A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 6

The rain hadn't stopped all night. It drummed steadily against the windowpane, a dull, ceaseless rhythm that echoed the ache in Harry's chest. Morning had arrived shrouded in grey, the sky low and heavy, pressing down on the Burrow like a weight.

Harry blinked awake to a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes. His head throbbed like it had been split in two. Every breath felt too loud. His hands trembled as he reached for his glasses, barely managing to slide them on. Even the light filtering through the curtains made him wince.

His stomach rolled. Just lifting his head off the pillow felt like dragging a boulder uphill. Come on. Move. Just move. It took nearly all his strength just to swing his legs over the bed. When he finally stood, the floor swayed under him like the deck of a ship. Cold sweat clung to his skin.

Each step down the staircase was a battle. His knees threatened to give out, and his hand clung to the bannister. Halfway down, he caught sight of a flash of red hair—Ginny. Her face lit up the second she saw him, but her eyes told a different story: fear, confusion, and something else—guilt, maybe?

"Harry!" she whispered, rushing up the last few steps to meet him. Her hand gripped his arm, firm and steady. "You should've stayed in bed. You look awful."

He wanted to joke, say something snarky—'Do I ever look good?'—but his mouth was dry, and his thoughts were scattered. He gave her a weak smile instead, grateful for the support. She helped him down the last few stairs, her presence like an anchor.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the occasional clink of cutlery. Everyone turned at once when he entered. Ron stood mid-bite, frozen. Hermione's eyes were wide and worried. Mrs. Weasley hovered near the stove. Mr. Weasley, thankfully, had already left for work.

Harry's legs wobbled as he approached the table. Ginny didn't let go until he sank into the chair between Ron and Hermione. Every part of him protested the movement. Even sitting upright felt like an effort.

Hermione leaned in, whispering, "Harry, are you alright?" Her voice was low and urgent, like she didn't want to startle him.

He rubbed at his temple. His fingers were ice-cold, and the throbbing in his head hadn't let up. "Just a headache," he said, though the words felt too heavy. It wasn't just a headache. It was wrong. Something inside him felt wrong.

Mrs. Weasley appeared beside him with a plate piled high with toast and sausages. "Famished, dear?" she asked, forcing a bright smile.

Harry nodded out of habit and took the plate, though the sight of food made his stomach lurch. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say no—not after everything she'd done for him. He picked at the toast, hoping the motion would convince everyone he was fine.

But he wasn't fine.

He looked around the table. Ron was fidgeting. Hermione was biting her lip. Ginny hadn't sat down—she hovered behind him, close enough to catch him if he fell again. Their eyes were all on him, and it felt like too much.

"I—How are you two?" he asked Ron and Hermione suddenly, trying to deflect the attention. "Doing alright?"

Hermione straightened up quickly, clearly picking up on his need for distraction. "Yes! I'm staying here for the rest of the summer," she said brightly. "My parents agreed—finally. Took some convincing."

That tugged a smile out of him, despite the pain. He remembered the guilt she carried during the war, the way she'd altered her parents' memories to protect them. "How are they?" he asked quietly.

"They're great," she said, her eyes shining. "I brought them back after the war, and... it's like nothing ever happened." Her voice trembled just slightly. "I missed them so much."