1 Chapter 1

A cool twilight breeze swept past Harry Potter as he sat motionless outside the Hogwarts grounds, staring contentedly beyond the great lake. The soft glow emanating from the lake's waters created a beautiful reflection of the setting sun—a sight he lost himself in every time. But not even this magnificent view could bring peace to his heavy heart. His hand went to his chest as he took several deep, shaky breaths, jolting him from his reverie.

Ever since the battle of Hogwarts two weeks ago, Harry had started feeling a dull ache between his lungs. At first it was a faint tugging sensation right in the center of his chest, which he'd ignored until now. The pain would come and go in flashes, but today was different—it lingered for several minutes before fading again. He knew something was terribly wrong, but no one else knew about this except him. Harry was determined not to tell anyone until he understood the cause, but he didn't know how to figure it out. He could try reading medical books in the library, but it was inaccessible due to the battle damage. Or he could ask his best friend Hermione or Madam Pomfrey, but he didn't want to bother them yet if he could avoid it.

A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled Harry from his brooding thoughts. Looking up, he saw Ginny standing there, her warm smile offering a balm to his troubled mind. He returned her smile, lowering his hand from where it had been clutching his chest. Ginny's keen eye caught the fleeting pained look on his face before his expression brightened.

She reached out, cupping his cheek in a tender caress.

Harry's eyes drifted closed as he savored her soothing touch.

"Are you alright?" Ginny asked, concern etching delicate lines across her face.

Opening his eyes, Harry met her worried gaze. He considered confiding his earlier distress but decided to keep it to himself, at least for now.

Harry squeezed Ginny's hand and forced a smile, attempting to mask his unease with assurances of "I'm fine." But she saw right through his facade, too familiar with his tells to be fooled.

"You know that answer doesn't satisfy me, Harry," she pressed, eyeing him with concern. "Earlier it looked like you were in pain, rubbing your chest."

Harry lowered his head and glanced back at the horizon, which was slowly dimming with the setting sun. He felt a sinking feeling as he realized he didn't want Ginny or anyone else to start worrying about him. They had finally defeated Voldemort and put an end to all the pain and suffering of the past years. Harry wanted them to be able to enjoy their newfound peace and happiness without his troubles weighing them down. After everything they had endured, he felt they deserved carefree, joyful lives. But experience had taught him that some sorrows lingered no matter what. With a heavy heart, he accepted that his fate might never allow him to fully escape his past.

"Harry," Ginny said again, placing a comforting hand on his back when he didn't respond. "Whatever's worrying you, you can tell me. We'll deal with it together. You know that, don't you?" She longed to ease the burden she saw weighing on him.

It was a moment before he answered, ripples of cold undulating over his skin. "I'm scared, Ginny," Harry whispered hesitantly. "I—" The suffocating feeling extinguished the end of his sentence; he could not continue.

Ginny looked suddenly frightened. "Why? What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

Harry's throat tightened instinctively. He tried not to feel scared, tried not to think something bad was about to happen or that there might be an unsolvable problem. He felt his fingers trembling slightly and made an effort to control them, but he couldn't.

"Harry, please talk to me," Ginny pleaded. Her fear grew with each passing minute.

Harry shook his head. "I really can't say," he replied evasively.

"What do you mean you can't say?" she asked anxiously. If there was one thing that would worry her too much, it was Harry's unwillingness to confide, especially when things were already deteriorating. "Harry... please tell me what's wrong."

Harry fell quiet, carefully mulling over Ginny's question. He didn't want to say anything prematurely, but keeping her in the dark pained him. His love for her ran so deep that withholding this information felt unbearable, even though he knew the truth would devastate her. Ginny had always been resilient and compassionate—qualities that drew Harry to her not just as a girlfriend, but hopefully as a future wife, if fate allowed. All he wanted was her happiness, especially amidst the current celebrations. But the troubling issue weighing on him made that difficult. Harry ached to confess the grim news, yet couldn't find the right words.

Grasping her hand, he said, "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I need more time before I can explain what's happening. I don't want to rush in and tell you something I'm uncertain of."

Ginny let out a deep sigh. "I've always admired your courage, Harry. You tend to keep things to yourself and deal with problems alone. Whatever it is that's frightening you now, I'm confident you can overcome it as you always do. But sometimes you need to let people help you."

Harry said nothing. He didn't want to worry them. Finding the answers himself before it was too late was so important. Before anyone else discovered the truth. At least knowing first hand wouldn't hurt as much as dealing with it later surely would. He wanted a normal life, and now was his chance.

He held Ginny's warm hand tightly, as if it were his only hope. Despite the years since he first saw her, her effect on him had only grown stronger. He didn't want to let that go.

Though Ginny didn't understand what was on Harry's mind, she respected his silence. Sitting beside him, she reached out to touch his face, holding his gaze. She wanted to comfort him, to ease the pain he had endured. Slowly, Ginny leaned in and kissed Harry softly, sensing it was what he needed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back. After a moment, they parted but remained embraced, wishing to make the moment last.

That night, while his fellow Gryffindors slept, Harry lay awake, a faint throbbing in his chest disrupting his rest. It had happened twice that day and, though it didn't linger, he knew he must act. Rising, he crept to the common room and watched the fading embers awhile before slipping out the portrait hole. It was late to disturb any professors, but he couldn't wait—he had to confirm his suspicions before leaving Hogwarts.

He walked through the cold dungeons until he stood before the door. He knocked and waited. Though slightly worried his professor might be asleep, Harry's knock was answered promptly.

A rather bleary-eyed, bald old man with an enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache greeted Harry. Though he looked as if roused from deep slumber, his eyes lit up and he smiled upon seeing Harry, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly.

"Harry! What a surprise."

Hesitating, Harry said quietly, "Professor Slughorn, I'm sorry if I woke you at this hour."

"Not to worry, my boy. Come in!" Horace Slughorn stepped aside, gesturing for Harry to enter his quarters. The crackling fire brought instant warmth as he crossed the threshold.

During Harry's previous visit to the office, Ron had unfortunately ingested a poisoned oak-matured mead, making the experience highly unpleasant.

Professor Slughorn shut the door and headed to his cabinet to grab some drinks. "Please, have a seat, Harry," he said.

Harry perched cautiously on a chair facing the fire as Slughorn poured two goblets of amber liquid. The professor brought one over to Harry as he settled into the opposite seat. Though wary, Harry told himself the drink was harmless.

"Now, what can I do for you, my dear boy?" Slughorn asked.

Harry took a small sip of butterbeer, set the cup on the table, and pondered where to begin. He was at a loss for how to respond to Slughorn's question.

"Professor," he said hesitantly, vividly recalling their last tense discussion about Horcruxes. He knew broaching the forbidden subject again was risky, but his desperation for answers compelled him to continue. "I was wondering if you would be willing to talk with me again about Horcruxes," he said nervously, his heart pounding as he awaited the professor's response.

Professor Slughorn choked on his drink, clearly not expecting Harry's question.

Harry eyed him nervously as he waited for the inevitable reprimand.

After a tense moment, the professor finally spoke in a soft voice. To Harry's surprise, Slughorn looked at him with concern instead of yelling at him to leave. "Why do you ask?" Slughorn inquired.

"I was just curious, Professor," Harry replied.

Slughorn narrowed his eyes. "That's an odd thing to be curious about, Harry," he said.

Harry remained silent.

Professor Slughorn, thinking Harry would offer no further explanation and was only staring at him intently, asked, "What do you want to know?"

Harry hid his trembling hands in his pockets and took another deep breath. "Professor," he asked, "you once explained that Horcruxes contain a fragment of a person's soul, right?"

"Yes, that's correct," the professor replied.

"What happens to a person's soul when a Horcrux inhabits their body, and how is their soul affected if the Horcrux is later destroyed?"

Professor Slughorn frowned, thinking.

"To be honest, I've never heard of such a thing," Professor Slughorn replied. "The creator would usually hide a Horcrux inside an inanimate object. But I suppose embedding it in a living being would greatly shorten that person's lifespan."

Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, looking deeply troubled.

"But what if it wasn't intentional?" he asked, gazing at his professor with intense fear. "What if it's just an accident that he created a Horcrux and it latched onto another soul? Would destroying it still affect that person's soul?"

After draining his cup and setting it aside on the table, Professor Slughorn said, "Regardless of whether it was intentional, a soul becomes tainted once a Horcrux invades it."

"So that person's soul would die too, even if the Horcrux is destroyed?"

"Yes," the Professor replied simply.

Harry was starting to feel unwell. The constant flow of distressing information was overwhelming him with despair. "Professor, is there any way to purify a corrupted soul?"

Professor Slughorn shifted uneasily, his suspicions growing. Though he had discussed this with Albus Dumbledore, he remained uncertain, as he had not read any books confirming it was possible. Clearly, Albus knew something on the matter that he did not.

"I'm afraid I don't know," he said in response to Harry's question. "Creating a Horcrux is so evil that all information about the process was banned from the public. So I doubt any reference exists on mending a shattered soul under those conditions. To my knowledge, no one has ever tried to reverse that kind of damage."

Harry's voice quivered slightly as he asked, "Professor, if someone's soul is tainted, how much would it shorten their lifespan? You said it would be drastic." Sweat beaded on his forehead.

A wave of dread washed over Harry as Professor Slughorn spoke, and his heart began to race. Slughorn's words—"I can only assume it's slow and agonizing, and you'd rather die swiftly as time passes"—made Harry feel suddenly faint.

Noticing the boy's stricken expression, Slughorn asked with concern, "Are you alright, my boy?"

Looking up, Harry replied, "Yes, thank you Professor. I have to go..." His words trailed off as he struggled to breathe, his mouth and throat parched.

"Harry?" Slughorn asked with concern.

Unsteadily, Harry rose and hurried from the room before Slughorn could say more.

Once outside, Harry sprinted for the bathroom. Collapsing before a toilet, he vomited violently, trembling with each heave. Gripping the stall walls, he shakily lifted himself off the floor.

Returning to Gryffindor Tower, Harry felt miserable and exhausted. As he climbed into bed, tears began flowing even before his head hit the pillow. His soul felt tainted, and he was at a loss for how to fix it. He didn't want to feel hopeless or dwell on the pain he had endured until he couldn't take it anymore. He was frightened and scared about what would happen next. Harry had thought he could live a normal life after destroying the Horcruxes while Voldemort destroyed the one inside him. But he was terribly wrong. Now Harry realized there was no hope left for him in this world, and just thinking about it pained him deeply. He didn't want it to end like this or to die. He wanted to do so much more with his life, but now he couldn't. It felt as if his life and soul had been snatched away, and knowing he only had a few months left was already killing him inside.

Golden morning light streamed through the dormitory window on their final day at Hogwarts. Soon they would board the train to journey home, but a bittersweet mood hung in the air. Harry looked forward to living permanently with the Weasleys, though his excitement dimmed as he recalled his troubling conversation with Professor Slughorn the previous night. Lost in thought, he barely noticed as Ron shuffled to his bedside.

"Harry!" Ron's voice cut through his reverie.

Blinking, Harry turned toward the blurry outline of his friend. Ron pressed his glasses into his hand.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Ron teased. "You look terrible as hell, mate."

Harry lobbed his pillow in retaliation, but Ron dodged it easily.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said wryly.

Harry stood up abruptly and stumbled, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He grasped the curtain to steady himself, swaying slightly.

"Woah, you alright, mate?" Ron grabbed Harry's arm to support him.

"Yeah, just stood up too fast," Harry lied. In truth, he was drained and weary after the events of the previous night. Though he had slept late into the morning, his energy was sapped.

Most students had departed Hogwarts following the battle, packing their belongings to head home. Only Harry, Ron, and a few others remained to assist with repairs. As Harry and Ron had not returned for their final year, opting instead to end Voldemort's reign, they had no possessions to gather. Their scant belongings resided in Hermione's beaded bag regardless.

With his stomach empty and growling after last night's sickness, Harry reluctantly headed to breakfast in the near-vacant Great Hall. The prospect offered little appeal, but he needed food.

Harry picked at his toast, managing only a few bites before pushing the plate away. Across the table, Ginny watched him with concern. He offered her a weak smile, then dropped his gaze back to the uneaten food.

"Is that really all you're going to eat?" Ginny asked.

"I'm not very hungry," Harry said truthfully. His stomach churned at the thought of another bite. He couldn't risk getting sick here in front of everyone.

Ron and Hermione exchanged knowing looks but said nothing. Despite the end of the war and the joyful mood, Harry felt only gloom. His friends thought they understood—they too grieved the many lost only weeks ago. But they didn't know what really plagued him.

Harry tried to seem cheerful for their sake. He assured them he'd eat more back at the Burrow, under the watchful eye of Mrs. Weasley. That drew relieved nods. No one wanted her scolding or force-feeding. But Harry's heart remained heavy, his sadness untouched.

After finishing breakfast, Harry excused himself, telling the others he needed to use the bathroom. He stood up from the table and left the Great Hall. Instead of heading to the bathroom, however, he turned down another corridor that would lead directly to the library.

Upon entering the library, he saw Madam Pince seated at her desk, reading. She had somehow managed to repair and reshelve the books scattered across the floor by the battle, returning the library to order in record time. But some of the damage would require renovations beyond her magical abilities, much to Madam Pince's displeasure. The strict librarian had always posed an obstacle during Harry's school days, extremely reluctant to allow any book to leave the library. But Harry had no choice—he needed to borrow some books on souls before departing Hogwarts in a few hours.

Slowly, he approached Madam Pince and requested books relating to souls.

She furrowed her brows. "There are many types of books on souls here, Mr. Potter, some of which you do not have access to, as they are restricted to staff only."

"I only need those I can borrow and take with me over the summer holiday," Harry replied.

"Your time here ends today," Madam Pince said sternly. "Tell me, why do you need to borrow books now?"

"Light reading," he said, though he wished to tell her it was none of her business. He gave the obvious reason Hermione would usually provide instead of the blunt truth he wanted to speak.

Madam Pince huffed in disbelief. "Light reading?" she repeated skeptically.

"Yeah, I don't want to bore myself at home," Harry said, hoping his excuse would satisfy her. "I'd rather read."

She eyed him suspiciously. "I find that very hard to believe, Mr. Potter. You hardly ever come to the library."

"That doesn't mean I don't enjoy reading," Harry reasoned.

Madam Pince pondered silently.

Harry thought that she was right to be cautious on his last day of school.

Just as he turned to leave, resigned, she said, "Alright then. The books you need are along that far row." She gestured to the right-hand corner of the library. "But you've only thirty minutes before your train departs."

Harry nodded gratefully and hurried to find the books in the spot she had shown.

On the Hogwarts Express returning to London, Ginny sat beside Harry, who held his hand gently. Across from them, Ron and Hermione sat in silence, all three casting worried glances at Harry as he struggled in vain against exhaustion, staring blankly out the window. Ginny shifted to let Harry rest his head in her lap, which he gratefully did, though not without an apprehensive look at Ron, who clearly disapproved. Ginny ignored her brother's reproving gaze completely.

Once Harry had fallen asleep, Ginny looked over at Ron and Hermione, who couldn't hide their concern.

"I've never seen him look so depressed," Ron said.

"How can you be so insensitive?" Hermione replied sharply. "We're all grieving."

"I'm grieving too!" Ron said defensively. "But this is different. Something seems really wrong with Harry."

Hermione stared at Ron inquisitively. "I'm starting to think something strange really is going on with Harry," she admitted.

For a moment, they sat in silence, gazing at Harry's sleeping form. Though at peace now, he had clutched his chest in pain and grimaced earlier, as if trapped in a nightmare.

"Strange," said Ron, eyebrows raised. "Do you think he was having a bad dream?"

Rather than answering Ron, they simply continued staring at Harry.

"He confided that he was frightened," Ginny abruptly revealed.

Ron and Hermione glanced up at her.

"Frightened?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "By what?"

"Why's that?" Ron inquired.

Ginny shrugged. "He claimed he couldn't disclose anything until he was completely certain. He was trembling as he confided in me."

"When did he tell you this?" Hermione gently asked.

"Last night."

"No wonder Harry looked so dreadful this morning," Ron said. "His eyes were bloodshot and swollen."

"Is he sick?" Ginny asked, though she had seen Harry at breakfast. Still, she sensed something was amiss.

Ron shrugged. "I'm not sure. He stumbled getting upâ€"said he stood too fast, but I doubt that's all."

The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully. His friends, thinking Harry needed rest, let him sleep and occupied themselves with silent conversations and gazing out the window as the train neared the station.

A loud whistle jarred Harry awake as the train slowed. They had arrived in London. Surprised to have slept through most of the journey without his friends waking him, Harry sat up and saw them gathering their things to leave the compartment.

"How are you feeling?" Ginny asked, squeezing his hand. Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Well rested," he replied, "though I didn't mean to sleep the whole way."

"You were out like a light as soon as we left Hogwarts," said Ron.

Stepping onto the platform, Ron was immediately enveloped in a hug from his parents. Hermione bid them all farewell before slipping away to join her own parents. Harry, on the other hand, crossed to the far side of the platform and looked around expectantly, as if waiting for someone.

"Come along, Harry!" Mr. Weasley called.

When Harry didn't respond, Ron went over. "What are you doing, mate? It's time to go."

Looking confused, Harry replied, "I'm waiting for my uncle to pick me up."

Ron laughed. "Good one. Now let's get moving before they leave us behind."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, perplexed. He had told them his uncle was picking him up for the summer, yet they were acting as if he was going home with them instead.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, his smile slowly fading.

"Don't you remember? I have to spend the summer with the Dursleys," Harry explained as the rest of the group approached. Ron looked at Harry, perplexed.

"What are you talking about? You live with us now, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his head pounding with confusion. "Why would I be living with you? I thought I was going back to the Dursleys."

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said gently, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Are you alright?"

Mr. Weasley stepped forward, his expression kind as he gazed at Harry. "Don't you recall what occurred on your seventeenth birthday last year?"

Harry stared back blankly, shaking his head.

The others reacted with shock—Ron's mouth hung agape, Ginny looked bewildered, and Mrs. Weasley clasped a hand to her chest.

Mr. Weasley placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke softly. "Harry, you said goodbye to the Dursleys at Privet Drive before they went into hiding for their safety. And you agreed to live with us from now on."

Harry backed away slightly from Mr. Weasley, looking around at the others as if seeking confirmation. But they simply stared back with odd expressions. Harry brought a shaking hand to his head, trying to remember but finding only a jumble that gave him a massive headache.

"Why can't I remember, Mr. Weasley?" Harry's voice quivered.

"You've been through so much, dear," Mrs. Weasley answered for him. "I think you're still in shock after the war."

Harry lowered his head. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember anything. It was as if someone had obliviated him in his sleep. He saw fragmented memories, but they only confused him more. There was only one explanation for this, and it frightened him deeply.

To be continued...