Ron bellowed “WHAT!” in anger after Slughorn grimly explained the dire consequences should their attempt to save Harry’s soul fail.
“Mending a soul isn’t as simple as drinking a Healing potion, Mr. Weasley,” Slughorn said bluntly. “Nature’s laws are unforgiving when dealing with something as formidable as this.” He looked at the shocked faces of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. “There is always a price.”
“I expected this might happen,” said Hermione, eyes on the book. “Creating a Horcrux has consequences too, and Professor Slughorn is right—fixing one won’t be easy.”
They silently pondered the sobering information.
“I strongly advise you think this through before deciding,” said Slughorn. “Your life will be at stake once this begins.”
“What do we have to do, then?” Ron asked, eyeing the book with a look of loathing. Before Hermione could read the contents, Mrs. Weasley’s desperate voice pleading with Harry interrupted them from the living room.
“Harry! Please listen...” she implored. At the sound, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Slughorn rushed in to find Mrs. Weasley standing cautiously a few feet from the sofa, hands raised as if to calm a frightened animal. Harry was standing disoriented against the wall, simultaneously frustrated by some unseen adversary.
“Mum, what’s going on?” Ron asked, looking alarmed and bewildered at the pair. Catching sight of them, Harry turned his attention their way.
“Ron!” Harry called out as he stumbled toward him, struggling to maintain his balance. Mrs. Weasley rushed to Harry’s side to assist him, but he brushed off her attempts to help.
“Harry, your fever is dangerously high!” Mrs. Weasley said anxiously, her frustration evident. “You need to rest.”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley, please,” Harry insisted, moving away from her. He looked at Ron and Hermione, whose eyebrows were raised quizzically. In a hushed voice he asked, “Why haven’t we left yet?”
Hermione steadied Harry as he swayed unsteadily. “Leave? Leave where, Harry?” she asked, confusion furrowing her brow.
“Here!” Harry said impatiently, frustrated that they didn’t understand the urgency to depart immediately.
Ron frowned at Harry in confusion. “Why?” he asked.
Harry looked back at Ron in surprise. Has Ron gone mad too? Was he joking? Harry wondered. “Look,” he said, moving closer to Ron and Hermione and whispering, “we have to leave and find the Horcruxes.”
Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances, fearing that something was happening to Harry’s mental state, which had been unstable lately.
“Are you guys coming or what?” Harry asked impatiently, noticing the way his two best friends were looking at him. He was suddenly surprised to see Professor Slughorn there too, though he didn’t ask why. Ginny just gazed at Harry silently, as if thinking he had gone mad.
Hermione hesitated, contemplating how best to broach the sensitive subject. She took a deep breath and said, “We already destroyed the Horcruxes, remember?”
Harry looked at her in complete shock. They couldn’t have...not yet, he told himself.
“What do you mean ‘destroyed them’? When did this happen?” he asked with a frown, puzzled by his friends’ strange behavior. “What are you talking about?”
Hermione sighed worriedly. “We’ve gotten rid of all the Horcruxes, Harry.”
Harry gaped at her, stunned. Surely she must be joking, he thought uncertainly, but the grave expressions on his best friends’ faces left no doubt. He had to accept the impossible fact they had already accomplished the seemingly insurmountable task that lay before him.
“When did we leave the Burrow?” Harry challenged, bewildered. “I don’t remember us ever leaving, so how could we have possibly found and destroyed the Horcruxes?”
Ron looked to Hermione, who returned his gaze anxiously, at a loss for words.
“We left the Burrow right after Bill and Fleur’s wedding last year,” Ron explained, much to Hermione’s relief. “We were away for months, tracking down the Horcruxes and figuring out how to destroy them.”
Harry felt his head pounding, overwhelmed by confusion.
“That’s impossible,” Harry muttered under his breath, pausing as random images flashed across his mind. He absentmindedly shook his head, bringing a hand to it as though suddenly in pain. “No, no...Voldemort must be killed. He—”
Harry broke off as the others looked at him with extreme worry. Mrs. Weasley approached from behind, touching his arm firmly. “Harry, dear, you must rest now. You are very ill—””
“But Professor Dumbledore has given us a mission,” Harry said, trying to pull away. “We have to leave and search for—”
“I’m sure Dumbledore wouldn’t mind you resting for a bit,” Mrs. Weasley said gently, guiding Harry back to the sofa despite his protests.
“I don’t need rest. Voldemort is still out there. I have to kill him,” Harry pleaded, a desperate edge in his voice. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged uneasy looks, alarmed by their friend’s deteriorating mental state.
“Ron,” Mrs. Weasley gestured to her son. As Harry struggled against her hold, she added, “Help me with Harry. And Ginny, please grab a Calming Draught and Sleeping Potion.”
Realizing their intentions, Harry erupted in panic. He thrashed violently, trying in vain to wrench himself from Mrs. Weasley and Ron’s firm grasp.
“No!” he cried out frantically. “Please, please don’t make me sleep...please...” His pleas gave way to sobs as exhaustion overtook him.
Hermione watched Ginny reappear in the living room with tears glistening in her eyes, clutching two vials of potions. Watching Harry’s torment was agonizing for both of them.
“Please… don’t,” Harry begged desperately, seeing the potions. He struggled against Ron and Mrs. Weasley’s grip, trying to break free. His anguished cries reverberated through the Burrow. “No! Please… please...”
Slughorn hurried over to assist, and together they forced the potions down Harry’s throat, one after the other.
Harry choked as the potion was forced down his throat. He stopped resisting and felt his body weaken as his mind drifted into sleep. Ron and Mrs. Weasley released their grip on him and checked his temperature, cursing when they found his fever still high despite the earlier dose.
“My potion supplies are running low,” Mrs. Weasley told Slughorn. “I’ll need to buy more ingredients to brew more.”
“Let me brew them, Molly,” Slughorn offered. “I have plenty of ingredients in my lab. I can even ask Madam Pomfrey for some potions, if you’d like.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded gratefully.
“I think it would be best to bring him to his room,” Molly suggested. Despite his advanced age, Slughorn still possessed surprising strength. He slid his arms under Harry’s limp body and lifted the boy easily. Though he could have levitated Harry, Slughorn chose to carry the underweight, diminutive teenager upstairs himself.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny followed anxiously as Slughorn brought Harry to his bedroom. He laid the feverish boy gently on the bed. Harry’s forehead glistened with sweat, which Mrs. Weasley tenderly wiped away. Harry’s flushed, red face indicated his intense fever.
“Mum, will he be alright?” Ginny asked worriedly.
Molly hesitated, afraid to voice her thoughts, but she had to speak up. “I don’t really know, Ginny. Harry has been through a horrific ordeal that lasted only hours. Later, when he wakes, he may relive those tortures again, and I desperately hope he won’t. I couldn’t bear another hour of watching him suffer so.”
“He’s slowly losing his memories,” Ginny said glumly. “I’m afraid he might not remember us either.” Behind Ginny, Ron and Hermione shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ve had the same fear,” Ron admitted, staring at Harry. “I worry that if his soul continues breaking so slowly, one day he may forget us entirely.” He sighed and swallowed.
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Arthur Weasley arrived home early that afternoon after hearing about Harry’s illness. In his haste to leave work, he canceled several appointments and rushed out of the Ministry of Magic, catching the attention of many employees, including his son Percy who worked in the Department of Magical Transportation.
“Dad!” Percy called out when Mr. Weasley bumped his shoulder in the Atrium. “What’s happening? Why are you in such a hurry?”
Out of breath, Mr. Weasley stopped and turned around. “Sorry, son,” he said, holding up a letter. “I got a note from your mum. Harry’s very ill and worsening.”
Arthur quickly signaled for Percy to be quiet, pressing a finger to his lips when Percy gasped “What do you mean Harry’s sick?”
The mention of Harry’s name had drawn curious glances from a nearby group of wizards, who recognized it as belonging to the famous Boy Who Lived. Ever since the news broke that Harry had finally succeeded in vanquishing You-Know-Who, his popularity and fame had skyrocketed throughout the wizarding world. People were eager to see Harry again after his disappearance from the public eye, clamoring for a chance to meet him, shake his hand, or interview the elusive hero.
Not wanting to discuss Harry’s condition openly, Arthur moved closer to Percy and whispered “Not here. I’ll explain when I return.”
“But—”
“Now is not the time, son,” Arthur said quietly as he patted Percy’s shoulder. “I have to leave. I’m sorry. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.” With that, Arthur hastened away, leaving Percy alone to grapple with his own bewildered thoughts.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
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Molly greeted her husband sadly as Arthur arrived at the Burrow. Slughorn looked up from the fireplace, already gathering Floo powder to leave.
Arthur felt Molly’s despair as she hugged him, her stress and exhaustion showing in her weary frame. Despite trying to rest, she had not been sleeping well, constantly worrying for Harry’s worsening health.
“Horace came by to see Harry,” Molly informed Arthur. “He’s on his way back to Hogwarts now.”
Slughorn gave a curt nod to Arthur before disappearing into the green flames.
“Where is Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked after letting go of the hug.
Molly cleared her throat and said, “We have moved Harry upstairs to his bedroom. We gave him a Calming Draught and a Sleeping Potion, as he is becoming delusional and aggressive, Arthur.” She looked at him gravely as she continued, “He is losing his memories again, just like that time at the train station. This time, he thinks You-Know-Who is alive and wants to leave to search for the Horcruxes and destroy them. Ron and Hermione filled him in on everything a few hours ago. They are with him in his room right now.”
Arthur’s expression turned grim as he listened to his wife. “What about Slughorn?” he asked. “Has he found the book yet?” He had been thinking lately about Slughorn’s visits and was told he was looking for a certain book that would lead them straight to a cure.
“He found a book. They have it upstairs in Harry’s room now. I don’t know anything about it though. I don’t think they’ve gone through the rest of it yet, since Horace had to leave to brew more potions. I’m running out, and I don’t know what else to do,” Molly said worriedly, sitting down at the kitchen table as Arthur remained standing.
“Has Harry been eating well?”
“No,” she replied sadly. “He barely touched his breakfast this morning. He wasn’t feeling well when he came downstairs and slept through lunch. I may need to brew some nutritional potions for him if this continues.”
Arthur nodded in understanding.
“How are things at the Ministry, dear?” Molly asked, changing the subject to brighten the mood.
Arthur sighed, knowing his words contradicted his true feelings. “On the surface, everything seems fine. The Aurors have arrested many Death Eaters, and for the first time in seventeen years, the wizarding community is hopeful again. With You-Know-Who gone, they’re eager to celebrate Harry, bombarding him for autographs and questions. They think he should be out celebrating as the savior, not in hiding,” Arthur said with disgust. “But they don’t know the real situation... If only they understood what he’s going through...” He trailed off, pained by thoughts he couldn’t voice aloud.
“I wish they would just leave the poor boy be,” said Mrs. Weasley. “No one else knows about his illness except us, right?”
“On my way here, I ran into Percy. He asked why I was in such a rush to get home, so I told him Harry was sick,” he explained.
“How is Percy doing?” she inquired. “He won’t tell anyone, will he?”
“Percy’s fine,” he assured. “He won’t say anything since he knows it’s a family business. Don’t worry about him. No one else knows yet, but as much as we want to keep this private, people may start to notice if Harry is gone for a long time with no improvement to his health. That could raise suspicions and prompt them to investigate his whereabouts.”
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Meanwhile, in Harry’s room, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were discussing the cryptic book they had just read. Ginny sat cross-legged beside a sleeping Harry, holding the Anima book in her hands. Ron lounged bored on the floor, his head nodding as he drifted in and out of sleep. Hermione paced anxiously, deep in thought about the perplexing ingredients for the soul-mending potion described in the book.
“Tell me the first ingredient again, Ginny,” Hermione said in frustration. They had been theorizing for hours and felt no closer to deciphering the right answer.
Reading in an audible whisper, Ginny recited, “A strand of an untamed creature that is a visage of death.”
With a frustrated sigh, Hermione responded, “There are many ferocious creatures that could be a visage of death, like a werewolf.”
At the mention of werewolves, Ron’s eyes glazed over as he recalled Professor Trelawney dramatically widening her eyes in shock. Crying out to Harry, she exclaimed, “My dear, you have the Grim!” The memory caused Ron to blanch.
“Do you think we need to tame a werewolf?” Ginny wondered aloud gravely, jolting Ron back to the present.
“Dragons are pretty nasty creatures!” Ron suddenly exclaimed. “They look like death to me.” Hermione paid him no attention as she continued pacing and responding to Ginny. Frowning, Ron felt ignored.
“I haven’t even heard of a tamed werewolf,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I hope we won’t have to... no... It would be nearly impossible to tame one, since werewolves completely lose their human sense of right and wrong.”
“That’s true,” Ginny agreed, “though I doubt werewolves permanently lose their moral sense, according to one book I read. It’s complete rubbish.”
“Are you talking about ‘Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don’t Deserve to Live’?” Hermione asked, eyebrows knitting together.
“Yes, that’s the one,” Ginny confirmed. Ron scowled at them.
“I wouldn’t bother rereading that book. The way Professor Emerett Picardy wrote about werewolves... I just can’t stand it. His thoughts are full of inaccurate information,” Hermione said as she resumed pacing. “What creature besides a werewolf could possibly symbolize death?”
“Dragons… crows… thestrals… the Grim...” Ron suggested, shuddering as he recalled Harry seeing the Grim in a teacup.
“You may be right about dragons,” Hermione said absently, remembering the dragon they saw at Gringotts.
Ron blinked in surprise as Hermione suddenly looked at him, but she shook her head and began, “I don’t think—” Her face lit up as realization dawned.
“Thestrals!” she exclaimed.
“I know it sounds crazy, but Luna mentioned a creature once that only those who have seen death can see,” Ron offered, relieved.
Ginny smiled. “That must be it,” she said.
“Oh, Ron, of course!” Hermione cried happily.
Ron raised his eyebrows. “But aren’t Thestrals only good for pulling carts at Hogwarts or flying?” he asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Ron. We learned about them with Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures, remember?”
“I still have the book,” Ginny told them. “We can look it up.” Without waiting for a response, she stood and went to her room to retrieve it.
“Ugh!” Ron collapsed on the floor, glaring at them. “More reading?”
“Honestly, Ron!” Hermione snapped. “You weren’t helping at all. All you ever did was sleep.”
“I did not!” He defended loudly, causing Harry to stir but not wake. Ron continued glaring at Hermione.
Ginny returned with the book in hand. She opened the page on “Thestral” and handed it to Hermione, who took it eagerly and began reading silently.
She turned to them, saying, “I’ve found something. Rumor has it Thestral tail hair makes for a potent wand core.”
“Rumored, you say?” Ron asked.
Hermione nodded. “There may be good reason. We can ask Professor Slughorn when he returns.”
“Might the Elder Wand contain that core?” Ron guessed. “It’s the most powerful, isn’t it?”
“It’s quite possible,” Hermione muttered.
“So we need Thestral hair, right?” Ginny asked, seeking to confirm their hunch so they could proceed.
“I think so too,” Hermione said. “It fits all the criteria in the book, and I can’t think of any other creatures that personify death. Can you?”
“Let’s say we go with the Thestral,” Ron chimed in. “How do we get the hairs if we can’t see them?”
Silence momentarily fell over them, broken only by the sound of Harry’s breathing.
Hermione gazed out the window pensively. “I’m sure we can see them now,” she said softly. “We’ve witnessed enough death in the war.”
Ron and Ginny nodded silently in agreement.
“Are the Thestrals at Hogwarts tamed?” Ron asked suddenly.
“Hagrid suspects the Hogwarts herd is the only trained large group of Thestrals in all of Great Britain,” recalled Hermione, thinking back to their fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures class.
“Then we’ll have to find a wild one?” Ron questioned.
“Yes,” Hermione replied simply.
“But where? We won’t have to leave the country to find one, will we?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Hermione after reading more on Thestrals. “They’re native to Ireland and Great Britain, with some in France and the Iberian Peninsula... but they’re very rare, so locating one may prove difficult.”
“Perhaps Hagrid can help,” Ginny suggested. “As the foremost expert on Thestrals and magical creatures at Hogwarts, he’s our best chance of acquiring Thestral hair.”
Hermione nodded in agreement. “You’re right. We should contact him right away, either by owl or in person.”
“I can already picture his reaction when he learns why we need it,” said Ron with a grimace. “He’ll be furious.”
Hermione acknowledged his concern. “But we have no other options here. Harry’s life is at stake, so we must act.”
“I’m certain Hagrid will understand once we explain,” Ginny reassured.
“Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be very understanding after he throttles us first!” Ron quipped sarcastically.
Hermione said, “Regardless of whether Hagrid understands or not, it wouldn’t be easy to tell anybody what we’re planning to do—”
Harry stirred awake, catching only the tail end of Hermione’s words. “Doing what?” he asked groggily, sitting up and squinting through the blur of sleep. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice.
“Harry!” they exclaimed as Ginny slid his glasses onto his face.
“What are you talking about, Hermione?” Harry repeated, his voice still rough with sleep.
Hermione said nervously, “N-nothing, Harry,” casting anxious glances at Ron and Ginny, who were also nervous that Harry had almost overheard them. The one person they didn’t want finding out just yet was Harry, knowing he would be upset if he learned they were risking their lives for him—something he had adamantly protested against many times before.
“How are you feeling, mate?” Ron asked, trying to divert Harry’s attention away from Hermione’s obvious discomfort at hiding things from him.
Still dazed, Harry managed to say, “I feel weak but I’m okay, I guess. Did I miss breakfast? I can’t really remember anything.”
“You tried to have breakfast this morning,” Ron said, “but you missed lunch. Are you sure you can’t remember what happened just a few hours ago?”
“Why? Did something happen?” Harry asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“You were rambling about looking for Horcruxes and wanting to leave the Burrow to kill Voldemort. Do you recall any of that?”
“I was what?” Harry racked his brain but shook his head. “No, I don’t remember any of that.”
“Well, don’t worry about it now, Harry,” said Ginny gently. “You must be starving by this point.”
Harry nodded and made to stand up. He felt his knees buckle slightly as he rose unsteadily to his feet. Ginny grabbed his arm before he hit the ground.
“Are you sure you want to try walking, Harry?” Hermione asked, finally letting go of her nervousness.
“Yes,” Harry replied weakly, “though I’ll need some help since I don’t think I can walk steadily on my own.”
They made their way downstairs at a painfully slow pace. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed forward when they saw the two coming down.
“Mum, is dinner ready?” Ginny asked. “Harry’s famished.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile at Harry before hurrying into the kitchen to set the table.
“How are you feeling, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, guiding him to a chair.
“Still quite weak, but doing alright, Mr. Weasley,” Harry replied.
Mr. Weasley patted his shoulder and sat down beside him after moving the Daily Prophet newspaper away from the table.
“I haven’t had the chance to ask, but how is the Ministry faring so far?” Harry inquired as Mrs. Weasley set a bowl of stew and vegetable salads before them, eyeing Mr. Weasley sternly.
Mr. Weasley gave Harry a sad smile. “To be frank, the celebrations following the war show no signs of abating,” he confessed. Clearing his throat, he went on, “In fact, the public is clamoring for you to make an appearance rather than keeping out of sight. Kingsley Shacklebolt is doing his utmost to redirect attention elsewhere for your peace of mind, but I’m afraid your name keeps coming up regardless; they are adamant about seeing you.”
“Not to worry, dear, we would never divulge your activities or location,” Mrs. Weasley quickly reassured, flicking her wand to summon more stew bowls to the table.
Harry lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry,” he muttered sadly. All eyes turned to him.
Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow and asked gently, “Why are you apologizing, Harry?”
“For causing you all this trouble just so I can have a normal life,” Harry mumbled.
“You never need to apologize for wanting safety and normalcy,” Mr. Weasley said kindly. “We all understand your need to escape the unwanted fame you didn’t ask for. You have every right to a regular life.”
“Oh, Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, squeezing his shoulders affectionately. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
The delicious scent of food wafted through the air, drawing everyone’s attention back to their plates. Harry’s stomach rumbled loudly, and a wave of hunger came over him, much to the amusement of his friends.
They were halfway through their bowls when Harry looked up thoughtfully and asked, “So what were you all talking about earlier when I was napping?”
Ron choked on his food. He and Hermione exchanged nervous glances that Harry just barely missed. Ginny fidgeted in her seat.
“Job applications,” Hermione lied. “You know, we were thinking about applying for jobs after Hogwarts.”
“Oh, you decided not to go back to Hogwarts for your final year?” Harry asked. He turned to Ginny. “But you’re going back to school, right?” Ginny gave a short nod.
Hermione tensed. “No, Harry, I’m still taking my final year at Hogwarts,” she said quickly.
Harry frowned, confused by her response. “But you said—”
“I meant Ron’s applying for jobs now, and Ginny and I will do the same after we graduate,” Hermione interjected, looking to Ginny for confirmation. Ginny nodded, though Harry could tell they were hiding something.
Having known Hermione for seven years, he was familiar with her poor lying skills. “So what is the Anima book about?” he pressed, taking a bite of salad. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged puzzled glances at the book’s mention.
Ron’s fork clattered loudly on his plate, while Hermione froze, stew dripping from her suspended spoon. Ginny anxiously looked between them, unsure whether to speak. Harry noticed their reactions—something was amiss.
To be continued...