Days passed, but the shadows lingered. Even surrounded by the warmth of the Burrow, with Mrs. Weasley fussing over him and Ginny's quiet smiles, Harry couldn't shake the cold grip of Bellatrix's magic.

Sleep was elusive, and when it came, it was fractured, haunted by nightmares. Visions of his friends falling, of cold laughter echoing as he failed them, over and over. He woke gasping, his heart pounding, the darkness pressing close, too close.

He told no one.

During the day, he put on a brave face, laughing at Fred and George's antics, discussing strategy with Hermione and Ron, pretending to be fine. But at night, the shadows returned, whispering his fears, his doubts.

It was on the third night that he heard the voice.

He had been tossing and turning, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, when a

whisper curled through the darkness, low and taunting.

"You'll never save them, Potter... You'll fail them all..."

His blood ran cold, his body going rigid. He sat up sharply, his breath catching as his eyes scanned the dark room. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and curling like smoke.

He could feel it—a cold, sickening presence, lingering at the edges of his senses, just out of reach. A dark echo of her magic.

"Still fighting?" the voice mocked, familiar and hateful. "It won't matter. You'll fall, just like the rest..."

Harry's scar burned, a sharp, searing pain that made him clutch his head, gritting his teeth. The room seemed to darken, the air growing colder, heavy with dread.

He stumbled out of bed, his body trembling, fear clawing at his chest. He had to get out, had to breathe. The walls felt too close, the shadows pressing in.

He burst out of his room, his footsteps echoing through the Burrow's narrow hallways. He barely noticed where he was going, his only thought to escape the darkness following him, the voice echoing in his mind.

"Harry?"

He nearly collided with Ginny on the stairs, her eyes wide with surprise. She was in her pajamas, hair tousled from sleep, a concerned frown on her face. "Are you okay?"

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. His chest was tight, his heart racing. The shadows curled at the edges of his vision, whispering his fears. He shook his head, trying to clear them, trying to breathe.

Ginny's expression softened, her hand reaching out to steady him. "Hey... you're safe. Whatever it is... it's not real."

He wanted to believe her, but the voice was so clear, so cold. His scar throbbed, a reminder of the connection he could never

escape. "I... I can still hear her," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Bellatrix...

She's... in my head."

Ginny's eyes darkened, her grip tightening on his arm. "She's not here. She's gone, Harry.

Whatever she did to you... we'll figure it out."

He looked at her, his fear reflected in her gaze, but her resolve was unwavering. He felt a flicker of warmth, a thread of hope cutting through the cold.

"How?" he asked, his voice small, vulnerable.

"How do I fight her... when she's not even here?"

Ginny's jaw set, her eyes fierce. "You're Harry Potter. You've faced worse than her before.

And you're not alone."

Her words wrapped around him, grounding him. The shadows seemed to shrink, the cold receding. He took a shuddering breath, the tightness in his chest easing.

She guided him back to his room, her presence a steady, comforting anchor. She sat with him as he lay back down, her hand warm over his, her voice soft as she spoke of trivial things-Quidditch, Fred and George's latest prank, anything to keep the darkness at bay.

Harry's eyes grew heavy, his body relaxing, the shadows fading to the corners of the room. He drifted off, the echo of her voice chasing away the cold.

But as sleep claimed him, the whisper lingered, faint and mocking.

"'ll be waiting, Potter..."