After being cleared by the nurse at St. Mungo’s Hospital, Molly and Arthur Apparated to Shell Cottage. Percy and Hagrid, who had been talking to the Minister, followed after them.

The Minister himself had rushed to the hospital upon hearing about the disturbance caused by Yaxley. He immediately dispatched Aurors to patrol and search the building for any Death Eaters who might still be casing the hospital in disguise.

Exhausted from the ordeal, the three Weasleys and Hagrid went straight to the cottage to rest. However, they were immediately assaulted by the sound of Harry’s screams. Bill, who had been looking after Harry, took them directly to Harry’s room where they remained for most of the night.

Far from relaxed and cheerful, the occupants were distressed when Harry doubled over in bed, screaming repeatedly. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying, he panted for what felt like hours, his throat had gone dry and sore, and his hands were numb. Bone-tired and ready to surrender, he was utterly exhausted.

Harry begged, “No more... please...” He writhed in agony, clenching and unclenching his jaw as a trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue.

Molly longed to help but was at a loss for how to ease his suffering. How much more torment could his body endure before collapse? His friends had already given him several potions, but further doses risked overdose or other dangers.

Dawn’s rays streamed through the cottage windows as waves rhythmically lapped the shore, a soothing sound overwhelmed by renewed cries. Exhausted from their vigil, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had notified Professor Slughorn, hoping he could advise them on how to relieve their friend’s distress. Slughorn had decided to come to Shell Cottage immediately to begin brewing the potion, since they had already gathered all the necessary ingredients.

As consciousness slipped away, Harry fought to stay awake. Through blurred vision, he could just make out Dobby’s grave, and wished the loyal elf could be with them. Then he closed his eyes as exhaustion overtook him.

Mrs. Weasley took the blanket from the foot of Harry’s bed and tucked it around him. She tentatively sat beside him and looked at her husband, whose arms were crossed over his chest, eyes staring distantly into a corner. Hagrid wore a similar distant expression, eyes misted over, lost in his own thoughts and not speaking a word.

“How did this happen?” Molly whispered anxiously, her face etched with discomfort as she glanced around the room. “The attack at the Burrow...”

With a sigh, Arthur met his wife’s exhausted gaze. Beside him, Percy stood silently, no doubt pondering the same question. “Back at St. Mungo’s, you told us you were attacked in your office,” Arthur said, turning to Percy, who nodded in confirmation.

“After that, the impostor went to the Burrow...” Arthur continued thoughtfully. “But how did he know Harry was there, and how did he break our protective enchantments?”

“Did you tell anyone else?” Molly pressed, watching her husband closely.

Arthur furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to recall their conversation. “I don’t think I mentioned Harry was at the Burrow. I ran into you,” he gestured to Percy. “and said Harry was sick, and you asked if he was in the hospital, but I didn’t see you again after that initial encounter.”

Percy shook his head, confused. “No, I didn’t ask if Harry was in the hospital. I only saw you that one time when you said he was sick. I never saw you come back to the office later.”

Arthur frowned, perplexed. “But I’m certain I came back and told you Harry was at the Burrow, not the hospital.”

“I don’t know when that second conversation occurred.”

“The next day after that, we talked in the Atrium,” Arthur reminded his son.

“But I wasn’t in the Ministry at the time,” his son replied. “I was out conducting fireplace inspections.”

Molly gasped, suddenly realizing the truth. She shot her husband with a frightened look. “I don’t think it was our son who asked about Harry’s whereabouts. I think it was Yaxley disguised as Percy.”

The blood drained from Arthur’s face as he cursed under his breath. “The Burrow is unsafe as long as Yaxley is free. We’re all vulnerable.” Genuine sorrow crossed his features and he added resignedly, “I’m so sorry.” Overcome with shame, he buried his face in his hands.

Molly gently laid a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder. “It’s alright, dear. At least we still have this cottage.” She longed to whisper words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out together. We always do.”

Arthur avoided Molly’s gaze as he shuffled his feet, his voice low. “I should have been more careful about who I was confiding in. The thought that my carelessness could bring harm to this family is unbearable.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as a wave of emotion overtook him. Molly hated seeing her husband so defeated.

“But you couldn’t have known it wasn’t our Percy,” she reasoned gently, her sad brown eyes finding his. “Yes, we were attacked, but we’re all safe now, and that’s what matters.”

A sudden knock at the door startled everyone inside Shell Cottage, except for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who immediately ran to open it. They had been expecting Professor Slughorn to arrive around this time and knew it was him as soon as they heard the knock. As the Secret-Keeper of the safe house, Bill had given Slughorn permission to enter.

Outside stood Professor Slughorn, calmly carrying a clanking, empty cauldron filled with brewing equipment.

“Professor!” called Hermione as she opened the door. Ron reached out to help Slughorn with the heavy cauldron and set it on the dining table, next to the rest of the potion ingredients and the Anima book.

Sadness clouded Slughorn’s face as the Weasleys closed the door behind him, informing him once again of Harry’s dire condition. Deeply distressed by the terrible news, Slughorn struggled to mask his concern with feigned cheerfulness when he first saw Harry lying listlessly in bed. Molly glimpsed the potions master’s guilt and intense desire to help in his expression.

“I’ve brought several potions that may help Harry get through the day,” Slughorn said, removing a vial of purple liquid from his robes. “This is a powerful healing draught I brewed last night in hopes of aiding Harry. If this doesn’t help him, I’m afraid nothing will.” Ginny took the vial and rushed to Harry’s room as Slughorn set the stacks of potion bottles on the table.

“Now,” he said, “the potion we’re about to brew will take about an hour, but—” He held up a finger as Ron sighed in relief “—the number of stirs required, the stirring technique, and timing vary by ingredient. One mistake ruins it all.”

Ron gulped. “I’ve botched too many potions in Snape’s class,” he whispered to Hermione. “I’m glad I won’t be brewing this for Harry. He’d die waiting for a potion that would never come if I made it.”

Remembering Ron’s brewing disasters, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Professor, would you like me to help with the potion?” she offered.

Smiling, Slughorn said, “Though I would normally gladly accept your kind offer, Ms. Granger, this potion is exceptionally complex, thus I ought to brew it myself.”

Looking slightly offended but nodding in acquiescence, Hermione watched as Slughorn took the Anima book and turned to the appropriate page. His expression remained calm and composed as he perused the directions. With an understanding nod, he began removing the contents of the cauldron and aligning them neatly on the table before him.

Settling into chairs, Ron and Hermione observed their professor at work. Occasionally passing by, Bill kept an eye on the proceedings. Even Ginny, concerned about Harry’s waning energy, checked on Slughorn’s progress from time to time.

----------------------------------------

The aroma of the simmering potion drifted into the cottage. Slughorn had successfully added three ingredients with the proper stirring technique for nearly an hour; now the final step required a vial of Harry’s blood to complete the brew. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hurried to Harry’s room, where the adults looked up from their bedside vigil.

“How’s the potion?” Mrs. Weasley inquired.

“It’s almost finished,” Ginny replied with a smile. “We just need Harry’s blood, then it’s complete.”

Hermione uncertainly withdrew a small knife from her bag. She gently grasped Harry’s hand; he stirred. “Harry,” she spoke softly. He slowly opened his eyes. “I need to take some blood for the potion. It will sting a bit.”

Harry nodded curtly and looked away. With bated breath, Hermione made a small cut on his finger; blood trickled into a vial. After collecting a few drops, she cast a healing charm.

She ran back to the kitchen, the adults following close behind.

Slughorn was just finishing stirring the potion when Hermione handed him the vial of Harry’s blood. He poured a few drops into the cauldron. The gray liquid instantly turned silver as the blood hit the surface, bubbling slightly as it thickened. The onlookers waited silently, watching intently as Slughorn quickened his pace for the final stirs, unlike with the other ingredients. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged excited yet nervous glances when Slughorn finally announced, “It’s ready.”

Ginny hurried to the table and set down three goblets with shaking hands.

Mrs. Weasley eyed her daughter peculiarly. “Why three goblets, Ginny?” she asked. “You only need one for Harry.”

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Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gazed at Mrs. Weasley with trepidation. They hesitated to explain the situation to her.

Ginny trembled as she stammered, “It—it’s for us, Mum.”

Bewilderment and unease flickered across Mrs. Weasley’s face. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Hermione looked terrified as she explained, “The potion is for us to drink, Mrs. Weasley. The book said whoever attempts to mend Harry’s soul must ingest it.”

Mr. Weasley frowned, perplexed. “That’s very strange. Are you certain those are the correct instructions?”

“It’s accurate,” Slughorn said in a composed tone. “Only those deeply connected to Harry can try to mend his soul.”

“And does drinking the potion guarantee saving a soul, then?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“No,” Slughorn replied. “They must also cast the spell from the book to begin the process.”

“How do we know it will succeed once started?” Bill asked abruptly.

“We don’t,” Slughorn said. Seeing Bill’s disappointment, he continued, “The book claims more people close to Harry should attempt it, though why it requires more is unclear. But we’ll know if the ritual succeeds.”

Curious about the details, Hermione asked, “What happens during the ritual?” She had not yet read that section of the book, and the mystery filled her with nervous anticipation.

“It says once the potion is drunk and the spell cast, the soul of the one performing the ritual will enter the afflicted’s body, rendering both unconscious until it’s complete,” he explained. “The ritual must not be interrupted or it will fail.”

“And if it fails?” Percy asked apprehensively.

The house fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the crashing of waves against the rocks outside. No one stirred, not even Slughorn, who seemed desperate to avoid answering that single question.

Mrs. Weasley jerked her hand swiftly, seizing the book before anyone could react. Their faces slackened in shock, mouths gaping open. Her eyes darted rapidly as she brought the book closer to read, her other hand flying to her chest. The teens before her felt strangely diminished as she loomed over them, anger swelling. Mrs. Weasley had a fiery temper that flared first and faded last, leaving wreckage in its wake. This day would be no different.

“Did you know about this?” Molly demanded, her voice low and eyes flashing as she glared at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

“What is it, dear?” Arthur asked urgently. “What did the letter say?”

“It says that if they don’t heal Harry, they’ll suffer the same fate,” she answered, voice trembling.

Gasps came from Bill and Percy. Arthur froze, stunned into silence, mouth agape in disbelief.

“We couldn’t tell you,” Ron said weakly.

Molly sighed in frustration. “Why not?” she asked angrily.

“Because that’s exactly how you’d react,” Ginny admitted regretfully. “We couldn’t heal Harry’s soul if you all opposed it.”

Mrs. Weasley turned her fierce gaze on the professor. “You knew about this too, didn’t you Horace? You’ve known all along but never told us!”

Unfazed by her outburst, Slughorn replied sadly, “Saving a soul carries terrible risks. I’m sorry.”

“Preposterous!” bellowed Mr. Weasley, eyes flashing with grief and indignation. The Weasley children looked on, terrified, having rarely seen their father so angry. “That is the most reckless, ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

Mrs. Weasley said defiantly, “There must be another way to heal Harry’s soul!” But Slughorn shook his head. “No, Molly.”

“How could you know that?” Mr. Weasley spat angrily.

“I don’t,” Slughorn replied calmly. “But I trust Dumbledore’s judgment. He likely foresaw this and made his best effort to find a solution—this is the only way.”

“I highly doubt that!” Mrs. Weasley bristled at his words.

“By all means,” said Slughorn. His voice was quiet and measured but carried an intensity that chilled them. “Look for another solution if you wish... I’ll gladly help if you find one. But remember, we have little time to save Harry.”

Mr. Weasley erupted in anger. “This is absurd!” He cried out, his face flushed with frustration. “I have protected my children, kept them from harm, done everything to keep them safe. And now—” Overcome with rage, he couldn’t finish. Closing his eyes briefly to collect himself, he reopened them to find Slughorn’s gaze upon him.

“Arthur,” Slughorn began gently, “No matter what happens—”

“Don’t.” Arthur cut him off sharply. “Just don’t.”

An uneasy silence descended, the air heavy with dread.

“Mum, Dad,” Ginny finally said, breaking the heavy silence. “I know it hurts to think we’re risking our lives, but they’re our lives to risk. None of us would be here if Harry hadn’t risked his life for us too.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley remained silent, not even glancing her way. So Ron spoke up, “I agree. Harry’s always risked his life for us without asking for anything. The damage to his soul wasn’t his fault. He didn’t choose it.”

“Please just trust us,” Ginny said softly.

Mrs. Weasley looked on the verge of tears. Mr. Weasley walked over and wrapped his arms around his wife. In the next moment, she was sobbing into his shoulder, her heart pouring out. “I’m just s-s-so worried. P-P-Percy was attacked... the B-B-Burrow isn’t safe anymore... and then this...”

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley whispered sadly, caressing her back as he held her. “But we need to trust them. I know they’re more than capable.”

When Mrs. Weasley’s tears finally subsided, her eyes dry once more, she saw Harry standing in the doorway of his room. Pain and sorrow were visible in the way he carried himself, exhaustion evident on his face; bags painted garishly under his eyes, his face twisted in a pained grimace.

“Harry, what are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her eyes narrowing accusingly as she looked up at him in surprise. The others turned to stare as well. “You’re too weak. You shouldn’t be walking around.” They hurried over to him.

A deep sadness welled up inside Harry. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. Hagrid stood behind him, holding him steady as his legs trembled and his breath came in labored gasps. Mrs. Weasley’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Harry went on. “I don’t want to endanger you all because of me.” He tried to walk toward them, but each step took such effort that his strength gave out. Leaning on Hagrid, he said again, “I’m so sorry.”

Harry’s heart pounded fiercely as he closed his eyes. Suddenly, arms wrapped around him, offering comfort to carry on. Muffled cries and sniffs surrounded him. Slowly opening his tired eyes, Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Though their faces showed hurt and sorrow, warmth and care shone through. They were the family he had always wished for. No words could capture their compassion. Nothing needed to be said—this moment told Harry they understood his sufferings and had given him so much that his life now had meaning. Despite all he had endured, the Weasleys showed Harry he deserved a wonderful life.

When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley released him, Ginny wrapped Harry in a tight embrace. For the first time, Harry realized how desperately he needed the solace only she could provide. “It’s okay, Harry,” she soothed, gently stroking his back. “We’ll get through this.”

Her voice was a balm. She had never spoken to anyone but him with such tenderness, and he managed a grateful smile. With her compassion, the pain and frustration melted away as tears streamed down his face. Exhaustion weighed on him—he needed rest—but still he clung to her, burying his face in her comforting arms. At one year old he had lost this refuge; now, seventeen years later, he had found it again in the woman he loved, who loved him in return.

Still clinging to Ginny, Harry shuffled painfully back to his room, the rest of the Weasleys, Hagrid, and Hermione staying behind to give them space.

Sitting on the bed, Harry leaned against the headboard and sadly raised his eyes to Ginny beside him. Her face was pale and shadowed, her lips pressed tight, though she tried to smile for him. Consumed by grief yet determined to make the most of their time, neither knew how to break the heavy silence between them.

Harry’s voice trembled as he confessed, “I’m starting to forget things. There are times when I don’t know where I am, who my friends are—” He broke off, shuddering in anguish before forcing out the words, “Or even who I am.”

Ginny raised her eyes to meet his, and Harry felt a cold knot of dread form in his throat at her hesitant gaze, tacitly confirming his fears. “I noticed some lapses when we were at the Burrow,” she said gently. “But Slughorn’s potion will help. You’re going to get better now, Harry.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands. “Just now, I had no memory of what’s been happening to me...I don’t know why I feel pain throughout my body—why I’m ill.” He fought to steady his voice as tears pricked his eyes, brushing them away. “Mrs. Weasley stood before me and I couldn’t even recognize her—” He felt the air sucked from the room, panic rising within.

Ginny slid nearer, flinging her arms around him in a tight, comforting embrace. “Shhh...” She rubbed his back. “You’ll be alright.”

Harry pressed his mouth into a tight line as he struggled to restrain the painful emotions welling up inside him. “I’m scared. I don’t want to forget—” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”

Ginny met his brilliant green eyes steadily. “You don’t need to apologize, Harry. I understand what’s happening to you.”

“You can’t know how awful it was when I didn’t recognize you...or remember us,” he said wretchedly. “I’m so sorry.”

She turned her gaze away. “I know...I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes, like I’m a stranger. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t frighten me.”

Harry’s face fell as he looked at Ginny, his voice hushed with apology. “Do they know?”

Ginny’s brows knitted. “Who?”

“Ron and Hermione,” he said urgently. “Have they seen me lose my memory?” Anxiety gripped him as he awaited her response, the silence between them growing unbearable.

“We all have...” she finally answered, her voice barely a whisper. “Even Mum and Dad.”

Harry tilted his head back in frustration. “I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Harry, you have nothing to apologize for. We understand the difficulties you’ve been facing, even if they’ve caught us off guard. What’s important now is that we confront the situation together, with compassion and open minds.”

Harry took Ginny’s face in his hands and saw that while she had maintained her composure, her eyes glistened with tears. As he touched her damp cheeks, he realized that he too had been crying silently.

Harry’s mind reeled with guilt and regret as he recalled the attack at the Burrow. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said, his voice strained. “I wasn’t able to protect your parents. You must’ve hated me for failing to defend them.” Shame and remorse pressed heavily on his chest. “When I think of what happened, of what Yaxley did...” He trailed off, sickened by the memory of curses flying as he stood helpless. “I should have protected them,” he choked out, suffocated by fear. Heart pounding, he trembled uncontrollably, lightheaded from reliving the scene. He clung to Ginny, drawing comfort from her soothing touch as she gently rubbed circles on his back. Though it was too late to change what had happened, the terrifying guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

Ginny consoled Harry with a tearful gaze, saying gently, “I don’t hate you. I could never do that. My parents are here and safe—nothing too terrible happened to them, and I’m so grateful for that.”

Harry took a shuddering breath and sadly shook his head. “I feel I could have done more. I feel so useless and weak. I don’t want any more deaths weighing on me. I can’t live with that.” He looked at Ginny, pain in his eyes. “This sickness—”

“Shhh,” Ginny soothed, “My parents are alright. Don’t dwell on what’s past. Let’s focus on the here and now, what we have together. You’re strong enough to fight this, and I’m here for you. Will you do that? Will you fight for me?”

Harry managed a distant smile. “I’ll try, Ginny.”

“That’s more like it,” Ginny said, kissing the top of his head as she held him close in her arms.

“But I need you to do something for me.” Harry’s eyes glistened brighter than usual, brimming with tears. “If things don’t go the way we hope...” He trailed off, the rest of his words catching in his tight throat.

“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked, her voice anxious.

“I know you’re all doing everything to help me survive, but if I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” she interrupted, her voice breaking. “I can’t bear to hear it.”

“I’m sorry, Ginny, but I have to,” he said, hesitating as he drew a deep breath. “I don’t know how much time I have left. We can never predict when it might happen.”

“But we have the cure!” she cried, tears spilling down her face. “It’s going to work, I just know it will.”

Looking deeply into Ginny’s eyes, Harry gently caressed her face and kissed her tenderly. In that moment, nothing could have lifted their spirits more, for Harry’s love for Ginny was the strength he needed to endure his ongoing battles with illness. Though his future remained uncertain, and everything could still slip away in an instant, right now nothing mattered more than being with the one he loved.

“I love you,” he said simply, stating an unassailable truth. Though he could have said more, those three words conveyed everything in that moment. Nothing else mattered. He didn’t know how long this feeling of complete contentment would last, but he wanted to savor it.

“I love you more, Harry,” Ginny replied, a smile erasing the worried lines that had creased her forehead these past weeks. At least for now, she looked happy.

To be continued...