Harry looked down to his hands in awe. A simple grip had managed to form blisters and burns on his captor's hand and wrist the likes of which young Harry could have never expected. His head pounded as what felt like a million and one thoughts raced through his mind, but it all was cut short as he heard the approaching Quirrel-Voldemort yell in rage. While he held his breath and his hands trembled, the boy-who-lived reached out for his enemy's face to hold him off. A wretched scream erupted from Quirrel and Voldemort simultaneously as the skin under the boy's hands began to char and blister. Harry flinched, startled. With a glance to the man's hand he realized that some magic in him had awoken and had caused the complete amputation of Quirrel's hand via some sort of invisible fire. He looked back to the man's face and realized he had a choice-spare Quirrel's life, or end his misery now. The eleven year old child felt something shift inside of him, his stomach turned and twisted and it was as though whatever was causing his head to hurt had broken and freed his mind from the pain. He chose the latter.
As Quirrel fell, screaming in agony, Harry's own shouts chorused with his once professor's. Soon, Voldemort's own screams joined in and the echos of the three filled the chamber and many parts of the school. Harry's scar burned badly, so badly he thought a moment that this must be his punishment for choosing murder over mercy. As Quirrel's body crumbled beneath his grip, Harry stumbled forward in pain and terror. Finally able to breathe, he inhaled loudly and sharply, only to burst into a coughing fit as some smoky mass flew through his body. Within seconds, Harry was unconscious.
A very short while after Harry had left the confines of his hospital bed, the boy felt that he desperately needed to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. He'd told the man of the happenings within the chamber that Quirrel and Voldemort had confined him to, and thus far the good headmaster had said nothing of it. This time he was determined to get some answers.
He approached the Headmaster's office and knocked. The pain in his head had begun again. Silence came from the other side. He knocked once more, and the old man's raggedly tired voice told him to enter. As the boy came through, he shut the door behind him and took a seat at the Headmaster's table. "I have some questions, Headmaster Dumbledore." He said as he glanced down to his hands. "Something that... I don't know, it's weird."
Albus took in a long breath and nodded his head towards the boy. "I'm sure you do, my boy. What can I help you with?"
For a moment, Harry fiddled with his fingers then looked back to the man before him. The pressure behind his eyes intensified. "That... thing I did... down there. To Quirrel... was- I mean did I... I murdered him... didn't I? Am I evil?" He asked sincerely, worry etched into his features.
Pained laughter came from Dumbledore as he reached for the boy's hands and patted them gently. "No, Harry-you didn't murder him and you're certainly not evil. There was nothing premeditated about what you did. You merely acted in self defense. Truly it was a matter of kill, or be killed." He released the boy's hands and leaned back once more. "I trust in you, Mr. Potter, to always know right from wrong. You've a good head on your shoulders, and there is nothing wrong with saving your own life."
"B-But he's dead." Harry argued. "At my hand. Surely that's the definition of murder?" He seemed so lost, so confused.
The Headmaster thought on this a moment then shook his head. "You seem to have a clearly cut definition of good and evil. White and black. What you've yet to realize, my boy, is that there are many layers of grey in between the two. Some things are neither good nor evil, they're simply necessary." He paused a moment and took in the lost look on the boy's face. "Think of it this way. If you, as you are now, were to go into the woods and slaughter a bear merely to see what it was like, that would be wasteful, and in some eyes evil. An unnecessary loss of life, something without a good reason. However, take that same action, but put yourself in another role. If you were starving, lost in the woods, unable to find your way out, and you saw a bear which you knew you could eat the meat of, and then you slaughtered it cooked its meat and ate it to nourish you, that would be necessary. Not evil, merely survival. A layer of grey between the two. Now put yourself in another role, say that bear was rabid, destroying nearby towns, biting people, killing them-it was going out of its way to ensure the destruction of every living thing in its path. Though you would not be eating it, killing it would surely be good, as the relief of the people in nearby towns could tell you. No longer plagued by a monster who was destroying them and their life, they would rejoice, and some may even brand you a hero, truly by that action you have done good. That is what you did within the chamber with the Dark Lord, you brought peace to the people nearby by killing a monster. Yes, he is dead, yes, it was at your hand, but no child, it was no murder, and you are not evil. Under the right circumstances, any action which would normally be seen as evil, can be considered good."
A sudden release from pain and pressure flooded his head as Harry felt he finally understood. "So sometimes... killing bad people can be good?" He asked to ensure the answer he'd formed was correct. He received a nod from the headmaster and proceeded to nod himself. "One more question, Sir." He glanced to his hands then back to Dumbledore as he placed said hands upon the table in front of him, palms up. "What did I do? What was that? The invisible fire that burned them?"
Albus swallowed thickly and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He looked to the boys hands where not a single blister or scratch had formed. He cleared his throat and glanced to the wall where the Sorting Hat slept. "Surely it was something that protected you- likely from your mother." He looked back to Harry with his lips pursed gently. "A protective power left in your skin from your mother's sacrifice most assuredly." He said rather quickly.
Harry frowned as he pulled his hands back to his lap and sat back in his chair. He wasn't sure he believed what had just been said- the conviction wasn't there. It hadn't had the same tone, honesty, or elaboration tacked on to it that the previous had. Certainly this was a lie... "Thank you, Sir." Harry said as he stood, having decided that he wouldn't prolong the conversation if he were merely going to be lied to, especially by someone he was supposed to trust. "Sorry to have taken your time, I'll be on my way." He quickly made an exit.
The short rest of the school year had Harry off and alone. He'd abandoned hanging out with his friends in favor of research. Anything and everything to do with fire that he could find in the school's library he read and reread for as much knowledge as he could find. And knowledge he certainly did find. There were spells that caused fire, made it turn different colors, and even put it out, all of which the boy copied down to take home with him to study in case he needed them later. There were also a plethora of potions which did much the same, and one potion that caused an everlasting fire that could never be put out unless by its counter potion. That he didn't have the same interest in- he didn't much care for potions. Between spells on how to make a fire burn hotter, to how to make it so cold one could smother themselves in fire and stand perfectly unharmed, Harry wound up taking notes on every single fire spell he could find. The only issue was, there was no information about invisible fire.
Finally, three days before the students were to return home, Hermione had had enough. She found him in the library jotting notes down amid a pile of books and she pulled him up from his writing. "Harry, you've got to stop." She told him as she walked the resistant boy away from the tomes. "I'm all for you studying, in fact I wish you'd have started a long time ago, but this is beyond healthy. You're missing meals to come here, you've lost at least a whole stone since you've taken this up. You're not even paying attention in class anymore. Harry, you wont make it through next year if you keep this up. I'm worried."
With a sigh, Harry glared up towards the ceiling. "You wouldn't understand. I need to know something, and none of these books have the answer."
"Then if you know that, why are you still researching them?" Hermione asked with furrowed brows.
For a moment the boy ruffled his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "I don't know... you're right." He walked back towards the books and closed everything he'd opened. He took the notes he'd painstakingly wrote out and stacked them together then tucked them under his arm. With Hermione's help, he took the research books back to the return cart. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I just have a question that needs to be answered."
The two walked out into the hall and Hermione nudged Harry's shoulder with her own. "Well, maybe I can help you." She offered. "Maybe if you tell me what the question is, I might know the answer."
Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think even you know the answer. After all, it wasn't in any of the books at the library."
"Ask someone then." She said as the worry etched back into her features. "Someone who knows about the sort of thing you're in need of."
Silence crept in as Harry mulled this over. "I can only think of one person who might know... I'll ask him on the last day." He promised.
"And you'll come to supper?" Hermione asked as they approached the Grand Staircase. "No more missing meals?"
With a nod and a smile, Harry agreed.
As the last day rolled around, Harry kept his word. Some twenty minutes before the school was to out-pour with students abuzz and ready to get home, Harry made his way down to the dungeons. If anyone would know things about the types of magic that burn peoples' faces off without a single lick of fire, it would be the scariest man in school.
He knocked on Professor Snape's office door. Silence... He knocked again, only to receive the repeated answer of nothing. Once more, and all the same. In frustration Harry went back to the main floor and into the Great Hall. He searched the head table for any sign of the dark Professor, but found none. He spent the last bit of time he had left feverishly scouring the castle for any sign of the Potions Professor, but alas, as the final bell rang out it appeared that through no fault of his own, he couldn't keep his word. He'd simply have to ask the man next year when he returned.
He thickly swallowed and made his way with the rest of the students back out towards the carriages which took them to the trains. His mind was clouded and the tenseness in his muscles intensified as he took the long journey back to Number 4 Privet Drive.