Harry Potter found solace in the soft dusk air that caressed him as he stood still outside the Hogwarts grounds. His gaze was drawn to the breathtaking sight of the vast lake, where the setting sun’s dazzling glow reflected on the water’s surface. Despite the enthralling beauty before him, his heart was heavy with an insurmountable burden. To calm his restless soul, he placed his hand on his chest, inhaled deeply, and exhaled shakily, briefly breaking free from his thoughts.
Harry ached, or thought he did, somewhere between his lungs. It began with a slight dragging sensation in the centre of his chest, which he ignored. It turned out to be something that came and went quickly, but today, unlike most days, it lasted a long time before stopping. Harry was certain that something was very wrong, but he didn’t want to tell anyone. He didn’t think he’d have to if he could figure out what was going on, but he wasn’t sure how. He could have looked up medical literature in the library, but it was closed due to events at Hogwarts. He could talk to Hermione Granger or Madam Pomfrey, but they had both been through a lot recently, and he didn’t want to tell them unless absolutely necessary.
Harry’s worried thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Ginny Weasley’s smile helped Harry relax, and he found himself smiling back.
Ginny fixed her gaze on him, seeing helpless pain fade into happiness. Harry closed his eyes as she gently touched his cheek, savouring the sensation of her delicate fingertips on his skin.
“Are you okay?” Ginny asked, her voice full of concern. Her worried eyes swept across his face, searching for signs of unease or anguish.
Harry took a moment to collect himself before responding, “I’m fine.” He appreciated Ginny’s concern, but he wasn’t ready to share his own problems just yet. With a soothing smile, he gently squeezed her hand to reassure her.
Ginny, on the other hand, was too perceptive to be fooled by his facade. She knew him too well, detecting subtle hints that something was wrong. “Harry, I know there’s more to it,” she stated firmly. “I noticed you earlier, clutching your chest in pain.”
When Harry looked at the fading horizon, he felt a sense of foreboding set in. He realised he couldn’t bother Ginny or anyone else with his problems, especially after what they’d gone through. They deserved to experience the peace and happiness for which they had fought so hard. But, deep down, Harry knew that some scars never truly healed. With a heavy heart, he realised that his past would never leave him, no matter how much he wished otherwise.
“Harry,” Ginny said quietly, resting a warm hand on his back. “You don’t have to face this alone; whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together; I’m always here for you.” She desperately wanted to take the weight off his shoulders.
It took Harry a while to respond, sending chills down his spine. “I’m scared, Ginny,” he said softly. “I—” Fear held back his words, leaving them unsaid.
Ginny’s eyes widened with concern. “Tell me, Harry. What’s happening?” she asked, her voice filled with worry.
Harry’s throat tightened involuntarily, and he tried to ignore the worry creeping in, refusing to consider the possibility of an impending disaster or an overwhelming problem. His fingers quivered slightly, causing him to struggle to keep them steady, but they still showed his unease.
“Harry, please, open up to me,” Ginny begged, her fear growing by the second.
Harry shook his head. “I can’t say it,” he said hesitantly.
“What do you mean you can’t?” She demanded, growing concerned about his reluctance to share, especially as the situation deteriorated. Harry, please tell me what’s going on.”
Harry remained silent while carefully considering Ginny’s question. He was hesitant to speak prematurely, but the thought of keeping her in the dark was heartbreaking. His feelings for her were strong, and the prospect of concealing this information was terrible, even though he knew it would destroy her.
He took her hand and whispered softly, “I’m sorry, Ginny. I just need a bit more time to explain everything. I don’t want to rush into telling you anything while I’m still unsure.”
Ginny heaved a genuine sigh, her admiration for Harry evident in her tone. “You’ve always been very brave, Harry. You prefer to keep things private and deal with issues on your own. Whatever is scaring you right now, I’m sure you can overcome it, just as you always have. Still, it’s right to accept help from others on occasion.”
Harry remained silent, unwilling to burden those around him. It was critical that he learn the facts for himself before it was too late. Being the first to know could be less painful than dealing with the consequences later. This was his chance at a normal life, and he was determined to take it.
Holding Ginny’s hand tightly, he felt a warm sensation that filled him with hope. His feelings for her had grown stronger over time. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go.
Ginny appreciated Harry’s request for silence, even if she didn’t fully comprehend it. She sat beside him, gently caressing his face and locking eyes with him. Her touch was meant to comfort him and relieve his pain. Ginny leaned forward and gave Harry a gentle kiss, knowing exactly what he needed. Harry responded by wrapping his arms around her and deepening their kiss. They eventually parted ways but lingered in each other’s embrace, savouring the moment and wishing it could last forever.
----------------------------------------
Harry couldn’t sleep that night, even though his fellow Gryffindors did. The strange pulsing sensation in his chest kept him awake. It had happened twice that day, and despite the fact that it was only for a short time, he felt compelled to act. So he crept into the common room and watched the dying embers for a few moments before disappearing through the portrait hole. It was late, and he did not want to bother the teachers, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to confirm his concerns before leaving Hogwarts.
Harry continued through the freezing dungeons until he reached the door he was looking for. He knocked and waited with eagerness. Despite his fears that his professor might be fast asleep, Harry’s knock was quickly answered.
A haggard, bald old man with a large silver, walrus-like moustache opened the door. He appeared to have just awoken from a deep sleep, but when he saw Harry, his eyes lit up, and he smiled, erasing any signs of exhaustion.
“Harry! What an unexpected surprise to see you here.”
“Professor Slughorn,” Harry replied softly. “I’m sorry if I have disturbed you at this late hour.”
“You don’t have to apologise, my dear boy. Please come in.” Horace Slughorn gently stepped aside, welcoming Harry into his comfortable quarters.
As he crossed the threshold, he was met with the comforting warmth of a roaring fire. Harry couldn’t help but remember his last visit to the professor’s office, when Ron accidentally drank poisoned oak-matured mead, resulting in an unpleasant experience.
Professor Slughorn slammed the door behind him before going into his cupboard for some refreshments. “Please, take a seat, Harry,” he said pleasantly.
Harry sat hesitantly in a chair in front of the crackling fire, watching Professor Slughorn pour two glasses of thick, golden liquid. The professor handed one to Harry, who sat comfortably in the chair opposite him. Despite his reservations, Harry assured himself that the drink was safe.
“Now, my dear boy, how may I assist you?” Professor Slughorn asked.
Harry drank a small sip of butterbeer before carefully returning the cup to the table and deciding where to start. He was at a loss for words, unsure how to answer Professor Slughorn’s question.
“Professor,” he said tentatively, recalling their previous serious discussion about Horcruxes. Despite the consequences, his desperate need for answers compelled him to bring up the forbidden subject again. “I was hoping that you’d be open to discussing Horcruxes with me once more,” he said eagerly, his heart racing as he waited for the professor’s response.
Professor Slughorn choked on his drink after Harry’s question.
Harry cast a wary eye on him, dreading the inevitable reprimand.
After a tense moment, the professor spoke softly. “May I ask why you’re inquiring?”
To Harry’s surprise, Professor Slughorn looked at him with concern instead of telling him to leave.
“I was simply curious, Professor,” Harry replied.
Professor Slughorn’s eyes narrowed, revealing a hint of suspicion. “That’s quite an unusual thing to wonder about, Harry,” he said seriously.
Harry sat silently, his thoughts racing.
Professor Slughorn leaned forward and asked, “What are you curious about?”
Harry, hands shaking in his pockets, summoned the courage to ask, “Professor, you mentioned that Horcruxes hold a piece of someone’s soul, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied.
“What happens to a person’s soul when a Horcrux inhabits their body, and how is their soul affected if the Horcrux is later destroyed?”
Professor Slughorn furrowed his brow as he considered the question.
“I must admit, I have never come across such a peculiar concept,” Professor Slughorn replied. “Typically, a Horcrux is concealed within an inanimate object by its creator. However, implanting it in a living being would almost certainly shorten its lifespan.”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Harry squirmed uncomfortably, his worried expression growing more noticeable. “What if it wasn’t deliberate?” Curiosity filled his voice as he asked, his gaze fixed on his professor, and he felt a palpable sense of dread. “What if it was simply an unintended consequence of him creating a Horcrux that accidentally attached itself to another soul? Will destroying it still affect that person’s soul?”
“Regardless of intent, the moment a Horcrux infiltrates a soul, it becomes corrupted,” Professor Slughorn boldly declared.
“So, if the Horcrux is destroyed, the person’s soul would die as well?”
“Indeed,” the professor said with firm assurance.
The constant stream of bad news engulfed Harry in a sea of hopelessness. “Professor, is there any way to cleanse the corrupted soul?”
Professor Slughorn shuffled uncomfortably as his suspicions grew. Despite his discussions with Albus Dumbledore, he remained sceptical because he couldn’t find any literature to support the theory. Albus clearly knew more about the subject than he did.
“I’m afraid I can’t give an answer,” he replied to Harry’s question. “Creating a Horcrux is an evil act that prohibits the disclosure of any process-related information. As a result, I seriously doubt that there is any mention of healing a damaged soul in such circumstances. As far as I know, no one has ever attempted to undo such irreversible damage.”
Sweat beads formed on Harry’s forehead. “How much will a tainted soul shorten someone’s life? You mentioned that it would have a significant impact.”
As Professor Slughorn responded, Harry felt a rush of terror that made his heart race. Slughorn’s words—“I can only imagine it’s a slow and agonising process, and you’d prefer a swift death as time goes by”—made Harry feel lightheaded all of a sudden.
Are you alright, my dear boy?” Professor Slughorn asked, noting Harry’s distress.
“Yes,” Harry said, looking up. Thank you, Professor. I must leave.” His words trailed off as he struggled for air, his mouth and throat parched.
“Harry?” Professor Slughorn spoke with great concern in his voice.
Harry, feeling unsteady, stood up and hurried out of the room before Slughorn could say anything else.
As soon as Harry stepped outside, he dashed to the nearest bathroom and collapsed in front of a toilet, vomiting violently and shivering with each convulsion. He clung to the cubicle walls and struggled to get up from the floor.
Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, filled with despair and exhaustion. As he sank into bed, tears streamed down his cheeks, his heart heavy with a burden he could not bear. The weight of his contaminated soul left him feeling stranded and unsure of where to go. Fear of the unknown gripped him, making him concerned about what the future held. Harry had hoped for a normal life after destroying the Horcruxes, but reality had crushed his hopes.
----------------------------------------
The final day at Hogwarts began with golden morning light streaming through the dormitory window, and as they prepared to return home, the air was thick with both joy and grief. Harry’s heart raced with excitement at the prospect of permanently joining the Weasleys, but his spirits dropped when he remembered his terrifying conversation with Professor Slughorn the night before. He was deep in thought when Ron approached his bedside and startled him.
“Harry!”
Harry blinked and turned to face his friend, his vision still blurry. Ron handed him the glasses.
“Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” said Ron. “You look absolutely dreadful, mate.”
In response, Harry hurled his pillow at Ron, who easily dodged it.
“Thanks, Ron,” Harry responded wryly.
Harry stood abruptly, feeling a rush of lightheadedness overtake him. He reached for the wall, trying to regain his balance as he swayed uncontrollably.
“Woah… Are you okay?” Ron asked, reaching out to support Harry.
“Just got up too quickly,” Harry lied; the events of the night before had left him tired and exhausted, and despite sleeping in, he felt extremely ill.
While most of the students had left Hogwarts during the battle, Harry, Ron, and a few others remained to help with the repairs. They had no personal belongings to gather because they had chosen to forego their final year in order to fight Voldemort, so they kept everything in Hermione’s beaded bag.
Despite his empty and growling stomach from the previous night’s illness, Harry reluctantly made his way to the nearly empty Great Hall for breakfast. He didn’t want to eat, but he knew he had to.
Ginny, sitting across from Harry, looked at him with concern as he took only a few nibbles of his bread and pushed the plate aside.
He forced a weak smile in her direction before returning his attention to the untouched food.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Ginny asked, her concern evident in her voice.
“I’m just not very hungry,” Harry admitted honestly. The mere thought of taking another bite made his stomach turn, and he couldn’t afford to be sick in front of everyone.
Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful looks but remained silent.
Despite the fact that the war was over and there was a general sense of happiness, Harry couldn’t shake his sadness. His friends thought they understood his grief because they, too, had recently lost a number of loved ones, but they were unaware of the genuine pain that he was experiencing.
In an attempt to appear cheerful for their sake, Harry assured them that he would eat more once they returned to the Burrow, all while being closely watched by Mrs. Weasley. His friends nodded in relief at this statement because no one wanted to put up with her scolding or forced feeding. Nonetheless, Harry’s heart remained heavy, and his melancholy remained unchanged.
Harry politely excused himself from the table, explaining that he needed to use the loo, but instead of going there, he took a different route down a corridor that led him directly to the library.
As Harry entered the library, he noticed Madam Pince sitting at her desk, engaged in a book. To his surprise, she had restored order to the library in record time, mending and reshelving the books that had become disorganised during the war. Despite her best efforts, some damage exceeded her magical abilities, much to Madam Pince’s disappointment.
The rigorous librarian had been a difficult obstacle for Harry throughout his school years, rarely allowing any books to leave the library; however, this time, Harry had no choice but to borrow several books about souls before leaving Hogwarts in a few minutes.
He approached Madam Pince with caution and measured steps, politely asking for books about souls.
The librarian’s wrinkled face indicated her trepidation. “Mr. Potter, there are numerous volumes on souls within these walls, some of which are strictly for the staff’s eyes,” she said.
Undeterred, Harry stated calmly, “I’m only interested in those that I can borrow and read during the summer break.”
Madam Pince’s tone grew harsher as she announced, “Your stay here ends today. Tell me why you require these books right now.”
Harry, choosing his words carefully, replied, “Just some light reading,” concealing the true reason he wanted to share with her and instead opting for the plausible excuse Hermione would normally provide.
Madam Pince let out an annoyed sigh. “Light reading?” she asked, her scepticism evident in her tone.
“Well, I’d rather not be bored at home,” Harry explained, hoping that his response would satisfy her. “Reading is a way for me to pass the time.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I find it difficult to believe, Mr. Potter. You rarely go to the library.”
“Just because I don’t come as often doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading,” Harry defended.
Madam Pince reflected silently on his remarks.
On his final day of school, Harry realised her concern was valid.
As he turned to leave and resigned, she said, “All right. The books you need are in that row,” she indicated in the right-hand corner of the library. “But you only have thirty minutes before your train departs.”
Harry nodded gratefully and dashed to find the books in the location she had specified.
----------------------------------------
Ginny sat beside Harry on the Hogwarts Express back to London, gently holding his hand. Across from them, Ron and Hermione sat quietly, their anxious expressions indicating their genuine concern for Harry.
Exhausted and battling his own fatigue, Harry stared blankly out the window, alarming those around him.
Ginny shifted to meet Harry’s need for comfort, allowing him to rest his head on her lap and find solace in his struggle.
Ron, on the other hand, noticed and expressed concern about Ginny’s actions, but Ginny chose to ignore her brother’s criticism and focus solely on supporting Harry.
“I’ve never seen him so downcast,” Ron said, his voice filled with sadness.
“How can you be so insensitive?” Hermione responded harshly and with dread. “We’re all in mourning, Ron.”
“I’m also grieving!” Ron responded defensively. “But this feels different. There’s a serious problem with Harry.”
Hermione’s gaze intensified as she looked at Ron. “I’m beginning to suspect that there’s something strange going on with him,” she said, her fear mirroring Ginny’s.
They sat silently, staring at Harry’s sleeping form. He had gripped his chest in agony, as if trapped in a nightmare.
“Strange,” Ron murmured, his brow furrowed. “Do you think he was having a bad dream?”
Instead of responding to Ron, they remained focused on Harry.
“He confessed that he was scared,” Ginny said abruptly.
Ron and Hermione looked at her, alarmed.
“Scared?” Hermione asked, bewildered. “By what?”
“Why’s that?” Ron asked, his tone tinged with fear.
Ginny’s brow furrowed with anxiety. “He insisted that he couldn’t reveal anything until he was absolutely certain,” she explained, her voice trembling.
Hermione’s concern increased. “When did he tell you?”
“Last night,” Ginny stated, her fear evident in her voice.
Ron’s expression darkened. “No wonder Harry looked so bad this morning; his eyes were red and swollen.”
Ginny’s heart sank as she asked, her voice filled with concern, “Is he sick?” Despite seeing Harry for breakfast, she couldn’t shake the suspicion that something was wrong.
Ron shrugged, his concerns echoing Ginny’s. “I’m not sure. He appeared wobbly when he got up. He claimed it was because he stood up too quickly, but I don’t think that’s the whole story.”
The rest of the train ride went smoothly; Harry’s friends, concerned for his safety, let him sleep undisturbed while they conversed quietly and watched the passing countryside outside the window as the train approached the station.
As the train decelerated, a deafening whistle woke Harry up. He was surprised that he had slept for the entire ride without anyone waking him up. He sat up and noticed them gathering their belongings and preparing to leave the compartment.
“How are you feeling?” Ginny asked, lightly squeezing his hand, while Ron and Hermione focused on Harry.
“I feel well-rested,” he stated, “although I hadn’t intended to sleep the entire way.”
“You were completely knocked out as soon as we departed from Hogwarts,” said Ron.
As Ron stepped onto the platform, his parents greeted him with a hearty hug, while Hermione quietly snuck away to rejoin her parents. Harry, on the other hand, moved to the opposite side of the platform, surveying the area in anticipation of someone’s arrival.
“C’mon, Harry! “Mr. Weasley yelled out, encouraging him to join the others.
However, Harry seemed to be deep in thought and did not respond. Concerned, Ron approached him and asked, “What’s up, mate? It’s time to go.”
“I’m waiting for my uncle to come and pick me up.” Harry said.
Ron chuckled, thinking it was a joke. “Nice one, Harry. But we need to go before we fall behind.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, confused by their reactions. “I’ve told you that my uncle will pick me up for the summer.”
Ron’s smile faded slowly. “Wait, what are you talking about? Harry, you’re now living with us.”
As the rest of the group approached, Ron exchanged puzzled looks with them.
Harry’s thinking was jumbled as he tried to absorb the situation. “Live with you? But I was supposed to go back to the Dursleys.”
Mrs. Weasley expressed concern as she reached out to touch Harry’s face. “Harry, are you feeling okay? You don’t remember?”
Mr. Weasley approached, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you not recall what happened on your seventeenth birthday last year?”
Harry’s uncertainty grew as he looked back, his mind going completely blank.
The others around him were stunned—Ron’s jaw dropped open, Ginny looked completely confused, and Mrs. Weasley clutched her chest in surprise.
Mr. Weasley placed a soothing hand on Harry’s shoulder and whispered softly. “Harry, you bid goodbye to the Dursleys on Privet Drive. They went into hiding for their safety, and you agreed to live with us. Don’t you remember?”
Harry stepped back from Mr. Weasley, looking to the others for support; their strange expressions only added to his confusion. He placed a shaky palm on his head, attempting to recall, but all he got was a jumbled mass that made his brain hurt.
“Why don’t I remember, Mr. Weasley?” Harry’s voice was shaky.
“You’ve been through a lot, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I believe you’re still in shock from the battle.”
Harry hung his head, defeated; his recollection remained illusive despite all his efforts; it felt as if someone had obliviated his mind while he slept; bits and pieces flashed before him, but they only served to jumble his thinking more; there was only one possible conclusion from this, and it terrified him.