Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Horcrux’s Fate ❯ Chaptwe 14 ( Chapter 14 )

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Hagrid was a figure of comfort and strength, an ancient oak in the midst of a raging storm. The flickering lights of St. Mungo’s Hospital cast long shadows across the pale walls, but Hagrid sat resolutely by Harry’s bedside, his massive frame dwarfed only by the immense worry etched across his face. Harry lay there, pale as a ghost, battling the agonising aftermath of the poison. A vivid memory of laughter and warmth filled Hagrid’s mind—memories of happier days at Hogwarts—but now, those memories felt far away, overshadowed by a heavy cloud of fear and despair.

The healers moved about the sparsely furnished room like frantic bees, each absorbed in their own task. They exchanged furtive glances, their hearts guided by discomfort and uncertainty. It was as if Hagrid’s sheer size encumbered them; each time they dared to approach Harry, they glanced at the giant’s imposing figure that anchored himself to the chair beside the bed.

Harry gasped for breath, tearing in and out, as though invisible hands gripped his throat tight. Hagrid rubbed his back, a gentle motion that felt both foreign and comforting. Each time Harry was about to succumb to the wave of nausea, Hagrid would offer him a glass of water, only to have it pushed aside, a reminder of the poison that coursed through him.

“Hang on, Harry. Jus’ a bit longer,” Hagrid murmured, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise. He could see the fear flickering in Harry’s eyes, a haunting reflection of pain that made Hagrid’s own heart twist. Harry’s hands clutched at the bed covers, trembling, and he turned slightly to gaze at Hagrid, his expression betraying the turmoil within. It struck Hagrid anew, as if each tremor sent daggers through him, a sense of helplessness he had never experienced before.

“I will stay righ’ ’ere,” he said, his rough voice almost breaking under the weight of his emotions. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, a shield against Harry’s suffering. Another tear streaked down Harry’s cheek, a silent acknowledgement of his gratitude, for the unyielding bond they shared.

Hours morphed into eternity. The healers darted in and out, their faces wearing expressions that ranged from concerned to grim. One Healer returned, a flask of vibrant potion cradled in his hands. The moment he entered, Hagrid’s heart raced.

“Wha’ is that?” Hagrid asked, frowning.

With a practiced hand, the healer explained, “We believe the poison originates from the Angel’s Trumpet plant. Its toxins attack the body aggressively—dangerous and potentially fatal.” Hagrid’s brows knitted at the sound of the plant’s name. To think something so beautiful, named for such a delicate flower, could contain such terror made his gut clench.

The Healer proceeded to equip themselves with a syringe and needle, carefully inserting the needle into Harry’s arm, causing a slight groan to escape Harry’s lips as he experienced a slight discomfort. “This antidote is powerful, but it doesn’t come without its price. It’ll stop the poison’s effects, but it’ll put Harry through incredible pain, similar to regrowing bones. The antidote will inflict torment on him for several days.”

Hagrid’s heart sank. As the antidote flowed into Harry’s system, the boy convulsed again, but this time, it was different—the pain was sharper, the struggle fiercer. Hagrid could do nothing but hold his friend firmly, whispering reassurances through growing desperation.

Hagrid winced, dreading Harry’s pain. “Can we give Harry anythin’ fer his pain? Perhaps a Sleeping Draught?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Healer said regretfully. “The antidote must work on its own to remove the poison completely. Once it does, we can make Harry comfortable.”

Following that, the Healer left, leaving Hagrid with Harry.

Moments felt like hours, and Hagrid braced himself for each harrowing gasp that escaped Harry’s lips. With each wave of panic, Harry squirmed, a storm brewing behind his shut eyelids, cries of anguish bubbling just beneath the surface. Hagrid’s own eyes blurred, the stinging tears spilling over as he felt utterly powerless. He let out a heavy sigh as he leaned in and laid a comforting hand on Harry’s arm. “Harry...” he began, his voice trembling with emotion.

Harry slowly opened his eyes to the dim light filtering through the curtains of the hospital room. He blinked against the brightness, focussing his gaze on the figure next to him. Hagrid lay curled up in an uncomfortable position, his thick beard and tangled hair giving the impression of a giant teddy bear. Harry made an effort not to disturb him as he attempted to sit up, only to be met with an overwhelming ache throughout his body. Every movement resonated with pain, reminding him of how weak he felt. He winced, trying to ease himself into a better position without waking Hagrid.

However, even the slightest shift sent a ripple of awareness through Hagrid, who jolted awake with a start. His eyes were wide, and he looked around the room with frantic urgency, as if expecting danger to emerge from the shadows.

“Harry?” he whispered, his deep voice barely rising above the silence of the room.

With a gentle smile, Harry relaxed at the sight of Hagrid’s concerned expression. “Hello, Hagrid. I’m sorry if I woke you,” he replied, his voice hoarse yet comforting as he leaned into Hagrid’s massive arm, the warmth of the giant reassuring him amid the discomfort.

“It’s alrigh’. How’re yeh feelin’?” Hagrid’s brow furrowed with worry as he surveyed Harry’s pale face and frail body.

“Like I’ve been hit by a full body-bind curse,” Harry joked lightly, trying to infuse some humour into the situation. “I’m as stiff as a board.” He attempted to stretch his arm but winced as a sharp pain shot through him.

“I think the antidote is workin’,” Hagrid said, a hint of optimism in his voice. “The poison will be gone soon, I expect.”

Nodding, Harry glanced around the room, taking in the whitewashed walls and the faint scent of antiseptic. “Is this St. Mungo’s, Hagrid?” he asked, noting the privacy of the room. It was a stark contrast to the usual bustling wards filled with chaos, providing him with much-needed solace.

“Yes, we brought yeh here,” Hagrid confirmed, his baritone voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Harry furrowed his brow, perplexed. “We?” he echoed, wanting clarity on who else was involved.

Hagrid nodded solemnly. “Yer friends brought yeh ’ere, Harry,” he explained, his tone growing serious.

A flutter of hope and anxiety rose within Harry. “Where are they?” he asked, unable to shake off the concern gripping him.

“In the waitin’ room,” Hagrid replied softly. “The healers insisted on no visitors fer now.”

Harry’s heart sank a little, mixed with gratitude that he had at least Hagrid by his side. “But you’re here,” he noted, feeling the warmth of Hagrid’s loyalty.

Hagrid cleared his throat, his massive shoulders slightly hunched. “They made an exception fer me because I wasn’t leavin’ yeh,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think I scared ’em when I checked meself in earlier.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a sudden sharp pain coursing through his neck as he turned to face Hagrid. “Check in? Hagrid, what happened?” He noticed the bandages wrapped around Hagrid’s arms and chest, stirring a sense of dread.

“I was attacked, yeh see,” Hagrid murmured, his voice dropping as if recalling a haunting memory. He recounted the tale of danger in the cave, how he had narrowly escaped, and sent a letter to Ron.

“But are you okay, Hagrid?” Harry pressed, concern etching lines on his forehead. “I’m sorry if we caused you so much trouble. We shouldn’t have—”

“I’m alrigh’,” Hagrid interrupted, waving his massive hand dismissively. “It’s yeh I’m worried about. Ron and Hermione sure gave me a heart attack when I found out about yer soul.” Tears glimmered in Hagrid’s eyes, and his voice choked a little, but he quickly composed himself. “I wanted ter come an’ see yeh meself… and now I’m ’ere with yeh.”

Harry felt a wave of warmth at Hagrid’s words. The giant enveloped him in a gentle hug.

“I got the tail hair,” Hagrid continued, his voice softening as he pulled back slightly to look at Harry. “I gave it ter Hermione. You’re goin’ ter be okay now, Harry. They’ll brew the potion, and yeh’ll be healthy again.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Harry replied sincerely, a flicker of unease nagging at him. He briefly wrestled with a troubling thought—had Ron and Hermione explained the truth behind the potion to Hagrid?

The door creaked open slowly, and a wave of apprehension washed over Harry as he lifted his head from the pillow. The familiar faces of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny entered the ward, their eyes filled with a mixture of concern and relief. The sterile smell of the infirmary mixed with their collective worry, but the sight of his friends brought a warmth that knotted his heart.

“Harry!” they exclaimed in unison, hurrying toward him. Ginny was the first to reach him, wrapping him in a tight embrace that momentarily dispelled the discomfort of his inured body. He held onto her hand tightly, feeling the softness of her skin against his.

“We weren’t supposed to be here right now, but we couldn’t bear to wait any longer to check on you,” Ron gasped, panting slightly, his voice steeped in urgency. “So much has happened since you’ve been unconscious. You won’t believe it.”

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

With a slight wince, Harry shifted in his bed, the soreness radiating through his limbs. “The antidote is starting to work, but I still feel quite achy,” he admitted. “Hagrid filled me in on what happened in the Thestral Cave.”

Ron shifted nervously; his interest piqued. “Do you think Malfoy had something to do with it?” His eyes widened, reflecting both curiosity and astonishment.

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione’s lips as she awaited Harry’s response.

“I’ve been eager to discuss this with you,” Ron confessed, seriousness threading through his voice. “Your opinion means a lot to us, mate.”

“No, Malfoy wasn’t responsible for the attack,” Harry stated firmly, his mind made up without hesitation.

Ron looked at him incredulously, as if the poison had damaged not just his body but also his mind. “Are you serious?” he asked, the furrows in his brow deepening with disbelief.

Harry nodded his head, his conviction unwavering. “Malfoy actually warned me about the dangers in the cave. He may not be a friend, but he didn’t harm Hagrid.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, scepticism prevailing in her demeanour. “How can you be so confident about this?” she questioned. “While I agree that other Death Eaters may have been involved in the attack, I’m not convinced that Malfoy was one of them. I still have my doubts.”

“I have faith in him because he showed loyalty,” Harry explained, his voice calm and steady. “Despite any past animosity, he went out of his way to meet with Mr. Weasley and come to the Burrow to help me. He fulfilled his obligation without any deceit.”

Ron’s discomfort was palpable as he continued to press Harry, his incredulity spiralling deeper. “So you’re saying you trust him?” he asked, confusion thickening his tone.

“No, it’s not about trust,” Harry clarified, noticing Ron’s growing irritation. “I simply acknowledge that despite our history, Malfoy is clever enough to act on his convictions.”

“But have you considered the possibility that he could be deceiving you in order to set you up?” Ron insisted, frustration creeping into his voice.

Harry shook his head, determination enveloping him. “His only intention was to repay the favour he owed. He has completed his duty to settle his debt.”

Ron seemed to vibrate with disbelief, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I will never see Malfoy as anything other than a malicious, arrogant bully,” he declared firmly. “He is a coward, just like his father.”

Harry nodded, understanding Ron’s perspective but unwilling to concede. “He is all those things, but I stand by my belief. If he deceived me, it would only worsen his situation. He has already faced significant challenges; causing more problems for himself would be counterproductive.”

Ginny, whose hand remained intertwined with Harry’s, interjected, her voice soft but tinged with worry, “Do you think Yaxley is acting alone?”

Before Harry could respond, the door swung wide, revealing Kingsley Shacklebolt striding in with purpose, Percy trailing behind him. A Healer followed, her visible annoyance composing a storm cloud around her.

The Healer glared at everyone present before addressing the group in a shrill tone. “What’s the purpose of this gathering? Mr. Potter needs to rest, and only two visitors are allowed. Everyone else, please leave!” Her voice rose above the quiet hum of the ward, filled with exasperation.

Kingsley calmly stepped forward, his presence commanding. “I understand this may not be the most appropriate time to speak with Mr. Potter and his friends,” Kingsley addressed the Healer, “but it is imperative that I do so now, if you don’t mind.”

The Healer let out an exasperated sigh and stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“Harry Potter,” Kingsley said, his deep voice resonating with authority. “I apologise for intruding, but Percy here informed me of the situation immediately.”

Percy Weasley stood tall, his posture firm, while Ron Weasley rolled his eyes, no doubt thinking of his brother’s penchant for overreacting.

“We were just discussing the matter, Minister,” Hermione said.

Kingsley smiled warmly. “Please, there’s no need for formalities. Call me Kingsley.” Everyone present was visibly relaxed by his friendly demeanour. “Tell me what happened, if you would,” he urged Hermione to continue.

“Draco Malfoy visited the Burrow yesterday to have a conversation with Harry,” Hermione launched into the recounting of events, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. “He expressed gratitude for Harry saving his life, and in return, he revealed the location of a crucial ingredient needed to heal Harry’s soul—a cave in Ireland. We immediately informed Hagrid, hoping he could help us.”

Ron shot Harry a glance filled with disbelief, his brow furrowed. The idea of Malfoy, their long-time rival, acting as an ally felt impossible.

“Furthermore,” Hermione continued, undaunted by Ron’s scepticism, “Percy made an unexpected visit to the Burrow this morning. We discovered too late that he was an impostor.” Her voice quivered, and Harry’s heart sank as he remembered the chaos that followed. Hagrid had sent a letter, stating he had been attacked in the cave mentioned by Malfoy and was now hospitalised. The urgency pushing them to the ministry felt almost crushing.

“Upon returning to the Burrow,” Hermione added, “we found Mr. and Mrs. Weasley unconscious on the floor, and Harry poisoned by the impostor, who identified himself as Corban Yaxley.” The words seemed to hang in the air like a dark cloud, weighing heavily on everyone present.

Kingsley’s brows knitted in thought as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And where are Molly and Arthur now?”

“They’re still unconscious in the adjacent room,” Ginny Weasley spoke up, her voice tight with worry. “But they are receiving medical treatment.” She shot a glance toward Harry, concern etched on her face.

Kingsley turned his focus back to Hermione. “When you mentioned ‘we discovered too late’ that Percy was being impersonated, what exactly did you mean by that?”

Hermione hesitated, a shadow of regret passing over her features. “When the impostor noticed that Harry was ill, he asked me about what had happened… and I...” Her voice trailed off, taking on a vulnerable edge. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and Harry felt a rush of guilt. “I spilled everything about his condition, the ingredients for his cure, even about Draco’s visit…”

“No,” Harry interjected, shaking his head. “Hermione, it’s not your fault. None of us suspected anything.”

“But he could use that information against you,” she insisted, her composure crumbling as she succumbed to tears. Ron leaned over, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Harry’s right,” he said softly. “We were all deceived. There was no way to know.”

Yet, the fear lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Hermione’s anguish was palpable, and Harry felt it like a weight on his own heart. “What if he comes back? What if he tries to hurt Harry again or any of us?”

“I will inform the Aurors as soon as I return,” Kingsley said, his voice firm, reassuring Hermione. “Yaxley will face consequences and be imprisoned in Azkaban.” He turned back to Percy. “Did you notice anything unusual in your office before the attack?”

Percy looked genuine in his earnestness. “No, sir. All I remember is a faint voice. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.” He faltered, guilt creeping into his expression as he met the eyes of his friends.

Kingsley furrowed his brow, a contemplative look crossing his face. “It appears that Yaxley may have orchestrated the attack on the cave in advance. However, was he at the Burrow when you received Hagrid’s letter?”

“Right,” Ron and Ginny said in unison, the weight of the moment stripping away their usual banter.

Kingsley tilted his head. “But how did Yaxley come to know about the cave?”

“The night Draco Malfoy revealed the cave to us,” Hermione explained. “Ron sent the letter to Hagrid immediately. Later, Hagrid mentioned that Ron’s owl appeared roughed up. We wondered if it had been intercepted.”

“Aye, that owl looked peculiar when I saw him,” Hagrid added with a low rumble of concern.

“It’s likely they read Ron’s letter, and that’s how they learnt about the cave,” Hermione concluded, fear creeping back into her voice.

Kingsley refocused on Percy. “Verify the protective enchantments surrounding the Burrow, not just the fireplace. If Yaxley managed to apparate inside, it means the defences were breached. Aurors will be stationed to guard your home.”

“Yes, sir,” Percy replied eagerly, determination brightening his worn features.

Kingsley’s gaze shifted again, his mind churning with possibilities. “As for Draco Malfoy, I have my suspicions. Though he is under surveillance, it would be prudent to consider all angles. Harry, do you think Draco may be collaborating with Yaxley?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, wanting to believe that Malfoy was genuine in his intentions. “Even though it may sound unbelievable, I can’t think he would betray me. Malfoy came to repay a debt, after all. Yaxley might have allies, but Malfoy doesn’t strike me as one of them.”

Kingsley nodded in understanding, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Your instinct has saved you before, Harry. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

“It’s not just because I owe Narcissa Malfoy,” he had asserted firmly. “I truly believe that her son wouldn’t jeopardise their family’s already tarnished reputation.”

“Acting recklessly and foolishly,” Kingsley had agreed, nodding slowly, “wouldn’t align with the Malfoys’ calculated decisions thus far. While we are still wary of their loyalties, if your account proves to be true and they have genuinely switched sides, I will consider giving them a second chance in society. Would you be willing to testify in support of the Malfoys, Harry?” He asked, locking eyes with Harry, who met his gaze with determination.

All eyes turned towards Harry; he found himself uncomfortably aware that he was the only person willing to defend the very family that had once caused him so much pain. The weight of their gazes felt heavy on his shoulders as Kinglsey, the Minister for Magic, awaited his words.

Harry inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of courage he possessed. He had known this moment would come since the end of the war. Though the Malfoys had been on the other side, things had changed. Change was often difficult, revealing the grey areas where once there had been black and white.

“On the night of the Battle of Hogwarts,” Harry began, his voice steady yet soft. “Voldemort had me at his mercy, and I was certain he would end my life. But then Narcissa intervened. She told him I was dead, even as I lay there whispering to her that her son, Draco, still lived. In that critical moment, her actions saved me. It became evident that her allegiance lay with her family, not Voldemort. That instinct to protect her child, to deceive the most dangerous wizard of all, speaks volumes about her true character.”

He paused, scanning the faces around him. Kingsley’s expression remained thoughtful, but the others were less receptive. Harry pushed on, the determination in his heart igniting his words. “Despite her seemingly ruthless facade, that deception was a matter of protecting her own. She showed a capacity for love that transcended the politics of the war.”

Harry’s heart raced as he caught Hermione’s faint nod of encouragement from the other side of the room. He continued, feeling the need to soften the hardened hearts around him. “After the war, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy chose to prioritise finding their son over remaining with the Death Eaters. They risked their lives to find Draco, and their efforts eventually led to a reunion within the Great Hall. They were no longer the staunch members of Voldemort’s cause; they were parents. That should count for something.”

Silence filled the room, an almost tangible force as those present digested his words. Harry could feel the gravity of the moment press down on him, and he mirrored the uncertainty in Kinglsey’s gaze.

“Thank you, Harry, for your testimony,” Kingsley replied finally, his voice steady yet filled with consideration. “Your account has made me reconsider my opinion of the Malfoys. It’s apparent that your experiences have shaped your understanding in ways that many have not. In light of this, I have decided to show them mercy and pardon any official sentences to Azkaban. However,” he raised a hand for emphasis, “they will still be held accountable for their past actions. Justice must be served, and no criminal can escape consequences without facing them.”

Harry nodded, sensing the tension in the air dissipate just slightly. “I had a feeling you would understand,” he said, a smile breaking through his nerves.

“It’s not often that we have the chance to have a meaningful conversation, Harry,” Kinglsey replied with a soft smile, reaching into his pocket. “Here is the stone fragment you need for your potion.” He handed it to Harry, who was visibly taken aback.

“I didn’t expect you to have it ready so soon. Thank you,” Harry said gratefully, stashing the small pouch into his pocket, feeling the warmth of the stone seep through the fabric.

“Anytime, Harry. I look forward to seeing you at Auror Headquarters soon, putting your skills to good use,” Kingsley added, his tone encouraging. “It’s time to showcase your talents, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely!” Hermione chimed in, her eyes sparkling with pride. “I believe Harry has proven himself capable of being the next Head of the Aurors. What do you think, Minister?”

Harry felt his cheeks flush at their praise, but he glanced uneasily at Kingsley, who nodded in thoughtful agreement. “Yes, Ms. Granger, I believe you are right. Mr. Potter, a meeting in my office in a week. Don’t be late.”

Harry was taken aback and, despite his nerves, couldn’t help but smile. Kingsley chuckled, bidding him farewell as he left the room.

“That’s settled then,” Ron said, his voice rising in frustration. “You don’t have to worry about job applications, but I do. Why don’t you accept the offer and hire me as your assistant?”

An amused chuckle rippled through the crowd. They were always light-hearted, even amidst dark, grim decisions. But then, the Healer, looking displeased, returned to the ward as the Minister left, shouting, “This boy needs rest, for Merlin’s sake! Out, OUT!”

Even Hagrid was instructed to leave, and he reluctantly followed the others, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he went.

Alone now, Harry felt the weight of the room press down upon him. He shifted uncomfortably, the sharp pains that had plagued him returning with full force.

The following day, Harry blinked hard as he tried to adjust to the brightness, the aftermath of his pain dulling his senses. Just as he thought he might fall back into unconsciousness, he felt gentle pressure on the bridge of his nose and a familiar softness that brought a flutter of warmth to his heart.

“Harry, are you alright?”

He opened his eyes wider, adjusting to the presence of his friends. Hermione’s anxious brow furrowed over her intense gaze, Ron was standing with a rush of uncharacteristic concern, and Neville’s worried expression hovered nearby.

Despite his attempt to sit up, Harry was immobilised by the intense pain. “Neville,” he croaked, his throat protesting the utterance. The memory of the last few days trickled back—facing Yaxley and the impactful mess he left behind.

“I wasn’t aware that you were brought to St. Mungo’s last night until my gran shared a Witch Weekly story about you this morning. Here,” Neville said, holding up a magazine adorned with a moving picture that captured the moment Hagrid had carried him through the hospital entrance. The headline screamed from the cover: “The-Boy-Who-Disappeared is Finally Spotted at St. Mungo’s Hospital.”

Harry felt a mix of embarrassment and anger stir inside him. “Rita Skeeter,” he muttered, the name bitter on his tongue.

“Oh, you should see what she’s written,” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up like a conjuring spell had gone awry. “That woman will never change! I swear, if I could trap her in an unbreakable jar…”

Neville’s eyes darted nervously to Harry. “What happened?” he pressed. “I was with my parents when I came across the article about you. You looked so pale and unwell in the picture that I had to check if it was true.”

“Poisoned.” The word felt like a stone dropped from his lips.

“P-poisoned?” Neville echoed, visibly shaken. He wasn’t the only one; Ron clenched his fists in frustration.

“Someone pretending to be my brother poisoned Harry!” Ron’s voice strained against the walls.

“Do you know who it was?” Neville’s voice quivered as he stepped closer, drawing Harry’s focus.

“Corban Yaxley,” Ron replied, the disdain in his tone clear.

Neville’s eyes widened, the revelation hitting him. “Wasn’t he one of the Death Eaters who attacked the Astronomy Tower? The one you...?” He trailed off, eyes wide, worry etched on his face.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Yes, after Harry caught him, he was sent to Azkaban. But he escaped… Voldemort gave him a position at the ministry.”

“High-ranking Death Eater, part of You-Know-Who’s inner circle,” Ron added, disgust rising in his voice.

“We have to be careful,” Hermione said softly, her gaze scanning the room. “Now that everyone knows Harry is here, Death Eaters could target the hospital.”

“Gran just heard there’s a crowd outside,” Neville said, trembling slightly as he looked down at his hands.

“It’s probably there to either question Harry about his health or kill him,” Ginny said, her voice a bell of uncertainty.

“Rita Skeeter’s article said Harry’s dying in the arms of a fierce-looking man,” Hermione muttered, returning to her deep-seated disdain for the journalist. “Honestly, that woman—” Her words were interrupted by a voice that echoed through the hospital walls, strong and chilling.

“I know you’re afraid to come out.”

Everyone froze, the atmosphere thickening with a sense of foreboding. No one spoke; their eyes widened as they turned to find the source of the voice, which seemed to resonate from the very walls surrounding them.

“Death Eaters have fought bravely alongside the Dark Lord,” the voice continued, steady and possessive. “I hold great respect for those who have fallen, but those who remain have yet to fulfil the true legacy promised by the Dark Lord, which was destroyed by Harry Potter.”

Harry felt his blood run cold, the mention of his name ringing like a death knell.

A heavy silence fell over them as heads turned in the ward. From the open door, Harry saw healers and patients frozen in place, perhaps out of fear.

“Fellow Death Eaters, do not fear,” Yaxley’s voice rippled through the room, breaking the tension with a perverse charisma. “Let us come together, strengthen our ties, and work towards our common goal of reshaping this society. We know the enemy’s whereabouts. Join me. Let’s put an end to him once and for all.”

Harry’s breath hitched. Yaxley’s words echoed in his mind like a sinister chant, and a chill crawled down his spine. His pulse quickened, the adrenaline coursing through him, underscoring the urgency of the moment.

Before anyone could talk, the noise of chaotic commotion outside St. Mungo’s filled their ears. Harry caught a glimpse of Ron and Neville, their faces etched with determination and dread as they rushed to the window.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, peering outside. “The crowd has doubled in number!”

“They’re trying to get in the hospital lobby!” Neville said, alarm lighting his eyes.

Anxiety twined with resolve as Ginny stepped forward, her voice strained but steady. “Was this Yaxley’s plan all along to get Harry out in public?” She struggled to maintain her composure, panic flaring in her gaze.

“Harry, get out of here now!” Neville urged, his voice sharp with urgency.

The chaos rumbling outside grew louder. Harry could almost hear the restless murmurs of the crowd, the weight of their collective anticipation pressing against him like a looming storm.

“Should we go back to the Burrow?” Ron proposed, his fingers frantically wringing the ends of his hair.

“No,” Ginny interjected, shaking her head. “The Burrow isn’t safe right now. Percy and Kingsley have yet to place additional protection charms, and Aurors throughout the house are likely preoccupied.”

“Where else can we hide Harry?” Ron asked, frustration dripping from his tone.

Hermione, who had been silent until now, spoke up quietly but urgently, “This is only a suggestion, but perhaps we could ask Bill and Fleur if we could stay at Shell Cottage!”

“Yes!” Ron replied without hesitation. “We’ve been there before. I hope they won’t mind. But how will we get there?”

Ginny glanced back at Harry, her eyes reflecting concern. “Harry’s in no condition to Apparate, and Portkeys can be uncomfortable, but that’s our only option. I believe there’s one at the Burrow.”

“I’ll stand guard here with Ginny until you both return,” Neville announced bravely, his posture unwavering amidst the turmoil. “Please, hurry!”

“Wait—I’ll tell Mum and Dad about our plan,” Ginny said hastily. She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’m sure Percy could look after them.”

After what felt like an eternity of pacing, their footsteps echoed away, leaving Harry and Neville in uneasy silence. The ward was now a waiting room, the lines between heroism and vulnerability blurring in the wake of impending danger.

Seconds felt like hours. The shadows in the corners of the room loomed, and dread twisted in Harry’s stomach. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Neville started, his heart leaping.

Ginny returned with Hagrid in tow. They whirled around when Harry cried out. Pain flared through his body, intense and visceral, tearing through the fragile veil of his consciousness. He gasped, his eyes wild, full of terror as he looked at Ginny, his heart pounding with dread.

Ginny’s face paled, blood draining from her cheeks like colour being syphoned from a painting, her voice trembling. “Oh, Harry—no, not now—” but her voice was drowned out by Harry’s screams.