The Philosopher's Stone
After stepping through the door that would lead to the Philosopher's Stone and the one trying to get their hands on it, Harry Potter stopped and took a quick look around.
Torches lined the stone walls and cast enough light that everything within the room was illuminated. Large and cylindrical, spanning about a 50-foot radius and with a height of somewhere around 40-feet, the room reminded him of those ancient spires in old castles... only without the ascending staircase. In the center of the room sat the Mirror of Erised, and standing in front of it, mumbling to himself, his head covered in a large purple turbin, was none other than Professor Quirrell.
"Professor Quirrell," Harry said calmly as he walked down the stairs with a measured pace. He absently palmed his wand, ensuring it remained hidden beneath the voluminous sleeves of his robes, the only reason he had worn them and not something that would offer less restricted movement. "I thought I might find you here."
"Potter," Quirrell smiled grimly at the young boy. "I'm not surprised you suspected it was me. Though I am curious to know how you figured it out."
Harry decided to indulge the man. It would give him a moment to prepare himself for the confrontation to come.
"You were too obvious. No one stutters that much when they talk, even if they are frightened to death of their own shadow. There is also the troll to consider. It's not well known, but for those who know how to properly gather information, it's not impossible to discover that you have a special gift when it comes to controlling trolls." Harry cocked his head to the side. "The fact that I always felt a legillemency probe in your classroom those first few weeks of school may have also had something to do with it."
"Such intelligence," Quirrell praised the raven-haired boy in a mocking fashion. "It's too bad I can't let you go."
Quirrell snapped his fingers and several ropes appeared out of thin air.
"Diffindo!"
Harry's wand sprang into action, several cutting curses shooting from the tip and slicing the ropes apart before they could reach them.
He jumped to the left just in time to dodge that same sickly yellow curse he'd run afoul of in the forest. It flew past him and splashed against the stairs, eating through them like they were made of rotting wood.
"Where is Voldemort?" Harry asked, his wand held aloft. Quirrell stood opposite him, his own wand out and ready to send another attack. "I know you're working for him. I know that you're trying to get the Stone so he can regain his body. Where is he!?"
"That's none of your business, Potter," Quirrell sneered as he fired off more curses. Most of them were the same acidic spell Harry was becoming intimately familiar with, but a few were of a kind he had never seen. Though he assumed they were dark curses designed to not only do damage, but inflict pain as well.
Harry dodged most of them, blocking those he couldn't by conjuring small rocks and banishing them into the path of the spells. It was easier to block spells with physical objects instead of a Protego, something Harry had determined when coming up with battle strategies.
However, while this strategy kept him from dying, it was only a delaying tactic. So long as Quirrell controlled the flow of battle, Harry would never win. He needed to put the battle in his favor by changing the playing field.
"Very good, Potter. Very good," Quirrell complimented in a taunting voice. "It seems you have improved since the last time we fought."
"The last time we..." Harry only needed a moment to understand what that statement meant. "That was you in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Of course."
"But I thought that was Voldemort!"
Harry was shocked. He could have sworn it was Voldemort who confronted him in the Forbidden Forest. The creature, for he refused to call it a man, that he fought had been more monster than human. Certainly it had not moved like a human. And Quirrel was most definitely a human. Had he been wrong this whole time?
No. He was not wrong. Several times after the battle Harry had snuck into the Forbidden Forest and spoke with Firenze, and the Centaur was positive the thing drinking unicorn blood was Voldemort. Harry trusted the Centaur's judgment on this, as they coincided with his own thoughts and opinions.
Was Quirrell covering up for Voldemort then? Trying to throw him off the trail? Their didn't seem to be much reason to, especially if the man planned on killing him anyway.
And aside from that, there was the fact that unicorn's blood cursed those who drank it. Why would Quirrell drink unicorn's blood when he didn't have to. Unless...
"That wasn't you using legillemency on me in your classroom," Harry's whispered words were surprisingly heard by Quirrell over the spells being fired.
"What was that?"
"Voldemort's here, isn't he?" said Harry, speaking with more volume. "That's why you claimed it was you in the Forbidden Forest. Because he's using your body. And that's why you're wearing that turban. To hide the fact that he is currently residing in your body."
Quirrell's spell casting stopped. His wand was still pointed at the boy that he now eyed warily. The reaction only made Harry more sure of his assumption.
"Such a clever child..."
Harry stiffened as he heard the voice. It was soft, raspy and weak, but unmistakable. Harry knew that voice. Even if he had not been cursed with eidetic memory, he would never forget the voice of the person who killed his parents.
"Let me speak with the boy... face to face..."
"But Master," Quirrell's voice wavered, "You are not strong enough yet."
"I have strength enough for this."
There was a moment's hesitation before Quirrell began unwrapping the turban. For a moment, Harry thought about using the action to go on the attack. He doubted he would ever get such an advantage like this again, and it would be foolhardy not to take advantage of it.
Yet he did not. Harry's curiosity and desire to face his parent's killer overruled his common sense. He allowed Quirrell to remove the turban unimpeded.
The face was on the back of Quirrell's head. He was pale, his skin a chalky white that made him look like death warmed over. His nose was flat, with only two small slits where his nostrils would normally be. Combine that with his bald head and near lipless mouth made think of a snake.
Yet it was the eyes that held Harry's attention. Those crimson irises that haunted most of his nightmares. The eyes he had seen almost every night for the past ten years within his mind.
"Voldemort," Harry breathed. Despite the man's weakened state, Harry could not keep his heartbeat from speeding up as he gazed upon the visage of the man who took his parents away from him. The man he despised more than anything else.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort's voice carried across to him. The sound of that man's voice, a sibilant hiss more than anything, caused an intense rage to well up within Harry. He wanted to blast this man into oblivion for what he had done. To take revenge on this monster for taking his parents away.
But he didn't. He kept his calm, remembering his Occlumency training. Right now there was no guarantee he would actually be able to kill Voldemort. Not only had he survived getting a killing curse blasted back at him when Harry was but a child, he had Quirrell, who still pointed his wand at Harry, to protect him.
"From the moment I learned you were alive, I knew we would meet face to face once again," Harry stated as he glared at the man. "Though I did not expect to meet you so soon."
"Indeed," Voldemort smirked at him. "It has been a long time. When we last met, you were but a child. Now you are a young man going to the same school I myself went to when I was your age."
Voldemort paused, and Harry was sure that, were it not for how he was attached to the back of Quirrell's head, he would have tilted his head.
"I have watched you since you came here, Harry. You have impressed me greatly with your magical knowledge and power. You remind me of myself when I was just starting Hogwarts."
"I am nothing like you," Harry refuted the man's claim fiercely.
Voldemort's smile was mocking.
"Are you not?" he asked. "Much like myself, you show great talent for magic. Like me you are a model student that everyone looks up to. Like me, you hide behind a veneer of charisma and charming words in order to disguise your true self. We are much more alike than you might think, Harry."
Harry grit his teeth. Not only because of his words, but because those words were, in many ways, true. Voldemort had done the same thing Harry was doing now. And while Harry justified it by saying he needed to present a strong image so people would follow him when he began changing the wizarding world for the better, Voldemort could have used the same justification for what he'd done.
Did that mean he and Voldemort really were alike?
"You and I are so similar," Voldemort's honeyed words came out sounding like a hissing snake. "Both talented, both powerful, both ambitious. Yes, I see the ambitions in your eyes, and I can help you make those ambitions a reality. Join me, Harry Potter. Together, we can rule over the wizarding world."
Harry closed his eyes. His lips pursed as his mind tried to formulate a response. For several seconds, neither he nor Voldemort spoke, one waiting for the young boy to speak, another trying to determine what he should say.
"There are many people like you," Harry's words were soft, yet strong. "People who wish to control everything, who wish to rule the world, who crave power."
Harry's eyes snapped open and set themselves in a hard glare.
"Over the centuries humanity has existed, there are always people like this."
His stance shifted, feet sliding across the floor until they were shoulder width apart.
"And if there is one thing history has shown me about these people it's this."
He placed most of his weight on his hind leg, preparing to move at a moment's notice. He would only have one shot at this.
"People like you do not share power."
Voldemort's face took on an expression of fury as Harry scorned his offer.
"So be it!" He hissed. "Quirrell! Kill him!"
Quirrell's wand snapped up and the sickly yellow curse flew from its tip. The spell raced toward Harry at speeds far faster than it had before. It was clear that Quirrell had been holding back during their previous engagement.
No matter. Harry had a plan.
Before Quirrell even moved his wand, Harry was already moving. He pushed himself forward, moving into a shoulder roll. The acidic curse that would have burnt through flesh, muscle, bones and organs, flew overhead, splashing into the wall behind him and eating away at the stone.
Harry finished the roll, kipped to his feet and crouched low to the ground. His wand was already in motion by this time, a quick jab that sent a powerful Reducto at the traitorous Hogwarts Professor.
The charm was blocked by a powerful shield, naturally. But that was ok. This was just the opening salvo.
Before the shield even had time to come down, Harry sent another spell. It was basic, just a first year spell, but that hardly mattered. It was not designed to do anything other than distract Quirrell.
The spell did its job. The shield came down and Quirrell swatted it away contemptibly, a sneer on his face.
It was a sneer Harry would soon remove.
"Bombarda!"
Harry twirled his wand over his head, then pointed it at his target. As the spell launched from the tip of his wand, Quirrell produced another Protego, the shimmering bronze shield that had been protecting him from all the spells Harry sent his way thus far.
Too bad Quirrell wasn't the target.
The spell hit the ground just an inch from the shield. A loud explosion erupted from the point of impact, and both fire and chunks of stone smashed into the shield as a thick layer of dust was kicked up from the ground.
"Gah!"
While the shield around Quirrell held, the man himself stumbled back in surprise, having obviously not expecting an indirect attack. The dust kicked up from the destroyed stone floor also provided Harry with a smokescreen he could use to his advantage.
After his battle in the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought a lot about how he had lost and why, and had determined one thing when it came to his duel. He currently did not have the experience needed to best fully-grown wizards. Even if he mastered every spell he came across, studied every strategy that existed in his dueling books, it would mean little if he lacked the necessary experience to know when to use them.
So Harry came up with an alternative means of fighting until he could improve.
If he couldn't match a wizard using spells, then he would defeat them using fists. It was something he had thought up during his study of the children attending Hogwarts. Aside from Quidditch players, most wizards were very lazy. They did not exercise, they used magic for anything involving physical labor, even the most mundane of tasks.
In other words. They lacked the physical fitness to deal with him up close. While Quirrell could best him in a fight of magic, Harry was positive that he could best the defense professor in a fight of might.
The entire time Harry had been implementing his plan, he never ceased moving toward the Voldemort possessed teacher. By the time the smokescreen dispersed, the raven-haired young man was already inside of Quirrell's defenses.
Quirrell's Protego was down and Harry was in the perfect position to demolish him.
Quick as a whip, Harry thrust the palm of his right hand into Quirrell's face. The heel of his palm smashed into Quirrell, hitting him directly in the nose, breaking it.
The satisfaction he felt when he heard the loud crunch of a nose breaking was second to none.
He ignored the sharp pain in his scar when his skin touched Quirrell.
Quirrell stumbled back, grunting in pain as his left hand rose to his now bleeding nose. The grunt soon turned into a scream, however, when the skin of his nose began to peel away as if it had been burned.
Harry ignored this as well and continued to attack. He moved forward one step. Quirrell brought up his wand, cognizant even as he screamed, but Harry quickly grabbed the wrist in an iron grip.
Once more, ignoring his own pain as well as the renewed screams of Quirrell, Harry yanked on the man's arm.
Quirrell stumbled forward, off balance and unprepared for the move, he could do absolutely nothing as Harry took one more step forward and drove his heel into the older man's knee cap.
There was a loud snapping sound as Quirrell's knee cap shattered and his leg bent at an angle the human appendage was not meant to bend. The former defense Professor's screams of pain became screams of agony as his leg shattered and the arm that Harry latched onto began flaking and crumbling like it was made of dust.
With his leg no longer able to support his weight, Quirrell began to fall, and Harry initiated the last phase of his plan to beat the defense professor.
Moving so fast his magically enhanced body was little more than a blur, Harry slid into a wide stance, feet spread wide, legs bent at exactly forty five degrees, and his fists tucked into his torso.
The fists were not there for long. With another move of blistering speed, both fists lashed out towards Quirrell, striking him hard in the chest and stomach with enough force that the traitor was sent flying backwards for nearly five feet.
Quirrell hit the ground hard, landing on his back with a loud crash. Yet that did not seem to register with him. In fact, he seemed too busy covering his face with both hands and screaming himself horse to even realize what happened to him.
Harry watched in a mixture of shock, fascination and horror as the man's body seemed to shrivel up. It was almost like all of the moisture was being sucked out of Quirrell's body. His skin took on a pallid, sickly hue as skin and muscles began degrading at a rapid pace. Before long, Quirrell's body became nothing more than a dried up husk, and even that soon became nothing more than dust as the body crumbled into a pile of ashes.
As Harry stared at the remains of what had once been the defense Professor, his stomach rebelled. Falling to his knees, only his hands kept him from falling on his face, as his body forced up whatever was left from the food he had eaten during dinner. Even after throwing up all of his food, his body continued to dry heave for several moments before he could get it under control.
Stumbling to his feet, Harry shook his head and cast a quick spell to clean and freshen his mouth.
He had not expected to react like that. After the troll incident Harry assumed he would have been immune to such violence. It appeared such was not the case.
A part of him wondered if that was because the person he just killed was human, or if there was some other reason for it.
Shaking his head, Harry decided he could think on such thoughts later, after he finished here. There was still work to do.
One minute left.
Harry strode over to the Mirror of Erised, the last defense for the Philosopher's Stone. As he stepped into the mirror's view, an image appeared. It was the image of what Harry desired more than anything else in the world.
In it, Harry was older, a fully-grown adult. His hair looked the same as always, just a little longer, and his body had filled out and looked like an Olympian athletes. There was a confidence in his movements that not even the Harry of right now possessed, and an easy going, content smile on his face that Harry secretly longed to have on his own face.
The reason for this smile stood right beside the older Harry. A woman. He did not know who she was, for her form appeared blurred. Everything from the color of her hair and tone of her skin to the structure of her face was indecipherable. All Harry could make out was the form of a fully grown female adult whose frame the older Harry had an arm wrapped around.
In the females arms was a bundle of blankets, and inside the bundle was a small child with raven-colored hair and vivid green eyes. The only difference between a baby Harry and this baby was that it lacked the scar on his forehead. This was his child.
Family. The one thing Harry desired more than anything else in the world. A desire so deep that Harry would never admit to having it, not even to himself.
Thirty seconds left.
Harry pointed his wand at the mirror, the tip glowing brilliant blue as he channeled a massive amount of energy into it. The runes along the wand began lit up, brighter and brighter until the entire wand was covered in so much light the wand itself could not be seen.
"Reducto."
The words were whispered, yet it did not change the effects. All the magic gathered in the wand launched itself out, blasting into the mirror and hitting it with all the power of a raging dragon.
The mirror was not blasted into pieces, broken into tiny fragments that scattered across the floor. It was just gone. Not even granules the size of sand remained. Harry had used so much power that the mirror had literally been erased from this plain of existence.
Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath, then let it out. Glad that this situation had been resolved. Now all that was left to do was wait for the teacher's to arrive and explain what happened.
Or so he thought.
A loud shriek of rage brought Harry back to reality. He spun around, his eyes wide as he tried to find the source of the sound. He found it alright, and when he laid sight on the source, his mouth dropped into an open gape.
Voldemort, now a wraith-like figure, hovered in the air, his form made of dark ectoplasm that was semi-translucent yet thick enough that he almost looked solid. It shrieked at Harry again, causing the young boy to take a step back, not that the act changed anything.
The wraith flew forward, crashing into Harry, moving through him, into him. The shadowy form of Voldemort entered Harry's body, disappearing.
Then the pain hit. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Harry thought he knew pain. He'd had his entire body nearly crushed by a troll. The feeling of his rib cage caving in and puncturing his lungs had been agonizing, the way his spine felt like it had snapped made him wish for death. Harry knew pain, but this was suffering beyond anything he had ever felt. It was pain beyond compare.
Every single nerve ending in his body screamed in absolute agony. His body felt like it was bring ripped apart from the inside out. Like hot, molten metal was being pumped into his nervous system and melting him from the inside out.
Beyond the pain in his body was the pain in his scar. He could feel it, the darkness inside of him screaming, shrieking as it tried to force its way out of his head. It felt like someone had taken a pair of pliers and used them to pry his skull open, then sent a burst of electricity through his brain in an attempt to fry it.
His body twitched and spasmed, twisting and turning as it tried to instinctively find some way to alleviate the torturous pain unlike anything Harry had experienced before. It was to no avail. Nothing seemed to work, and all Harry could do was hopelessly defend himself against the intruder causing him so much physical and mental anguish.
Harry thought he heard voices, shouts, but he could not be sure. His mind, addled by pain, began going numb. He couldn't even feel his body anymore.
As darkness engulfed him, he thought he saw several figures appearing within his vision. He could not be sure, but he thought the shouting had grown louder.
In spite of what was happening, what had already happened, Harry could only feel relief when he lost consciousness.
XoX
Time passed. Life moved on. Some things changed while others stayed the same. It was the way of the universe, that the passage of time created differentiations to occure within people and places.
It's been three years since I first met Master Wei. Two years since I became friends with Lisa. It feels almost like a lifetime, and I can't help but reflect on the changes in myself; no longer bitter, no longer vengeful. I still disliked my relatives, but I didn't let it rule me. I feel like I've become a different person, a better person. But then, perhaps that is just my perception of things, shaped by the reality that only I can percieve.
"Harry?"
I looked over at Lisa. My friend. My best friend. And a warm feeling encompassed my chest, starting from my heart and expanding outward to engulf the rest of my body. I feel light.
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You're spacing out on me."
I smiled at her. "I'm fine. Just thinking is all."
She stared for another second, then shook her head. "Weirdo."
"Brat."
XoX
The first thing Harry noticed upon returning to consciousness was that he was incredibly sore. It felt like he had done one of his most intense and rigorous training routines for several days straight without stopping, then had Hogwarts dropped on him for good measure
The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on a soft bed. This was followed by the smell of potions, confirming that he was laid up in the hospital wing.
Finally, the third thing he noticed was the presence sitting in a chair next to him. It was strong, vibrant and full of life, yet at the same time felt old and wise. He couldn't recognize the signature, as he still had trouble sensing magic, but whoever the person sitting next to him was, they were very powerful.
Opening his eyes, Harry blinked several times as his vision adjusted to the change in light. When he was properly adjusted, he turned his head and found himself staring into the blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles of Albus Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry slurred. He was still extremely tired. Even moving his mouth took more effort than it should.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding truly surprised to see him up. "How are you feeling?"
There were a number of responses Harry could think of to that, and all of them were sarcastic.
"I'm fine," Harry mumbled, trying, and failing, to push himself into a sitting position.
He was immediately pushed back down by two hands that were much stronger than their frail looks suggested.
"I think it would be best if you not get up quite yet," Dumbledore told him gently. "Your body and mind have suffered a lot of duress from Voldemort trying to take possession of your body."
Harry thought about arguing with the man. He disliked sitting still for any period of time, unless doing something worth while, like reading or studying, but decided not to. He was tired .after all, and it would not do to push himself after what happened in the chamber where the Mirror of Erised was held.
"How long have I been out?" asked Harry.
"About twelve hours," Dumbledore replied. "I'm actually surprised. Madam Pomfrey suspected you would be incapacitated for much longer."
Harry nodded noncommittally. He had always been a fast healer.
"You said Voldemort tried to possess me?" he asked, bringing up the subject that had him curious. He suspected that was what had happened. It was rather hard to tell when suffering from indescribably excruciating amounts of agony.
"Indeed he did," Dumbledore said, and Harry thought he saw a look of pride on the ancient man's face. "However, it was not a full possession. You managed to fight him off long enough for me to arrive and pull him out before he could truly take possession of you." There was a twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes as he looked at Harry. "You did quite an admirable job of keeping him from possessing you. I dare say he will never try that again."
"So you helped me?" Harry frowned when Dumbledore confirmed his question. "What about the other teachers? I had my friends go and get them for help."
"They arrived a little after I did," Dumbledore explained.
"How did you get to me so quickly?" asked Harry, his brow furrowing even more. "I thought you had gone to the Ministry."
"I did," Dumbledore acknowledged. "I had received a missive earlier from the Minister of Magic, you see. However, when I got there, Minister Fudge told me he had not sent me a missive at all. I knew then that the letter had been a hoax to get me out of the castle..." Dumbledore frowned, a pensive expression crossing his face. "I suspect that Voldemort managed to somehow mimic the magical signature of Minister Fudge somehow."
"That shouldn't be possible, should it?" Harry felt a bit better now, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He was thankful Dumbledore didn't try to stop him this time. "I mean, your magical signature is like your finger print. No two signatures are the same, not even those of identical twins."
The old Headmaster gave Harry a smile. "Very good, Harry. Yes, magical signatures are unique to each person. However, it is possible for one to mimic a signature, though such a task is difficult to accomplish. It requires an innate understanding of magic that few possess. Unfortunately, Voldemort is one of those people."
"I see," Harry grew thoughtful. The idea that someone could mimic anothers magical signature was intriguing. It definitely merited a more thorough investigation when he got the chance.
He shook his head.
"So what happened to the Philosopher's Stone?"
"The Stone is gone." Dumbledore rubbed his chin. "It seems that the Mirror of Erised was completely destroyed during the fight between you and Quirrell. The Stone had been hidden in a separate dimension, and the gateway had been the mirror. With the mirror now gone, there is no way to reach the Stone."
"You can create separate dimensions?" asked Harry, perking upright even more when he heard this tidbit of information.
"Well, it's not so much of a dimension as it is a pocket space," Dumbledore mused, eying Harry with amusement as he saw the boy paying rapt attention to him. "What I essentially do is create an extra space separate from the realities of our world and then link it to an object. In this case it was the mirror."
"So it's some kind of reality warping spell," Harry mused. "You're essentially tearing the fabrics of reality to create a small space attached to an inanimate object."
Dumbledore blinked.
"Yes. Yes, that is it exactly."
Harry's eyes sharpened as they fell back on Dumbledore.
"Is it possible to learn this spell?"
For a long moment, Dumbledore stared at the young boy with an expression that was almost gawking. However, after a minute or two, the old Headmaster offered Harry an amused smile.
"It is possible to learn this spell. I could even teach it to you..." Harry grinned a grin that died with the next words Dumbledore spoke. "... eventually. However, that particular spell is very powerful, very advanced. I'm afraid that, at your current level, you would not be able to even begin learning it."
Harry felt like pouting at the much, much older man. The only reason he did not was because he didn't want to look like a child.
Deciding to focus on something other than his disappointment, he asked, "what happened to Voldemort?"
At this, Dumbledore's expression darkened.
"I am afraid that Voldemort managed to escape. Unfortunately, not even I am capable of detaining a soul like his." His expression brightened a second later. "Still, he may have escaped, but you are still alive, and for that, we should be thankful. As strong as you are, had I arrived a minute later, I fear you may have actually died."
Harry frowned at the thought. He did not really fear death, but he had many things he wished to accomplish before his time came. Dying at the age of 11 was not conducive to his goals.
He made a note to avoid death as much as possible in the future.
"Professor," Harry bit his lip nervously when Professor Dumbledore turned an inquiring gaze on him. For a moment, he thought about backing off and forgetting about what he wanted to say, but only for a moment. He needed another opinion on this. "When I confronted Voldemort, he said that I reminded him of himself." He paused. "Am I... I'm not really like him, am I?"
Dumbledore shifted in his seat to face Harry more fully, his face etched into a grave yet understanding expression.
"It is true that you have many traits that Voldemort prided himself on," Dumbledore admitted, and Harry barely withheld a wince. "You are gifted, intelligent, charming, ambitious, and, if I do say so myself, have a certain disregard for the rules."
The attempt at brevity was lost on Harry, who felt like the world had just been swept out from underneath him.
"However, you are also very different from Voldemort," the Headmaster continued. "Voldemort never let himself befriend anyone. To him, everyone was a pawn to use and abuse. You, on the other hand, have opened up to several people here and have become good friends with them, if I am not mistaken. Tell me, Harry, how important are your friends to you?"
"I would die for them," Harry stated without any hesitation.
"And that is where you and Voldemort are different," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Voldemort never had any friends. He believed they were a weakness. And he would never be willing to risk his life for another. That you would do so tells me you are very different from Voldemort. That unlike him, you possess a heart that is capable of great compassion and understanding. And that makes all the difference."
Harry leaned back against the headboard of the bed, relieved that he was not like Voldemort. Thinking back on it, he felt almost like a fool for letting that man's words get to him. People like Voldemort made a game at playing with the emotions of others. They enjoyed causing people pain, be it mental or physical. That had probably been his purpose. The Dark Lord wanted Harry to suffer because he relished watching others suffer.
"To be honest, you actually remind me more of myself than you do Voldemort," Dumbledore said, causing Harry to perk up.
"Really?"
"Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled happily, clearly reliving pleasant memories. "Back when I was a student at Hogwarts, I was much like yourself. A gifted and intelligent student with a passion for learning, and a bit of a reckless streak. I see much of myself in you."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He was actually rather flattered. Say what you will about the man, it didn't change the fact that Dumbledore was a powerful wizard. For him to say that Harry reminded him of himself was akin to saying that Harry had the capability to become just as powerful as him one day.
"Thank you, sir."
Dumbledore offered him a smile.
"You're quite welcome, Harry."
"Are my friends alright?" asked Harry, getting to what he felt was the final order of business. Dumbledore offered him a congenial smile.
"They are perfectly alright, physically, at least. I daresay they are currently fraught with worry for you. Miss's Greengrass and Bones have been particularly inconsolable when last I saw them."
Harry winced as he realized something.
"They saw what happened, didn't they?"
"If, by what happened, you mean they saw Voldemort try to unsuccessfully possess you, then yes, they did."
Harry was afraid of that. It was just another reason they should not have gone after the stone. Aside from the danger, he didn't want to expose them to anything that could cause untoward distress. The mind of a child was a fragile thing; easily broken and difficult to fix.
"However," Dumbledore's voice intruded upon Harry's thoughts. "I believe if they see you, they would feel much better."
"Can you get them?" asked Harry. Dumbledore opened his mouth, about to speak, but before he could, Madam Pomfrey, who had been sitting at her desk, chose that moment to speak up.
"Absolutely not," she gave both the Headmaster and Harry a stern look. "I can't have your friends disrupting your recovery. You need your rest."
Harry frowned. Now that he was finally awake, he'd begun actively channeling his magic to promote physical healing. Even now the aches and pains within his body were disappearing, and while the pain in his scar wasn't going anywhere, all it would take was a few hours of meditation each night to change that.
"But I'm feeling a lot better now," he told her, trying hard not to make it sound like he was whining. He didn't want to seem like a petulant child. "Surely, they could see me for a few minutes at least."
Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him that his friends could not see him if the stern expression on her face was anything to go by, when the Headmaster interrupted her.
"I do not think allowing Harry's friends a few minutes to see him would do any harm." Dumbledore smiled congenially, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "It may even do them some good. There is nothing like being surrounded by ones friends to help people on the road to recovery."
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, but in the end, relented and decided to let Harry's friends visit.
"Harry!"
His friends didn't enter one by one, but streamed in by twos and threes as soon as the double doors opened. Madam Pomfrey huffed as she watched several of Harry's friends rush in with abandon. Only Blaise actually walked in with any sense of calm. Even Daphne was nearly running in her haste to reach him.
The first reach Harry was Susan. The girl looked utterly distraught. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her nose looked like it had been rubbed raw by a handkerchief, and the moment she saw him tears began welling up in her eyes again.
Harry was just thankful the girl didn't hug him this time. While magic went a long way toward making him feeling better, it would be a few more hours before his body actually healed.
"Are alright? You're not hurt, are you? Stupid question, of course you're hurt! You're laying in a hospital!" Susan's rapid fire speech had Harry's head spinning. He tried to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say. Not that he actually had the chance. "Oh Harry, it was horrible! We came in with Dumbledore and you were on the floor and screaming and it looked like you were in so much pain and I... and I..."
"Susan! Susan, calm down," Harry said, using the pause Susan took to regain her breath to speak. "Look, I'm fine. See? I'm right here, and I'm perfectly alright, ok?"
Susan nodded her head furiously and used the sleeves of her robe to wipe her wet eyes. She looked so depressed, like someone had just killed her favorite gold fish. It reminded him of Lisa when her gold fish, which he'd won at a school fair when they were nine, died, and Harry had to resist the urge to hug her.
As Harry calmed Susan down, Daphne used the istraction to slip into the seat Dumbledore quietly vacated to give Harry some time alone with his friends.
She very discreetly slipped her hand into Harry's left one, which lay on the bed near her. Harry's eyes glanced down at the hand now holding Daphne's, then at the girl to see her studiously ignoring the fact that she was holding his hand, looking anywhere but at him.
He shrugged his curiosity off. She probably needed some form of physical contact to reassure her that he was alright. He had read a book that some people preferred physical reassurance as opposed to words when seeking comfort. Daphne was probably like that. Given how little physical affection she received from her father, this didn't surprise him.
Gently gripping the soft hand belonging to one blond heiress, Harry turned his attention to the others. All of them offered their relief at seeing him hearty and hale, except for Hermione, who trembled as she tried to keep from crying. Harry sighed at the bushy haired witch worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked, already having a hunch about what was bothering.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, tears beginning to run out of her eyes and down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I never should have suggested going after the Stone. Because of me you've been hurt..."
Harry shifted a bit. Truth be told, he was kind of angry at Hermione, though not for the reasons she assumed. But seeing her like this made him very uncomfortable, which honestly surprised Harry, because he seemed to have gotten more experience at dealing with crying girls ever since coming to Hogwarts. Shouldn't he be used to this by now?
"Do you know why I didn't want any of you going after the Stone now?" he asked, looking Hermione in the eyes. Hermione nodded her head mutely. "And have you learned your lesson?" Another nod. "Are you going to do this again?" Hermione shook her head. "Then all is forgiven." Harry smiled.
Hermione's relief was palpable. Tears ran down her eyes as she rushed over to his side and pulled him into a tight hug.
Harry hissed in pain as Hermione's arms pressed the fabric of his clothing against his overly sensitive skin. His nerve endings lit up once more, sending a stream of fire through his body.
Hermione jerked back when she heard Harry's hiss of pain.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione held a hand to her mouth in shame. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Harry, I'm –"
"It's fine," Harry interrupted as he channeled more magic through his body to counteract the pain. "I'm just a little tender, that's all."
Hermione quickly backed off after that, not wanting to inadvertently cause Harry anymore duress than she already had.
"So what exactly happened down there?" Lisa asked the question many people there had. Harry was actually surprised Tracey hadn't asked that question, seeing how she had been the most enthusiastic among the group to go after the stone.
A quick glance at Tracey caused him to frown for a second. She had been quiet for the most part, only offering a quick word about how happy she was to see that he was alright, but otherwise remaining silent. Even now she was not acting like her usually talkative self. Instead she stood next to Blaise, her eyes unfocused and her lips pursed.
He would have to speak with her later to see what was bothering. For now though, there were other things to do.
Harry began to run his thumb over the back of Daphne's hand, which was now hidden under the blanket, and began to tell his friends a story about a mirror, a defense professor, and a dark lord attached to the back of said professor's head.
XoX
The ride home at the end of the year was just as lively as the ride home during the Christmas holidays.
Harry Potter and his friends sat in a magically expanded compartment where they talked and laughed, played rounds of exploding snaps, and spoke of what they would be doing over the summer.
"I'll be going to Italy this summer with my mum and sister," Blaise was telling Neville, Hermione and Terry, all of whom sat closest to him. "Most of our family lives in Italy and there's going to be a gathering there It's sort of mandatory for all members of our family to attend."
"That sounds like a right sight better than what I'll be doing this summer," Neville said a little dryly. Hermione looked at him curiously.
"What are you doing this summer, Neville?"
"I'll probably stay at home," Neville said with a shrug. "Grans not really big on travel, especially international travel. We may have a few members of the family come over, but for the most part, I will probably spend time in my Greenhouse."
"I've never been out of the country before," Terry said with a sigh. "I always wanted to do some traveling, but whenever my parents would go off on one of their excursions, I would be stuck with a nanny."
"What about you, Hermione?" asked Neville. "Any plans for the summer?"
"Well," Hermione tilted her head to the side. "My parents did mention that they were thinking about going to France..."
"You're so lucky," Lisa told Hannah after listening to what the blond girl and her red-haired friend planned on doing over the summer. "I've always wanted to travel to America. While the colonies don't have as rich a history as Europe, there are many ruins from ancient civilizations that are said to have magical origins in North America. I read that the Mayans were gifted with some of the most powerful seers in the history of the world."
"I don't think we'll be going to see any ancient ruins," Hannah said with a small shake of her head. "My dad's just taking us to California. He bought a new wine vineyard there." The blond Hufflepuff smiled. "Personally, I just want to go to the beach."
"Ugh, I'm so jealous of you guys," Lisa groaned. "You two are going to another country, another continent, while I'm going to be stuck at home with my sister."
"If you want, we could ask Hannah's dad if we can take you with us?" Susan, ever the loyal Hufflepuff, suggested. Lisa offered a smile, but shook her head.
"You could try, but I already know what my dad would say." She adopted a stern face and in a deep, mocking version of her dad's voice, said, "The colonies are dangerous. There's no telling what those barbarians might do to you if you wandered off alone."
Hannah and Susan giggled at the stern-looking face Lisa made. It didn't really look all that stern, and was much more comical than anything else—probably becasuse her eyes were crossed as she spoke.
Harry Potter let most of the conversation wash over him. He listened in, but didn't partake all that much, except to say he would probably be spending most of his summer with Lisa Crawft when asked of his plans.
Sitting on his left, Daphne Greengrass had also been very quiet. Nothing new there. The young heiress to the Greengrass fortune was usually quiet, except for when making sarcastic comments at people, Tracey mostly.
And speaking of, Harry glanced over at the brunette Slytherin. Tracey had been abnormally quiet since the incident with the stone. After Harry was let out of the hospital, the girl had not said more than two dozen words, at least in his presence.
"Tracey," Harry called, startling the girl and making her turn to face him. "Are you alright?"
Tracey Davis grimaced, but quickly offered him a smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Harry. Thanks for asking."
"Are you sure nothing's bothering you?" asked Harry, prompting the girl to grimace again. "You've been awfully quiet."
"Just thinking," was Tracey's reply.
Harry frowned as he continued to study the young Slytherin. He glanced over at Daphne, who caught his eyes, and tilted his head toward Tracey. The blond girl looked at Tracey, who had gone back to staring out the window. Her eyes traveled back to Harry and she shook her head, before offering a helpless shrug, letting him know that she did not know what was going on either, though not for lack of trying.
Deciding to turn his thoughts to other endeavors, Harry's mind went to what happened after he was released from the hospital wing. Like always, there had been numerous rumors going around, and Harry was not surprised to discover that most of them were both right and wrong. Some were true, like Harry killing the defense professor being the reason he had been laid up in the hospital, but the real story had been far more fantastical than any rumor.
The only other incident of interest had been the last Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
It had been a decently hard fought match. Ravenclaw had come up with a number of plays specifically designed to break up any attempt Harry made at involving himself in Gryffindors plays.
It was most unfortunate for Ravenclaw that Oliver had already come to this conclusion and created an entirely new set of plays, essentially negating the advantage Ravenclaw would have had.
The Quidditch game ended after Harry caught the snitch with a total of score 445 to 290 in Gryffindors favor, winning Gryffindor the House Cup and making both Professor McGonagall and Oliver Wood very happy.
In fact, the winning of the Quidditch Cup had been such a phenomenal occasion that no one even really cared about Gryffindor winning the House Cup as well. Most were just glad Slytherin had not won again.
Hours later the Hogwarts Express arrived at King's Cross. Harry and his friends all disembarked from the steam train and stepped onto the platform.
"Daphne."
The first one to find the group of friends was Nathaniel Greengrass. How the Head of the Noble House of Greengrass managed to find them so quickly was baffling, and Harry suspected the man had placed a permanent tracking charm on his daughter.
Should that be the case, he would need to look into that at some point. If his plans for keeping Daphne from being sold off like chattel did not work, he would need some way to disable the tracking charms.
Tracey leaned over to Blaise and cupped her hand to the dark-skinned boys ear to whisper, "no matter how many times I meet him, Daphne's dad still scares the crap out of me."
Blaise did not say anything, but nodded his assent all the same.
While many shrunk from the dead eyes of the man before them, Daphne turned to look at Harry.
"Have a pleasant summer, Heir Potter," Daphne said, calling him by his title as the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. She offered her hand to the young heir. Harry took the proffered hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
"You as well, Heiress Greengrass." Harry returned her gesture, offering the girl a smile. "I'll write to you." His eyes flickered over to Nathaniel Greengrass, who watched the proceedings with his cold, unfeeling gaze. "Perhaps, should your father permit it, we can even plan a get together with the rest of our friends."
It was probably a good thing Daphne's back was turned to her father, otherwise he would have been displeased by the display of emotions she showed, offering Harry what was quite possibly the warmest smile he had ever seen.
"I would like that," she said softly.
XoX
Harry appeared within his room in a soft whisper. A quick glance showed that nothing had changed since he left a little over nine months ago. It still looked just the same as it always did, with not even a single sheet of paper out of place.
Setting his trunk down next to his bed, Harry was quick to open up the fourth compartment. A wave of his hand had a small object levitating out of the open trunk and onto his palm. It was a little larger than his fist, and looked kind of like a lump of coal wrapped in gray cloth.
Unwrapping the fabric surrounding the object, Harry revealed the item in his hand to be a shining, blood red stone that glowed and hummed with arcane energies. The Philosopher's Stone.
Harry smiled at the object he had taken out from under everyone's nose. He felt a sense of pride at having managed to take such a valuable magical object from underneath Dumbledore's watch, and managed to fool both the Headmaster and Voldemort into thinking the stone had been permanently lost.
His plans on getting the stone and making it look like the stone had been destroyed during his confrontation with Quirrell had not gone as planned. He had not expected Hermione to discover what was hidden underneath the third floor corridor, which had made his carefully devised strategies to reach the stone null and void, forcing him to improvise, but everything had worked out in the end.
In many ways he had to thank Hermione Granger for being so stubborn in her desire to go after the Stone. While not been pleased that his friends had been placed in danger, her actions had led him to learning a valuable lesson.
There was an old saying made by Field Marshal Helmuth Carl Bernard Graf von Moltke. It went 'The tactical result of an engagement forms the base for new strategic decisions because victory or defeat in a battle changes the situation to such a degree that no human acumen is able to see beyond the first battle.Therefore no plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force.'
Harry had forgotten this very basic fact, which could be applied to life just as easily as it could be applied to battle. Every second one lived there were an infinite number of variables that could change the outcome one might expect. It was impossible to plan for every single outcome, so Harry would need to keep any future plans flexible enough that they could be adapted to any given situation on the fly.
Staring at the priceless artifact, Harry began making plans to study it. He would need a number of things, not the least of which was a list of spells used to scan magical artifacts to determine how they worked. He had copied several books from the Hogwarts restricted section that talked about Alchemy. Perhaps he would find something in there. If not, it would be back to square one.
After he finished studying the Philosopher's Stone to his hearts content, he would send a letter to Nicholas Flamel, informing the alchemist that he had the Stone. While the opportunity to study such a powerful object was too good for him to pass up, Harry was no thief. He would return the Stone to its rightful owner... eventually.
Naturally, that would be after he learned everything he could. After all, not many people can say they had the Philosopher's Stone in their grasp.
This is the end of this story. And this is the first story I finished. I find it most ironic that the last story I made was the first one I finished, but the muse works in strange and mysterious ways.
Now, before anyone freaks out I will tell you that YES! THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL! This is for all those people who apparently didn't read my A/N at the end of chapter 18. There will be a sequel, which will show Harry's second year. There will be another that will be about his third year, and another about his fourth and so on until I'm finished. The only thing I am unsure about is whether I am going to finish this series of stories by Harry's sixth year or his seventh. But rest assured, I will be writing sequels to this story.
And finally, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed my story. Your contribution to my reviews whether they be criticisms and critiques to encouragements have been invaluable in giving me the motivation to continue this story and see it through to the end. So for that, I thank you.
In any case, this story is now finished. I hope you all enjoyed it. If you did, let me know. Appreciation is always a welcome motivator to get started on the sequel faster. If you didn't. Let me know what you don't like so I can ensure that I do not make the same mistakes in the future.
