Harry woke up early the next morning to a gray, rainy dawn. Feeling very sick, he slid on his glasses with a trembling hand and was hit by a horrible headache. He walked unsteadily out of his darkened room and went downstairs to join the Weasleys and Hermione for breakfast. Shaking badly, he clung to the railings to avoid falling down the stairs. Halfway down, Ginny saw him and rushed to his side. Hermione and the Weasleys, minus Mr. Weasley who had left for work, looked up with worry as they saw Harry so weak and unsteady. Though unnerved, when Harry reached the table and sat across from Ron and Hermione, with Ginny beside him, he still managed a smile for them all.

“Are you feeling alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, her eyes filled with concern as she surveyed him closely.

Rubbing his temple, Harry frowned slightly but managed a curt nod and weak smile. “Yeah, just a headache. That’s all.”

“You must be famished, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, watching Harry as she handed him a plate piled high with sausages and toast, which he accepted gratefully.

Harry stared blankly at the plate, the pounding in his head sapping his appetite. He feared he might be sick if he took a bite, but didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Weasley by not eating. Glancing up, he saw them all looking at him expectantly.

“How are you guys?” Harry asked, wanting to start a small conversation with Ron and Hermione. They rarely talked about anything else anymore, and judging by the laughter he overheard last night, something good must have happened.

“We’re doing well,” Hermione replied brightly. “I’m actually staying at the Burrow for the rest of the summer before Hogwarts starts. My parents let me after a bit of convincing.”

“How are your parents?” Harry asked, remembering the last time she had mentioned them. To protect them from Voldemort, she had modified their memories and moved them to Australia.

“They’re doing great, actually,” Hermione said eagerly. “After the war, I lifted the memory charm that had bewitched them and brought them home right away. You can’t imagine how happy I am to have them back. I’ve missed them so much.”

Harry smiled at her, and she beamed back at him.

“Are you really going back to Hogwarts to finish your term, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked Hermione after drinking her cup of coffee.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley. I wanted to take my N.E.W.T.s and properly graduate,” Hermione replied.

Mrs. Weasley beamed at Hermione, but she pursed her lips abruptly and looked sternly at Ron, who choked on his drink when he saw her expression.

“You should be doing the same thing, Ron!” Mrs. Weasley snapped, glaring at him in exasperation.

“Why?” Ron argued, indignant. “We battled Voldemort and won. Wasn’t that proof we did well in school? We did, didn’t we, Harry?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, raising his eyebrows as he forced a grin at Ron despite the pounding in his head. “Sure, Ron, whatever you say.”

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. “Oh please, don’t give me that nonsense, Ron.”

Ron continued bitterly, ignoring his mother’s glare, “And why should we? Harry and I will be Aurors before long, rounding up more Death Eaters, won’t we?” He looked to Harry, whose grin had vanished, now glumly staring at his untouched plate. Harry’s abrupt change in demeanor did not go unnoticed, as they all knew his thoughts and shared in his heartache.

“Are you going to eat, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously, eyeing him with concern once more.

“Huh?” Harry was startled out of his daze, vision blurring as his headache persisted and his stomach churned with unease. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but may I lie down for a bit?” he managed with difficulty.

Mrs. Weasley eyed him worriedly. “Sure, dear.”

Harry stood unsteadily, swaying on his feet. As he began walking, his vision swam and he nearly lost his balance, stumbling forward. Ron caught him just in time, holding him tightly.

“Woah, take it easy there, mate,” Ron said, supporting Harry’s weight.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled weakly. He felt shivery and faint. “I’m not feeling well today.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ron replied, his brow furrowed in concern.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged anxious looks.

“I think you should lie down on the sofa for now,” Hermione suggested, following behind the pair. “You’re in no shape to make it up the stairs.”

Ginny arranged pillows on the sofa and hurried upstairs for his blanket. Ron assisted Harry in lying down. Harry kept his eyes shut, feeling dizzy if he opened them. Returning, Ginny gently covered him with the blanket and sat beside him while Ron and Hermione took the armchairs flanking them. Standing before Harry, Mrs. Weasley checked his temperature; he was feverish.

With a soft moan, Harry opened his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Ginny asked, tenderly stroking his forehead.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Harry said weakly, bringing his hand to his mouth as he doubled over and vomited violently onto the floor. Mrs. Weasley immediately cast a Scouring Charm to vanish the mess. There wasn’t much, since Harry had barely touched his breakfast. His breathing became ragged and cold sweat broke out as anxiety spread through the room.

“Ginny, fetch some lukewarm water and towels,” Mrs. Weasley ordered briskly, rubbing Harry’s back soothingly as dry heaves wracked his body.

Ginny returned with the water and towels. “Set them on the table, dear, and soak a towel for me,” said Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny obeyed and kept stealing anxious looks at Harry, whose sweat glistened as he retched violently.

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed abruptly, clasping her hand over her mouth.

Alarmed, Ron asked, “Mum? What’s wrong?”

But before she could respond, they all saw it—Harry was vomiting blood.

Horror-struck, they stared at Harry, who seemed oblivious as he moaned in agony again, eyes watering. He stopped heaving and rested his head on the pillow, exhausted. Mrs. Weasley grabbed a towel and wiped the blood oozing from Harry’s mouth and trickling down his neck.

Mrs. Weasley sighed in frustration, “Oh, Merlin...” Feeling helpless, she suddenly declared, “I can’t take this. I’m getting a healing potion.” She disappeared into the kitchen. The others exchanged worried looks, hoping Harry’s illness would abate on its own.

Returning with a vial, Mrs. Weasley knelt and gently called, “Harry? I’ve brought you a healing potion.” Bleary-eyed, Harry felt the vial’s rim against his lips. “Open your mouth, dear,” she urged.

Harry obediently drank the potion Mrs. Weasley poured. They anxiously awaited its effects. His breathing eased and headache vanished instantly. His fever lowered steadily too. Mrs. Weasley’s diagnostic charm showed his normal, healthy readings. She sighed relieved. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny did too.

“His symptoms will surely return,” Ginny murmured sorrowfully, watching exhausted Harry.

“Inform me immediately if anything changes,” Mrs. Weasley instructed the three teens, who nodded. She departed.

The shock still etched on their faces. All they could do was wait and watch over Harry, uncertain when the mysterious illness would strike again, each bout worse than the last.

“Slughorn, where the hell are you?” Ron whispered anxiously, going to the kitchen for water to calm his nerves. Just then, green flames erupted in the fireplace as a weary, aged Horace Slughorn stepped out.

“Slughorn!” Exclaimed Ron, setting his cup down forcefully. About time, he thought. Hearing her former professor’s name, Hermione rushed in.

Slughorn greeted them cheerfully, “Good morning to you two.” He was carrying a book under his arm that Hermione was sure was the one they had been waiting for. “Sorry for the delay in getting this book to you, but I have it now.” He set the book on the table. Before Ron and Hermione could examine it, Ginny burst into the kitchen looking alarmed.

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“It’s Harry!” she said anxiously. They followed her into the living room where Harry was gasping for breath and clutching his chest.

“That’s not good,” Ginny said worriedly. “I’ve seen this before.” She immediately knelt in front of him, Ron and Hermione right behind her.

“Harry? Is it that burning feeling again?” Ginny asked in a panic, her voice quivering.

Hermione anxiously told Ron, “Call your mum. Hurry!”

A minute later, Mrs. Weasley rushed breathlessly into the living room with Ron trailing behind. Kneeling beside Ginny to face Harry, she asked them worriedly, “What’s happened?”

Before they could explain, Harry doubled over on the sofa again, burying his face in the pillows and inhaling sharply. Mrs. Weasley grasped Harry’s hands as they curled into fists and said gently, “Harry, listen to my voice and stay with me, okay?”

Harry tried to nod at Mrs. Weasley, but his mouth erupted with screams instead. His grip on her hands tightened as she murmured soothing words, though they provided little comfort. Slughorn and the others watched helplessly as Harry writhed in excruciating pain. Hermione and Ginny were on the verge of tears. Ron kept his head down, unable to watch his best friend’s suffering. Each scream pierced Ron’s core; he prayed desperately for Harry’s agony to end.

Harry sobbed into his pillow, the pain burning through him unrelentingly. It felt as if his skin was being slowly peeled away while knives sliced through his limbs. The pain exceeded anything he could have imagined. His screams were all he could do to slightly ease the torture. He pleaded internally for someone, anyone, to make it stop. He couldn’t endure this level of agony any longer.

Mrs. Weasley continued trying to soothe Harry, but he was writhing and screaming in agony, unable to focus on her gentle reassurances that everything would be alright.

“Ron, please help me hold Harry down before he hurts himself,” Mrs. Weasley pleaded anxiously, struggling to steady Harry’s violent thrashing. Ron pinned Harry’s feet to one side of the sofa, but the restraint only intensified his excruciating pain. Harry desperately tried to break free of Ron’s grip, but he was held fast.

“It hurts!” Harry cried out in anguish, twisting and sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… make it stop… please...”

Hearing Harry’s desperate cry for help was crushing; they all looked miserable, powerless to help as he endured agonizing pain. Ginny and Hermione called out his name and offered words of comfort, but nothing could alleviate his suffering.

“How long can he withstand this?” Ron asked, turning to the others. “Judging by his screams, I don’t think he can take much more.”

“Hours,” Ginny replied. “I heard his muffled screams one night and checked on him. He said it was as bad as the previous times.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mrs. Weasley asked Ginny, disappointment in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, mum,” she said in a small, apologetic voice. “But Harry made me promise not to leave him. He was terrified.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do? A healing potion?” Ron pleaded desperately. Pinning Harry’s thrashing body to the sofa was sapping his strength, and Harry’s agonized screams made Ron feel weak and helpless too. He glanced beseechingly at Slughorn, whose eyes were wide with horror at the nightmarish scene before him.

“Professor?” Ron called out.

“He had a healing potion just an hour ago, so it’s too risky to give him another for at least five hours,” Mrs. Weasley informed Slughorn, her hands growing numb from Harry’s frantic grip. “What else can we try?”

“A Calming Draught may help,” Slughorn suggested nervously. “It won’t take away the pain but it could provide some relief.”

Mrs. Weasley stood up abruptly. As she let go of Harry’s hands, Hermione immediately grasped them while Mrs. Weasley hurried to her potions cabinet. Rifling through the bottles, she found the one she sought—a vial of Calming Draught kept for emergencies.

Returning with the swirling blue liquid, Mrs. Weasley spoke softly over Harry’s cries. “Harry, drink this potion, please.” But consumed by agony, he gave no sign he heard.

Slughorn helped Hermione hold Harry steady as they tried to pour the potion into his mouth. He gagged and struggled to swallow, but some managed to trickle down his throat.

Though Harry’s grip went slack, his breathing remained labored. When Mrs. Weasley touched his shoulder, he jerked away. She gestured for Ron to release Harry’s feet now that he was calming. The ordeal left Harry physically spent and emotionally drained, reduced to whimpering. His limbs felt leaden. Too feeble to respond or open his eyes, he was oblivious as Mrs. Weasley called his name.

Like Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Slughorn seemed weakened, as if attacked by Dementors.

Mrs. Weasley gently laid the blanket back over Harry, taking care not to hurt him further. Exhausted, she rose and took a deep breath. The ordeal had drained her, leaving her looking as weary as the others. She headed to the kitchen for water.

“I can’t imagine how often Harry’s had to go through this,” Ron said with a shiver. “If he can normally endure pain, what he just felt must have been sheer torment.”

They watched Harry gasping quietly, able only to nod in silent agreement. Mrs. Weasley returned with water for each of them. Another diagnostic spell showed his fever had returned.

“He’s burning up again,” Mrs. Weasley told the worried group as she wrung out the soaked towel Ginny had brought and gently placed it on Harry’s forehead. Sitting in the armchair Ron had vacated, she settled in, closing her eyes while occasionally glancing at Harry on the sofa.

Silence fell over the room as they anxiously monitored Harry’s fever, which had been fluctuating wildly for days, frustrating their efforts to bring it down. It was as if the stubborn fever had taken up permanent residence in Harry’s body, leaving only when it desired.

Harry felt a scorching heat coursing through his body. He trembled uncontrollably and gasped desperately for air, though his lungs burned with each ragged breath. The searing pain had subsided slightly, providing some relief, yet he still winced when he shifted on the floor. Through eyes blurred by sweat, he glimpsed hazy figures hovering over him. I must have scared them, he thought ruefully.

Earlier, the agonizing sensations had overwhelmed him. Unable to restrain his tears, he had tried to stay strong despite the terror of what might happen next. The possibility that he might not survive the next wave of pain haunted him. His friends were a lifeline he clung to, unwilling to let go. He couldn’t leave them, he must hold on, but the effort to think was too much. His eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and he felt the last of his strength fade as unconsciousness enveloped him.

Slughorn, leaning against the wall by the window with his arms folded and eyes closed, let out a deep sigh as the recent events replayed in his mind. “What have you done, Tom?” he muttered under his breath, cursing himself. “Harry doesn’t deserve this. He’s just a teenager who should be doing normal teenage things, not living a life destroyed and bound by evil.”

Hermione looked up at Slughorn and said in a low voice, “Professor, while Harry’s resting, we should take a look at the book.”

“Yes, of course,” Slughorn said, standing up straight. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny followed him back to the kitchen.

“I went straight to the Headmaster’s office from the Burrow yesterday,” Slughorn informed them.

“Were you able to speak with Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked Slughorn quietly as they all sat around the kitchen table.

“Yes, I was,” said Slughorn thoughtfully. “He was peering down at me from his portrait when I arrived. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting to see me, but somehow he knew why I had come...”

“Dumbledore knew the reason for your visit?” Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. “How could that be possible?”

“With a mind like his, he must have suspected my urgency,” Slughorn replied. “It wouldn’t be surprising.”

“What did he say, Professor?” Ginny asked eagerly.

“Well...” Slughorn hesitated. “Given that I only just arrived this morning, it took me quite a while to remove the protective enchantment Dumbledore had placed on the book.”

Ron frowned, puzzled. “If Dumbledore knew Professor Slughorn would need the book someday, why did he put an enchantment on it? Why not just give it to him directly?”

Hermione responded keenly, “Isn’t it obvious, Ron? Dumbledore wanted to make sure no one else could take it.”

“I know that!” Ron snapped. Then they all glanced at Slughorn.

“I honestly never thought I would need it, Mr. Weasley,” Slughorn admitted seriously. “After Dumbledore told me Tom Riddle had succeeded in creating Horcruxes, I regretted it so much that I gave up trying to learn more about them. Dumbledore immediately began tirelessly searching for any information on the subject, and asked for my help, but I had already lost the will to pursue it further. He found this book but never told me. Instead, he put an enchantment on it to hide and protect it.”

Ginny questioned, “Professor, why did it take so long to get rid of the enchantment?”

Slughorn sighed sadly and responded, “Because Dumbledore had passed away. The nature of the spell that was cast made it unyielding. However, let’s not dwell on it further. The book is here now.”

At once, they all turned their gazes to the middle of the table. The book was a large volume, bound in a textured, pearlescent white covering that shimmered pleasantly as the morning light hit it. The title Anima, embossed in gold, sat prominently in the middle, surrounded by silver, wispy engravings on the front and back covers.

“I’ve never seen such an exquisitely beautiful book,” Hermione said in awe, delicately running her finger over it.

Frowning, Ron asked, “What does Anima mean?”

“Anima is a Latin word for soul,” Horace explained simply, admiring the front cover’s design as he examined it.

Ron stared at the engravings that stretched chaotically in different directions. “Those look creepy. If souls actually look like that, I don’t think I’d want one.”

Rolling her eyes at Ron, Hermione said exasperatedly, “It’s just a theoretical representation of souls, Ron, not literal. Honestly!”

As they sat around the table, all gazing fixedly at the book, Ginny thought it looked strikingly out of place amidst the Burrow’s colorful kitchen.

“Professor, why is the title in Latin?” Hermione asked curiously. “Is the entire book in Latin too?”

“No, the texts are translated into Old English,” Slughorn told them as he opened the delicate book, its yellowed pages crackling with each turn. “I’m unsure of the book’s exact origin or why it was named in Latin. But from what I’ve read so far, it predates the published work on Horcruxes.” He laid the book back down.

“The soul’s existence itself allows magic to split it for immortality,” Slughorn went on. “If I recall correctly from Dumbledore, that was why the book on Horcruxes was written.”

Ron grabbed the book and flipped through it searchingly. “Who wrote this? There’s no listed author.”

“The name doesn’t matter,” Ginny said as she snatched the book from Ron’s hand and returned it to the table. “This could be the cure we need.”

Ron gripped the table, ready to destroy the book if it didn’t help. “Well, this better have the answer we need. It’s Harry’s only hope.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded.

Slughorn flipped through the book until he found the passage. He turned it to them:

A soul touched by evil slowly incinerates its own existence until it ultimately ends. It would amount to a higher price to recondition the soul back if attempted. And if it should fail, in accordance with who may have tried, the cost will, therefore, be marked the same as the other.

“What? What does that mean, ‘marked the same as the other’?” asked Ron, completely lost and chilled by the ominous words.

Ginny’s eyes widened in shock and horror. She couldn’t find her voice to respond to Ron—she was stunned into silence. Staring up at Hermione’s grave face, Ginny felt the ground dropping away beneath her. Just last night they had discussed the possibility of a difficult task to help Harry. They had expected as much, but still—

Hermione trembled slightly. With great difficulty, she looked up and quietly said, “To put it simply, if we fail to fix Harry’s soul, we will suffer the same fate as him.”

To be continued...