Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, not me. All characters and plot that are in her books are hers.
Note: Some of this chapter has been quoted or paraphrased from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
Prologue - Fear the Dark
Author's Note: This is the first chapter of Start the Fire. This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, the word count only totaling around seven thousand words. The next chapters will be longer, so updates will come slowly - the next chapter will probably come in a week to three weeks. Here's the summary:
There was enough in the potion bottle for two, so both Harry and Hermione go to face Quirrelmort. Hermione gets injured in the fight, and Harry later realizes that two things: Voldemort's after him, and he isn't going to leave his friends unharmed. With a new determination, the Golden Trio bands together, and, with the help of their friends and family, try figure out how to fight Voldemort before all is lost… Butterfly effect. Canon divergence at end of first year.
I am also looking for a beta reader for this story.
And here is the prologue:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.
"Brilliant," Hermione said, "This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."
"But so will we, won't we?" Asked Harry, confused.
"Of course not," Hermione replied, "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."
"But how do we know which to drink?" Harry questioned. He faintly wondered why it was always him who asked the questions and Hermione who answered him. Harry's brain quickly supplied him with something:
Ask Hermione.
Harry wanted to smash his brain against a wall.
"Give me a minute." Hermione was saying. She read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.
"Got it," she said, "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire - toward the Stone."
Harry looked at the tiny bottle.
"I think there's enough for both of us," he said.
They looked at each other.
"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" Harry asked.
Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.
"You drink that," said Harry. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he continued on, "No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying key room, and they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy - go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."
"But Harry - what if You-Know-Who's with him?"
"Well - I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar, "I might get lucky again."
Hermione stared at Harry, and then lifted her head, defiance flashing through her eyes.
"No, Harry, you listen," Hermione said, "I'm coming with you. That was decided weeks ago - months, really."
Harry stared at Hermione for a few moments, before grabbing the bottle and holding it out to her.
"You're a really really good friend, you know, Hermione." Harry said, "Ron too."
"I'm not as good as a friend you," Hermione replied, looking a bit embarrassed.
"Me!" Harry said, "I've only saved you from a troll accidentally. You - you're risking getting hurt for me." Harry realized what he'd just said, "Oh Hermione - be careful!"
"You too, Harry." Hermione said, took a small drink from the tiny bottle, and shuddered.
"It's not poison?" Harry asked anxiously.
"No - but it's like ice." Hermione replied, handing Harry the bottle. Harry quickly drank the remains - his body did quite feel like ice - and the two turned to the black flames.
"Quick, let's go, before it wears off." Hermione said, her voice a bit shaky.
"Good luck." Harry said, and with a sudden jolt of confidence, grabbed Hermione's hand, "We're in this together."
"Together." Hermione echoed, and they walked straight through the fire.
Together.
Harry saw the black flames licking his and Hermione's bodies, but he couldn't feel them - for a moment he could see nothing
but dark fire - then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.
There was already someone there - but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.
It was Quirrell.
"You!" gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.
"Me," He replied calmly, "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter. And who do you have with you? Ah yes, Miss Granger."
"But I thought - Snape -" Harry said, confused.
"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp, "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't
he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't, "But Snape tried to kill me!"
"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger - you would know, wouldn't you? - accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."
Professor Quirrell gave Hermione a dark look.
"Snape was trying to save me?"
"Of course," Professor Quirrell replied coolly, "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular... and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."
Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry and Hermione.
Wait, no. Not Hermione. Hermione has dodged out of the way, wand in hand, and cast:
"Expelliarmus!"
Professor Quirrell's eyes widened as he saw the red spell streaking towards him - and yet, somehow, he had dodged out of the way just in time.
"Now, you, Miss Granger, are a resourceful one…" He said, stepping a bit closer to Hermione as Harry watched, helpless, "You know, you could always join our side. You don't seem like the type to want to lose, and we will most certainly not."
"Who's this we?" Hermione asked, her hand that was gripping her wand white.
"Why, the Dark Side, of course." Professor Quirrell said with a chuckle, "The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters."
Harry watched as Hermione stared at the Professor for a moment, and, to Harry's horror, slightly lowered her wand.
"You would learn much, much more than you do at Hogwarts with us." Professor Quirrell tempted, "So many new things - you would like that, wouldn't you, Miss Granger?"
"Hermione don't!" Harry shouted, struggling against his binds. Quirrell turned to him, glaring.
"You're too nosy to live, Potter." He began, "Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."
"You let the troll in?" Harry asked, hoping to draw his attention away from Hermione.
"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls - you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off - and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.
"Now, wait quietly, Potter." Quirrell continued, turning back to Hermione, "So? Miss Granger?"
Hermione turned away from Quirrell, taking a breath. And then, she replied:
"I've had this feeling for a long time." Hermione said, "It made me different from all of my classmates. I always worked harder, I wanted to be the best. This chance - it could give me that."
Quirrell grinned.
Harry's eyes widened.
"I - I know, now, what I have to do." Hermione replied, "I've known it for a long time, now. I know who I choose."
"Good, then - " Quirrell started -
Hermione whirled around, her wand in hand.
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
Harry then realized that Hermione had been on his side all along she had just been stalling. He smiled as her spell shot towards Quirrel -
Only for him to drop to the floor and for it to miss.
Professor Quirrell began to stand up, his eyes furious, but then, a voice murmured something. He pause - they all did - and then took his wand out and pointed it directly at Hermione.
"I think," He said, "It's time for you to learn a lesson: never mess with the Dark Lord."
Hermione opened her mouth to cast another spell -
"CRUCIO!"
Quirrell watched, his wand still pointed at Hermione, as his spell hit her, driving her to her knees. She twitched, as if attempting to stop herself from doing something.
And then she screamed.
Harry watched in absolute horror as his best friend collapsed on the floor, twitching everywhere and screaming as Professor Quirrell cackle with glee.
"Stop!" Harry shouted at him, "Stop it -"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"STOP HURTING HER!" Harry screamed, his voice topping Hermione's. Quirrel turned to him for a moment, and then, seemingly listening to someone, nodded and flicked his wand.
Hermione stopped screaming at once, her limp body laying on the floor, the only thing that signaled that she was alive was the sound of her breathing shakily and twitching once and awhile.
"Now, see, Potter." He started, "I need to examine this interesting mirror."
It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.
"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell announced, "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."
Professor Quirrell stared hungrily into the mirror.
"I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"
Harry struggled against the ropes binding him again, but they didn't give. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror - and to have him forget about Hermione, who was still on the floor -
"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much." Harry said.
"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."
"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing - I thought Snape was threatening you..."
For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.
"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions - he is a great wizard and I am weak -"
"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.
"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly, "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of
ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly, "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..."
Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley - how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.
Quirrell stopped speaking, and looked back at Hermione.
No.
"Master says that I should use you." He said, speaking to Harry.
"No." Harry said defiantly, "I'm not helping the person who tortured Hermion-"
"Expelliarmus." It was a whisper, but both Harry and Quirrell turned to see that Hermione had sat up and had cast a spell at Quirrell again. Harry, for the third time, watched as Hermione's spell almost struck true - but, yet again, Quirrel moved out of the way. Harry thought that at least Quirrell had moved so fast that he had fallen to the floor again. His left arm had been scraped on a sharp rock, and Harry's professor cursed again.
Quirrell stood up, drawing his wand on an exhausted Hermione.
Her eyes widened.
His eyes widened.
His eyes widened.
"CRUCIO!"
Hermione was forced back onto the floor so hard that there was a mighty crack. She started screaming once again, twitching harder than before and keeping on screaming - screaming in pain - it sounded like so much pain -
"FINE I'LL DO IT!" Harry shouted, wanting more than anything in the world for it to stop, for him to stop - Hermione had to stop hurting, he would do anything -
Hermione stopped screaming again. Quirrell had canceled the spell.
Quirrell clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet, trembling and trying to take his eyes away from Hermione, who's head had hit the stone floor and was bleeding.
"Come here," Quirrell said to Harry, "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry walked toward him, glancing back at Hermione.
I must lie, he thought desperately, I must look and lie about what I see, that's all. After all Hermione had done, he couldn't give in, no, not now.
Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban and closed his eyes. He stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.
He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd gotten the Stone.
"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently, "What do you see?"
Harry gathered his courage. This was for Hermione - for Ron - for his parents - for Hogwarts -
"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented, "I - I've won the house cup for Gryffindor."
Quirrell cursed.
"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it? He could grab Hermione and run, maybe. But her head was still bleeding, and he didn't want to make it worse - no, that would be very, very bad.
But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.
"He lies... He lies..."
"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted, "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"
The high voice spoke again.
"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."
"Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have strength enough... for this..."
Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban.
The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.
Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. His attention was now less focused on Hermione and more focused on the face that was where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head. It was the most terrible face Harry had ever seen - chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
"Harry Potter..." it whispered.
Harry had never been so scared in his life. He tried to take a step backward, to get out of there and save at least Hermione, but his legs wouldn't move.
"See what I have become?" the face said, "Mere shadow and vapor ... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… take your friend with me and teach her the ways of the Dark Arts… Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"
As the face spoke of Hermione, the feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward, courage filling him up. Maybe he was actually a Gryffindor, if he could do that, but all he was really thinking about was Hermione, and how she had to leave -
"Don't be a fool," snarled the face, "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy..."
"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly. Quirrell had tried to sway Hermione as well. She hadn't been tempted, so he would stay strong as well.
Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.
"How touching..." it hissed, "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."
"NEVER!"
Harry sprang toward Hermione, ready to run, but Voldemort screamed;
"SEIZE HIM!"
And the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened - he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers - they were blistering before his eyes. Behind him as Hermione, still bleeding, reminding him he had to leave - he scrambled up onto his feet -
"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet and landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck - Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.
"Master, I cannot hold him - my hands - my hands!"
And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms - Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny. A small part of him thought that maybe this would be worth it, if he could avenge Hermione in the act of killing Quirrell as he died. Maybe she wouldn't be taken by Voldemort, if he could kill Quirrell, and Dumbledore or one of the teachers would realize that they had gone missing, come check, find her, and she would live. Yes, Hermione had too live...
"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.
Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face -
"AAAARGH!"
Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain - his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.
Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off - the pain in Harry's head was building - he couldn't see - he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of:
"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying:
"Harry! Harry!"
He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost - he hadn't even avenged Hermione, hadn't even killed Voldemort- and fell into blackness,
down …
down…
down...
Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.
He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.
He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said. Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick - Hermione - she's down there - he cast a spell - I didn't recognize it - it was like Cruico or something, and Herm-"
Dumbledore looked very grave.
"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," He said, even though he did not look very calm himself. In fact, he looked very unsettled, "Quirrell does not have the Stone."
"Then who does? And what about Hermio-"
"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out." Professor Dumbledore intterupted.
Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.
But what had happened to Hermione -
"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Headmaster Dumbledore supplied, speaking of the stack of candy and beaming, "What happened down in the dungeons between you, Professor Quirrell, and Miss Granger is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. Or thinks they do, anyways. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."
"Yes, sir, but what about Hermione?" Harry asked, ignoring what the Headmaster had said.
"Miss. Granger is at Saint Mungo's, a magical hospital." Professor Dumbledore said, again turning grave. The spell cast on her was the Cruciatus curse. An Unforgivable - a spell that would of put Professor Quirrell in prison for the rest of his days, if you had not defeated him first."
Harry had too many questions to speak them all at once.
"But will she be alright?" Harry asked. Professor Dumbledore hesitated, before smiling a smile that Harry thought, with a lurch in his stomach, that looked frighteningly fake, before replying:
"Yes, Harry. She will hopefully be back at school in a few days, but she may stay at Saint Mungo's until the year is over so she can recover."
Harry swallowed back tears.
How bad was Hermione, if Professor Dumbledore felt like he had to lie?
"How long have I been in here?" Harry asked instead, pushing away his tears.
"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley will be most relieved you have come round, he has been extremely worried."
"But sir, the Stone-"
"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to
prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say." Professor Dumbledore replied, "I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."
"It was you."
"I feared I might be too late."
"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer -"
"Not the Stone, boy, you - the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."
"Destroyed?" Harry said blankly, "But your friend - Nicolas Flamel -"
"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" replied Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted, "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."
"Well, it was mostly Hermione." Harry said, blinking back tears, "She was really brilliant."
Professor Dumbledore simply stared at Harry for a few moments.
"You should keep your friends very close, Harry." he said, "True friends are worth everything - you cannot buy or sell them for all of the Galleons in the Potter vaults. Not even for the Sorcerer's Stone."
Harry said nothing, curling up into a small ball. He still had Ron, but he had lost Hermione. He hadn't kept her close - he had sat and watched as she was torchered to - to d-d-de-
His brain couldn't form the words.
There was silence for a few more moments, and then, Harry, not knowing what to do, broke it.
"Does that mean they will die, then?" Harry asked, "Him and his wife?"
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."
Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement and - well, a bit of sorrow - on Harry's face.
"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas
and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry sat there, lost for words, only half listening to the Headmaster. His mind was still on Hermione.
"Sir?" asked Harry, wondering if he had at least destroyed Voldemort once and for all and avenged his best friend, "I've been thinking... sir - even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who -"
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." Dumbledore admonished lightly.
"Yes, sir. Is Voldemort dead?"
"No, Harry, he is not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."
Harry sucked in a breath and attempted to casually wipe away a tear that had leaked out of his eye. He hadn't done it - he hadn't done it for Hermione.
Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."
"The truth." Dumbledore sighed, "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."
"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"
Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.
"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."
Harry knew it would be no good to argue. He didn't have the will to do it, then, anyways.
"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"
"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."
Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. Everybody seemed to be dying for him - his mother, his father, and - and - Herm-
He couldn't think that. No, not if the possibility of her being alive was still there.
When Professor Dumbledore looked back, Harry stammered:
"C-could you l-l-leave me alone, sir, p-please?" Harry's voice was shaking, and he turned away so Professor Dumbledore couldn't see that he was crying, "I-I er- am tired."
"Of course." Professor Dumbledore replied, and Harry heard his footsteps slowly fade away.
Harry turned over on his bed a few times before he got comfortable. By that time, however, his pillow was wet with his tears from mourning. Mourning Hermione, mourning his mum, his dad, mourning that he had to live without them. He mourned. And he mourned. And he mourned. He mourned until his sadness turned to anger. His anger was so fierce he thought it was going to make him explode. Voldemort had done this, and he was going to pay. It was now clear to Harry that Voldemort was after him, and wasn't going to leave his friends unhurt in the fight. Harry wasn't going to allow anybody else he liked to die; no. Not Ron, not Professor Dumbledore, not Professor McGonagall… nobody. And the only way to do that was to learn. He had to learn as fast as Hermione - maybe even more. He would learn how to fight, and what Voldemort's weaknesses were. He would learn battle tactics. He would get good - he would get so good that he would be better than Voldemort.
And then?
And then, Voldemort was going down.
"Harry!"
Harry looked up from his books - the one he was reading now was The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, for the first time in eleven and a half hours. Ron was standing there, looking happy to see him and confused as to why he was reading a book.
"The whole school's talking about it," Ron said, "What really happened?"
Harry stared at Ron. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. He wasn't really sure that he could get through the story without breaking down again… the act of thinking about it brought tears…
But Hermione deserved to have her story told. So Harry gathered up his courage and began to talk.
He started where he and Hermione had left Ron, and told the heart-wrenching tale from there. It was one of those rare occasions when the true story was even more strange and terrifying than the wild rumors. Harry told Ron everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; Hermione; and Voldemort. Ron was a very good audience. He gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, his friend almost screamed out loud.
But when Ron lost it was when Harry began telling the part where Quirrell Crucioed Hermione.
"A-a-and th-then he s-said that Voldemort w-wanted to u-u-use me t-to g-get the Stone, and I-I said no." Harry stammered through tears, "A-A-And w-we h-heard her s-s-say E-expelliarmus again, and then - Q-Quirrell s-s-still dodged. H-he had a g-gash down h-his arm though, f-from the f-f-fall. And, and then, and then he stood b-back up and d-d-drew his w-wand on H-Hermione and c-cast it a-again and she w-was just s-s-screaming and there was a c-c-crack because her h-h-head hit the f-floor a-a-and s-s-she was, she was, she was - she was b-b-bleeding r-r-really b-bad so I t-t-old h-h-h-him I'd do it i-if h-he s-stopped -"
Ron, the tough Ron Harry had known for a whole school year, who had been crying since Quirrell first Cruicoed Hermione, sat down next to Harry on his bed and curled up like he had.
Harry stopped his story, and the two sobbed together until Ron wiped away a tear and told him to keep going.
Harry finished the story, both of them crying the rest of the way through.
"She was brave until the very end." Ron whispered after his tears had stopped a bit, his eyes red,.
"Yeah." Harry agreed. The two sat there for awhile, before -
"So the Stone's gone?" Ron asked finally, "Flamel's just going to die?"
"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that - what was it? - 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"
Harry said this with a few sniffles.
"I always said he was off his rocker," Ron said quietly.
More silence.
"Listen, we've got to get back at him." Ron said.
Harry looked up, startled.
"This isn't your fight, Ron." He said, "I can't lose you too-"
"And I can't lose you!" Ron shouted, "Listen, Harry, we're all in this together. Hermione was my friend too, and I deserve to be able to avenger her."
Harry opened his mouth and closed it. He swallowed, hesitant, and then nodded.
"We've got to be careful, though." Harry said. Ron emphatically nodded his head.
More silence.
"Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course - you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you - but the food'll be good." Ron said at last.
Harry nodded.
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.
"You've had nearly thirty five minutes, now OUT!"
"I want to go to the feast," Harry told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes, "I can, can't I?"
"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said stiffly, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be, "And you have another visitor."
"Who is it?" Asked Harry quietly.
Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.
"It's - all - my - ruddy - fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands, "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! And 'ermione - All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"
"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard, even though he himself had experienced the same level of sorrow, "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."
"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying, "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Hermione's really badly injured because of him, and I'm not giving into him - I'm not going to show him I'm afraid by not saying his name!" And then, in a kinder tone, "Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads..."
Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."
"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle, "Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead - anyway, got yeh this..."
It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. And at the very back was him, Ron, and Hermione all sitting together talking under an oak tree at the school.
"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... and the last one's 'rom me - d'yeh like it?"
Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.
Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.
When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat next to
at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.
"It's Potter..."
"But Granger's not here… where is she, then?"
"Look, Harry's back..."
"I wonder what actually happened - we should go ask-"
"No, don't do that, he's probably not ready.."
"Look, it's Harry Potter..."
Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away slowly.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore began cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...
"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore continued, "However, recent events must be taken into account."
The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little, adn some of them were outright glaring.
"Ahem," Dumbledore said, "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…
"First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."
Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn. It was bad even for the Weasley red.
"...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house seventy points."
Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects:
"My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"
At last there was silence again.
"Second, to Neville Longbottom," Dumbledore continued, "There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
The Gryffindors clapped and cheered. Seamus and Dean launched themselves on Neville to give him congratulations.
"Third - to Mr. Harry Potter," the room went deadly quiet, "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house eighty points."
The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points - exactly the same as Slytherin had. They had tied for the house cup - if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point. But that was not what Harry was thinking about - he was thinking about Hermione, and how she didn't get any points…
Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.
"And finally, to Miss Hermione Granger... for standing up for what she believed and fighting for her friends with her life, I cannot give enough points. So, I will instead do the best I can - to Hermione Granger, I give a The Special Award for Services to the School trophy…"
No one in the Great Hall moved.
"And two hundred points to Gryffindor."
Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place.
The Gryffindor table had erupted in cheers. Harry and Ron stood up to yell and cheer for their best friend. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.
"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."
He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry; he had worse things to worry about now. And, besides, Snape's remarks and behavior towards him seemed like nothing now that he had seen Hermione tortured by Voldemort.
A cheer had taken up among the students at the Gryffindor table, asn it was starting to spread to the others:
"All Hail Hermione the Heroine! All Hail Hermione! Hermione! Hermione!"
Harry felt as if Hermione were here, she would be very happy. He was, for one, was happy to see all of these people supporting her, even though they did not know why. He opened his mouth to cheer as well. It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget tonight.
And then, when the din rose to be deafening -
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
And that's the Prologue!