Ron anxiously pulled Ginny aside with an urgent request: “We need to talk privately—it’s important.”

Intrigued by her brother’s tense demeanor, Ginny suggested they speak in her room. Once inside, she prompted, “Okay, what’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Ron confessed, “When I was in Harry’s room, I saw some books with suspicious notes. I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I couldn’t help it.”

Ginny frowned with annoyance at her brother. “Why were you invading Harry’s privacy?” she demanded, half-tempted to reach for her wand and cast her signature bat-bogey hex. Instead, she crossed her arms.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ron replied defensively, trying to redirect her focus. “But I got carried away and saw something.”

“Saw what?”

Ron cleared his throat nervously. “Some books about souls,” he whispered.

Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Souls?”

Ron nodded anxiously.

“Well, what’s wrong with reading about souls?”

“He’s got tons of notes scribbled in those pages. Besides, we didn’t come back to Hogwarts to study, so why’s he doing homework?” Ron asked, his voice low.

“Maybe it’s summer reading?” Ginny suggested coolly.

“Come off it,” said Ron, looking exasperated. “You know Harry hates assigned reading. All the books in his room are about one thing - souls. Don’t you think it’s odd he’s so focused on just that? And why’s he suddenly so interested in souls anyway?”

Ginny just shrugged, nonplussed. “I don’t know, Ron.”

“Do you think he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress from the war?”

“After everything that happened, it’s definitely possible,” she replied.

“Do you think I should ask Harry about this?” Ron asked Ginny. They had just made up after fighting, and Ron didn’t want to ruin their friendship again.

“No way,” Ginny said, looking at Ron as if he had lost his mind. “Do you really think Harry would stay calm if you bombard him with questions about something you shouldn’t even know about? This is Harry’s private business, not yours. Let him bring it up if he wants to talk about it. He can be as stubborn as you.”

“Maybe I should ask Hermione for advice then,” Ron said. He had been dying to tell Hermione everything that had happened at the Burrow. He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her yet and he missed her.

“It wouldn’t hurt to get her opinion,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “Hermione’s the most responsible out of all of us. She’ll probably come up with a safe way to handle this without upsetting Harry.

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

The next few days passed in a blur as Harry remained confined to his room, his recurring headaches from his mysterious condition making him as scared as ever. Though he was finally on good terms with Ron again and could use Pigwidgeon to send letters, he still insisted his ailment was “just flu,” not wanting to tell his friends the truth.

Ron kept a concerned eye on Harry but didn’t confront him about the soul books, though he desperately wanted to. The note Ron had read made him more aware of Harry’s odd behavior at the Burrow, and he doubted it had anything to do with their previous falling out. Still, Ron’s suspicions lingered, and he was determined to update Hermione, hoping she might have insights. For now, he gave Harry space, which Harry appreciated, while Ginny stayed loyally by his side to nurse him.

Harry woke up screaming one morning, disturbed by a strange dream. In it, Hedwig was in a cage beside him when she was suddenly struck by a green light. The dream then shifted to Sirius floating beyond an archway that seemed familiar, though Harry couldn’t place it.

Ginny and Ron burst into Harry’s room, breathless from running upstairs. Fearing an attack, they found Harry huddled in the corner of his bed, rocking back and forth with a frightened look. As soon as they entered, he asked, “Where are Hedwig and Sirius?”

Ginny and Ron exchanged a quick, apprehensive glance. She went over to Harry, who was shaking uncontrollably.

“Where are Hedwig and Sirius?” Ron asked again, completely confused.

“Harry, did you have a nightmare?” Ginny inquired gently, her face etched with worry.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, his voice trembling. “I saw Hedwig getting hit by the Killing Curse and Sirius floating away somewhere...and now that I think about it, I haven’t seen either of them lately.” He glanced towards the empty cage sitting in the corner by his desk.

Ron and Ginny watched him anxiously, at a loss for what to say or how to confirm that his nightmares were real.

Ron steeled himself and decided not to delay breaking the news. He gathered his courage and told Harry, whose eyes were filled with so much fear.

“They’re—” Ron hesitated for a moment, looking at his friend apprehensively. “They’re gone.”

Harry felt his stomach lurch as he asked incredulously, “What do you mean, ‘they’re gone’?”

Ginny spoke in a low, sorrowful voice. “What you saw in your dream...that’s how they died, Harry.”

Seeing the grief on their faces, Harry shook his head in denial. “No,” he said flatly, refusing to accept it. “That was just a dream, like any other. Sirius will come bounding in any second.” He glanced hopefully at the door.

When Harry wasn’t looking, Ron shot Ginny a questioning look and mouthed “memory loss?” But Ginny could only shrug helplessly.

“Harry...” Ginny gently laid a hand on his arm, her expression filling his heart with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

“How—” Harry paused, unable to make sense of it all. “When did they—”

“Almost a year ago,” Ron told him gently. “Hedwig died before your seventeenth birthday. We were pursued by Death Eaters while heading to safe houses. You described Hedwig’s death to us yourself, remember? You were there when it happened.” He hesitated, surprised that Harry seemed to have no memory of that painful event.

Ron continued, trying to shake off Harry’s strange lapse of memory. “And at the Department of Mysteries, we were ambushed by Death Eaters. Bellatrix dueled your godfather and struck him with a spell. He...he fell through the Veil, which caused his death. That was almost three years ago, mate.” Ron finished and looked at Harry, who was staring down at his knees. Ron could tell from Harry’s quiet sniffles that he was crying silently.

Harry asked, his eyes fixed on the floor, “I was there when he fell, wasn’t I? I saw the whole thing, didn’t I?” Grief and frustration washed over him as he struggled to remember the events being described. How could I have forgotten? he berated himself. It was a heavy blow to be reminded of these moments by his friend who had also been present. Harry couldn’t bring himself to meet their gazes, knowing they were silently communicating above him, wondering why his recollection was so poor.

Ron mentally logged this incident, the second such occurrence in less than a week. The first was at the train station in London when Harry thought the Dursleys were picking him up. Ron hated to think this aligned with what Harry had scrawled about confusion and breakdowns. He tried to shrug off the ominous feeling. That can’t be the case, he told himself. What is really happening with Harry?

The silence hung heavy over them all. Only Harry’s muffled sobs and the rain beginning to patter against the window could be heard.

Harry exhaled in relief as he finally calmed down. When he looked up, he saw his friends watching him with puzzled curiosity.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“Blimey, Harry, you gave us a right scare,” said Ron quietly. “What was that all about? Have you gone and got amnesia or something?”

Ginny shot her tactless brother an exasperated look.

Harry glanced away, ashamed. There was no hiding his secret any longer after frightening them so badly. He had to come clean now, no matter the damage already done by his silence.

Inhaling deeply, he cleared his throat and met their eyes nervously.

“Remember when I said I’d tell you both something when I was certain of it?” he asked, looking more at Ginny than Ron, though he nodded too. “Well, I found out the night before we left school and—”

A soft hoot startled them. Pigwidgeon fluttered outside the window, a couple of scrolls tied to his leg. Ron opened the window and retrieved the letters. One was for Ron in Hermione’s slanted, neat handwriting, while the other was addressed to Harry. Frowning, Harry took his letter and read it as Ron opened his own, which was short and frantic.

Ron,

Are you certain about this? Harry has many reasons to research souls. He dealt with seven Horcruxes, not to mention being one himself. Remember, he told us right after the war. But illnesses and symptoms? I’ve no idea why he looked into that. You don’t think he plans to make a Horcrux? That isn’t Harry at all. He wouldn’t. It would terrify me if he did. Keep me posted.

Hermione

Ron pocketed the letter, about to ask Harry about his, when Mrs. Weasley’s booming voice made them all jump.

“Ron! Ginny! Breakfast is ready!” Mrs. Weasley called from behind the door. A soft knock followed as she said, “Harry, dear, I’ll bring your breakfast in a minute.”

Scrambling to his feet, Harry opened the door before Mrs. Weasley could disappear down the stairs. “No need, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll come down and have breakfast with everyone.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Are you sure, dear?” she asked, worried. “You’re still looking pale.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said with a reassuring smile.

“Okay, then,” she conceded. “If you insist.” She headed downstairs and out of sight.

Turning to Ron and Ginny, Harry said, “I guess we should go down for breakfast.” Seeing their worried faces, he added, “I’ll explain everything later, I promise.”

But Harry and Ron’s planned conversation was delayed when Mrs. Weasley kept Ron and Ginny busy with chores all day; by nightfall, they were too tired and sleepy to discuss Harry’s earlier promise.

Harry also struggled to talk privately with them, as Mrs. Weasley frequently checked on his health. The searing pain plagued Harry again, leaving him screaming in agony for over an hour each time as it worsened. He cast Silencing Charms on his bedroom to muffle the screams that occurred while the others slept. Harry knew someone would eventually discover his secret, but for now he couldn’t risk being overheard.

An uncurled letter on Harry’s desk from Professor Slughorn hinted at their covert correspondence about curing tainted souls. Desperate, Harry pressed for more details, but Slughorn cautiously limited each reply out of fear of interception. Their dangerous topic required coded brevity, frustrating Harry.

Harry struggled to write properly, as his hand shook too much to hold a quill steady. Multiple attempts ended with illegible scribbles, frustrating him into tossing the letters away.

Ron worried about Harry after Hermione’s ominous letter, but his mother piled on household chores, leaving him scowling in perpetual bad temper.

Though Ginny’s room bordered Harry’s, exhaustion overtook her before she could check on him.

One day, Ron abandoned his cleaning to confront his mother. He found her outside with an irritable Ginny, who looked ready to take out her frustration on the chickens.

Ron stopped abruptly behind his mother, his face flushed with anger. “Why are we suddenly cleaning the whole house?” he snapped.

Mrs. Weasley whirled around, hands on her hips, and cast him a stern glare. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. As I already told you, your professor is coming today.”

Ron and Ginny exchanged shocked looks.

“What? No, you didn’t mention any professor visiting,” Ron said, completely bewildered. “Who is it?”

“Horace Slughorn,” she replied simply.

“What does he want here?” asked Ginny.

“He said he needs to speak with Harry, though I don’t know about what. But I’m certain it’s nothing to worry about.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ron asked skeptically, clearly sensing there was cause for concern.

“Because Horace assured me his visit is purely academic,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly.

Alarmed, Ron and Ginny exchanged worried looks. Ron rushed back inside and up the stairs to Harry’s room. He knocked, but there was no answer. Surely Harry couldn’t still be asleep, Ron thought, checking the clock. It was already eleven.

He knocked again more urgently. “Harry! Are you awake?” Pressing his ear to the door, Ron was met with silence. With a sigh, he entered the room.

Curled up in bed, Harry was sound asleep. As Ron turned to leave, Harry stirred.

Kneeling beside the bed, Ron spoke softly. “Harry?”

Blinking awake, Harry saw sunlight filling the room.

“You have to get up, Harry,” Ron urged.

“Why?” Harry lifted his head slightly.

“Didn’t you know Professor Slughorn is coming today?”

“No,” Harry sat up slowly.

Ron looked at him in surprise. “Why not?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, perplexed and head pounding.

With a sigh, Ron explained, “He’s coming to talk to you. I thought you knew.”

Harry frowned as a realization dawned on him. “Oh, those must be the letters...” he muttered, though Ron overheard.

“Letters? What letters?” Ron asked, but Harry didn’t respond. He suddenly writhed in bed, screaming in agony.

Stunned, Ron looked at his friend with alarm. Harry continued screaming, seemingly oblivious.

“Harry? Harry! What’s wrong?” Ron asked worriedly.

Tears filled Harry’s eyes. “It... hurts!” he managed between writhes.

Horrified, Ron scrambled to his feet and sprinted outside to find his mother.

“Mum!” Ron yelled. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny looked up, seeing his distress. “Come quick! Harry needs help!”

“What happened?” Mrs. Weasley asked with concern as they rushed to Harry’s room.

“He’s in terrible pain—” Ron started.

Entering Harry’s room, they found him writhing in agony. His face was deathly pale and slick with sweat that plastered his hair to his forehead. Kneeling beside him, Mrs. Weasley reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched at her touch.

“Harry, tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded, withdrawing her hand.

Harry only continued to moan, though slightly less than before.

“He said it hurts,” Ron explained on his behalf.

Careful not to touch his skin, Mrs. Weasley gently brushed the hair from his face. “Where does it hurt, Harry?”

“Everywhere,” he croaked, eyes closing.

Tears glistened in Ginny’s eyes as she watched Harry’s torment.

“Ginny, quickly—in the storage cabinet there’s a small bottle labeled ‘Healing Potion’,” instructed Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny nodded and raced downstairs.

A few tense minutes later, she hurried back to her mother and Harry, who had buried half his face in the pillow, crying out in pain as time dragged on.

Mrs. Weasley hurriedly pulled the stopper out of the small bottle and spoke gently to Harry, “Harry, this is a healing potion that you need to drink. It will help alleviate your pain.”

A few tears trickled down Harry’s face as he weakly nodded at Mrs. Weasley. She motioned for Ron to come over so he could assist Harry in sitting up and tilting his head back to swallow the potion.

Harry felt a coldness wash over him as the potion entered his bloodstream, dulling the burning sensation in his body slightly. He curled into a ball once more, clenching his fists as he braced for the pain that would soon overwhelm his exhausted mind and body. The last thing he saw was Mrs. Weasley placing a blanket over him and calling his name before he lost consciousness.

Ron quickly wrote to Hermione, informing her of Harry’s condition and hoping she could visit, as he did not want to deal with Professor Slughorn alone. Though Ron had seen Harry in pain before and hated it, this time was even more difficult since the cause was unknown.

Harry’s sudden deterioration an hour prior worried the Weasleys deeply. Even Mrs. Weasley was unsure how else to help beyond contacting a healer or someone with medical expertise, as the potions she administered seemed ineffective. Though eager to help, she was running out of ideas.

While Ginny remained at Harry’s bedside, he still had not regained consciousness after passing out. As Ginny felt his skin, she noticed he was burning up with fever again. She had observed this symptom coming and going periodically. Though they had administered multiple fever-reducing potions days prior, his high temperature persisted. To provide some relief, they resorted to muggle remedies like cool baths, which only temporarily lowered his body temperature before the fever returned.

Green flames erupting in the fireplace startled Mrs. Weasley and Ron. Horace Slughorn stepped out wearing his customary waistcoat with gold buttons. He peered around the Weasley’s kitchen and saw a flustered Mrs. Weasley, having forgotten he was arriving today.

She stood and shook his hand, “Horace.”

“Good afternoon, Molly,” Horace greeted, exiting the fireplace. “Please forgive my abrupt arrival. I can’t recall if I even mentioned a time. Old age must be muddling my memory.”

“Oh no, you did mention it. Something just happened and it slipped my mind. I’m sorry,” Molly replied.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

Before Molly could respond, the fireplace roared to life again. This time, a worried Hermione Granger stepped out. Ron stood up in surprise.

“Hermione?” Molly asked, perplexed. “What are you doing here?”

“Ms. Granger!” exclaimed Slughorn, his expression one of surprise and cheerfulness. “It’s good to see you again.”

Beaming, Hermione greeted Mrs. Weasley and Professor Slughorn. “Hi, Mrs. Weasley. Hello, Professor Slughorn. I’m sorry I didn’t send an owl saying I’d be arriving today. I heard about what happened to Harry—”

Slughorn interrupted anxiously, his cheerfulness gone, “Harry? Harry Potter?”

Ron moved toward Hermione and hugged her. She studied his worried face.

Molly said sadly to Horace, “Yes, an hour ago Harry was in so much pain he fell unconscious. The healing potions didn’t help much, and I don’t know what else to do.”

“I think this is more than a simple sickness,” Ron interjected, drawing everyone’s gaze, though he addressed Slughorn. The professor regarded Ron’s sudden appearance with surprise.

“What do you mean, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron explained, “Harry’s been acting really strangely. He woke up screaming from a nightmare and asked where Hedwig and Sirius were, even though he knows they died—we all do, since he told us before.” Ron looked to Hermione for confirmation, and she nodded for him to continue. “But now he seems to think they’re still alive. And at the train station, after you left with your parents, Hermione, Harry said he was waiting for the Dursleys to pick him up, like he forgot he’s living with us now. He’s very confused, with fevers that never go away for long, and he says he feels pain all over his body.”

“It was pretty weird too,” Ron added before anyone could interrupt. “I found one of Harry’s notes listing different symptoms he’s had. I didn’t think much of it at first, but now whatever he wrote is happening to him, along with these books about souls. I don’t really understand it all, but what you said in your letter about Horcruxes, Hermione—”

“Wait a minute, Mr. Weasley,” Slughorn cut in, looking horrified. “Did you say ‘Horcrux’?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, frowning slightly.

Slughorn lowered his head, suddenly looking older than ever. “Harry came to me asking about them. It was late one evening, and he wanted to know what happens to a person’s soul when invaded by a Horcrux.” Molly looked confused. “I told him the soul becomes damaged or tainted, as I remembered saying—”

Hermione gasped suddenly, covering her mouth with her hands.

Professor Slughorn looked alarmed. “What is it, Ms. Granger?”

“Did Harry tell you why he was asking about Horcruxes?” Hermione asked tensely.

“No, I don’t believe he gave a reason,” Slughorn said, racking his brain. “Why do you ask?”

Hermione looked at them apprehensively. “Because Harry was a Horcrux himself. When Voldemort tried to kill him as a baby, the curse backfired, but a piece of Voldemort’s soul broke off and attached itself to Harry.” Everyone nodded, already knowing these facts. “So when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at Harry again during the Battle of Hogwarts, he unknowingly destroyed that soul fragment inside of Harry.”

“Merlin’s beard!” Slughorn exclaimed. He hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation before. Now he felt as though ice was forming inside him, numbing him. “No wonder he was asking about remedies for a damaged soul!”

“What’s this Horcrux that Harry was dealing with for so long?” Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly. “No one told me about it.”

In a low voice, Horace explained, “A Horcrux is an object in which a dark wizard or witch conceals a fragment of his or her soul, seeking immortality. It can only be created by committing murder—the ultimate evil. I wanted to avoid this dangerous topic, but I was the one who told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes. I feared the worst, and the worst came to pass. My careless words enabled Riddle to misuse this knowledge.” He turned to Mrs. Weasley, adding quietly, “Dumbledore insisted I give Harry that specific memory.”

Shocked, Mrs. Weasley slowly sat down, her heart racing as weakness overcame her.

Breaking the sudden silence, Hermione asked, “Professor, what did you mean by a ‘damaged soul’? What happens to the host?”

Weary, Slughorn replied, “It’s unusual, so I assume the host would waste away and die.”

Ron gulped loudly.

Hermione was silent as she tried to assess the dire situation. Then, with great trepidation, she asked the one question she dreaded most: “How long can the host survive?”

“It could be a few months… weeks, or less,” Slughorn replied sadly.

A tense silence followed Slughorn’s ominous words, piercing their hearts like daggers. They now knew with dreadful certainty that Harry was fighting a losing battle.

Ron finally grasped why Harry couldn’t bear to reveal what plagued him. He knew his time grew short, and he wished to spare them further worry. Ron wrestled with the thought that Harry believed he faced this alone. Had he known Harry’s mindset, Ron would have been incensed. After all they had risked and accomplished together, Harry should know he had steadfast friends. Ron had nearly lost Harry to Voldemort before; he would stop at nothing to prevent it happening again.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Though no stranger to hardship, the prospect of losing Harry was more than she could withstand. To her he was a brother; his absence would leave a hole in her heart. She berated herself for not discerning Harry’s suffering after the war. True, when Harry wished to keep a secret, none could pry it from him. Hermione respected his privacy, yet knew there were times he needed support beyond his own strength. She always stood ready to aid him, but felt hurt when he did not confide in her. Even so, she would never abandon him. Harry was family; she would risk everything for this cherished friend.

Hermione asked desperately, tears threatening to spill, “Surely there must be a cure, Professor?”

Slughorn sighed. “I wish I could happily tell you there is, but that would only fool us both. Creating a Horcrux is so evil that all information about them was banned publicly,” he said. “To my knowledge, no reference exists on mending a fragmented soul. After all, before you told me, Ms. Granger, no one would attempt it. Interestingly, I once discussed this briefly with Dumbledore, and he did mention soul fragmentation. As the greatest wizard ever, he may have known how to mend souls. But learning Tom Riddle succeeded in making Horcruxes distressed me so much that Dumbledore never brought it up again.”

Silence fell, broken only by the wind and birds outside. The shock of these revelations could not be overcome quickly.

Eventually Hermione said, “You said you thought Dumbledore believed it’s possible to mend souls. Surely he read that somewhere—”

But Ginny’s sudden arrival in the kitchen cut Hermione short. She awkwardly smiled and said, “Harry’s awake.”

To be continued...