A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 8

The air in Harry's room at the Burrow was thick with the scent of the evening, a mingling of earthy magic and lingering dinner aromas that made Ron's stomach twist with unease. The soft glow of the lantern cast flickering patterns against the walls, as Harry lay on his bed, his fingers interlaced with Ginny's. He appeared lost in thought, blissfully unaware of the heavy discussion brewing just a few feet away.

Ron, seated in the worn chair beside the desk, had never felt more anxious. The words Hermione had spoken echoed in his mind:"It's important that we don't let Harry know about our efforts to save his soul for now."He tapped his foot nervously against the wooden legs of the chair, a rhythm of unsteady resolve.

"Okay," Hermione said, her brow furrowed as she paced back and forth like a minister preparing to deliver an urgent address. "So, the first ingredient—thestral hair."

"Right," Harry replied, his voice brightening with curiosity. "But how do we even get it?"

"Well," Hermione began, glancing over at Ron and Ginny. "At the moment, we don't have a clear strategy. We must collect hair from wild Thestrals, which are not easily found in the magical world."

"I have an idea of someone who can help us," Harry proclaimed enthusiastically.

Ron's heart drummed in his chest at the desperation in Harry's voice, the trust radiating from him. They couldn't let him know. Not yet. "Hagrid?" he forced himself to suggest, masking the anxiety bubbling beneath his facade.

"Exactly!" Harry said, enthusiasm replacing confusion. "Hagrid knows magical creatures better than anyone!"

A small part of Ron felt proud for his friend's quick thinking—Harry was strong and clever. But another part felt heavy with guilt. He glanced at Ginny, who was watching Harry with adoration, completely oblivious to the tension creeping between them.

Hermione reached for the book, tapping it lightly with her finger, her expression deepening in thought. "But remember, Harry," she started carefully, "gathering the ingredients is going to take time, and we can't risk you knowing what the potion is truly for."

"Why not?" Harry's brows knitted in confusion, his innocence almost palpable. Ron could see Hermione's resolve waver for a moment.

"Because—" Hermione began, but Ron interjected, "Let's just focus on the ingredients for now, yeah?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but the seriousness of their undertaking hung heavy in the air.

"Fine," Harry relented, visibly confused. "So, what's next after Thestral hair?"

Hermione flipped through the book, her fingers dancing over the pages. "A piece of the doorway where life departs."

Silence draped over the room, thick with uncertainty. Ron scowled, feeling the added weight of the riddle pressing down on him. "Why can't they just say, 'a pinch of salt' or something straightforward?" He rubbed his temples, already feeling the tension building in his mind. "Could this be hinting at a graveyard gate, perhaps?"

"Or maybe a portkey," Ginny suggested, the lines on her forehead deepening as she clearly struggled to make sense of their next steps.

Their chatter drifted aimlessly, each suggestion drawing them into deeper confusion rather than clarity. Ron felt exasperated; it was as if they were walking a labyrinth with no exit in sight. Just when he felt the creeping sense of frustration taking over, Ginny uttered something intriguing.

"We could talk to the ghosts," she proposed. "Nearly Headless Nick could be quite helpful."

Hermione frowned. "His soul wouldn't be confined here if he knew of any portals. Besides... they might not have much to offer."