetic smile momentarily eased his distress, providing a glimmer of comfort amidst his frustration.
"It's fine," she said in a gentle, soothing tone. She coaxed him to take small, delicate bites of the familiar, comforting scrambled eggs. Yet despite the warmth of her voice and the familiarity of the meal, his unsettled stomach rebelled, as if the very act of eating had become an insurmountable challenge. Harry's gaze drifted to the vial of nutrition potion Mrs. Weasley had placed beside his plate, a grim reminder of how even the most basic tasks now felt overwhelming.
Beside him, Hermione's voice steered the conversation away, her questions directed at Mr. Weasley in a delicate attempt to distract. Harry strained to listen, grasping at the familiar words, but bewilderment raged within his mind, swirling and consuming his thoughts.
"… isn't that right, Harry?" Mr. Weasley said.
The world spun around Harry, slipping beyond his grasp as he grappled to respond.
"Harry," Hermione called softly, her voice cutting through the haze enveloping him. "Can you hear us?"
It took an agonising eternity before he blinked and finally focused on her face. "Yes?" he replied, his voice quivering with bewilderment.
"Are you feeling alright?" Hermione asked. Her furrowed brow and anxious tone only heightened the growing unease in the pit of his stomach. He felt utterly out of place, like a stranger in his own life.
"Mr. Weasley has asked you a question," she pressed, her eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition.
Harry's confusion only deepened as he met Hermione's worried gaze. "Who's Mr. Weasley?" he asked, the words spilling out clumsily, like stones tumbling into a dark abyss.
Silence descended over the table, thick and ominous. The Weasleys' faces fell into expressions of stunned dismay, their half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Hermione's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Harry, what—?"
"I'm afraid that would be me, Harry," Mr. Weasley interjected, his countenance a mixture of sorrow and composure. "I am Mr. Weasley."
"I'm sorry," Harry's voice quivered, a trace of panic underlying his words. He felt exposed, stripped of the familiar layers that defined his identity. "What was the question again, sir?" he asked.
Ron reacted instantly, his eyebrows rising in surprise. But it wasn't just Ron—the entire group stared at Harry, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief, as if witnessing a heartbreaking trance.
"I was just wondering if you planned to give testimony against the Malfoys," Mr. Weasley said.
Testimony? Against the Malfoys? He knew the name, but logic slipped through his fingers like sand. Caught off guard, he found himself at a loss for words, his throat tightening with unease at being suddenly thrust into the spotlight.
Inhaling deeply, Harry searched for the clarity to articulate his thoughts. Blinking rapidly, he shifted his gaze before finally speaking in a raspy, uncertain voice, "In fact, I wish to speak in support of them."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were utterly taken aback, nearly tumbling out of their seats in sheer shock. Their eyes went wide, mouths agape, as they stared at Harry with utter disbelief.
"Are you serious, Harry?" Mr. Weasley's brows furrowed deeply, his fork frozen mid-air, forgotten. An expression of profound confusion etched across his face. "I must admit, it's incredibly hard for me to believe that you, of all people, would come to the aid of the Malfoys. While Kingsley may consider your words, can you please explain what has spurred this sudden and most unexpected decision? Did Draco perhaps blackmail you into helping them?"
Blistering frustration consumed Harry, setting his emerald eyes ablaze with resolute determination. "No, Mr. Weasley," he retorted firmly, his grip tightening on the table's edge to steady his rising emotions. "Draco did not blackmail me. I feel a deep, inescapable obligation to Narcissa Malfoy, for she once saved me from Voldemort—a debt I can never truly repay."
A hush fell over the table as the Weasleys processed Harry's revelation. Mr. Weasley thoughtfully rubbed his bald head, his disbelief palpable. "Saved you? It's hard for me to believe a Malfoy would do such a selfless thing," he said.
Ron could barely contain his own reaction. "We all get what you're trying to say, Dad," he chimed in.
Mrs Weasley's eyes softened, a flicker of empathy crossing her motherly features. "Oh, Harry, that's quite a story. But you must understand our hesitation," she said, leaning in closer as her nurturing instincts took over."Do tell us what happened, dear."
Harry took a deep, steadying breath, his mind transported back to the harrowing night in the Forbidden Forest. Shadows flickered at the edges of his recollection, the memories swirling and intertwining as he carefully sorted through them. He felt the weight of unspoken expectations and the palpable judgement in the air as he began to recount the events, pausing briefly to take a sip of the cool water before him.
"Afterwards, Draco approached me," Harry continued, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance. "He owes me a favour and suggested where we might find the Thestrals."
Mr. Weasley sat back, arms crossed, visibly wrestling with the weighty implications of Harry's words. "That's a big leap, Harry," he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the uncertainty evident in his tone.
"Oh, that reminds me," Ron interjected eagerly, his eyes bright as he broke the tense silence. "I already sent Hagrid a letter last night, asking if Malfoy was telling the truth or just bluffing. I hope he responds soon."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, a slight hint of relief colouring his voice, grateful for something to occupy Ron's eager, restless mind.
"Mr. Weasley, you said Kingsley was actually planning to come here," Hermione interjected. "May I ask why?"
Mr. Weasley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Ah," he replied, "Kingsley wants to personally give Harry the piece of stone from the Veil and possibly have a chat... I don't know anything else," he added quickly as Hermione opened her mouth to enquire further.
The concern etched on Mr. Weasley's face deepened as he turned to Harry. "You wouldn't mind, Harry, would you? If it's too much, we can always decline."
A resolute calm washed over Harry as he firmly shook his head. "No, it's fine," he replied, his voice unwavering with conviction.
Mr. Weasley's face lit up with satisfaction. "Excellent. I'll be sure to inform Kingsley as soon as I return to the office," he said, lifting his fork with a renewed sense of purpose.
Suddenly, flames burst forth from the fireplace, jolting Harry from his contemplative reverie. He squinted against the harsh, dancing light, scarcely able to believe his eyes as Percy Weasley stepped out, beaming from ear to ear. The flames subsided as swiftly as they had erupted, but the energy in the room shifted instantly.
Mrs. Weasley's face lit up with pure relief as she rushed towards Percy, her arms outstretched. She enveloped him in a tight, motherly embrace, her eyes scanning him with concern. "Percy, my dear," she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion, "I've missed you so terribly. Are you taking proper care of yourself?"
Mr. Weasley followed close behind, his expression warm and affectionate. He placed a gentle hand on Percy's shoulder. "How have you been, son?" he asked.
A satisfied grin spread across Percy's face as he stepped back, but as his gaze met Harry's, a flicker of shadow passed over his features. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Harry felt a twinge of unease ripple through him. Though Percy maintained his smile, the crease of concern furrowing his brow refused to fade. An undercurrent of worry seemed to permeate the air, and Harry wondered if anyone else could sense the shift in the atmosphere.
Percy offered a casual, breezy response, "I'm doing quite well," as he settled into his seat. However, his gaze remained fixated on Harry, the evident worry in his eyes deepening Harry's growing unease.
Ron leaned in eagerly, shovelling heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto his plate. "How are you being treated by the Ministry?" he asked, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth.
Percy paused, his gaze momentarily shifting from Harry to the rest of the family. "Surprisingly well," he replied, a hint of relief in his tone. "However, we've discovered that Death Eaters have been infiltrating several Floo Network fireplaces. We're being vigilant; we can't afford to let our guard down for a second."
Ron froze, his eyes widening with concern as he swallowed hard. "That sounds incredibly worrying," he said.
"It's true," Percy affirmed solemnly, his voice grave and resolute. "We cannot afford to underestimate them. Some are even brazen enough to assault the very heart of the Ministry." A heavy silence fell over the group as he continued, "And there has been no shortage of talk about you, Harry—the young hero who vanquished the Dark Lord."
Ron attempted a light-hearted quip, but the underlying anxiety in his tone was impossible to conceal. "Yeah, we've heard all about it."
Harry's chuckle was hollow and mirthless, more an echo than true laughter. "The young hero who vanquished the Dark Lord," he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Deep within, a voice whispered that those words felt alien, as if they belonged to a different person entirely.
Percy's reply came out tinged with surprise. "Yes, that's what I said," he said, glancing back at Harry with evident uncertainty etched across his features.
"Why? What happened to the young hero?" Harry pressed.
Harry's probing questions left Percy bewildered. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, his expression creased with confusion. "Are you feeling alright, Harry?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.
Percy's keen eyes took in the troubling signs—the sunken, pallid face, the deep shadows under his exhausted eyes. It was as if Harry's very spirit had been drained away, leaving behind a hollow, ghostly shell of the brave young man who had fought at the battle at Hogwarts.
For a moment, Percy's gaze remained fixed on Harry before reluctantly shifting to survey the other Weasleys and Hermione; their worry etched on their faces.
With a surprisingly tranquil voice, Harry cut in before anyone could object. Gone was the usual agitation in his demeanour. "When they see me like this, I seriously doubt they'll even recognise me, let alone feel any compassion."
As Harry's sombre words settled over the group, his friends' faces grew etched with deep concern and trepidation. The weight of his statement pressed down upon them, for Harry had long been the steadfast pillar at the centre of their lives—their guiding light in troubled times. To witness his spirit so profoundly diminished filled them with a sense of dread, like peering into a vast, unknowable void.
"You can't afford to be seen, Harry," Hermione cautioned, her voice trembling with concern. "If the Death Eaters realise how frail and defenceless you've become, they will stop at nothing to avenge the defeat of You-Know-Who. It's far too dangerous."
Harry's gaze locked with Hermione's, his steely determination shining through despite his weakened state. "I know, Hermione," he said firmly, pressing his trembling fingers against his aching temples as if the pressure could dull the pain in his mind. "They won't hesitate to end me, because as far as they're concerned, I'm already as good as dead."
"Don't say that, Harry," Hermione urged, her voice taut with determination. 'You must stay positive and keep fighting."
"We must tread carefully when deciding who to confide in," Mr. Weasley interjected. "We possess the knowledge and resources to find a cure for Harry's condition, and we cannot afford to jeopardise that."
Trapped in the invisible bonds of his debilitating illness, Harry sank deeper into anguished isolation, despite the well-meaning words of support.
Percy's voice cut through the heavy silence, his tone deliberately light. "How's life been here at the Burrow, Harry?"
Harry lifted his gaze, every movement laced with exhaustion. "It's... it's going okay. Thank you, Percy," he replied, his words strained and unsteady, as if the mere effort of speaking carried a burden too great for him to bear.
Ginny reached for the vials on the table. "Please, just try these. They can help," she coaxed Harry with a gentle, reassuring tone.
Harry hesitated, his weary eyes betraying his reluctance. But Ginny's unwavering care compelled him to surrender. He managed a grateful nod as she helped him sip the healing potion, its bitter taste lingering on his tongue.
"Would you like to rest, Harry? You can sleep on the sofa, and I'll bring you a blanket," Mrs. Weasley gently offered.
"Okay," he murmured weakly, weariness beginning to take its toll. But when he nodded and tried to rise, his exhausted legs suddenly gave way beneath him.
"Harry!" Ron cried out, alarmed. He and Mr. Weasley quickly moved to ease Harry back onto the sofa, their faces etched with deep concern.
Surrendering to the void of sleep, Harry mumbled a quiet word of gratitude before succumbing to his fatigue.
"Is he really dying?" Percy's voice trembled as he posed the dreaded question to his mother in a hushed, strained tone.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes welled with tears as she solemnly averted her gaze. "It's so hard for us to believe, but from all indications, it seems he is... slipping away." Her voice wavered with emotion.
Percy felt the air leave his lungs, his heart pounding in his ears as he reeled from the news. "But that can't be true," he protested, the words tumbling out rapidly. "He was perfectly healthy when I saw him at the Battle of Hogwarts. How could his condition have deteriorated so quickly?"
"It wasn't until You-Know-Who destroyed a piece of his soul within Harry that it began to affect him," Ginny murmured, tears welling up in her eyes.
Confusion clouded Percy's features as he sought clarification. "You-Know-Who's soul? What do you mean, Ginny?" He asked.
It was Hermione who delved into the darkness headfirst, carefully explaining the tumultuous events that had unfolded since then. She skirted around the topic of Horcruxes, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. As she finished, a sombre silence settled over the room, leaving Percy at a loss for words, his mind grappling with the revelations.
Ginny's voice was resolute as she drove their attention back to their purpose. "As dark as this is, we still have time. We just need those final ingredients to begin healing him. I hope Hagrid and Kingsley will arrive soon—every moment is crucial."
"Did Dad speak to the minister?" Percy asked. "He needs to know what's going on."
"Yes," Ginny replied, her words laced with determination. "He intends to bring the stone fragment to Harry himself."
Percy furrowed his brow thoughtfully and gave a solemn nod, pondering Harry's strange behaviour. "Earlier, Harry didn't even seem to recognise his own name."
They exchanged anxious, uneasy glances as the heartbreaking realisation set in. Hermione spoke softly, her voice tinged with concern as she cradled Ginny's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "Harry's memories are confusing him," she explained. "At times, he couldn't remember anything at all. Then, it's like a switch—he'll be either completely lost or suddenly lucid, with no middle ground."
Tears cascaded down Ginny's cheeks as she buried her face in Hermione's shoulder, her body shaking with grief. "Seeing him like this is utterly heartbreaking. The fear of him forgetting me, forgetting us, is almost unbearable. It feels like he's slipping away from us, vanishing bit by bit."
"Yet, we will get through this, I promise," Hermione's tone was fierce, despite the vulnerability etched across her features. "He's stronger than we can possibly imagine. He'll recover, you'll see."
The sudden, faint tapping on the kitchen window immediately diverted their attention. Ron's eyes snapped towards the source of the sound, and he sprang up, overcome with eager anticipation. "It's got to be Hagrid!" he exclaimed breathlessly. The small owl rapped against the glass with growing urgency, and Ron rushed to fling open the window, the rustling of parchment echoing like thunderous drumbeats in the now hushed room.
Pigwidgeon fluttered into the room, his diminutive body quivering from the exertion. Attached to his leg was a rolled piece of parchment. Ron carefully unfastened it, his heart pounding with anticipation, while Hermione and Ginny leaned in, their breaths shallow and tense.
"Hagrid!" Ron exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and foreboding. He began to read aloud:
Ron,
I got the thestral's tail hair, but I'm badly injured. Death Eaters attacked me. I am currently being treated at St. Mungo's Hospital.
Hagrid
The air in the room grew thick with silence, broken only by the anxious flutter of Pigwidgeon's wings. Ron exchanged bewildered glances with Hermione and Ginny before they hastily returned to their seats, their abrupt movements nearly causing Percy to spill his tea.
"Did Hagrid get attacked in Ireland?" Ron asked; his voice trembled in panic.
Hermione's face contorted with horror, her mind whirling. "But how could anyone else have found out?" She asked.
Mrs. Weasley paused her cleaning, her eyes widening as she read the letter. She then silently passed it to her husband, who stood in the doorway with a deeply furrowed brow.
"Death Eaters are swarming everywhere now," Ron said grimly, his voice heavy with dread. "As Percy warned, they're fugitives desperately on the run."
Hermione paced the kitchen floor, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. "Something about this just doesn't add up," she murmured, her tone laced with uncertainty. "Wild beasts like the Thestrals seemed to pose the greater threat. It's not sensical that the Death Eaters would willingly venture into the same cave as those dangerous creatures. They'd have to be utterly mad to take that kind of risk."
Ginny glanced uneasily toward the window. "Mad or not, they did it," she said. "But our plan is a secret. Nobody knows when Hagrid will look into that cave. I can't shake this uneasy feeling that we're being watched. What if..."
Ron's face flushed with anger, the fire igniting in his chest. "Draco Malfoy!" he exclaimed. "He must be up to something; I just know it."
"Draco Malfoy?" Percy asked. Curiosity and suspicion flickered across his face, a malicious glint sparking in his eyes. "How did he come to learn of this?" he mused.
"He asked to speak with Harry before Dad went home," Ginny explained, her fingers tightly clasped together. "He came here and told Harry where he could find wild Thestrals. But nobody else should have even known!"
"Is that so?" Percy mused, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
"He reminded us that Malfoy owes him a life debt for saving his life," Hermione quickly cut in before Ron could reply, her voice sharp and laced with reason. "Surely that means Malfoy has no reason to betray Harry now."
Ron scoffed, his fists clenching in scepticism. "Yeah, right. He's still a bloody Death Eater, and they'll risk everything for their twisted cause, even if they owe you their lives. You can't trust those slimeballs as far as you can throw them!"
Hermione's eyes narrowed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "But if Malfoy really is turning to our side," she said, a hint of scepticism in her voice, "then is it possible he's caught in something much larger than our plans? What if he's merely a pawn in this intricate game?"
"Think about it," Ron urged, his voice hushed and strained. "If we can't figure out how the Death Eaters discovered the cave, Malfoy is our sole lead. He's the only one who could have divulged that information."
"There has to be more to Malfoy than him simply being the obvious suspect," Hermione argued, desperation creeping into her voice. "I don't want to believe he could betray us… but we have to explore every possibility."
"Who cares?" Ron spat angrily. "That traitor has been playing both sides this whole time. He's completely untrustworthy, Hermione!"
Ginny stepped in, trying to defuse the building tension. "Let's go see Hagrid and get the full story from him," she suggested calmly. "Maybe he can shed some light on this mess before we jump to any conclusions."
Percy stood his ground. "I'm staying here with Mum and Dad," he said firmly. "I can keep an eye on Harry while you all visit Hagrid."
Ron and Hermione nodded, their collective concern for Hagrid outweighing their heated argument.