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Mrs. Weasley stood frozen, her hand cradling her mouth in disbelief at the scene unfolding before her. Percy, beside her, squinted in puzzlement at Neville, who stood awkwardly in front of them.

“Neville?” Percy’s voice sliced through the air, laced with an undercurrent of incredulity.

Adjacent to them, Bill’s expression mirrored Percy’s confusion, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of Neville.

Neville uncovered the severity of George’s injuries sustained during the Death Eater assault. A long, deep cut ran down his forehead, with dried blood forming a crust on his battered face. His shirt was soaked in blood, likely hiding more injuries underneath. The gruesome scene caused Neville to recoil in horror.

“Um… hello,” Neville managed to stammer, an embarrassing heat creeping up his neck. His heart raced with nervousness, and a feeling of unease twisted his stomach. He had expected their surprised expressions, which reflected his own shock when he was informed by the Minister about Harry’s grave condition. At first, Neville thought he must have misunderstood; he was aware that Harry had only been poisoned by Yaxley during his previous visit to St. Mungo’s to see his parents. However, the Minister confirmed the seriousness of the situation. Neville believed that Harry needed their unwavering support, and he was willing to do anything to assist him without hesitation.

“What is happening?” Mr. Weasley’s voice cut through his thoughts, now graver and more demanding. His disappointment and confusion bore down on Neville like a tangible weight.

“Why did you pretend to be Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her tone a mixture of confusion and maternal concern. “Where is he now?”

The question felt like blades, sharp and grinding, as Neville felt the heat of embarrassment flare within him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I just had to do it to make the plan work.” He swallowed hard. “It wasn’t my idea; Malfoy was the one behind it.”

Malfoy, despite appearing burdened by an unseen weight, remained composed as all eyes in the room fixed upon him. The gazes of those present shifted between the Minister and Neville, silently urging them to clarify the situation.

“That’s quite right,” Minister Shacklebolt stated, his voice calm and authoritative, grounding them momentarily. “We couldn’t risk causing Harry such havoc. I’m sure you agree that this was a wise decision, Arthur.”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Weasley said slowly. Though his eyes darted between Malfoy and Neville, the confusion was evident behind his furrowed brow. “How did you come up with this plan, Draco?” he asked. “Your strategy is quite impressive indeed.”

“It happened when I uncovered Yaxley’s hidden stockpile of Polyjuice Potion,” Malfoy explained thoughtfully, twisting a lock of his slick hair absentmindedly. “I saw an opportunity to take it for our benefit.”

Mrs. Weasley’s expression shifted between admiration and disbelief. “And Yaxley never suspected a thing?” she asked, a hint of scepticism colouring her voice.

“Never,” Malfoy replied, an air of pride and a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. “I have a knack for pilfering items without drawing attention. Especially when they are of potential value.”

Some of the members of Dumbledore’s Army couldn’t help but chuckle, exchanging amused glances.

Neville’s lips curled into a slight grin, imagining the image of Malfoy skulking around the corridors of Hogwarts in his mind and considering the possibility of Malfoy searching for useful items.

“What happened next?” Mr. Weasley pressed eagerly, searching for the unfolding tale that could shed light on what happened earlier. “Did you manage to acquire a part of Harry’s body to include in the potion?”

Malfoy paused, a shadow flitting across his features. “Yes, that,” he admitted hesitantly, looking momentarily bashful. “I want to clarify that I didn’t mean to intrude on Potter’s privacy, but Longbottom required some of Potter’s hair to impersonate him.” He fidgeted slightly. “It was foolish, but it was the only plan that wouldn’t raise Yaxley’s suspicions.”

The incredulous silence was intense. Even George, who had barely managed to sit up straight, listened intently; his interest piqued despite his pain. “No, that was quite clever,” he said, letting out a dry laugh before grimacing again. “You had us all fooled. I didn’t expect you would go to such lengths to keep up appearances.”

Malfoy smirked, the compliment feeding a doubtless ego. “I must admit, I underestimated Longbottom’s ability to play his part convincingly as well. It seems he surprised us all.”

Neville, in that moment, felt a swell of pride intermingled with embarrassment. He recognised that he had taken a brave step, one he had often doubted himself capable of. Perhaps, he and Malfoy shared a common thread—the drive to do whatever it took to protect their friends and stand against something infinitely larger than themselves.

“Imitating Harry was easier than I thought,” he admitted, the relief evident in his voice. “I just had to close my eyes and act dead.” He chuckled lightly, but there was an underlying tension in his expression. “Surprisingly, I discovered that I’m not as bad at acting as I initially thought. But I wasn’t comfortable casting spells.” There was a moment of silence, reverberating with the weight of his admission. “Luckily, everything fell into place, in my opinion.” His gaze flickered across the forest, revealing a mixture of pride and lingering doubt.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Mr. Longbottom,” Minister Shacklebolt chimed in, his deep voice resonating gently over the noise. “Your bravery in facing such powerful opponents, despite the challenges, is truly commendable.”

The members of the DA nodded in accord, delivering firm pats on Neville’s back, their friendship a silent support, bolstering him even when his spirits dipped.

Bill turned his keen gaze toward Neville and Malfoy, a mixture of curiosity and scrutiny etched on his face. “How did you manage to get Harry’s hair?” he asked, scepticism in his words. “I highly doubt you knew where he was staying. I only shared that information with a few trusted individuals.”

Malfoy gave Neville a pointed look, as if encouraging him to speak up about the matter.

Malfoy gave Neville a pointed look, a glimmer of expectation sparking in his steely grey eyes. Neville blushed deeply, his gaze dropping to his fidgeting hands. For a brief moment, he felt the weight of the eyes upon him, judging, expecting. But this was about more than just a spell or a secret. It was about courage. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“After Yaxley’s speech riling up the Death Eaters to hunt down and kill Harry, crowds swarmed St. Mungo’s, trying to get in,” he began, recalling the frantic atmosphere that had enveloped the hospital. “I heard Hermione mention a place where they could hide Harry. I didn’t catch the full name, but Luna—”

“Luna?” Mr. Weasley interrupted, a look of confusion passing over his face. “Xenophilius’s daughter?”

Neville nodded, a hint of pride glowing within him for being part of their recovering family. Mr. Weasley craned his neck and scanned the crowd frantically, but his expression turned concern-soiled as he searched for Luna. “Where is she?”

“She’s looking out for them, Arthur,” Professor Slughorn intoned quietly, a sombre energy resonating in his voice.

Realisation dawned on Mr. Weasley’s face, the grim hope propelling him forward. “Harry... Ron—”

“Ms. Lovegood told me that she had visited your house before,” Slughorn mentioned, glancing at Bill, who was leaning against the wall with an air of guarded determination. “That’s how she knew where they might be staying.”

Mrs. Weasley’s brow furrowed with worry. “How are they doing? Were they awake when you left?” Her voice trembled with anxiety.

Slughorn shook his head, a sorrowful expression brushing his features. “They’re still unconscious, Molly,” he replied softly, the weight of his words like a spell dropped upon the forest.

Her heart heavy and burdened, she let out a deep sigh. “It’s been hours. Surely…”

“I believe the challenges they are facing are not easily overcome,” Slughorn continued, his concern evident as he deliberately avoided her pained gaze. “Which is why they remain unconscious.”

After Slughorn’s words hung in the air, Hagrid spoke up, his voice deep and mournful. “They’ll pull through, won’t they?” He pleaded, turning to Slughorn, searching for reassurance.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them as if unspoken details flickered in the exchange. Hagrid nodded, resolute yet weary, seemingly grasping the unassailable truth behind Slughorn’s response.

The members of Dumbledore’s Army murmured in anxious tones, their eyes fixated on the looming figure of the Minister. Neville could hear them, his friends, their loyalty spirited yet burdened. They, too, sought reassurance, the kind that could only come from someone stirring within the depths of unconsciousness: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

“They can’t be gone,” Neville thought, his fingers clenching around the galleon in his pocket, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that swept over him. What would he do if they never came back? Loneliness loomed in his mind, a shadow threatening to swallow him whole.

The minister cleared his throat and turned to face the members of Dumbledore’s Army. “It may be best for everyone to return home for now,” he suggested. “Tonight has been draining, but I am grateful for your help,” he said. “We will meet again tomorrow morning to plan our next steps.”

Some of the DA members objected, declaring, “We can’t leave!”

“We’ll wait until they wake up!”

“It’s impossible for us to rest while they’re still unconscious!”

The minister raised his hand, attempting to soothe the restless crowd who were eagerly awaiting news. “I understand your loyalty to them, but staying here won’t be of any help. We will inform you as soon as we have any positive updates.” Turning to Malfoy, he requested, “Come with me to the ministry.”

Malfoy let out a sigh and nodded stiffly in response.

The members of the DA began to disapparate with loud pops. Only a few of them, including the Minister, Malfoy, Hagrid, Slughorn, and the Weasleys, remained.

Suddenly, the familiar thrill washed over Neville as the galleon began to heat up, signalling Luna’s message.

“It’s Luna!” he exclaimed, drawing startled glances.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Weasley asked, urgency carved into his features.

“I don’t know! She promised to contact me straight away!” Could it be about Harry? Or perhaps Ron and Hermione?

“Could they have woken up?” Percy suggested, glancing at Neville and his parents.

Kingsley smiled encouragingly at the Weasleys as he took the Death Eaters’ wands from Neville. “Draco and I need to return to the ministry. Keep me updated, Arthur. No matter what the news is.”

Mr. Weasley nodded before speaking to the others. “Some of us should return to Shell Cottage and check on them. Molly and I will take George to St. Mungo’s for treatment.”

Leaning on his brothers as his strength dwindled, George said, “I think I’ll be alright, Dad. Let’s head over to Shell Cottage for now,” George reassured. He relied on his brothers for support as his strength began to wane.

Mrs. Weasley, looking worriedly at her son, asked, “Are you absolutely sure, dear?”

“These mere scratches won’t bring a Weasley down, Mum,” George commented, lighting the mood.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his confident demeanour. “Okay, but we’ll head to the hospital as soon as we make sure the rest are safe,” she insisted.

“Aye, aye,” he said with a cheeky grin, offering a small salute.

“Give my regards to Harry, would you?” Malfoy requested before dissaparating from the forest.

Neville was taken aback by Malfoy mentioning Harry’s name, possibly for the first time. He wondered whether the Weasleys had picked up on this subtle gesture, noticing how they simply nodded in response before Malfoy and the Minister vanished.

Neville returned his hopeful gaze to the Weasleys, excited about the prospect of speaking with Harry after the chaotic night. “Can I come with you?” he asked quietly.

Bill’s warm smile eased the tension knotting within Neville. “Of course, Harry would be thrilled to see you. Especially when you tell him how you fooled everyone into thinking you were him!” A surge of colour rose in Neville’s cheeks. Facing Harry would be both thrilling and slightly mortifying.

The gentle waves caressed the shoreline surrounding Shell Cottage, whispering secrets to the sand as the moon bathed the world in its silvery glow. Luna Lovegood stood by the window, her long, blonde hair cascading like a waterfall over her shoulders. Under the glow of the moon, her eyes shimmered, speckled with silver like the constellations she often pondered. The tranquil scene lulled her into a reverie, but her mind was restless.

Earlier that evening, after Professor Slughorn’s departure, Luna had wandered through the cottage, drawn to the flickering candlelight and the presence of her friends who lay sleeping nearby. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were piled upon beds in a makeshift infirmary. Although they appeared peaceful, Luna noticed the tiny movements—the quiver of their fingertips, the flutter of Harry’s eyelids—signals that their dreams might be troubled. A wave of concern washed over her, mingling with a flicker of hope that one of them would awaken soon.

Upon learning from Neville about the dangers that Harry and his friends were facing, Luna immediately agreed to meet him at the Ministry of Magic, setting aside her natural curiosity for the unusual circumstances of the situation. Stepping into the busy Atrium, Luna quickly spotted Neville, Draco Malfoy, and Minister Shacklebolt, their urgent expressions indicating the gravity of the emergency that required the aid of the Minister and the Aurors to rescue Harry and the others.

Neville shared the sequence of events with her, appearing visibly frustrated as he struggled to pinpoint a specific location in his memory. He detailed his encounter with Harry and the others, recalling their enquiries about potential hiding spots. Even though Neville couldn’t quite place the location, Luna immediately recognised it as Shell Cottage. This was the same place where she had found solace and protection after being rescued by Dobby from Malfoy Manor during the battle against Voldemort. Prior to returning to join the fight at Hogwarts, the cottage had served as a sanctuary for Luna, bringing her a sense of tranquillity and security every time she reminisced about it.

The soft glow of candlelight illuminated Luna’s anxious face as she drew closer to the beds. Ron lay closest, his brow furrowed in worry even in sleep. She leaned forward, whispering his name, infused with both excitement and urgency. “Hello, Ron.”

He blinked awake, confusion dancing in the blue of his eyes. “L-Luna?” His voice was raspy, as if he had battled through darkness to reach her.

“You were the first to wake,” Luna replied softly, her smile creasing her features as she tried to convey calm amidst the panic.

Raising his head, Ron instinctively searched for Hermione and Ginny, both still ensnared in slumber. “What happened?” he croaked, struggling to sit up, each movement a testament to his weariness.

“You were out for quite some time,” Luna reassured him, though a shadow of worry lingered in her voice.

“Why?” he persisted, confusion clouding his mind.

But her reply was interrupted by Ginny stirring, followed by Hermione’s slow, deliberate rise from her bed, hair tousled, eyes wide with uncertainty. Luna felt a spark of hope; they were waking up, and that was the first step toward clarity.

“Ron?” Hermione murmured, her voice thick with sleep. She looked at him, and in the connection of their gazes, Luna could see the comfort they found in each other amidst the uncertainty.

“Hermione?” Ron called gently, drawing her attention. His concern blended with relief as he looked her over, emotions swirling in the room like the tides outside.

“It’s good to see you both awake,” Luna piped up, offering a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Luna?” Hermione’s voice trembled with a hint of disbelief, her faltering words laced with the burden of events that had transpired while they were unconscious.

“Is this real?” Ginny’s voice hovered like a quiet breeze, soft yet insistent. She glanced between Ron and Hermione, searching for reassurance, her eyes wide and encircled by shadows of worry.

Luna raised an eyebrow, her whimsical nature surfacing amid the tension. “I assure you, I am as real as can be, if that’s what you’re wondering.” There was a melodic tone to her words that momentarily broke through the fog of bewilderment enveloping the group.

They exchanged glances. Luna’s calm demeanour only amplified their disorientation as she surveyed her friends seated in various states of shock. Leaning forward slightly, she offered an inquiry that anchored them in the moment. “What is it that you all remember? Has the ritual—”

“The Ritual!” Ron exclaimed, the spark of realisation illuminating his face, even as disbelief tainted his expression. Their return from whatever had ensnared them felt like plummeting through a veil of haze, with each of them grasping for clarity.

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “So we’re back...” she said in a hushed tone, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Yes. You’ve only just come to,” Luna confirmed.

More pressing than their return was the figure lying on the other bed: Harry. Despite the world swirling around them, he remained unmoved.

Ginny, with her heart pounding like a drum, stepped toward him. “Why isn’t he awake?” she fretted. The tenderness she displayed as she tucked his unruly hair back only served to underscore the haunting stillness of his form. “Did we successfully complete the ritual?”

“We did, didn’t we?” Ron faltered, his certainty melting away before their collective gaze. “We’re awake, aren’t we?”

“But why hasn’t Harry woken up yet?” Ginny’s voice quivered under the weight of the question. “He should be... If the ritual worked, he should be here with us.”

The room fell silent.

“I believe so, yes. Can any of you remember the last thing before waking up here?” Hermione probed, her brow furrowing.

For a moment, they sat musing, each lost in a haze of fragmented visions.

“I only have vague, disjointed images. I couldn’t make sense of it all,” Hermione said before they could respond.

“I feel the same way,” Ginny lamented, a shadow of despair crossing her features. “It’s all just...a blur.”

“Didn’t we have some sort of task to complete?” Ron ventured nervously, glancing at the swirling thoughts spinning through his friends’ minds.

Hermione’s gaze drifted upward as if searching for answers hidden in the ceiling. “There was a golden potion,” she recounted slowly, struggling to hold onto the fragments. “And… mirrors, I think. But what they mean, I can’t say.”

“Were you guys dreaming or something during that time?” Luna asked, tilting her head, unperturbed by the grim atmosphere.

Hermione, feeling the weight of Luna’s gaze, shook her head gently. “I don’t think so. It felt like we were taken to a different realm altogether, but...” An anxious glance flickered to Harry’s motionless figure. “Did you all see Harry there with us?”

“I believe we all did,” Ginny finally admitted, eyes narrowing with determination and dread. “Although… he seemed different.”

“It was like he morphed into someone else,” Ron murmured. “He was like some worse version of Malfoy; it was disconcerting to see him act that way.”

“Draco Malfoy?” Luna asked, her voice soft and uncertain, as if saying the name would unravel everything.

Ginny pondered the question, her gaze scanning the space where confusion and fear lingered like forgotten ghosts. “I can’t be certain if it was him or not,” she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But there was something different about him... and I swear, I saw someone who looked exactly like Harry.” Her brow furrowed with concentration as she sifted through memories that felt both vivid and elusive.

“Another Harry?” Luna asked, tilting her head to the side in thoughtful confusion. “Are you saying there were two of them?”

Ginny shook her head, frustration mingling with her bewilderment. “I’m not entirely sure what I saw. It’s possible I was hallucinating at the time.”

Luna shrugged gently, her expression remaining serene and contemplative. “I don’t believe it was a figment of your imagination,” she said, her dreamy silver eyes shining with a conviction that seemed wrapped in clouds of mystery. Her friends looked up, momentarily entranced by her certainty.

“How can you be so sure?” Hermione prodded.

Luna offered a cryptic smile. “It’s just a feeling,” she replied, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the confines of their current reality. “But I have a strong belief that what you witnessed was no mere hallucination. They’re like nargles; you can’t really see them, but I know they’re there.”

“So you’re suggesting that it was really Harry?” Ron’s impatience filtered through the air, as evident as the irritation on his face.

Luna shrugged again, an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

As silence descended, Hermione rubbed her arms, lost in thought, the weight of their situation bearing down on her. “It all felt so real... but did we really accomplish anything? Or was it all in vain?” The words hung heavy in the air, tinged with despair.

Silence enveloped the four of them for a moment, each lost in their own reflections.

Ron finally broke the silence, his words shaky. “I believe we must have completed some tasks... but before I woke up...” He trailed off, sighing heavily. “All I can remember is bars, like we were imprisoned.”

Luna’s eyes widened, a sense of foreboding creeping over her as if she understood what was at stake in a way that eluded the others. “Imprisoned? Were you all engaged in any unusual activities?”

Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed, and her thoughts racing. “No, we weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary... but the bars felt real,” she admitted slowly. An unease draped over her like a shadow.

Ginny sank beside the still form of Harry, her fingers brushing against his motionless hands. “If that’s the case, what exactly were we meant to accomplish?”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped, a sigh escaping her lips. “I’m not sure. Something significant happened—something extraordinary.”

“Do you think it was a result of waking up from the ritual?” Ron wondered aloud, anxiety colouring his tone.

“If we succeeded,” Ginny interjected, her voice trembling. “Harry should’ve awoken by now.”

Ron paled at the prospect. “Are you implying that we failed in the ritual?” he asked with growing dread.

Ginny went silent, her hands trembling as they rested on Harry’s unmoving form. Ron turned to Hermione, who appeared even paler than before, worry etched deep into her features. “I don’t feel any symptoms like Harry described when he was ill,” Ron reassured her, attempting to reassure himself in the process. “I believe I’m in good health.”

“I feel alright as well,” Hermione replied, her voice woven with anxiety. “But I fear the burning sensation may not manifest immediately if we were unsuccessful.”

As tears glistened in Ginny’s eyes in the flickering candlelight, their collective silence coiled tightly around them. “I refuse to accept that we’re awake because the ritual failed,” she confessed. When they offered no words of comfort, she checked Harry’s pulse, trepidation flooding through her.

Ron, Hermione, and Luna watched Ginny intently until she sighed, confirming Harry’s heartbeat was steady beneath her fingers. While Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees, lost in deep contemplation, Ron nervously fidgeted with his hands, his mind racing to unravel the enigma before them.

Without warning, Hermione sprang to her feet, startling them all. “I must consult the Anima book immediately,” she announced, determination surging in her veins. “It may explain what’s going on!”

“Luna, can you tell us how long it has been since we initiated the ritual?” Ron asked abruptly, his brow furrowed in concern.

She considered the question, her eyes drifting toward the window. “I arrived only a few hours ago to keep an eye on all of you,” she replied softly.

Confusion spread like a ripple among Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, their faces contorting with bewilderment as they exchanged glances.

“Keep an eye on us?” Ginny prodded, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “What for?”

They instinctively scanned the empty room, seeking answers.

“It’s eerily quiet in this house,” Ron confessed, shifting uneasily on his feet.

Hermione’s features darkened. “Luna, where are the other members of the Weasley family?” Her brows knit together, her eyes keenly focused on Luna as though she were hoping for a glimmer of reassurance, momentarily discarding the Anima book she had been poring over for a minute.

Luna tilted her head, her response weighted with the seriousness of her words. “Your brother, George, has been kidnapped.”

The revelation struck the room; a heavy silence enveloped them, only punctuated by the subtle crackling of the wax as it pooled beneath the wick. Horror crossed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny’s faces like a brush of cold wind, lingering on their features just long enough for panic to set in.

Ron practically leapt from bed, his freckled face drained of colour. “What?!” he exclaimed incredulously, disbelief washing over him like a wave. “Kidnapped?”

“When did this happen?” Ginny’s voice trembled, her hands wringing together as if she were trying to compress the fear clawing at her insides.

Hermione pressed a hand against her chest, attempting to steady her racing heart. “Where have the others gone, Luna?” she implored, her breath coming in quick bursts.

“They’re in the Forbidden Forest,” Luna said, her gaze unwavering, though sorrow clouded her eyes.

“Then we cannot waste time,” Ron insisted urgently, his feet already moving toward the door. “We need to go immediately!”

“Wait!” Luna called out, her tone urgent. “It’s too late for you to venture out now.”

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?” Ginny asked, alarm coursing through her. “If they’re not back yet, it could mean trouble!”

Luna took a deep breath, the burden of patience pressing down on her. “The Minister and Neville arranged a strategy to protect everyone,” she explained with quiet confidence, her serene demeanour contrasting the chaos around her.

“How can you be certain it worked?” Ron questioned, scepticism in his voice. “What if the plan failed?”

“You worked with Neville on this plan?” Hermione interjected, now fully focused on Luna.

“And the Minister,” Luna confirmed, a hint of hope creeping into her smile. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her enchanted galleon, its surface shimmering in the flickering light. “I’ve sent a message to Neville. I promised to notify him with this coin once you woke up.”

“But are we just supposed to sit tight here and wait for Neville? I would rather be out looking for my brother!” Ron’s impatience surged, the protective instinct within him flaring.

Hermione’s face was tight with worry. “But how can we be certain this plan will succeed?”

Luna opened her mouth to reassure them when suddenly, a series of loud popping noises echoed in the stillness of the night.

“That sounds like people apparating,” Ginny noted, her heart racing with renewed hope.

Adrenaline coursed through Luna’s veins as they all surged toward the front door, the urgency of reunion pulling them forward. As they reached the entrance, the sight that greeted them was both a balm and an ache. A group of figures emerged out of the darkness, moving with an energy that seemed to glow.

Luna’s heart swelled when she spotted Neville among them. He looked worn, the lines on his face suggesting fatigue and worry, but his vibrant excitement overshadowed his weariness. And beside him, George stumbled forth, supported by his brothers, bedraggled but unmistakably alive.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were caught off guard when they turned and spotted their children standing in the doorway, a mixture of surprise, joy, and longing washing over their weary faces. The group rushed forward, their arms outstretched, enveloping Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in comforting, familiar hugs that spoke more than words ever could.

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes brimmed with tears of relief as she heaved them into her arms, squeezing them like a beloved pillow. “Oh, thank Merlin, you’re all okay,” she said, her voice trembling with gratitude. “We’ve been terribly anxious.” Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions, and for a moment, the world outside faded away.

Following closely behind Mrs. Weasley, Professor Slughorn made his way into the room. As he settled into a chair at the kitchen table, Hagrid squeezed through the doorway, his face splitting into a wide grin as he greeted each of them with warmth and affection. Neville, too, couldn’t contain his joy, his expression lighting up at the sight of his friends.

“What happened?” Ron asked immediately after the Weasleys had finished embracing each other. He carefully guided George, who was injured, toward the living room sofa to make him more comfortable, though the concern planted firmly in his brow indicated that he was far from relaxed.

“It was absolutely crazy,” Bill recounted, still panting from the adrenaline of that night. “If it hadn’t been for Draco Malfoy, we would have been in serious trouble. He actually saved our lives.”

“What did Malfoy do?” Ginny asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“He had everything meticulously planned,” Neville eagerly explained. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were captivated as Neville narrated the sequence of events, starting with the Minister informing him about Malfoy’s plot to ambush Yaxley and the Death Eaters. He described the audacious bravado of Dumbledore’s Army, the centaurs, and the Aurors that had surrounded the forest like a protective barrier made of courage.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, along with Professor Slughorn, attended to George’s injuries while listening raptly to Neville’s detailed account of what happened that night—how he had ingeniously impersonated Harry using a polyjuice potion, how they all fought bravely, and how they had triumphed against impossible odds. The Weasleys were impressed by Neville’s quick thinking and acting skills, showering him with praise that filled him with a warm sense of belonging.

“Where’s Harry?” Hagrid’s voice cut through the joyful atmosphere like a sudden gust of wind, prompting concerned glances from the Weasleys, Neville, and Slughorn.

“Harry should’ve been here celebrating this momentous occasion with us,” Percy lamented, the responsibility of the family’s safety weighing on his shoulders.

“I was eagerly looking forward to sharing our plan with him, but in my excitement, I forgot that Harry wasn’t here. He wouldn’t want to miss out on this,” Neville added, his brow furrowing in worry.

The focus shifted to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, their expressions shifting from joy to something heavier, more sombre. Luna observed their melancholy, her heart aching for her friends. She wanted to reach out, to tell them everything would be okay, but words felt insufficient.

Hermione met their eager gazes and took a deep breath before delivering the news. “Harry’s still unconscious.”

“But why?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice quivering with confusion and concern, breaking the fragile silence that had descended over the room.

“We have no idea why everyone else woke up except for Harry,” Ginny admitted sadly.

“Could it be that the ritual did not work as intended?” Professor Slughorn’s voice wavered nervously, underscoring the dread that crept into the hearts of those gathered.

“We don’t think so,” Hermione said, looking troubled. “I’m starting to doubt everything we once believed.”

“What do yeh mean by ‘doubt’? What’s happenin’?” Hagrid asked, worry shadowing his kind eyes.

“None of us can remember the events leading up to waking up,” Ron said softly.

“But have you noticed any changes in yourself?” Bill interjected, urgency lacing his words. “Any physical discomfort?”

In unison, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny shook their heads.

“Have you consulted the Anima book for any additional guidance?” Professor Slughorn asked, leaning forward.

“Not yet,” Hermione responded, the disappointment washing over her like a cold wave as she fetched the book and began scouring its pages. “There’s nothing here that gives us the answers we need,” she admitted, frustration tugging at her features.

As the room fell into a contemplative silence, Hermione and Professor Slughorn continued sifting through the pages, desperation etched into their brows. The air felt thick with unanswered questions and fears.

“Could there be another book we have overlooked?” Ron suggested hesitantly, anxiety pouring from his gaze.

A solemn shake of Hermione’s head revealed their fruitless search. “We’ve exhausted all options.”

“I don’t understand why Harry won’t wake up,” Ginny whispered, her voice trembling as she looked to her mother. “Perhaps he’s battling some internal struggle that prevents him from waking. If not that, I—I don’t know what’s going on.”

With a heavy heart, she made her way to Harry’s room, grappling with a sense of helplessness. Luna followed closely behind. They entered the dim room; the only sound was the soft rhythm of Harry’s breathing. Luna felt a pang of sadness wash over her as she watched Ginny seat herself by Harry’s side, holding his hand and tracing the lines of his palm with a gentle touch.

What dreams filled Harry’s mind in that moment, Luna wondered as she observed the tranquillity painting his features. Perhaps he was wandering through a lush field, bathed in sunlight, far removed from the darkness that had surrounded them for so long. Yet, the knowledge that Harry was fighting some unseen battle made Luna’s heart ache. She longed to offer them both support; she wished she could bring Harry back from whatever depth had drawn him away.