Most of these characters belong to Joanne Kathleen Rowling.

This book is both written as a way to honour and as a way to add what I would think would make the original Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone better, and more in the wonderful accepting image that so many original fans saw in Hogwarts.

This book was not my original idea, instead, it's a vessel accepting my changes and alterations

Dedicated to Alex Adams, who wasn't allowed to read the originals, but could have used a magical world to escape to.

It was Quirrell.

"You!?" gasped Harry.

He smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"But I thought -- Snape --"

"Severus?" Quirrel laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Severus at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Severus hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny really . . . he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. I suppose you, like the teachers, thought Severus was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Put that together yourself? I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Severus, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that cerberus didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly."

"Now wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that she realized what was standing behind him. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrel murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but he's in London . . . I'll be far away by the time he gets back . . ."

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest --" she blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me -- as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side . . ."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my master . . . but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding her, but they didn't give. She had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was threatening you . . ."

For the first time, a spasm of fear fluted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it difficult to follow my master's instructions -- he is a great wizard and I am weak --"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it . . . Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me . . . decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me . . ."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering her trip to Diagon Alley -- how could she have been so stupid? She'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, she thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it -- which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?

She tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around her ankles were too tight: she tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored her. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . ."

Quirrel rounded on Harry

"Yes -- Potter -- come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. She got slowly to her feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him.

I must lie, she thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.

Quirrell moved close behind her. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. She closed her eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

She saw her reflection, did she really look like that? She hadn't really looked at her reflection since the last time in front of this mirror. She looked like a pale and frightened little boy, with long tangled hair. Her reflection frowned at her, but a moment later grinned. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket -- and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- she'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrwll impatiently. "What do you see? Why are you frowning?"

Harry screwed up his courage.

"I just see me," she half-truthed. "I -- I don't think it's working like normal."

Quirell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, she felt the Philosopher's Stone against her leg. Dare she make a break for it?

But she hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies . . . He lies . . ."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him . . . face-to-face . . ."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough . . . for this . . ."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting her to the spot. She couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, she watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

She would have screamed, but she couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face she had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter . . ." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but her legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor . . . I have only form when I can share another's body . . . but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds . . . Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks . . . you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest . . . and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own . . . Now . . . why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. She stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me . . . or you'll meet the same end as your parents . . . They died begging for mercy . . ."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at her so that Voldemort could still see her. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching . . ." it hissed. "I always value bravery . . . Yes, boy, your parents were brave . . . I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight . . . but your mother needn't have died . . . she was trying to protect you . . . Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on her wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; her head felt as though it was about to split in two; she yelled, struggling with all her might, and to her surprise, Quirrell let go of her. The pain in her head lessened -- she looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off her feet, landing on top of her, both hands around her neck --Harry's scar was almost blinding her with pain, yet she could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"

And Quirrell, through pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of her neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off her, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch her bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain -- her only chance was to keep hold of him, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Harry jumped to her feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as she could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw her off -- the pain in her head was blinding -- she couldn't see -- she could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in her own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"

She felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down . . . down . . . down . . .

Something gold was glinting just above her. The Snitch! She tried to catch it, but her arms were too heavy.

She blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

She blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above her.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Albus.

Harry stared at him. Then she remembered: "Albus! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Albus, quick --"

"Calm yourself, sweet girl, you are a little behind the times," said Albus. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Albus I --"

"Harry, please, relax or Madam Pomfrey have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed and looked around her. She realized she must be in the hospital wing. She was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to her was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons in between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat." Harry felt her face heat up. They knew she was listening on the train? "No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried. The club would be just as pleased -- if not, more so -- as well."

"But Albus, the Stone --"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got the? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell of you --"

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't keep him off the Stone much longer --"

"Not the Stone, girl, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Harry repeated blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Albus, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Albus smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack for choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harry lay there, lost for words. Albus hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir --?" said Harry

.

"Must I ask again to call me 'Albus' instead of a form of disconnected higher up?"

"Albus?" said Harry. "I've been thinking . . . Albus -- even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who--"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he's delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded but stopped quickly because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "Albus, there are some things I'd like to know if you can tell me . . . things I want to know the truth about . . ."

"The truth." Albus sighed. "It's a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well . . . Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Albus sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. You will know, one day . . . put it from your mind, for now, Harry. When you are older . . . I know you hate to hear this . . . when you are ready, you will know."

And Harry knew, it would be no good to argue. She nodded.

"Why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loves us is gone, will give us some protection forever. This magic even muggles can do. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, ambition, and sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Albus now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry her eyes on the sheet. When she found her voice again, Harry said, "And the Invisibility Cloak -- do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah -- your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Albus' eyes twinkled. "Useful things . . . your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the

kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else . . ."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell and Snape --"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. And then, your father did something Professor Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What?"

"Yes . . ." said Albus dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace . . ."

Harry tried to understand this but it made her head pound, so she stopped.

"And Albus, there's one more thing . . ."

"Just the one?" Albus chuckled.

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone -- find it, but not use it -- would be able to get it, otherwise, they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes . . . Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

Madam Pomfrey, the mediwitch, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Al- Professor Dumbledore in . . ."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, please, Madam Pomfrey . . ."

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."

And she let Hermione, Ron, and the LGBT club in.

"Harry!"

Hermione, Jex, and Flix, looked ready to throw their arms around her, but Harry was glad they held themselves in as her head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried --" Hermione sputtered.

"Cool it, Curly. Harry's a tough witch." Hanna said, smirking as she leaned against the doorframe.

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What really happened?"

"Is it true you beat a giant troll twice?" Flix asked, leaning towards Harry against the bed.

"Did you really burn You-Know-Who's face off?" Jex asked, bouncing up and down in place.

"Just let her tell the story," Lacy said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah, bouncy. Besides, The Dark Lord --" Harry noticed, Hannah said this in an annoyed tone, like she's tired of hearing about him. " -- doesn't have a face anymore, it was blown off in the rebound off Harry's head."

"Actually, he was just a face," Harry said, before delving into the true story of what happened. It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry made sure to include everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. They all were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud, Lacy shivered, and Jex laughed.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Albus thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his Hero was.

"Hey!" came shouts from two of the four people currently glaring at Ron.

"In a good way!" he defended himself while dodging a punch from Hannah.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry, looking at Ron and Hermione.

"Well, I got back to the chess room all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round -- that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall -- he already knew -- he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't she?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"No," said Lacy. "He absolutely was not trying to get Harry down there."

"He certainly wasn't stopping her," said Flix.

"He was probably just trying to help in something you would've done anyway," said Jex

"He probably knew the only way you wouldn't get yourself killed is if he helped you instead of hindered," said Hannah.

"He knows more or less everything that goes on in here. The only way anyone gets away with most anything is with him letting them, whether they know he's letting them or not," said Harry.

"He's Albus Dumbledore after all," they all said in unison, before bursting into laughter.

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron, in amazement. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow."

"The points are all in my house, we don't deserve them," Hannah mentioned.

"You missed the last Quidditch match," Lacy said.

"We absolutely crushed you!" Flix shouted. "But not like you had a chance since you had no seeker."

"But the food'll be good!" Jex piped up. "I've been smelling them working on it all week!"

"You just took everything I wanted to tell her," Ron said, clearly disappointed.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly. "Oh, and Boot, Taylor, I'm making good progress on those special potions you requested, they should be good enough for human consumption soon."

Harry was about to ask Madam Pomfrey about that, but she walked off to help a Ravenclaw boy who had a bookcase fall on him.

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," she told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened Harry's many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion, Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as she asked. As usual, when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at her, and burst into tears.

"It's -- all -- my -- ruddy -- fault!" he sobbed, his face in his massive hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it, have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads . . ."

Hagrid whipped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead --anyway, got yeh this . . ."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at her from every page were her mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos . . . knew yeh didn' have any . . . d'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't speak, and her vision was blurred with tears, but Hagrid understood.

Harry made her way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. She had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving her one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. She slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and locked eyes with Flix at the next table over and they nodded at her. She wasn't sure what that meant. She tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at her.

Fortunately, Albus arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year, gone!" Albus said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts . . ."

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. His white-blond hair stayed perfectly combed back. Annoying little mister perfect.

To Harry's relief, a small group of Slytherins was not happy at all. Hannah was glaring at the cheering Slytherins along with the two people sitting on her either side.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Albus. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Hannah and her two friends were the only Slytherins left smiling.

"Ahem," said Albus. "I have a few last-minute points to pitch out. Let me see. Yes . . ."

"First -- Mr. Ronald Weasley . . ."

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

". . . for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last, there was silence again.

"Second -- to Miss Hermione Granger . . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves -- they were a hundred points up.

"Third -- to Miss --" Albus coughed, which made it sound like he said 'mister'. "Harry Potter . . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points -- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the House Cup -- if only Albus had given Harry just one more point.

Albus raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Albus, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottm."

The noise that erupted from Gryffindor Table was so loud, someone standing outside the Great Hall might have thought some sort of explosion had taken place. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means," Albus called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and three very out of place Slytherins were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and she knew at once that his feelings toward her hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry her. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls . . . she would never, ever forget tonight

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both she and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark was making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred sadly); Hagrid was waiting by carriages that moved on their own, yet still made the clip-clop of hooves when they moved; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform three and five-eighths at King's Cross station.

Some families disappeared on the spot, others walked through green fires and were gone in smoke, and the rest had to wait to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate that led to the muggle platforms in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all busting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the muggles.

Ron's family must have been waiting on the muggle platforms because he waited with Harry and Hermione in line.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you -- I'll send you an owl."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to."

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!

"You better be officially a member next year!" Jex yelled as they went through.

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at Harry.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," she said.

She, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see --"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasly smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasly."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasly.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He walked away.

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have -- er -- a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over her face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer . . ."