Chapter 11 – A New Reality

Harry spent the next five days in the infirmary. By his own estimation, five days was a little excessive, but Harry suspected Dumbledore had decided to keep Harry in a kind of pseudo-isolation from the rest of the school for a while. Not that it would stop his friends talking to him. Ron had been in the next bed over for the first two days, recovering from a nasty bump to the head, and both Neville and Hermione had been in to visit every day between classes.

Thinking that he might be able to get out of his own classes, and perhaps even a few exams, Ron had attempted to insist that he was still seeing double, and that he couldn't possibly preform magic in that state, but after a few rather stern words from both Hermione and Professor McGonagall he had eventually relented. Fred and George popped in the next day with their friend Lee Jordan to recover from injuries acquired in a friendly duel that had gotten a bit out of hand, but Madam Pomfrey was an expert in treating duelling curses and they were out again within hours.

Harry almost thought he had gotten away without a chat with Dumbledore when, as Madam Pomfrey was giving him one last check over before discharging him, the tall figure of the headmaster appeared at the end of Harry's bed.

'Good evening, Headmaster.' Harry said as Madam Pomfrey made an excuse to go to her office.

'Hello, Harry.' Dumbledore replied serenely, perching himself on the edge of the adjacent bed. 'I hope that you are feeling well.'

'Very well, thank you.' Harry replied, 'And yourself?'

'In good health, Harry.' Dumbledore said with an easy smile. 'And given my age, that is all that I can ask.'

Harry, taken with a sudden cheekiness, couldn't help but ask. 'Exactly how old are you, sir?'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement. 'Too old to possibly answer that question honestly, Harry.'

'Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to pry.'

'And yet, I think you probably did.' Dumbledore retorted. The words would have stung if the headmaster hadn't said them with such warmth. 'In any case, there is no need for apologies. In the everlasting quest for knowledge, we sometimes are required to ask unusual or uncomfortable questions, and that is something to encourage, not shy away from.'

'Right,' Harry said in reply. 'Er - Well, thank you then, sir.'

'Indeed, Harry.' Dumbledore said. 'And indeed, in my own quest for knowledge, I feel I must now ask you some uncomfortable questions.'

'Yes, sir. I thought you might.' Harry said. He sat himself up straighter in bed and tried to prepare for the coming interrogation. Harry had been thinking about this moment from the instant his head had stopped buzzing following Voldemort's attack. It had been a certainty that Dumbledore would want answers at some point and, more than that, as a skilled legilimens, there was likely very little that Harry would be able to do to avoid answering honestly. The problem, of course, was that Dumbledore might easily stumble upon a little too much information, and if there was one person who could do untold damage to the timeline, more than Harry had already done, it was someone with Dumbledore's power and influence.

Harry had considered trying occlumency for a moment, but it was a skill he had never developed, even as an adult, and Dumbledore would find a clumsy barrier more suspicious than a lying child any day.

In the end, Harry had concocted what he thought was a reasonably believable story that, whilst Dumbledore would undoubtedly sense some subterfuge on Harry's part, hopefully the headmaster would put it down to the pride and embarrassment of an 11-year-old, rather than the deliberate duplicity of an adult.

'Good,' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled happily, 'Then let us begin. Tell me, Harry. How was it that you came to know of the Philosopher's Stone, and its location?'

And so, Harry began weaving his web. He actually hadn't been aware of the Philosopher's Stone until the day Professor Quirrell had attacked him, he lied. During the attack, Quirrell had mentioned the Stone and his intention to steal it. All he had known prior to that incident was that Quirrell was up to something. Harry recalled to Dumbledore how he had stumbled upon Quirrell and Snape arguing, thinking the entire time about this experience in the original timeline, when Harry had encountered the pair arguing in the Forbidden Forest. Technically, Harry had reasoned, the story was true, as were the memories that Dumbledore would undoubtedly skim from Harry's mind to verify his story.

From that conversation, Harry went on to say, he had worked out that Quirrell was trying to steal something within the castle, and from there Harry had put two and two together with the fact that the 3rd floor corridor was off limits. He had gone up to the 3rd floor corridor that afternoon in order to investigate when Quirrell had ambushed him, during which Quirrell had revealed his true intentions.

Dumbledore sat patiently throughout this explanation, nodding his head and looking concerned in all the appropriate places, but Harry could sense that the professor wasn't entirely convinced. The twinkle in his eyes, usually ever-present, slowly diminished as Harry's story went on, until the headmaster's eyes looked positively dull by the time he next spoke.

'Whilst I don't want you to think that I don't believe you, Harry.' Dumbledore said, the look on his face telling the opposite story, 'I'm not clear on why you believed Professor Quirrell attacked you in the corridor.' he said. 'If he was attempting to gain access to the 3rd floor corridor, as a teacher at this school he didn't need to explain his presence to you, or cover up his intentions. Why didn't he simply send you away? Why would he attack?'

Harry nodded. It was a good question, and hopefully the truth would help back up Harry's story. 'Because, sir,' Harry replied, 'Professor Quirrell was not alone in his own body. He was sharing it with Voldemort.'

Professor Dumbledore blinked, visibly taken aback. 'That is very brave of you, Harry.' the professor said, 'To say the name as boldly as you do. I have often said, the tendency of witches and wizards to refer to Voldemort by other, more palatable, names will do nothing but increase the fear of the man behind the name.'

'It's not because I'm brave, sir. It's just sometimes I forget that people don't like to hear the name.' Harry said, feigning modesty. 'But, does that mean that you believe me? That it really was Voldemort?'

Dumbledore sighed and caught Harry's gaze once more. The piercing blue eyes delved deep within Harry's soul and Harry struggled not to panic too much. As if his thoughts were being guided, he played back his memory of Voldemort from those few days prior, from the vision of Voldemort's face crafted into the back of Quirrell's head, to the more ethereal form of Voldemort gliding around the room like a malevolent spectre.

With a gasp, Harry returned to the room, Dumbledore's gaze now averted. The headmaster had read his thoughts, quite unsubtly too, but fortunately nothing too incriminating had been revealed.

'I've known for a long time now that Voldemort was likely to return.' Dumbledore said, as if continuing their conversation like nothing had happened. Perhaps this was a trick that he played regularly, and that most people untrained in occlumency would shrug off as an impromptu daydream. Harry wondered how many times the headmaster had done it to him in the past without him noticing. Harry suddenly felt violated.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was continuing his explanation, either wilfully ignoring or truly ignorant of Harry's sudden unease.

'You see, when he attempted to kill you as a baby, something extraordinary happened that neither he nor I yet fully understand. It resulted in Voldemort losing his mortal body, along the majority of his power, and becoming the formless creature that you saw in that chamber. Neither truly alive, nor dead. That he would attempt to find a way of restoring himself to a body only makes sense.

'In the Philosopher's Stone, and the live-giving Elixir it creates, he must have seen that possibility. With it, he would have been able to regain his body and restore his power. As an artefact, the Philosopher's Stone is an incredible thing, worth studying and preserving for posterity, but given the very real risk that Voldemort might try again to acquire it, I'm afraid we have little choice but to now destroy it.'

'Destroy it?' Harry said, a feeling a deja vous ringing in his ears from this very conversation all those years ago. 'But what about your friend, Nicolas Flamel? Won't he die?'

'Oh, you know about Nicolas, do you?' Dumbledore asked, cheering momentarily. 'I must commend you on your knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone's pedigree. Not many first year students have that much interest in alchemy.'

'It was Hermione who recognised the name.' Harry admitted, a truth in both timelines. 'She even gave me a book to read about him.' Harry indicated to his bed side table, where a large library tome lay forgotten under an assortment of empty chocolate frog wrappers. 'I did try and read it.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Clearly.' he said with a chuckle. 'Well, Nicolas and I have had a chat about it, and we both believe that it is time for the Stone to be destroyed. Nicolas and his wife have more than enough Elixir stored up to put their affairs in order, after which time, yes, Harry. They shall both pass on.'

'That seems a bit drastic.' Harry said automatically. It occurred to Harry that he was now arguing counter to his own plans of preserving the timeline as closely as possible, but he couldn't help himself. 'I mean, sure Voldemort could use it to get his body back, but there must be other ways to do that. It seems a shame that two people have to die to stop another from living. Especially when he might do that another way anyway. Couldn't you just protect the Stone better? Now that he's failed to steal it, surely Voldemort won't come for it again!'

Once again, Dumbledore chuckled. 'A sound argument, Harry, but alas, the decision has already been made. I commend you for your dedication to preserving life where you can, but in this case it was Nicolas's own suggestion, and therefore his and Perenelle's choice. When you have lived as long as they, death is no longer something one fears like you or I might. Instead, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.'

'Maybe…' Harry said, the scepticism in his voice real.

'And as for if we could have protected the Stone any better, I don't believe so.' Dumbledore said. 'Perhaps you are not aware, but Quirrell attempted once before to steal the Stone, from a vault deep within the catacombs of Gringotts Bank. He might have succeeded too, if I hadn't had Hagrid move the Stone to the castle earlier that very same day, the day he visited the bank with you, in fact.'

'I had wondered what that was.' Harry admitted. 'If you don't mind me saying, Hagrid isn't the most subtle of people. He almost told me what was in the package a few times.'

'And yet, he did not.' Dumbledore countered easily. 'So you see, if Voldemort found a way to get his followers to the Stone on two separate occasions in the past year, within two of the most secure buildings in the country, I might add, I see no reason to suspect that he would stop trying to do so going forward, or that we could protect it better.'

Harry nodded. He had wracked his brain to come up with a way of preserving the Stone, but had come to the same conclusions at Dumbledore. It didn't stop it from being unfortunate or sad, of course, but at least this way Voldemort couldn't be tempted into making another attempt. Quirrell might still be around, but that didn't change the fact that the only way for Voldemort to now regain his body would be through the ceremony at the graveyard. Things were, in a way, still on track.

And regarding Quirrell…

'What will happen to Quirrell?' Harry asked, blurting the question out as his mind came to it. 'I mean, now that Voldemort isn't stuck to the back of his head.'

Dumbledore, perhaps taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, frowned momentarily, before his more usual mask of cheerful serenity replaced it.

'Well, I doubt that Professor Quirrell will be returning to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts next year.' the headmaster quipped, stressing Quirrell's title, despite the fact that the man was now disgraced. 'In truth, his fate will be down to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Undoubtedly, Professor Quirrell will be interrogated by the Auror's office – dark wizard catchers.' Dumbledore clarified unnecessarily for Harry's benefit, unaware that the boy before him had actually headed up the Auror's office for many years in a former life. 'But ultimately I believe that Professor Quirrell will be declared either insane or simply a liar. He'll probably end up in wizarding prison – Azkaban.'

Harry nodded. 'Ron's told me about it.' He explained. 'Sounds horrible.'

'It's no holiday camp, Harry.'

'But, why would they call Professor Quirrell a liar? Voldemort really was in the back of his head!' It was a question that Harry knew full-well the answer to, but that he felt should be asked, if only to lay the groundwork for later on. The more Dumbledore believed Harry knew about Voldemort and his followers, the less suspicious it would be later if he accidentally revealed a fact that was hard to explain away.

'Because, Harry,' Dumbledore said sagely, 'the Ministry of Magic, and the Minister for Magic in particular, do not wish to see Voldemort returning as a possibility. They're happy believing that he is gone for good, and when people have such a strong desire to believe one thing, it's incredible how much evidence they're willing to ignore before they allow the possibility to enter their mind that they might be wrong. Even my word, along with sworn statements by Professors McGonagall and Snape, who both say that they saw Voldemort's shade that day, will not sway their belief, and certainly not the testimony of a man they don't respect, like Quirrell.'

'They don't respect him?' Harry asked.

'To them, he is no longer a trustworthy Hogwarts Professor, but instead a criminal who attempted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, twice. Tell me, Harry. What's easier to believe? That a man might attempt to steal the Stone for personal gain, given that it can create not only the Elixir of Life, but also unlimited wealth, or that he did so in order to resurrect a long-dead dark wizard that, he claims, resided in the back of his head until recently?'

Harry nodded. He had heard a fair number of far-fetched stories from criminals in his time with the Aurors, but nothing as wacky as that. 'Fair enough. Will he ever be let out of Azkaban, do you think?'

'And allow him to tell everyone that Voldemort has not only returned, but that he never left?' Dumbledore smiled. 'I think that's unlikely to ever happen, Harry. Not under this administration, anyway.'

If only he knew, Harry couldn't help but think. 'Well, thank you for explaining everything to me, Professor.' Harry said, leaning back against his pillows. 'I hope I didn't cause too much trouble for you.'

'On the contrary, Harry.' Dumbledore said, getting to his feet. 'By the reckoning of both Professors McGonagall and Snape, even in his current state, Voldemort was no pushover. You must have put up quite the fight to last as long as you did, probably preventing Voldemort from accessing the Stone in the process. It is I who should be thanking you, and your friends. In fact, I hereby award each of you 20 Points, for your bravery and skill. Getting yourselves through the trials was an impressive task in its own right, not that I condone your actions, of course.'

The headmaster smiled serenely down at Harry. 'However, in future, perhaps you should inform me of any suspicions you have about my teachers before confronting them? It causes an awful lot less paperwork that way, you see.'

Harry grinned back. 'I'll try, Professor, and thank you.'

Dumbledore stood and turned to go, but as he rounded the bottom of Harry's bed, he paused.

'One more thing, Harry.' he said, and Harry's heart sunk. What had he missed? What had he let slip that Dumbledore had picked up on? He braced himself for the question to come.

'As you might expect, before the Ministry Aurors arrived to arrest Professor Quirrell, I had a chance to talk to him.' Dumbledore looked up and engaged Harry with his twinkling eyes. 'Would it surprise you to know that Professor Quirrell believed that I had sent you to monitor him on my behalf?'

Harry ducked his head. He had told Quirrell that, hadn't he. A clumsy lie that he had hoped would be covered up with Quirrell's death. Of course Quirrell would have repeated the lie to Dumbledore when interrogated. Even if Quirrell had attempted to tell the headmaster nothing, Harry knew that Dumbledore was more than happy to use veritaserum in these kinds of scenarios. Harry would have to be much more careful in future.

'I thought that if … If I said that I was there on your orders, sir, Quirrell might be less inclined to harm me.' Harry said, thinking quickly. 'I was wrong.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed you were, Harry. However, I feel that perhaps I should be the one apologising to you. Whilst you might not have been operating under my orders, as a student in my school, you were and still are under my protection. For you to have been attacked by one of my own staff members is deeply distressing to me, and whilst I cannot condone you using my name to legitimise your rule-breaking, you never-the-less should have been able to rely on my protection.'

'That's okay, sir.' Harry replied, seizing the high ground before Dumbledore could whisk it away again. 'For what it's worth, there's nowhere I feel safer than Hogwarts.'

'Not even your home, Harry?' Dumbledore asked, face neutral. Harry wondered just how much the headmaster knew about what went on at Privet Drive. More than he let on, Harry bet. And yet, the need for Harry to return to his blood relatives every year trumped any concerns Dumbledore might have had. In the end it had been that decision, to send Harry back to the Dursleys every year, that had saved Harry's life in the final battle with Voldemort.

Not that Dumbledore had known that at the time.

'To be honest, sir. Hogwarts feels like more of a home to me than Privet Drive ever was.'

It might have been Harry's imagination, but the headmaster seemed saddened by Harry's statement.

Dumbledore departed soon after, and as Madam Pomfrey appeared from her office to begin the process of discharging Harry from her infirmary, Harry allowed himself a moment to relax. He judged that he might have just about gotten away with it. There was no doubt that Dumbledore had questions about his story, and that he had used legilimency to peer into Harry's memories of the event in question, but Harry had detected no sign that Dumbledore had thought Harry was out-and-out lying to him.

That Harry had known about Nicolas Flamel, and had seemed interested in the fate of both Voldemort and Quirrell, had in Harry's estimation helped steer the conversation away from Harry's concoction of half-truths, and towards safer ground. Harry hoped that all future conversations with the headmaster would go so well.

Madam Pomfrey pulled a portable curtain around Harry's bed in order for him to change back into his uniform, and Harry pulled himself back to reality. As he jammed an ill-fitting shoe on his foot he steeled himself for his return to school life, and the furore that would undoubtedly follow. After all, Hogwarts had the most uncanny ability to spread even the most private of secrets around itself in no time at all, and the tale of why Quirrell had been arrested would surely have made the rounds already, as would Harry's involvement in it.

Straightening his jumper and patting the pocket where his wand safely resided, Harry reappeared from around the curtain and thanked Madam Pomfrey, then headed towards the door.

And the madness that would undoubtedly reside on the other side of it.

Harry was cornered the next day by a tight-faced Professor McGonagall, who informed him that he would be expected in Transfiguration class that afternoon. The Professor seemed determined to interact with Harry as little as possible, barely looking him in the eye long enough to convey her message before disappearing into the nearest hidden passageway.

The encounter troubled Harry. McGonagall had never been particularly nurturing in her manner, but Harry had always thought that she was at least fond of him. However, the detachment she had shown in that instant implied that something had happened to drastically change her feelings towards him. Harry's best guess was that Dumbledore must have said something to her that had coloured her opinion of him somehow. It was a concern, and Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on how the professor interacted with him in the future.

He wondered if Snape would treat him any differently. The professor was in Dumbledore's trust, after all, and would likely have been given the same information as McGonagall. Not that Harry could imagine how much worse Snape could behave towards him, it was just that if anybody could come up with a way to do so, it was the Potions Professor.

Of course, Snape's opinion of him, especially the perception of Harry wanting attention, wouldn't have been helped at all by the fact that everyone in the castle seemed to know that Harry had had something to do with Quirrell's arrest. The most common story going around was that Harry had duelled the Professor, although who won the duel depended on who you asked, whilst the most outlandish story Harry had heard involved Quirrell being a vampire.

Ron, who was getting a fair amount of attention himself for helping Harry, along with both Hermione and Neville, spent the first few days embellishing these stories, making up even more extravagant tales every time he was asked about it. This annoyed Hermione to no-end, whilst Neville seemed embarrassed by the whole thing.

It wasn't until almost a week after being discharged from the Hospital Wing that the school seemed to calm down enough for Harry and his friends to freely walk through the corridors without being impeded by people wanting to ask them questions about Quirrell. However, despite this renewed freedom, none of his friends seemed as happy as they had been before their adventure into the 3rd floor corridor, and thanks to Ron's inability to hold any thought in, it wasn't long until Harry discovered why they had been so subdued.

'But seriously,' Ron blurted out one day as they walked slowly towards a History of Magic class that none of them were particularly looking forward to. In the lead up to exams, Professor Binns's lessons had become so dry that even Hermione had started to lack enthusiasm for the subject. 'Why didn't you tell us about Quirrell before?'

Harry sighed. He knew the question would come up eventually. 'Because it didn't seem important.' he replied. 'I didn't know Quirrell was actually up to anything until he attacked me. You were there, you saw!'

'Actually,' Neville said, 'We didn't actually see that much.' His face, along with the tone of his voice, was apologetic. 'We heard a couple of loud bangs, then we came around the corner and saw you on the floor.'

'Yeah!' Ron agreed, 'Then Hermione appeared out of nowhere.'

Hermione chose that moment to chime in. 'If you didn't suspect Quirrell until then, what were you doing in that corridor, Harry?'

Harry chewed his cheek as he mulled over his options. He clearly couldn't tell them the truth. Harry wasn't even sure that they'd believe him if he did. But he had to give them something, just like Dumbledore. Fortunately, he'd been thinking about this conversation for a while, and he thought that perhaps he had an answer.

He cast his gaze around the corridor and decided that there were too many people about. He stepped over to a disused classroom and opened the door. The room beyond was dimly lit, and extremely dusty, but private.

'In here.' he said, eyeing the other students in the corridor as they passed. A few looked interestedly their way, but the next class was due to start soon and most hurried on. Ron and Neville filed through the door without preamble, but Hermione seemed hesitant.

'Please, Hermione.' Harry pleaded, 'I'll explain everything, just not in the corridor.'

Hermione looked like she was about to refuse, but then caught sight of a couple of fourth years who had entirely stopped their own conversation to regard Harry and Hermione as they passed by. Hermione sighed and relented, and Harry closed the door after her.

'I got a bad feeling.' Harry said eventually, after they had all assembled in the dim classroom. 'I can't really explain it, except that when we saw Dumbledore receive that Ministry owl, I got this feeling deep down in my gut that something was wrong.'

'You didn't say anything at the time.' Neville pointed out.

Harry scoffed. 'What could I have said? Um, guys, I've got this funny feeling…' he mimed. 'All I knew was that I had to get to the 3rd Floor Corridor.'

Hermione seemed unimpressed. 'You got a feeling, Harry?' she said, 'What rubbish.'

'Actually,' Neville said, unexpectedly coming to Harry's defence. 'One of Gran's friends used to say she had those sorts of feelings all the time.' he shuffled uncomfortably under Hermione's challenging gaze. 'Most of the time it was about knowing to take an umbrella, or picking up an extra potion ingredient at the store, but once, when I was little, I wandered off into the woods by my house and she sensed that I was lost and came looking for me.'

'She must have been a seer.' Ron said, sagely. 'There was one in my family, a couple of generations back. Do you think you might be one, Harry?'

Given how surprised Harry was that both Ron and Neville seemed to be accepting this story so readily, Harry doubted it very much. Regardless, he instinctively leant into the story.

'Maybe.' he lied. 'Or maybe there was something else going on.' he gestured towards his hairline, where the curse scar was partially hidden. 'If Voldemort-'

Both Ron and Neville flinched at the name.

'Sorry, if You-Know-Who was really in Quirrell's head,' Harry continued, 'Then maybe I knew because of my scar. Dumbledore once told me that curse scars have strange properties sometimes. Maybe it gives me a link to You-Know-Who somehow!'

'I can't believe that he's still alive.' Neville said. 'Dumbledore really said so?'

Harry nodded. 'He did, plus I saw him! Ron and Hermione too. That thing that attacked us in the forest; that was You-Know-Who!'

Ron shuddered. 'It was proper scary.' he told Neville. 'I fought him off though.' Ron puffed his chest out.

'I thought you said that was a lethifold!' Neville said.

'Nah,' Ron sniffed, 'Like I said all along, Scotland is too cold for lethifolds.'

Harry raised an eyebrow.

'Wait.' Hermione suddenly said, bringing the conversation back. 'You being a seer? That seems a little silly to me, and even claiming a connection through your scar doesn't explain how you knew about the Philosopher's Stone.'

'Quirrell told me about the Stone!' Harry lied, 'Just before he attacked me. He told me that he was going to steal it, but first he would deal with me.'

'And that didn't seem strange to you?' Hermione asked. 'Professor Quirrell just telling you his plan?'

Ron laughed. 'What does it matter, Hermione? If you had You-Know-Who in the back of your head for a year, you'd probably say strange stuff too.'

'That's what happened, Hermione.' Harry sighed, 'I don't know what else I can say.'

'Oh, Harry.' Hermione said, her expression finally softening. 'It's not that I don't believe you. Obviously, Professor Quirrell did attack you, and if Dumbledore believes that he had You-Know-Who in the back of his head, then that's proof enough for me. It's just…'

'I know.' Harry said, 'Trust me, it's weird for me too.'

A small smile spread across Hermione's face, and Harry knew he was forgiven. 'How about, next time, you'll give us a heads up the next time you get a funny feeling?' Hermione countered. 'If we're all there, then we won't have this problem.'

'Deal.' Harry agreed. He looked down at his watch. 'But we need to go. We're going to be late to Binns's class.'

'Ah, but do you have a funny feeling that we'll be late?' Ron quipped as they emerged back into the corridor.

'Shut up, Ron.' Harry and Hermione said in unison.

Exams that year seemed to fall at exactly the wrong time, just as the weather declared that summer had arrived. Classes, for the most part, were stuffy and overly warm affairs, where most students spent most of their time gazing longingly out the windows at the banks of the Great Lake. Students had taken to doing their studying out on the castle lawns, and some of the more adventurous risk takers had even gone swimming in the lake, braving the ire of the Giant Squid that lived within.

The exams themselves, taken in the mercifully cool Great Hall, gave Harry something other than Quirrell and Voldemort to think about. Whilst he found the written portions of the exams entertaining, if a little tedious, given that he was deliberately trying not to answer the exceedingly easy questions entirely correctly, it was the practical exams in which he found himself having the most fun. The challenge of tricking the examiner into believing that Harry only had a rudimentary mastery over such simple spells using only his left hand gave him a real sense of achievement.

The only exam that Harry didn't hold back on was the Potions exam, determined to rub Snape's increasingly unpleasant nose in the fact that Harry could, in fact, brew potions competently. He didn't expect a fair result, but just knowing that Snape will have witnessed a perfectly brewed potion from him was its own reward.

As First Years, they hadn't had long to wait for their results. Unlike with O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, which took more than a month to release, First Year exam results came out almost immediately. Harry had done quite well, as might have been expected, but was delighted to see that Hermione had beaten him in a couple of subjects, including Potions. His History of Magic grade, in particular, was well below where he had aimed for, but Ron quickly decided that he and Harry should, in fact, be proud of their 'T' grades.

'Shows that we're not perfect.' His best friend had declared loudly to the Gryffindor common room at large. 'Plus, Fred and George didn't pass all of their exams either. Compared to them, we're geniuses!'

Hermione had been appalled by that sentiment, and had instantly resolved to draw them up a study schedule for their next exam period, enquiring to Fred and George if they would be interested in having one made for them too.

'What are you on about, Hermione?' Fred had replied cheerfully, brandishing his exam results. 'I passed the three that counted!' Which had naturally sent Hermione into a complete panic on their behalf as she realised quite how badly they had failed their exams.

The day to depart Hogwarts approached rapidly after that. Slytherin won the House Cup at the final assembly, which irked Harry more than he realised it would. Whilst the points Dumbledore had awarded Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville for their part in stopping Quirrell had helped elevate Gryffindor to second in the rankings, other factors had conspired on changing just enough during the year that Gryffindor missed out on the Cup by a mere three points. Harry decided that, on balance, it wasn't the worst thing in the world, and that a change in the House Points tally by five or so either way wasn't evidence of Time getting out of hand, but it did serve as a stark reminder that even subtle changes could have lasting consequences. As a result, although the Gryffindor's still managed a party in the common room that night, instead of it being a celebration of winning the cup, it was more a celebration of the end of exams and the start of summer holidays. Despite Harry's best efforts, they had still lost the Quidditch Cup too, much to the dismay of Oliver Wood, but Harry knew the future professional would have his moment in the sun soon enough.

When Professor McGonagall broke the party up at midnight, it was a content Harry who returned to his bed. As he listened to Seamus and Ron carry on their argument over which Slytherin seventh-year was the most ugly and likely to marry a troll after leaving Hogwarts, Harry smiled to himself. Given everything that could have gone wrong that year, not least the risk of actual bodily harm at the hands of a murderous professor, things were about as good as Harry could have hoped. He had brought together Ron and Hermione again, despite their drastically different personalities. He had stopped Quirrell and unmasked Voldemort, bringing Dumbledore alive to the fact that his old enemy was closer at hand than even the headmaster might have thought possible. He had defeated another troll.

He had failed to kill Quirrell, and although Harry was concerned how it might affect the timeline, he found it hard to regret not killing a man.

Plus, all things considered, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse.

The next day the students filed onto the Hogwarts Express. Hermione joined the Gryffindor boys in their carriage, and it was a loud and happy train ride back to London, if a little cramped. Harry, in particular, was in high spirits. Ginny had sent him a letter the night before informing him that she'd be on the platform, ostensibly waiting for Ron, and he couldn't wait to see her again. Even the sobering prospect of having to return to Little Whinging with the Dursleys couldn't dampen the excitement he was feeling.

Plus, the fact that he knew Ron and the Twins would come and 'rescue' him within a month of returning to Privet Drive was a comforting one. Then he'd get to stay at one of his favourite places on Earth for an entire month – The Burrow.

A couple of weeks scaring Dudley half to death with the threats of turning him into a pig were a small price to pay for that.

The train pulled into King's Cross Station in the early evening, although being summer the sun still sat high over the horizon. As the students made their way off the train, Harry said his goodbyes to Dean and Seamus, as well as a few other First Years as he encountered them. The platform itself was packed, and he had to force his way through some older children just to get enough room to look around properly.

Of course Ron's family, with their flaming red hair, weren't particularly hard to pick out of a crowd, and they quickly made their way over to them, dragging Hermione in tow to introduce her.

'Mum!' Ron called out as soon as they were within earshot. 'Dad! Over here!'

Mr and Mrs Weasley beamed at them all as they approached, and Mrs Weasley enveloped Ron in a hug as he came into range, whilst Mr Weasley shook Harry's hand enthusiastically.

'Hello, dears.' Mrs Weasley said as she released her son. 'How are you all? You know, Ron, I think you've grown.'

Ron blushed and backed out of hugging range, lest it happen again unexpectedly. 'Mum…'

'We're very well, Mrs Weasley.' Harry said politely, his eyes darting about to try and catch sight of Ginny, who was conspicuously absent. 'How are you both?'

'Oh, we're doing just fine.' Mr Weasley said warmly. 'Glad to see you all again, of course.'

They chatted amiably for a number of moments before Mrs Weasley noticed Hermione hanging back, waiting to be introduced. 'Oh, hello there, dear.' she said, 'Are you another of Ron's friends?'

Hermione straightened. 'Hermione Granger.' she said, stepping forward confidently and thrusting out a hand. 'Nice to meet you.'

Mrs Weasley's smile widened. 'And you!' she said, shaking Hermione's hand in both of her own. 'Such polite friends you have, Ronald. I wonder if it might rub off on you a little.'

'MUM!' Ron protested.

Harry chuckled. 'We'll work on it.' he said under his breath, causing Hermione to throw him a very sceptical look that was caught by Mr Weasley, who laughed.

Once again a pleasant chattering broke out, and Harry happily engaged in it, savouring the last few moments of amiable conversation he would likely experience for a month. And yet, he couldn't quite force himself to enjoy it fully, distracted as he was with finding Ginny. He'd never forgive himself if he somehow missed her before returning to Surrey with the Dursleys.

Mr Weasley eventually picked up on Harry's preoccupation, and correctly guessed what was wrong.

'She said that she was going to help the Twins with your cases.' he said to Harry in a low voice and a knowing smile. 'I suggest you try looking back towards the train.'

Harry smiled gratefully and excused himself, saying his goodbyes to Neville and Hermione as he did so. Both gave him brief hugs and promised to write.

Backtracking towards the train, Harry made sure he was out of sight of Mr Weasley before veering off. He knew where Ginny would be, and it wasn't anywhere near where the Twins might overhear them. Using the cover of the crowded platform, Harry made his way over to the same low archway that he had stopped under all those months ago after being thrown back in time.

And there she was. Small, flaming haired, and cute as a button. Ginny Weasley, aged ten.

'You took your time!' she said hotly as he approached. 'Mum's probably wondering where I am by now.'

Harry grinned. Even in a bad mood, he found her charming. 'Oh, don't worry about that. She's entirely distracted by the fact that Ron has a friend who's a girl.' he said gleefully, 'Anyway, they think you're with the Twins.'

Without really thinking about it, he pulled her into a hug. She tensed briefly, then relaxed into it. Harry felt his cheeks flushing and released her, a little annoyed that his body had so little self control. His only solace was that she seemed just as affected.

'I never thought I'd wish for puberty to happen.' Ginny mumbled, her cheeks rosy. 'At least girls mature faster than boys do.'

'Race you.' Harry said with a grin, before turning serious. 'So, I suppose we have some stuff to talk about, huh?'

'You mean Quirrell?' Ginny replied solemnly. 'You know, as much as it's going to complicate things, I can't deny that I'm a little relieved you didn't kill anyone. I know that's not who you are.'

Harry nodded. 'I had similar thoughts.' he admitted. 'Last time, it wasn't really even me who killed him. He attacked me, not the other way around, and I didn't know what would happen if he touched my skin.'

'I know, Harry.' Ginny said, taking his hand in hers. 'This was a completely different situation, and perhaps that's why it didn't go to plan. Personally, I don't even think you're capable of killing.' she said softly. 'And that's not a bad thing.'

'But, perhaps we should try and avoid thinking on it for now.' she said, 'The Azkaban break out won't happen for a few years yet, and maybe we'll think of something in the meantime. Who knows, free of Voldemort's influence, Quirrell might turn out to be a good guy?'

'I like your optimism, Gin, but I'm afraid that's unlikely.' Harry sighed. 'Quirrell freely allowed Voldemort use him, and whilst I'm sure there must have been some kind of manipulation, it was Quirrell's own nature that made him susceptible to it. Plus, a few years in Azkaban is enough to drive even sane men stir crazy, so I wouldn't count on him switching sides any time soon.'

Ginny nodded and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Enjoying the touch of Ginny's hand, Harry rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. It was a very chaste form of intimacy, but no less affecting.

'We should go.' Ginny said eventually, her cheeks flushed. 'Mum will only be distracted by Hermione for so long, and I've got to find the Twins before they blow my cover.'

'And I better head the other side of the barrier to find the Dursleys before they leave without me.' Harry sighed. 'I've already kept them waiting too long. I'll come with you to grab my trunk, and then I'll need to go.'

'Don't forget that Mum needs to meet them too.' Ginny reminded him. 'Today's impression really helps to cement her hatred of them.'

Harry nodded and allowed Ginny's hand to fall away as they emerged back onto the platform and towards the train where student trunks were being unloaded. 'Oh, I don't think it takes anything specific for a person to hate the Dursleys, Gin.' he said, already missing her touch. 'Five minutes with them is enough for most people.'

'Maybe.' Ginny conceded, 'but I've been looking forward to it all year, so make it happen, okay?'

They found the Twins chatting with Oliver Wood, the three of them already deep into planning for next year's Quidditch campaign. Conversation immediately stopped when they caught sight of Harry and Ginny approaching, serious expressions replaced with predatory ones.

'So, that's where you ran of to, sister!' Fred crowed loudly, 'It's amazing how the two of you seem to appear together so often.'

'And in plain sight of us, too!' George said gleefully, 'Almost as if you want us to read into it.'

'And if I wasn't your favourite sister, you might have done.' Ginny replied. 'But because you love me so much, you're going to resist jumping to conclusions, or Mum will get an anonymous tip-off regarding some less-than-savoury Zonko items that I might have stumbled across hidden around the house in the past year…' she let the threat hang in the air.

'George, I think we may have taught her too well.' Fred said eventually, sharing a side-long look with his twin.

'Indeed, brother-mine.' George agreed, 'We may have created a monster.'

'Good, well I'm glad we got that sorted.' Ginny said frankly. 'Now, where's Harry's trunk? He's got to go meet his horrible Aunt and Uncle.'

With the Twin's help, Harry's trunk was loaded swiftly onto a trolly, along with Hedwig's cage. The owl pecked grumpily at Harry's fingers, having been woken from a nap, but settled down again quickly, and soon Harry was saying goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys.

'I need to go and find my Aunt and Uncle before they leave the station.' Harry explained to a bewildered Mr Weasley. 'They won't come this side of the barrier, you see. Not big fans of magic.'

'Well, perhaps I should give you a hand then, hey?' Mr Weasley suggested, taking control of Harry's trolley without waiting for Harry's response. 'It'll be good to at least meet them. Put a name to the face, if you know what I mean.'

Harry did, and given the chat he and Mr Weasley had had during the Easter break, the words rang even more heavily than perhaps they should. Butterflies suddenly appeared in Harry's stomach, and an absurd thought crossed Harry's mind. Was he so ashamed of the Dursleys that he was embarrassed for Mr Weasley to even meet them? He supposed that he was about to find out.

'I'm coming too.' Ginny declared. 'Fred, George?'

Harry snuck a look at Ginny, who's fierce gaze glared defiantly back at him. What was she playing at? This wasn't how it had originally happened.

'Wouldn't miss it.' an increasingly bewildered George said. 'What do they look like, anyway?'

'Oh, you'll know when you see them.' Harry replied. 'They'll be the ones that look like they've swallowed lemons.'

After a brief hold up at the barrier, where an elderly conductor was forcing families to leave in small groups to avoid alarming the Muggles on the other side by all appearing at once, they stepped foot out into the Muggle world. Immediately, Harry could almost feel the oppressive non-magical nature of the environment, so different to the wizarding world.

Finding the Dursleys proved to be no challenge at all. Given how wide Harry's Uncle Vernon was, paired with his tall and almost unhealthily thin wife, Harry's Aunt Petunia, the two of them stuck out almost as much as the Weasley's did with their orange hair. In fact, the way that Uncle Vernon seemed to deliberately avert his eyes as Harry and his entourage approached, he was sure that they had been spotted almost as easily.

'Hello, Uncle Vernon.' Harry said, 'Aunt Petunia. It's good to see you both. You too, Dudley.'

Harry didn't honestly feel happy to see any of them. It was true that Dudley, once he had married and moved away from his parents' sphere of influence, had re-established contact with Harry, and the pair had an aloof if not entirely terrible relationship as adults, but as a child Dudley had been thoroughly unpleasant. If anything, knowing how much kinder Dudley could be made seeing him revert back to the spoilt child that much worse.

'Harry.' Uncle Vernon said by way of greeting. He looked Harry up and down, still refusing to acknowledge the crowd of red-headed people surrounding his nephew. 'Ready, are you?'

'Yes, Uncle, but before we go, I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine.' Harry said. He knew that he'd cop flack for it later that day, for having the nerve to introduce them to 'weirdos' like himself, but it would be worth it. There was a kind of perverse pleasure that came with showing off his unpleasant relatives.

'I'd like you to meet Fred and George. They're friends from Hogwarts, and this is Ginny, their sister.' he said, indicating to each in turn. 'And this is their father, Mr Weasley.'

'Nice to meet you.' Mr Weasley said genially, holding out a hand. Uncle Vernon ignored it.

'Uh-huh.' Uncle Vernon said, glancing at each briefly. 'And I suppose they're all… Well… Like you?' The last two words were hissed in a low voice, rather than spoken, as if doing so would stop anyone but Harry hearing it.

'Um, well yes.' Harry conceded. 'They're like me.'

'I'm sorry.' Mr Weasley cut in, his hand long since retracted. 'But is there some kind of problem?'

Uncle Vernon seemed to recoil at the question. 'No problem.' he said, managing to avoid eye contact with the wizard. 'Anyway, look here, we need to be going.' He took a step backwards, and Aunt Petunia moved back with him. 'Say goodbye to your… friends, boy.' The large man seemed to struggle over the word, but somehow managed to get it out. 'Meet us at the car.'

Given the man's size, it was almost impressive how fast Uncle Vernon managed to retreat himself and his family from the small gaggle of wizards, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

'Well, that was interesting.' George said, somewhat more diplomatically than Harry thought him capable of.

'I don't think he looked at me more than once.' Mr Weasley said. 'Are you sure you want to go home with them, Harry?'

The question, Harry knew, came from a place of concern for Harry's welfare, but as much as he wanted to take Mr Weasley up on the implied offer to stay the entire summer at the Burrow, he also knew that he had little choice. He had to maintain his mother's blood magic, and to do that he had to live under Aunt Petunia's roof. There was simply no getting around it.

Harry glanced at Ginny, and for a brief moment their eyes met. There was a question in her gaze, as if asking if Harry could stay with them. Had he not explained the role his mother's blood magic had played in Voldemort's downfall to her? He was sure he had.

'I'll be fine, Mr Weasley.' Harry replied eventually. 'They're not exactly pleasant people, but they're family.'

'They seem quite different to you.' Fred pointed out. 'Are you sure?'

Harry grinned. 'I am, but thank you for asking.'

'Well, if you're sure.' George said, clapping Harry on the back. 'But send Ron an owl if you want rescuing.'

'Or just hop on that broom of yours.' Fred said, 'I reckon you could fly to our house in less than an hour on that thing.'

'I would strongly advise against that, Harry.' Mr Weasley cautioned. 'Or the Ministry will skin you alive for breaching the Statue of Secrecy. Muggles aren't accustomed to seeing flying brooms, you know.'

'But flying cars, that's okay, is it, Dad?' George said with a cheeky grin.

Mr Weasley sent a withering look his son's way, but said nothing.

'Well, you best be off then, Harry.' Fred said instead. 'See you next year.'

'Yeah.' George agreed. 'And don't let the Muggles get you down!'

Mr Weasley rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Look after yourself, Harry, and remember what I said.'

Harry nodded. 'I remember, Mr Weasley.' he replied. 'And I will, I promise.'

Mr Weasley nodded, perhaps more to reassure himself that he'd given Harry all the outs that he could, and stepped back, passing the trolley's handle to Harry.

'See you around, Ginny.'

'Sooner than you think, I'll bet.' she replied. 'And try to have fun!'

Harry grinned.

'Oh, Dudley isn't going to know what hit him…' he said, turning the trolley to face the car park. With a hefty push he started towards a month of summer that he didn't particularly want to experience, but knew he had to.

And if he had to, he might as well enjoy it.

END

Author's Note:

So, that's the end of 'Book 1'. I'd like to thank everyone who's read this far, and a special thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited or followed the story. Doing any of those things really help encourage other people to give the story a read, and I greatly appreciate it!

Above all, I hope you've enjoyed the story. This book has been a bit of a labour of love. It's the sixth revision of a story that I began to write back in 2008 (with the working title of 'Tomb Raider' - which should show you how much it's changed), and to have finally released it into the wild is an amazing feeling. Your feedback has been great, and a very special thanks to anyone who left a review highlighting errors that I've made. I go back and correct these errors, so those kind of reviews do make a real difference, making the story that much more polished, and that's down to you guys (and gals).

I try to reply to every review individually, so I won't thank individual reviewers here. I'll just say that I can't reply to those reviewers who don't sign in, but I do still value your reviews. Think about creating an account (or signing in) in the future so I can thank you properly!

I'm currently working on 'Book 2', which will be released as a different story (this one is now 'Complete'). I'd love to tell you all that the next story will be posted in a month or so, but I don't work particularly well to deadlines, which is why I completed this story before I posted the first chapter. Needless to say, I have the next couple of 'Books' planned out, and almost half of 'Book 2' written, but I'm going to have you ask you to be patient whilst I work. Once it's complete I'll release it in the same way that I did this one - with a chapter ever other day (or so).

Thanks again to everyone who got this far, and I hope to see you all back for 'Book 2', which I'm tentatively entitling 'Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin'.

See you all soon, and keep safe!

Chris