A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 9

The soft warmth of morning sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, painting everything in gold. It felt like the sun had finally remembered where he lived. Harry blinked against the light, eyes adjusting slowly. For the first time in what felt like ages, the brightness didn't sting. It comforted him, gently tugging him out of sleep instead of yanking him awake like some cruel alarm.

He lay there for a moment, still and quiet. No headaches. No burning feeling. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing and the hush of the Burrow coming to life. Strange. Peaceful, even. He rubbed his eyes and tried to hold onto the feeling, afraid it might vanish the moment he moved.

Is this what normal feels like? He wondered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up without the pain of his damaged soul crushing his chest.

Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet hit the cool wooden floor. As he padded toward the kitchen, a delicious smell met him halfway—eggs, toast, and bacon. His stomach gave an eager growl, shocking him. For weeks, food had just been something he forced down because people kept giving him that worried look. But now? He actually wanted it.

Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, humming softly as she flipped something in a pan. The air felt warm and homey—like it was giving him a hug. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Morning, dear. Just in time," she said, sliding a generous portion onto a plate. "Sit. Eat."

And to his own amazement, Harry did. He devoured every bite like he hadn't eaten in days. Maybe it was the smell, or maybe it was just Mrs. Weasley's gentle presence, but it all tasted... good. Real. By the time he'd cleared his plate, his stomach felt overly full, but instead of guilt or nausea, there was pride. A strange, quiet pride.

Mrs. Weasley dried her hands on her apron, watching him with that familiar look—the one that made him feel both cared for and slightly cornered. "It's so good to see your appetite return," she said gently, her voice laced with honest relief.

Harry blinked. Compliments like that always made him feel awkward, like he'd accidentally done something noteworthy by simply existing.

"Er... thanks," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I was hungry."

Why does it feel weird to feel okay? He wondered as he stood and stretched, trying to shake off the unease. Part of him welcomed this new sense of normalcy. The other part was convinced it couldn't last.

Later, in his room, he gathered the others—Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—and tried to focus. There were things to do and plans to make. He clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm. "Alright. Let's get to it."

Ron raised a brow. "You know, instead of sending Hagrid an owl, we could just go visit him. Ask about the Thestral hair in person."

Harry glanced at Ron, surprised. "You think he'd be up for that?"

"He'd love it," Hermione chimed in. "He's probably lonely. I mean, come on, when's the last time we properly visited him?"

Harry couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, maybe. I just hope he's doing alright."

"Bet he's still spending half his time with Grawp," Ron said, snorting. "Can you imagine that big guy trying to master small talk? 'Grawp... like... butterbeer?'" He deepened his voice into a slow rumble, and everyone laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned. "Actually, Grawp has come a long way. He helped during the war, you know. And I heard he's been gentle around the younger students."