Alarmed by Harry’s agonized thrashing and screams, Ron and Hermione rushed back to St. Mungo’s with their arms full of hastily gathered supplies. With no choice but to act quickly, they Portkeyed Harry out of the hospital, their bodies jerked into the whirling void before reemerging at Shell Cottage.
Though Harry could smell the salty sea air and hear the waves crashing against the rocks, he doubled over in pain upon arrival, falling to his knees and vomiting as dizziness from the Portkey overwhelmed him. Gripping the warm earth in anguish, he failed to ease the familiar burning in his body and broke down sobbing. Ginny murmured comfort as he screamed, while Hermione conjured a stretcher on which she and Ron gently laid Harry.
They raced toward Shell Cottage as fast as they could while carrying Harry.
Bill Weasley flung open the front door, His smile faded instantly when Harry’s screams pierced the air. Bill’s face paled at the sight of Harry’s torment. He stepped aside to let them in immediately.
“What happened?” He asked in alarm.
Ron gently helped Harry onto the sofa before the stretcher disappeared into thin air. Ginny clasped Harry’s hands in hers, while Hermione murmured his name comfortingly.
Ron turned to his brother Bill, whose face was etched with concern. “Harry’s gravely ill,” he said, his voice tight.
Bill tensed. “I can see that. What’s afflicting him?” he asked urgently.
Before Ron could respond, Harry cried out in pain. “His soul is damaged,” Ron managed, anguish cracking his voice. “He’s dying.”
Bill’s eyes widened in shock as he blinked rapidly. “Wait, what do you mean?” he asked.
Before Ron could respond, Hermione’s shaky, tense voice called his attention. “Ron, I need your help pouring this healing potion in Harry’s mouth. He’s thrashing too much for me to hold him still.”
In an instant, Ron was at her side, positioning himself between her and Harry. He held Harry’s knees to stop their movement while Bill pinned Harry’s shoulders to the sofa to still his thrashing.
“But Hermione, we agreed none of those potions work,” said Ron sharply.
Hermione’s voice broke as she replied, “I have to try. I can’t stand seeing him suffer like this! We must attempt something to ease his pain.” She removed the vial’s lid. “Harry?” she called out futilely, knowing he was too consumed by agony to hear her. Gently holding his face, she poured the liquid into his mouth. Harry gagged but managed to painfully swallow it down.
Just then, a large silver lynx glided through the ceiling over Shell Cottage. They all gasped, immediately recognizing Kingsley Shacklebolt’s Patronus that had appeared at Bill and Fleur’s wedding as a warning.
The lynx landed softly in the center of the living room. Opening its jaws wide, it spoke in the Minister’s booming, grave voice.
I’m aware of the incident. Seek shelter immediately. Contact me when you can.
“Why would Kingsley send word here?” Bill asked, puzzled. “What did he mean by ‘he’s aware of the incident’?”
Ron and Hermione exchanged knowing looks before she woefully raised her head to address Bill. “The message is for us,” she informed him evenly. “We were at St. Mungo’s because Harry and your parents were attacked at the Burrow yesterday. Yaxley poisoned Harry, and your parents were stunned.”
Bill’s face suddenly turned ashen with terror. “Are you saying Mum and Dad are in the hospital right now?” he asked.
“Percy and Hagrid are with them,” Ginny said, her eyes sliding over to rest on Bill’s face. “I told them we’re leaving and that we have to take a Portkey to get here.”
“But why did you leave?” Bill asked, looking confused.
“There was an attack at St. Mungo’s—” Ron began quickly, but Hermione cut him off.
“It wasn’t really an attack,” she explained reassuringly. “Yaxley used some kind of Amplifying Charm at St. Mungo’s to urge any hidden Death Eaters there to come out and kill Harry. We think he somehow broadcast it to other parts of the wizarding world too. People are stirred up after learning of Harry’s location. They either want him dead or are just curious why he’s ill.”
Bill’s gaze lingered on Hermione’s face for a moment before he slowly asked, “What was Kingsley’s involvement?
His sister answered him. ”We needed his help to mend Harry’s soul.”
“What kind of help?” Bill asked slowly.
“We needed a special ingredient for the potion we planned to brew, and Kingsley was the only one authorized to obtain it: a fragment of stone from the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.” Hermione revealed.
“And had he given it to you yet?” Bill asked softly.
“Yes, it’s in my bag right now. He came by the hospital yesterday with the stone when he heard of the attack at the Burrow.”
Bill fell silent, seeming to consider the situation. Harry writhed continually on the sofa, his cries reverberating through the house. A mournful expression crossed Hermione’s face, but she wiped the sweat from her brow and resumed murmuring words of comfort.
“What was the status of Mum and Dad before you left the hospital?” Bill asked his siblings.
“Still a little shaken,” said Ginny, “but they’re doing well. They told me to go ahead and let you know what happened as soon as we arrived. They’ll come by later.”
At that moment, Harry buried his face in his pillow as intense pain hit him again. Ginny could only hold his hand, her face pale with worry and fear.
“What’s happening to him?” Bill asked in alarm. “You already gave him a Healing Potion. Why isn’t it working?”
“It’s unpredictable,” Hermione replied honestly. “The potion usually fails, but sometimes it works—it’s hard to explain… it’s as if his soul is rejecting all healing and slowly damaging itself.”
“How did he damage his soul?” Bill asked cautiously. “Can you even do that?”
“You-Know-Who actually did it. Do you remember the first time the three of us took refuge here?”
Bill nodded. “Yes, I remember it clearly—you, Harry, and Ron stayed here with others seeking shelter.”
Hermione took a deep breath before responding in a hushed voice, “We were searching for Horcruxes.”
“What are those?” Bill asked.
She shivered. “Voldemort split his soul and hid the fragments in objects to try to become immortal,” Hermione explained quietly. She continued recounting their journey.
Bill stared at Hermione, stunned into silence.
“Don’t worry,” Ron reassured. “It was hard for us to grasp at first too when Harry explained it.”
Bill’s frown deepened as he pondered the astonishing news. His eyes shifted to Ginny when she murmured, “Harry has been talking with Professor Slughorn. That’s how he learned about his soul and the chance to heal it.”
“And did he find a cure?” Bill asked.
“Yes,” Hermione replied. She pulled the shimmering, pearl-covered Anima book from her beaded bag. “Everything on mending a soul is in here, including the potion I mentioned. It’s part of the process.”
Bill held the book with shaky hands after Hermione handed it to him. “Did Professor Slughorn have this book with him?” he asked.
“No,” Hermione replied. “It was in Dumbledore’s office. It took Professor Slughorn a while to get it back to us because he had to break the enchantment Dumbledore had placed on the book.”
Looking confused, Bill asked “Enchantment? Why would he hide it behind an enchantment?”
“I had the same question when Slughorn told us,” said Ron casually.
“It was Professor Dumbledore’s idea to use an enchantment to conceal the book,” Hermione explained.
“But why go through the trouble of hiding it?” Bill asked.
Ron shrugged. “Your guess is as good as ours.”
“Fragmenting souls is the book’s topic,” Hermione replied plainly.
“But splitting one’s soul remains unheard of, creating a Horcrux even more so. How could that...?” Bill’s confusion seemed to frustrate him. With a sigh, he asked, “Did Dumbledore know Harry would eventually suffer from his damaged soul?”
“We’re unsure, but it’s possible,” Hermione said.
Noticing Fleur’s absence, Ginny abruptly inquired, “Bill, where’s Fleur?”
“She’s in France visiting her parents for a few weeks,” he responded.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Silence enveloped them as Harry calmed somewhat, though he still winced occasionally from the lingering pain.
“Should we send Kingsley a reply?” Ron asked, sitting in a chair beside Harry.
“I’d advise settling in first before contacting him,” Bill said, rising to his feet. “It’s been overwhelming. You’re all still rattled.” With a flick of his wand, goblets swirled gracefully to the table and landed with soft clinks before filling themselves with butterbeer.
They drank quietly and talked for a few more hours until the sun sank below the horizon. Then they moved Harry to the room where Mr. Ollivander had stayed, facing the cliff-top garden and Dobby’s grave for easy access if needed.
The wind howled against the window as Bill and Ron tucked Harry into bed. Seeing him shiver and moan, Ginny closed the window. Though still fitful, Harry’s twisting and turning had calmed somewhat. Sweat glistened on his pained face. Ginny and Hermione sat at his bedside, one on each side.
“You’re welcome to use the upstairs bedrooms,” Bill offered.
“Thanks, but we’d rather stay close,” said Ron. “We need to check on him through the night.”
“It’ll be cramped in here,” Bill cautioned.
“We’ll manage,” Hermione assured with a grateful smile. “We can sleep in the living room if needed.”
----------------------------------------
Knockturn Alley looked gloomy and deserted as night fell. Sinister individuals lurked suspiciously amid shops devoted to the Dark Arts, peddling dark objects and trinkets.
Hurrying alone down the empty street was Draco Malfoy. He peered cautiously left and right, as though sensing unseen eyes upon him. Reaching his destination, Draco wore an expression mingling curiosity, resentment and fear as he entered.
Draco found himself in a cramped, dimly-lit pub. Ducking under the low, uneven ceiling, he wove between the scattered tables and threadbare chairs to avoid bumping his head. Shadowy corners were illuminated only by the flickering candles on each table, casting an eerie glow across the dingy wood-paneled walls. A few wizened old men sat smoking pipes, their wrinkled faces blank and expressionless.
Making his way to the back corner, Draco spotted a hooded figure hunched over the table. The man’s face was wrinkled, with milky eyes and hair as white as snow. As Draco sat down, the old man looked up with a wicked grin, his bloodshot eyes glinting in the candlelight.
The old man regarded Draco quietly, studying the silver-haired boy seated across from him.
Draco nodded in acknowledgement. “Yaxley,” he said.
The two sat in silence, examining each other closely before Yaxley spoke. Though disguised as an old man, his voice was faint yet laced with malice.
“How are mommy and daddy?” he asked mockingly.
Draco just shrugged, keeping quiet.
“I heard your family is switching sides and helping the Ministry by revealing names,” Yaxley said casually, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Draco, who feigned boredom.
“Yes,” Draco replied dully.
“And you?” Yaxley asked, emphasizing the last word sharply with a curled lip.
Though Yaxley’s veiled threat unnerved him, Draco laughed it off. “What kind of fool do you take me for? You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He shot Yaxley a glowering look before lowering his gaze to the table.
Yaxley narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Draco. “I heard you helped Harry Potter,” he said.
Draco jerked his head up in surprise.
“Bet you’re wondering how I found out,” Yaxley continued with a drawl. “No matter—I already sent forces to attack the giant escorting him to the cave.” His cold, apathetic gaze made Draco shiver, but then Draco inexplicably grinned and laughed.
Yaxley’s confusion was evident. “What’s so funny, boy?” he asked irritably.
Draco heaved an ostentatious sigh. “You think I’m oblivious to my own actions?” he questioned, fixing Yaxley with an icy glower. “I’m attempting to assist you—the very least you could do is exhibit some gratitude.”
“Don’t you presume to ridicule me, boy!” Yaxley growled, slamming his fists on the table. “You weren’t part of the plan—”
“Yet you capitalized on my scheme for your own gain!” Draco retorted through clenched teeth, resolute not to let Yaxley unsettle him. “I believe I’m entitled to weigh in on this issue. That oafish giant got what he deserved. I’ll wager you’re at a loss for what to do next, aren’t you?”
Yaxley’s brows furrowed darkly and his eyes flashed with anger. “Your family is now seen as traitors,” he said fiercely. “You think I don’t know the Ministry placed a tracking spell on you? You could be putting me at risk by betraying me! What made you think I could trust you? Your deceptive words and actions will never convince me.”
“Say whatever you like about my family, Yaxley,” Draco replied lazily. “Yes, the Ministry did place a tracking spell on me for my probation, but-” He looked directly at the old man in front of him who was clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I cast another charm to conceal myself for at least a few hours. That should be enough time for our friendly chat, no? You’re welcome to check if you’d like.” He stood and waited for Yaxley to draw his wand, but he only tilted his head to one side, unmoving in his seat. Draco sat back down. “No one is coming here to arrest you.”
“You have too much confidence in yourself,” Yaxley sneered.
“Of course I do,” Draco said darkly, “that’s how I was raised.”
Yaxley leered at him. “So similar to Potter, though.”
“Don’t compare me to that half-blood filth!” Draco hissed, temper flaring.
A snigger slipped through Yaxley’s teeth. “Potter’s brave but he and those blood traitors lacked wit. So easy to attack.”
Draco gave him a questioning look, intrigued. “Tell me how you did it.”
Yaxley stared at Draco intently, his eyes blazing with uncomfortable intensity. Crossing his arms, he finally spoke. “Arthur Weasley had been foolishly talking loudly to his son Percy at the Ministry Atrium. I overheard them mention Potter’s name while disguised there. I remembered Dolores Umbridge’s files against the Weasleys for supporting Potter. Though they stopped quickly, I heard Potter was ill. With my stock of Polyjuice, it was easy to transform into Percy after obtaining some of his hair,” Yaxley met Draco’s steel gaze. “The Weasleys mistakenly think they can be lax with security after the war. I saw an opportunity and took it.”
Draco frowned.
“While searching Percy’s office, I found a file listing the location of their fireplace,” Yaxley continued. “I can bypass the protective enchantments, but subtly, to avoid drawing attention. I spent time covertly staking out their house until I spotted an owl abruptly exit through a window.”
“An owl?”
“Imagine my surprise when I read the letter and discovered a certain cave,” said Yaxley, his gaze drifting back to Draco, watching him lazily with an icy, fiery stare. “The next day, I stunned the son in his office to lower my risk of exposure while planning a visit to their home. I took some of his hair for Polyjuice, of course. I enjoy hurting the Weasleys. That’s why I did it, I suppose,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine my gratification at stepping into their hut and seeing Potter in such poor condition.”
Draco cleared his throat but said nothing.
Yaxley spoke in a menacing voice, gloating, “Granger just couldn’t keep quiet. She rambled on about everything that happened. It was perfect for my purposes.”
Draco watched Yaxley with bemusement as he pulled out a copy of Witch Weekly, turning to a page with a large photo of a sickly Harry Potter cradled by Hagrid. Yaxley shoved it in front of Draco, who stared at the page.
“I haven’t read anything by Rita Skeeter in a while. Was she part of your plan? Did you ask her to write this?” Draco asked.
“I don’t need to talk to her for her to do my bidding,” Yaxley said coolly. “She just knows when and where to find a juicy story. I like her.”
“So Potter’s in St. Mungo’s because you attacked him?”
“Yes... I poisoned him,” Yaxley replied, a smug look on his face. “It’s amusing how just a few drops of poison caused such panic. But Potter’s screams—” He closed his eyes and smiled wickedly.
“I bet you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Draco said, disgust in his expression.
“Oh, yes! I’ve been waiting to take my revenge, and this is just the beginning, boy. Now the world knows the state of their young hero. I reckon you know he’s dying?” Yaxley asked with a wild grin.
Draco didn’t answer but instead asked, “Is Potter still in the hospital?”
“No,” said Yaxley. “He vanished when the pressure of people’s intense desire for him became too much, especially from the likes of us Death Eaters, but no matter. We have a plan in place to deal with him.”
Draco had an inkling of what Yaxley was hinting at. “Is that why you want to talk to me? Am I part of your plan now?”
Yaxley smirked at him. “That sounds so transactional, but… yes, you are… unless you’d rather hide with your dear mommy and daddy,” he taunted. “If you truly want your family’s reputation restored, why not join us and finish what the Dark Lord started? Isn’t that what you initially wanted when you joined the Death Eaters?” His eyes bored intensely into Draco’s gray ones until the younger man glanced away, nodding his assent.
Yaxley’s lips curved into a smile. “Good… very good,” he said pleasantly. “You have always proven yourself worthy of your title as a pureblood, and I have respected that as honorable. I am pleased you have not truly lost your way, unlike your parents.”
“Leave my mother and father out of this if you want me to join you!” Draco said coldly. “I make my own choices. My parents have nothing to do with it.”
“Such courage...” Yaxley muttered. “I rather missed that. I haven’t seen it for so long. I wonder why you were always reluctant to participate in Death Eater activities...” He leaned forward, staring at Draco as his dark eyes glinted. “Perhaps your loyalty didn’t really lie with the Dark Lord?”
“You have no right to question my loyalties to the Dark Lord!” Draco spat. “I carried out his tasks successfully—I brought death to Dumbledore.”
“No, you didn’t,” sneered Yaxley, his smirk returning to his weathered face. “You were too afraid to kill him, so Snape saved your skin by slaying Dumbledore himself. Your sole contribution was smuggling that Vanishing Cabinet into Hogwarts, allowing us to complete the deed after you failed. Sly and evasive as any serpent, you slithered away from the task.”
Draco’s glare was venomous. “I do not slither away!” he spat through gritted teeth.
Yaxley jabbed an accusatory finger. “Then prove it!” he snarled.
Draco struggled to contain his fury at Yaxley as it coursed through him like poison, but he knew he must restrain his anger to learn Yaxley’s intentions. “What exactly is your plan?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Yaxley eyed him scornfully, his lip curling in disdain. “We eliminate Potter, naturally.”
“You can’t be serious,” Draco responded icily. “You’ve spouted that countless times before. You poisoned him—why not finish him off then and there?”
“Simply killing him would be far too straightforward,” Yaxley sneered dismissively. “Where’s the enjoyment in that?”
Draco’s grey eyes fixed unblinkingly on Yaxley, dislike etched into every line of his face, as he demanded, “How do you plan to kill him if you don’t even know where he is?”
At that moment, two black-cloaked wizards entered the pub and approached Yaxley silently. One reported sharply, “We checked the Weasley house but saw no sign of him. We barely escaped before Aurors closed in.”
Draco shifted uncomfortably, looking away from them.
Yaxley frowned, asking, “What about St. Mungo’s?”
The other wizard spoke in a deep voice. “The blood traitors are inside with Percy Weasley and the giant, but we did not see any more of him in the building. After your announcement, sources say a Healer saw two of Potter’s friends hurrying down the hallway, carrying a pair of boots. They went into his ward. She said she faintly heard Potter’s screams of pain before the noises disappeared. We believe they Portkeyed themselves out. ”
Yaxley smirked, and Draco saw malice flare in his eyes. “Is that so?” The two wizards nodded. “Very well.” Yaxley gestured for them to leave.
Draco watched the two retreating figures. He had not seen them before and suspected they might be Yaxley’s new recruits.
“That could easily be checked into,” Yaxley muttered to himself.
“How many Death Eaters do you have now?” Draco inquired, pulling Yaxley from his reverie. “Are those your new recruits?”
“Yes,” Yaxley replied softly. “We number less than twenty at present. I know many followers still lurk, too afraid to reveal themselves. I pity them. They thought a new, just society would be born, only for an unworthy one to crush it. We were given hope—a chance to uplift wizardkind—but it was stolen from us. You do want a chance at a better world, don’t you?”
Draco lowered his head. He had been raised to strongly believe in the importance of blood purity. His family took pride in these beliefs and maintained a respectable public image, even as they allied themselves with the Dark Lord. Draco thought to himself that if only Potter hadn’t befriended Weasley, they could have accomplished great things together. He could have learned more about the true leaders of the wizarding world. Regret formed in his mind - he believed this rift could have been easily mended if the blood traitors hadn’t been so friendly with Potter initially. Draco wondered how differently Potter would have treated him. Might they have been best friends? Would Potter have adopted the old pureblood beliefs too? Could he have become a Death Eater at the Dark Lord’s side? So many possibilities existed for how things could have gone, but it was too late now. Ever since consorting with Mudbloods, Potter had ruined everything. Now Draco was stuck dealing with these messes.
“I do,” he said after a while.
Yaxley peered down at him, baring his teeth. “Then we shall pay a short visit to one of the blood traitor Weasleys.”
“Who?” Draco asked curiously.
“George Weasley.”
To be continued...