A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 1

The summer sun poured over the Hogwarts grounds like honey—slow, golden, and comforting. It lit the towers of the castle in soft amber and scattered sparkles across the surface of the Black Lake. The water was so still it looked like glass, reflecting the flawless blue sky above. Everything about it should have felt peaceful. Serene. Healing.

But not to Harry Potter.

He stood near the edge of the lake, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders tense, the warm breeze tousling his hair as if trying to soothe him. He barely noticed it. A tight, restless feeling had lodged itself in his chest again—a low ache that pulsed like a memory refusing to fade. It had crept up on him twice already that day, sharp and sudden, and now it hovered, quiet but insistent.

He took a deep breath. The air smelt of fresh grass, wildflowers, and lake water—so alive it was almost overwhelming. Still, the ache didn't ease. He hated how even beauty could feel wrong now, like a song played in the wrong key.

His eyes scanned the grounds. Students sprawled in the sun, laughing, cheering, and throwing enchanted frisbees across the lawn. Someone was roasting marshmallows with a controlled Incendio. Hagrid's hut stood proudly in the distance, smoke curling from its chimney. It all looked so... normal.

Harry didn't feel normal.

He didn't know what he felt, exactly. Hollow? Heavy? Maybe both. A ghost rattling around inside his own body.

Then—"Harry!"

The voice jolted him. He turned and saw Ginny Weasley walking toward him, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight like it was made of flame. For a second, the ache in his chest flickered. She was like that. She could do that. Just be light when everything else feels dark.

But as she came closer, the brightness in her smile dimmed. She'd seen it too—his face, his posture. His silence.

"Hey," she said softly, worry already tightening her features. "What's wrong?"

Harry managed a smile, but it felt stiff, like a mask he hadn't worn in a while. "Nothing," he said too quickly. "Just... admiring the view."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You've been admiring it for nearly half an hour. Not exactly your style, Mr. Can't-Sit-Still-For-Five-Minutes."

He gave a short, breathy laugh, but it lacked real amusement. She wasn't wrong.

She stepped closer. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied. It was automatic now. He'd said it so many times over the years, it came out without thinking.

But Ginny knew him. Knew when fine meant falling apart.

Harry's eyes drifted toward the crowds again. "Everyone's celebrating. Laughing. It's like... it's over for them. The war. The fear. Everything. And I'm just..." He trailed off, unable to explain the sharp divide between him and everyone else.

Ginny followed his gaze. Her voice was gentle. "They're not trying to forget, you know. They're just trying to live again."

"You think I don't want that?" Harry murmured, more to himself than to her. "But every time I try to let it go, it's like something pulls me back under."

A silence settled between them. Comfortable, but heavy.

He didn't want to talk about it. Not really. He didn't want to drag her into the fog still clinging to him. She'd fought her own battles. She deserved peace. Not his problems.

But Ginny didn't move. She didn't fill the silence with small talk or back away like she was giving him space. She just stood beside him—solid, quiet, present. That, more than anything, made the ache in his chest twist.