Ron was lying on his bed when he heard a knock at his door. Opening it, he found Hermione and let her in before settling back onto his bed.

“At lunch earlier, the look you gave me meant Harry was hiding something, didn’t it?” she asked, sitting down across from Ron.

“Yeah, he lied about feeling better again,” Ron told her. “I was going to check on him, but Ginny said he was napping. Then I heard him getting sick in the bathroom again. He still refuses to take any healing potions.”

Hermione frowned, troubled by Ron’s words. “What do you mean ‘he refuses’? Of course Harry would take the potions.”

Ron sighed. “I know, it doesn’t make sense. But Harry insisted the potions don’t help his pain, though he did reluctantly agree to take them if he gets sick again. I’m worried he was just telling me what I wanted to hear.”

Hermione lowered her eyes, staying silent.

“Do you know why he’s acting this way?” Ron asked, concern furrowing his brow. “It’s so strange that he’s suddenly refusing the potions. There must be something more going on, right?”

Hermione bit her lip, fidgeting with her hair nervously. “He said he wanted his life to end,” she finally admitted in a whisper.

Ron was stunned by Hermione’s extreme words. “He can’t be serious!” Visibly shaking his head, he added, “Harry shouldn’t dwell on this. We need to find a solution to lift his spirits.”

“I know,” Hermione said miserably. “I don’t think he realizes how important his life is.”

Leaning back on his bed, dumbfounded, Ron was silent for a minute before suggesting, “I think Harry needs a distraction from everything that’s been happening. I’d take one myself if I could.” His eyes suddenly brightened with an idea.

“What kind of distraction do you suggest?”

Looking at her incredulously, Ron said, “Come on, Hermione. You’ve been his best friend for years. You know what Harry likes to do best.”

“How would I know his favorite pastime?” Hermione retorted, irritation creeping into her voice. “You two spend the most time together.”

Ron looked at her incredulously. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m starting to doubt how well you know Harry if you can’t name his greatest passion.”

“What is it then?” Hermione asked, her brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Quidditch!” Ron proclaimed excitedly. “That’s just what he needs.”

“Quidditch,” Hermione mused, regarding Ron appraisingly. “That’s your grand idea?”

“Yes,” Ron replied confidently. “It’ll help take his mind off things, I promise.”

Hermione pondered this briefly. “I’m not sure that’s wise right now, Ron. When did you want to play?”

“Right away,” Ron responded simply.

Hermione looked at Ron in disbelief. “Right away? You want Harry to play Quidditch now? He was throwing up before lunch. This is a ridiculous idea.”

“I know it seems crazy,” Ron said. “But Harry does look a bit better than the past few days. Some fresh air and exercise could take his mind off being sick for a while.”

“And how exactly do you plan on playing Quidditch with just the two of you, no hoops, no Quaffle, and Harry still recovering?” Hermione asked sharply, hand on her hip.

“Who said it would just be us two?” Ron replied. “You and Ginny can join. I’ll transfigure something into a makeshift Quaffle. It doesn’t have to be anything official.”

Hermione quickly considered the situation. “There are so many ways this could end badly for Harry,” she said. “Plus, I’m terrible at Quidditch, and you know I despise flying on brooms! I want to help Harry too, but...” She trailed off with a sigh, not wanting to disappoint her friend. Though uncertain, she relented. “Alright, I’ll play.”

“Oh, Harry’s going to be thrilled when he hears!” Ron exclaimed. “This is going to be great!”

Hermione shot him a menacing glare. “If Harry gets hurt, I promise I’ll do more than just jinx you.”

“Take it easy, you maniac,” he retorted with a smug grin. “I’ll obviously make sure he’s safe. We haven’t asked him yet - he may refuse, but I doubt it. That’s just not who he is.”

Ron found Harry asleep on the living room sofa. Across from him sat Ginny, frowning as she read the Daily Prophet.

“Any good news?” Ron asked.

“Not really,” Ginny replied without glancing up. “Just more calls for Harry to make a public appearance and nonsense like that.”

Ron motioned toward Harry’s sleeping form. “How’s he doing?”

“I think he’s alright,” Ginny said hopefully.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron shook Harry’s shoulder abruptly.

Ginny grabbed Ron’s arm, looking concerned. “What are you doing?”

Harry stirred awake, eyes focusing on Ron and Ginny.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded groggily, looking around in confusion. “Did something happen?”

“No, go back to sleep,” Ginny said gently. “Ron foolishly woke you for no good reason.”

“That’s not true!” Ron objected. “I wanted Harry to play Quidditch.” He offered a hand to help Harry up, but Harry just gazed at him, befuddled.

“I don’t think so, Ron,” Ginny said severely, swatting Ron’s hand away with a stern look. “Are you daft? Harry’s in no shape to play now.”

“He’s just had a rest,” Ron reasoned. “And it’s only Quidditch. You can’t pass up a game when it’s offered. We’ll only be playing with a Quaffle too, so it won’t be too strenuous.”

Ginny stared at Ron incredulously. “Did you hit your head? I said—”

“I can play,” Harry interjected quietly. Ron grinned while Ginny did a double take. “I haven’t flown in months. But I don’t have a broom anymore. I lost my Firebolt when we left Privet.”

“We have some spare brooms that you can use,” Ron said eagerly. “Take one of those.”

“Okay,” Harry replied as he stood up straight. “Let me go change clothes first. I’ll be right back.” He headed upstairs with a spring in his step that Ron hadn’t noticed in quite some time.

Ginny glared angrily at Ron. “You know Harry is sick, Ron. You’ll be in big trouble if—”

“He seemed eager to go, so why not?” Ron interrupted.

“You know what I mean,” Ginny whispered harshly.

“He needs this. When’s the last time you’ve seen him so happy, especially since he’s been wanting his life to end?” Ron blurted out without thinking.

Ginny turned pale. “Harry would never say that!”

Ron’s grin faded as he realized what he had revealed. “He told Hermione after lunch,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. Ginny stared at him in shock, but the resolve in Ron’s eyes was unwavering. “That’s why I have to do this, Ginny. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but when will there ever be a right time? We need to keep his mind occupied and lift his spirits,” he continued, swallowing hard as Hermione’s words echoed in his mind, “or else depression will consume him. You can hex me later if you want, but Harry needs this game.”

Harry and Hermione descended the stairs together, drawing the attention of those in the room. Harry’s face shone with excitement, but Hermione and Ginny exchanged weary glances, silently communicating their reluctance to indulge Harry’s latest idea, despite his enthusiasm. As the group met at the back door leading to the yard, the girls resigned themselves to going along with the plan, if only to please Harry.

Harry was beaming as he stepped outside. He could see goal posts at each end of the makeshift Quidditch field he hadn’t played on in so long. After being cooped up inside for too long, he was excited to be out in the open air.

The hot afternoon sun beat down on them as they walked across the field, broomsticks in hand. Ron held a Quaffle he had transfigured earlier. Stopping in the middle of the field, he faced his friends.

Clearing his throat, Ron said, “Okay, players. There’s four of us, so to make this a fair game, I’ll pick Ginny for my team.”

Hermione frowned, immediately seeing a flaw in his plan. “How is that fair? You’re both good at Quidditch.”

Ron smirked. “Don’t forget, Hermione, you have Harry on your team. He’s really good at this game. Trust me, we’re going to lose for sure.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Ron disdainfully. “Why did I even get paired with you?” she asked. “I’m ready for a challenge, but you’re already convinced we’ll lose. What a great way to destroy our confidence, Ron.” She tossed her hair arrogantly. “I won’t let Harry win this game.”

Harry smiled at her self-assurance. “Are you sure about that, Ms. Weasley?” he challenged playfully.

“Don’t start with me, Potter!” Ginny retorted, giving him a fierce look. “I may be your girlfriend, but you have no idea who you’re up against.”

“Is that a threat?” Harry asked, his eyes wild.

“Why? Do you feel threatened?”

Ron and Hermione grinned at the pair, pleased to see a glimmer of Harry’s old spirit.

“Okay, players!” Ron called, drawing Harry and Ginny’s gaze before they broke the rules. “First team to score twenty goals wins! Let’s play!”

Hermione looked anxious. “Twenty? We’ll be here until midnight,” she objected. Harry chuckled as she shrank back.

“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Harry reassured. “You’re with me.”

“I know that, Harry. It’s just... Are you sure you’re up for playing right now? You’re looking pale,” Hermione said, her voice laced with concern.

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Though he told Hermione not to worry, Harry could not fully suppress the nagging feeling in his conscience that she was right to be concerned for him. He tried to convince himself that she was only making excuses to avoid playing, but deep down he knew her worries were justified.

Despite telling Ginny he would nap, Harry had hardly slept at all. Though he tried several times, headaches and nausea kept waking him until Ron found him ill in the bathroom. He managed a brief rest on the couch before Ron invited him to play Quidditch. Stubbornly ignoring his sickness for the chance to play, Harry decided he could deal with it later.

As Harry took flight, he glimpsed Hermione’s hesitant expression before leaving her behind and reveling in the freedom of the open sky. The soothing breeze brushed his face, carrying the wonderful scents of summer. After missing flying for so long, he felt alive again—happy and free. Soaring above it all was a comfort no medicine could provide, giving him strength. He never wanted this blissful moment to end.

The Quidditch match began as Ron threw the Quaffle into the air. Though under the weather, Harry kept a close eye on Hermione’s performance. She claimed to be unskilled at Quidditch, but her determined efforts told a different story. Harry snatched the Quaffle from Ron multiple times, but Hermione narrowly missed shooting it through the goal hoops. Ginny swiftly blocked Hermione’s shots, eliciting frustrated curses about her slow reflexes.

Harry and Ginny adeptly zoomed past each other in flight. Ron dove to block Harry’s Quaffle shot but missed by inches. Ginny caught the Quaffle and sped away with Hermione in close pursuit. Hermione made a feeble attempt to steal the Quaffle, but Ginny swerved sharply, nearly causing Hermione to lose her balance as she halted abruptly.

Harry raced towards Ginny and cut off her path. She threw the Quaffle to Ron, who caught it. WHAM! Harry accidentally barreled into Ron with such force that Ron nearly lost his breath. This impact caused Ron to fumble the Quaffle, which fell right in front of Hermione. She seized it and hurled it through one of the hoops as fast as she could, scoring a goal. Harry applauded Hermione’s quick thinking and skillful shot.

As the afternoon faded into dusk, the game grew more intense. Ginny adeptly aimed Quaffle after Quaffle through the goal hoops with ease. Same with Harry who effortlessly shot Quaffle after Quaffle through the goal posts, frustrating Ron as he struggled to block them.

Most of the goals had been scored by Harry and Ginny. Ron and Hermione had even managed a few, bringing the score to a tie. One goal remained to reach the target of twenty. The growing fatigue nearly caused Harry to lose his balance on his final shot, but to his relief, none of his friends noticed his stumble. He was determined to finish the game smoothly.

Just one more shot, Harry thought, trying to push his exhausted mind forward. He zoomed toward the goal hoop when Ginny suddenly sped up beside him. Before he knew it, she had grabbed the Quaffle from his hand and doubled back, shooting it straight through the opposite hoop. Hermione let out a surprised squeak and dove to block, but it was too late. The Quaffle sailed cleanly through the goal.

Ginny and Ron whooped in triumph as they landed on the ground.

“Great game!” said Ron, clapping Harry and Hermione on the back as they touched down behind him. Despite his fatigue, Harry found Ron’s enthusiasm infectious. “I can’t believe we won!”

“Told you I wouldn’t let Harry win,” Ginny reminded her brother with a grin, standing proudly in front of Harry.

“You were amazing!” Harry said happily to Ginny, despite his obvious exhaustion. The exhilaration of flying on a broomstick and playing Quidditch again hadn’t quite sunk in yet. He wished Fred and George could have been there too, like in the old days—those carefree times together lived fondly in his memories now.

Slipping an arm around Ron’s shoulders as they trudged back to the Burrow, Harry said sincerely, “Thanks for convincing me to play Quidditch again.”

Ron smiled. “Don’t mention it, mate.”

“And congratulations on the win. Good thing you had Ginny on your team, or else you really would have lost!” Harry added with a grin, elbowing Ron playfully as they entered the house.

Hermione sighed in relief as the game ended. She turned to Harry to apologize for the loss, but he simply shrugged and patted her back, praising her good sportsmanship.

Harry rode the high of the game all the way to dinner, though he soon felt his energy rapidly fade. The intense match had sapped his strength, and he was surprised he hadn’t collapsed yet. Wise to his weary state, Harry piled his plate high, hoping to regain some energy through the meal.

“That was a wicked turn back there, Ginny!” Ron praised excitedly, still thrilled by their Quidditch triumph. He had been recounting the victory to anyone who would listen, much to Ginny’s annoyance.

Mrs. Weasley was shocked when she learned that Harry had agreed to play Quidditch at Ron’s urging. She immediately began lecturing her son about the danger he had put Harry in, given his illness. “I can’t believe how thoughtless you’ve been, Ronald Weasley! You know he can’t just—”

“But he’s fine, Mum!” Ron tried to explain, his cheer gone. “Nothing happened to him. Harry, please tell her,” he pleaded, hoping Harry would intervene, but Harry knew Mrs. Weasley would not be swayed.

Mrs. Weasley snapped, “Well, you’d best hope I don’t hide those broomsticks, Ronald!”

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry tried to reason, “Ron was only trying to—” but she cut him off.

“I will not tolerate it, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly. “Of all people, you should know how risky and dangerous this is for your health. I’m very disappointed. You went ahead and jeopardized everything we’ve done to keep you safe!” Her face was as red as her hair. “From now on, you are banned from playing Quidditch until your health is back to normal.”

Seeing the pained expression on Harry’s face as his mother scolded him, Ron quickly spoke up in his defense.

“That’s not fair!” Ron snapped at Mrs. Weasley, defending Harry. “You can’t blame him. He didn’t do anything wrong. It was my fault!”

Harry could only stare silently at his best friend’s outburst.

“Then that makes the two of you at fault!” Mrs. Weasley said furiously. Ron lowered his head and sulked, stabbing at his food.

Only the sound of utensils clinking on plates could be heard as the tense dinner continued. After Mrs. Weasley’s scolding, Harry found it hard to concentrate on eating. He tried to take a few bites, but had already lost his appetite. Ron, silently fuming, resorted to stabbing his baked potato repeatedly.

The quiet evening at the Burrow was interrupted when Mr. Weasley arrived home from work.

Mr. Weasley sat down beside Harry and informed him, “I could only slip Kingsley a brief note about the stone, Harry. He was constantly coming and going from his office, always surrounded by people.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” Harry muttered, still feeling guilty over the Quidditch match. He kept his head down and remained silent, not wanting to disappoint Mr. Weasley too.

Mr. Weasley announced cheerfully, “I ran into Teddy Lupin at the Ministry today! He was there with his grandmother.”

“Isn’t that Remus and Tonks’ son?” asked Mrs. Weasley, her face lighting up as she looked up at Harry and momentarily forgot what had happened minutes before.

“That’s right,” Mr. Weasley replied. “And I believe he’s your godson, if I’m not mistaken?”

Harry nodded curtly, tilting his head up. He had not yet had the chance to meet Teddy and could only imagine what the infant might be like for now.

“How is he?” Harry asked Mr. Weasley.

Beaming, Mr. Weasley announced to everyone at the table, “For only a month old, the little tyke can already change his appearance at will.”

“He’s a Metamorphmagus?” Hermione asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley replied, “and thankfully he didn’t inherit his father’s lycanthropy, as Andromeda just told me.”

“Oh, that’s such wonderful news!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed delightedly.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the good news that Remus and Tonks had welcomed a healthy baby boy. He fondly recalled Remus’ initial doubts about marrying Tonks and fathering a child, worried the child may inherit his lycanthropy.

“You should plan a visit, Harry,” Mr. Weasley encouraged. “I’m sure Teddy would love to meet his godfather.”

“I’d like that, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry, lowering his head. “It’s just—with my illness, I can’t right now.” Guilt and shame haunted him again. Ginny squeezed his hand under the table.

Mr. Weasley gently grasped his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said reassuringly. “I’m sure Andromeda wouldn’t mind bringing Teddy here so you two could meet.”

Harry smiled genuinely, comforted. “That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Ron suddenly asked his dad, “Who does he look like?”

“It was hard to tell when I first saw him,” his dad said thoughtfully, “Like I said, he kept changing his appearance. But Andromeda mentioned he’d had black hair the hour he was born.”

Imagining Tonks with her usual striking hair color changes except black, which was mentioned at Teddy’s birth, was strange to Harry since Remus had hazel hair.

Mr. Weasley raised his cup to his lips, taking a sip of water before continuing, “I’m certain he’ll achieve great things, just as his parents did. Though he lost them so young, Teddy has caring families to help him through this and grow up.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, Harry most of all. He knew that childhood pain, having grown up without loving parents himself. The Weasleys had given Harry the family he’d always wanted. Now he was determined to show Teddy the same love and care, and to do the same for his own children someday, if fate allowed him the chance.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he stood to take his empty plate to the sink. Gripping the counter as the room spun, he fought back a wave of heat and feared his fever had returned. Ever since the match, exhaustion had plagued him. Taking deep breaths to steady himself, he hoped not to alarm the Weasleys, still eating at the table. Barely able to see, Harry turned and tried to walk evenly from the kitchen to his room. He made it to the bed just as his knees buckled, collapsing onto the mattress.

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Harry’s illness lingered for days, despite his attempts to conceal it from the Weasleys. For one day he feigned normalcy, but his ruse was unsuccessful; though he passed out in bed unseen, his condition was apparent. Blaming Ron’s insistence on a Quidditch match, which had elicited Mrs. Weasley’s scolding, would be unfair. That was trouble enough. To escape the family’s scrutiny, especially Mrs. Weasley’s, Harry sequestered himself in his room, pleading a need for rest. Ron, regretful for pushing Harry into the game, obliged his request for solitude.

Inside the room, Harry could hear Ron trying to fend off Hermione and Ginny, who were loudly complaining each time they came to visit and were unable to see Harry.

“It’s just for today,” Ron defended himself. “Leave him be and let him rest. He’s not dying, he just wants to stay in bed and get his energy back. Isn’t that what you wanted him to do in the first place?”

But Ron’s defense wasn’t what Harry had hoped for. He began suffering from a high fever, impaired vision, and dizziness whenever he tried to stand. Not wanting his friends to see him sick again, he locked himself in his room, hoping sleep would help him feel better when he awoke.

The next day, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat uncomfortably on the living room sofa, discussing Hagrid’s unknown whereabouts. A distant look clouded their faces as they contemplated Hagrid’s quest to find a wild Thestral. Two days had passed since Ron and Hermione last visited Hagrid, yet they had received no word from him. As the days dragged on without contact, their concern for Hagrid grew, fearing his task may prove impossible.

“There must be a wild Thestral somewhere,” Hermione insisted, her annoyance showing as she pushed back her bushy hair, frizzier than ever in the muggy air. “I know they’re rare, but they can’t have vanished completely.”

Ron assured Hermione, “Hagrid will find one. He can see thestrals, unlike most people. We just need to be patient.”

But waiting had become unbearable. Harry hadn’t left his room for over twenty-four hours, deepening their concern. After discussing it, Ron, Hermione and Ginny decided to check on Harry themselves.

They walked upstairs with resolve. When Ginny tried the doorknob to Harry’s room, it was locked.

Ginny gave the others a puzzled look as she asked, “Why would he lock his door? He never does that.”

Frowning, Ron said, “And what’s the point of locking it if we can just use a spell to unlock it anyway?”

“Something must be wrong. He’s hiding something again,” Hermione concluded. She pulled out her wand, pointed it at the doorknob, and said, “Alohomora!” The knob clicked softly, and Hermione quickly turned it, opening the door.

Harry’s bedroom appeared tidy at first glance, as if nothing had been disturbed. The summer breeze drifted through the open window, masking a faint metallic odor that grew stronger as they approached.

Ginny gasped when she saw Harry. His pillow was soaked with blood, his eyes clenched shut as if in pain. He did not stir when Ginny touched his feverish face.

She turned to Ron and Hermione. “He’s burning up. Ron, hurry downstairs and get a fever reducer from mum. Tell her Harry’s very ill again.”

Ron nodded and raced from the room.

Hermione whispered a cleaning charm to vanish the bloodstains from Harry’s pillow.

“Harry?” Ginny called his name, but he remained unresponsive, eyes clenched shut as he groaned.

“I knew something was wrong with Harry,” Hermione said to Ginny, exasperated. “Why else would he want to isolate himself for a whole day?” She looked at him reproachfully. “Oh, Harry... why do you persist in concealing things from us?”

Just then, Ron returned with potions in hand, Mrs. Weasley close behind.

Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in fright upon seeing Harry’s sickly state, blood still dripping from his nose. Ginny slid over to make room when her mother sat before Harry. Casting a disapproving look at Ron, Mrs. Weasley said, “Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

Ron could only give her an apologetic look before lowering his head. She took the vial from him and turned to Harry.

“Harry?” she said softly. When he didn’t respond, she called more firmly, “Harry! Open your eyes.”

He moaned as he slowly opened his eyes to see Mrs. Weasley’s blurry figure. Wincing from the sudden light and throbbing headache, he met her gaze.

“Mrs. Wea—”

“Shhh... it’s okay,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t talk, dear.” She held out the fever potion for him to take. Harry frowned at first, but his shaking hands made it clear he needed help. Ron volunteered to hold the vial steady so Harry could drink. Though embarrassed, Harry swallowed the potion then sank back into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

“Harry, where else does it hurt?” Molly asked, worried.

He pointed to his forehead. Before Molly could offer the Healing potion she’d brought, Harry’s eyes filled with tears. “...hurts... burns...” he whispered, gesturing at his skin.

The teens looked at each other as the burning sensation, though less intense than before, brought tears to his eyes.

“I can only offer a healing potion for the pain, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said sadly. “It may ease your headache, but we can only hope the burn will subside, even just a little. Here—”

Ron held the potion to Harry’s lips when he opened his eyes again. After drinking it, Harry turned to his other side with his back to them, still moaning from the lingering pain.

To be continued...