AN: Hey Guys! Sooooo... This is a bit awkward for me but also exciting! I've always planned to have an epilogue once all the Acts are done and showed Harry's perspective of the gradual changes in his life with Percy in his timeline. But I recently found it was poorly planned because nitpicking scenes and rewriting took a long time so change of plans; I put it as an epilogue for every Act instead. It's embarrassing because it feels like forgetting to post a chapter this far in the game. There are scenes and dialogue that were blatant copy-paste, but I tried my best to write in my narrative. Do tell me how I can do better, this is still from Book 1 so there aren't any blatant changes yet. But you never know, the reviews can be inspiring sometimes. The Epilogue for Act II will hopefully be out soon.

Epilogue

Words: 9,167

Recap: -

The first time Harry heard of Percy Jackson, he had just finished being measured for robes by Madam Malkins with the nasty blond boy, who had been talking up a storm with a nasty sneer in his voice that kind of reminded him of Uncle, if uncle had been skinnier and upper-crusty he supposed.

It made him feel down when he looked back on the conversation and how much he didn't understand most of what the boy said. It goes to show he knows almost nothing about the wizarding world and their ways, and he began to doubt whether he'll ever fit in despite the constant praise, and he didn't even know what he did other than just surviving.

Hagrid noticed this and asked what was on his mind. Harry didn't want to bother the nice man with his thoughts nor being reminded how clueless he was, but his curiosity won out his shame and asked once he's done shopping for quills and ink. He asked about quidditch, about muggle-borns, and finally about the Houses.

"What are Hufflepuffs and Slytherins?"

"School Houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuffs are a lot o' duffers, but–"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," Harry said gloomily.

"Now don' say that!" Hagrid said a bit strongly, "Some of the bes' and braves' people come from Hufflepuffs. Why, yer godfather was one and he was, hands down, the bes' wizard of his generation."

"Godfather?"

"Wait, yer aunt didn' even tell yeh abou' Percy Jackson? Outrageous! He was yer mum's bes' friend. That's why she named yeh Harry Perseus Potter. Though, not many people aware of that."

Harry's eyes widen. He didn't know that. Harry knew his full name was, but his middle name had been much of a taboo around the house, especially around Aunt Petunia. She would always turn an angry shade of red before proceeding to cut him off from water the whole day and lock him up in the cupboard whenever she heard the name. Dudley would purposely call him Perseus sometimes just to get his mom riled up and see what she'd do to him, forgetting that she would be displeased enough to snipe at Uncle Vernon and Dudley for the rest of the day.

Suddenly, the name became much more significant to him.

"Where is he now? Can I meet him? Why hadn't he ever come to visit me?" The last question had made his voice quivered. He feared to know his mom's friend never bothered to come because he doesn't like him just like the Dursley. But the hope of having the closest thing to a family overwhelmed the rest.

Hagrid's face fell at the boy's question, "Ah, er, I shouldn' have said tha'." He tried looking away, but his shifting attitude did not help the curious green eyes looking up with all the expectations of a hopeful orphan child, which made Hagrid feel worse. "Well Harry, you see… the thin' is… he's not 'round anymore."

"Not around? Is he out of the country?"

Hagrid shook his head mournfully, "No, Harry. I mean he's, he's gone. One of the many people who disappeared durin' the war. If no one has found him by now, then he's probably dead. Had he been with us, he wouldn' have allowed you to stay with those nasty folks o' yours."

"Oh." Harry had nothing to say. Not quite know how to take the news of another death in the family. It's like the universe is conspiring to make him a sad little orphan boy.

Hagrid, who felt bad for raising the subject, decided to change it back, "Why don't we talk more about the other School Houses, eh? Now Slytherin, there's a nasty bunch. You'll find not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," he said darkly, "You-Know-Who was one."

'Vol– sorry– You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?'

"Years an' years ago." Hagrid's grip on his umbrella tightened. His mind wanders through the memories of his days in Hogwarts. Not many still alive today knew of who he was before, and those who do aren't brave enough to say it.

They made their way to the bookshop and the rest of the day went by as you would expect for the Boy-Who-Lived starting his days as a wizard, and it'll be sometime before he heard of his absent godfather.

. . .

'Professor Snape is the worst!'

That was Harry's first thought by the end of his first potion lesson. He had a feeling during the start-of-term banquet that Professor Snape disliked him, but he was wrong, that man hated him. The greasy-haired man bullied him throughout the lesson and was painfully biased on his own house, particularly Malfoy, and he even took two points that are barely a fault. Harry had a hunch that the latter was to spite him. (In the future, Harry will look back on this as he drove his son to Platform 9 ¾ and chuckled. Thinking back, Snape had been lenient for taking only two points on his first day.)

His class, the dungeon, is the perfect place for him, too bad no one thought of locking him in and throwing the key away.

He and Ron told Hagrid about Snape while visiting him in his hut, Hagrid was quick to dismiss them. Too quick if you ask him, going so far as to not meet his eyes.

"How's yer brother, Charlie?" Hagrid was quick to change the subject, "I liked him a lot—great with animals."

Harry didn't press further, not when he picked up a cutting of a paper about the break-in at Gringotts and his attention was wholly focused on that point. But again, Hagrid didn't give many answers so the days went by as Harry tried to adapt to life at Hogwarts.

Despite all the lessons he sometimes didn't get, it was still a thousand times better than being with the Dursley, and Harry wished he never had to leave. But maybe that's why the world needed to remind him that all good things come with a price. And that prices come in the form of the most arrogant, obnoxious, selfish person he knew (and when you know Dudley, that's a really low bar to hit past) and he was proven right during their first flying lesson.

At first, he thought it would be one of his good days, considering he was quick to grasp his broom. But then Neville got into an accident and Malfoy had to be a git, and before he knew it, he was flying to meet Malfoy up in the air as he taunted him with Neville's remembrall. He knew he was risking expulsion. Hermione's warning rang in his ears, but that was squashed by the memories of all the times he had been bullied and everyone turned a blind eye rather than helping him.

Harry isn't going to be one of them.

He's not.

"Give it back, Malfoy!" Harry called out, "or I'll knock you off that broom."

"Oh, yeah?" Draco sneered with false bravado.

For being his first time on a broom, his body seemed to know what it's doing as Harry leant forward with both his hand on the broom as if a buried instinct ingrained to him from long ago was coming out. Harry shot forward at the blonde boy like a javelin, and Draco was only lucky to get out of the way in time. Harry sharply swerved back, his broom steady on his hand, and he ignored the cheer below him as he warned Draco one last time.

Which somehow cue Draco to throw the ball away.

Because of course, he did. Harry should have expected that.

And so what followed was a series of actions that led Harry to shoot out onto a steep fifty-foot dive toward the ball's path with a speed that would make regular quidditch player call him a lunatic, stretched out his hands, catching by only a foot away from the ground, and toppling to the grass with a winning smile on his face.

But Harry Potter's life is not Harry Potter's life if there's no one to drag him down from his cloud nine. This time it just so happens to be in the form of the screeching of his name by his Head of House. The crowd began to circle around the fuming teacher and the cowering Boy-Who-Lived.

"-how dare-you could have broken a neck-" McGonagall continued while still flashing her glasses furiously. The other Gryffindors voiced out their defence for their fellow housemate. But McGonagall doesn't seem to want to hear any of it before ordering Harry to follow her. He did as told, already expecting to be expelled.

But again, Harry was wrong, and Harry was quite happy being wrong if it meant he wasn't being expelled and being praised for his actions. Even though Harry has no idea how he did what he did, only that he did.

"The boy's a natural," McGonagall said crisply, "The only other person capable of what he did was Percy Jackson." Harry perked up at the familiar name, but so did Oliver Wood, his smile seemed to grow further and looking like he was restraining himself from bouncing off his feet.

Wood and McGonagall began talking more about his Remembrall Incident in detail, explaining Quidditch, examining him briefly that made Harry feel like one of the dogs on those Dog-Contest but looking as excited as Wood when they talked about giving him his own broomstick.

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we're due for another exception to the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks unless I wanted to see that smug look of his..."

Then she had her glassed peered on him, "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter or I may change my mind about punishing you." Her stern look surprisingly became soft. "Your father would have been proud, he was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"My, my father?!" Harry couldn't keep the quiver in his tone. There wasn't much memory or stories that aren't lies regarding Harry's parents. So any mention of them was enough to turn Harry into a Niffler searching for gold, that is any little fun facts of his parents.

McGonagall hummed, "Joined in his second year but I had a feeling he'd been flying around the school in his first. He was a natural and proud chaser and became a seeker in his fifth year. Manage to win us the Quidditch Cup on his last year." The Deputy Mistress smiled at the memory, "Now enough with the remembrance, you all still have class to go to. Here's your hall pass. Now, dismissed."

As sad as he was not to hear any more of his father. Wood and Harry journeyed out the room side-by-side, which gave them a moment to chat.

"Glad to have you on the team Harry, we're always open for a good talent on our side. Especially a Seeker."

"Thanks… er… what does a Seeker do exactly?" Harry tried hard not to blush at being sound so clueless.

"Blimey, you really don't know anything, do you? Don't worry, we'll sort it out. Meet me next week and I'll teach you everything you need to know. Just you wait, you'll be known as the next Percy Jackson."

"Percy Jackson?"

"What? That man's a Quidditch legend. How could you not–oh, of course, you don't know him. Well, let's just say if it wasn't for him, you'd be the youngest house player in a century. I suppose you can be content with being the youngest seeker instead."

Harry felt self-conscious at being compared with such a great person, "He's that good?"

"The best of the best. Everyone who ever watched him play knows that he's a beast on the field. A shame he died young though. I would have loved to watch him being a pro-Quidditch-player."

Harry wanted to point out that the man was supposed to be his godfather, but something inside stopped him. He didn't know what Wood said had made him think twice but he didn't tell him or anyone else. It took during dinner for him to figure out why when Ron was left gawking once he retold what happened since he and Professor McGonagall left the ground.

"Seeker?" he asked with a steak-and-kidney pie halfway to his mouth, "But first-years never– you must be the youngest house player since–"

"–Percy Jackson," said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me. I keep hearing the name but what's so special about him?"

"What's so speci– are you hearing yourself, mate? You're talking about the youngest chaser in Hogwarts History and managed to lead his team on a perfect winning streak."

"But that's not all," Fred and George Weasley came up behind Harry and slinging an arm each over him.

"Well done," said George in a low voice, "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred, "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"But back to Percy—and not our Percy, by the way, the cooler one—it has been said that the man was cursed from ever flying yet managed to outwit it."

"I heard he managed to create his very own manoeuvre, none to this day could replicate it and only told in legend."

"Oh, I've heard of that!" piped up Dean Thomas from next to Harry, "I think it's called Sky Dive–or was it the Cirque de Loop? I don't which one? but I do know it was such a hard move to do that people called it suicidal."

"I heard he got his own custom-made broom that would make even a Nimbus cry," added Seamus.

The conversation dissolves into talks of this legendary Quidditch player, and Harry was glad he hadn't told anyone about his relation to him. It's already enough people talk and stare at him for being the Boy-Who-Lived, he doesn't want to add that with being known as his godson.

So Harry listened to his house excited chatter, all the while eating another mouthful of pie.

. . .

Harry woke up on Christmas morning to find a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. It was the first time he had a handful of presents that are fully wrapped and package instead of the usual knick-knacks his aunt and uncle gave him each year.

He looked over the gifts in detail; Hermione with her box of Chocolate Frog, Hagrid gave him an owl-flute, Mrs Weasly a jumper of his own, and a few other unfamiliar names who wanted to thank the Boy-Who-Lived. He wasn't sure if he should take it, feeling like taking advantage of people's kindness.

However, Harry kept examined the gifts in detail and was sad to find one particular gift wasn't there and felt a bit disheartened.

"What's wrong?"

"No… it's just… I thought he would have given me a present this year too."

"Who?"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the window and the two boys whirled their heads to find a small dark grey owl waiting outside, with a package her tiny body doesn't seem to mind lifting.

Harry jumped on his feet than with a blinding smile, opening the window to let her inside, "Sophia, you came!"

The Little Owl hooted, flying inside and make a lap around the room before landing next to the pile of unwrapped gifts.

"Who's owl is that?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry answered. He petted her smooth feathers and gave her share of Hedwig's snacks. "She always comes, every year, during my birthday and Christmas to give presents, and they'd always be mementoes belonging from either my mom and dad. But there's never any name." At the time, Harry didn't think much of it, figuring that it's some kind of archaic method of sending messages like that pigeon-mail he heard about. He always hid the gifts though. There's so little he had in possession, Harry was afraid what his Aunt and Uncle would do had they known about it.

If Hermione were here, she would have commented on how suspicious that was and would have pushed him to let one of the teachers know about this. Thankfully, we only have Ron around, so all he did was nodded satisfyingly and asked what he got.

He untied the knots to his present this year, revealing a silvery invisible cloak that the usual unnamed note said once it belonged to his father.

Harry really, really loved his mysterious sender.

. . .

Harry's detention in the Forbidden Forest was a lot more eventful than he (or anyone, really) might expect. Then again, one should know not to let Hagrid decide a sensible punishment or you'll be looking through the Forest for a creature dangerous enough to go hunting a unicorn.

Harry and Hermione met a pair of centaurs and Neville and Draco got in trouble from an ill-timed joke. Hagrid decided to change up the group. Harry saw that it would be a mercy for Neville to avoid Malfoy, and didn't complain about exploring with only a git and a dog to explore in the creepy, dark forest with a Forbidden in its name.

They walked for half an hour, deeper and deeper still to the heart of the forest until the patch became impossible to follow. The roots were big and tangled up with one tree and another, and the barks and branches were so thick, it was getting harder to see any path. Yet, they noticed a shadow trashing near through the tangle of branches and Harry set it aside, spotting a clearing where the boys saw an injured, pained unicorn gleaming on the ground.

As beautiful as the creature is, and still is beautiful despite being dead. Harry couldn't help but be mesmerized by its white mane and slender legs even as he pitied the poor creature. Harry can see why it can be called innocent as if it was a universal thing to know even by muggles. Not just from its beauty, but by the inhuman light surrounding it-getting dimmer and dimmer as seconds ticked-you look at the light and you find the swelling hope and goodness, and he didn't think there was a way to feel goodness, yet that's the aptest description Harry was feeling.

He took one step, then noticed the bush on the clearing quivered within the shadows… A hooded figure crawled out like a stalking beast, toward the unicorn, and lowered to its wounded side and proceed to drink its blood.

Harry, Draco, and Fang stood transfixed at the nauseating sight. But then Malfoy screamed loud enough to rival a banshee and bolted away—followed by Fang—leaving Harry alone at the dark creature's mercy. The hooded figure spotted him, getting to its feet and approaching him. Harry's legs froze in fear even as his heart shouted at him to run at the unmistakably approaching death.

There was a loud galloped that Harry had missed due the drumming of his own heart deafening his ear-Oh, and don't forget the burning pain on his forehead-before a centaur came, scared the figure away, and swoop him up to safety. He introduced himself as Firenze, and he strangely looked livid at Harry-no, at the scar on his forehead as if the scar had personally offended him or something.

Later, more centaurs were arriving bursting in through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty. Harry recognized them as Ronan and Bane, the pair of weirdos that kept muttering "Mars is bright tonight" to the point of ominous.

"Firenze!" Bane thundered. "What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze, "This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this Forest, the better." It was strange how adamant Firenze was of Harry's danger here. He wasn't sure if it was because of something dangerous was lurking here, or the forest itself that endangers him.

"What have you been telling him?" growled Bane, "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said, in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger. "For the best?! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our Forest!"

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on. "Do you not see what happened to Lexus?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not understand why he and the other unicorns were killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret with its constant shifting and turmoil? I set myself against what is lurking in this Forest, Bane. Yes, with humans alongside me if I must. If not for the victims, then at least to honour Jackson."

"Do not speak of that Half-Blood's name here, Firenze."

"I speak my friend's name however I wish," Ronan and Bane gasped as if the idea of centaurs and humans being friends is scandalous. "He risked everything to protect one of the last remaining homes we centaurs lived in. I will not disrespect him by standing by while his brethren are slaughtered on our very grounds." And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, which was a set a theme to his life.

"Why's Bane so angry?" he questioned while keeping his head down from the low hanging branches, "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway? And how do you know Percy Jackson? Who is he to you? Please, tell me."

Firenze did not answer immediately. His gait slowed into a walk as they made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn't want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped. "Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Harry, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail-hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. He explained further the crimes of the slaying of a pure and innocent creature. He didn't say defenceless because Firenze knew firsthand how feisty Lexus was and his friend wouldn't have stayed down without a fight. He told Harry of the terrible price of living a half-life to have a life at all.

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight. "But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud, "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else—something that will bring you back to full strength and power—something that will mean you can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Philosopher's Stone! Of course–the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who –"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart as he can only think of one such person. "Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol–"

The call of his name cut him off. Hermione and Hagrid had arrived, looking harried and worried.

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. "You are safe now." Harry slid off his back. "Good luck, Harry Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times." He turned and cantered back into the depths of the Forest.

"Wait! You haven't told me about Percy Jackson!'

Firenze paused his step, slightly looking back, "He was a dear friend of mine, and we creatures of the forest owed him our lives." Firenze looked up at the stars and planets shining down, and Harry shivered, not knowing from the windy night or witnessing the same strange act of the other centaurs. "Pity the hero who shall have his last stand."

Before Harry could ask anything further, Firenze already lost him within the Forest's shadow, and Harry ended up going back to Hogwarts with more questions. At least he finally knows what that evil Snape is planning to do with the stone and he's going to make sure not to let it happen.

. . .

Harry had expected Snape, Voldemort, or both once he went through the black flaming door. Nobody could ever expect Quirrell on the other side. Not a single soul could have predicted it. Not a one.

It was the only way, Harry reasoned, not looking like a fool after insisting Snape was the bad guy for almost the whole year. Not only had he not wanted him dead, but he's also been protecting Harry the whole time. There's no shame in being wrong about that, right? Quirrell seemed to believe so.

He doesn't know which is worse. Dying of shame, or dying in the hands of a lunatic wizard. Though he's currently busy trying to find the stone first before Quirrell could.

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

'Use the boy…' To Harry's horror, a voice answered, and it seemed to have come from Quirrell himself. 'Use the boy...'

Quirrell rounded him up in front of the mirror, rope already loosened, and Harry felt like taking back his plan just to be contrary. He rather not want to do what an eerie disembodied voice said, thank you very much.

But there's no way out from beneath Quirrell's harsh grip, so the only thing he can do is lie what he sees in the mirror.

Two things he didn't expect to happen:

His reflection smiling and winking at him.

For the sudden heaviness appearing in his pocket where the reflection put the stone in.

Oh, well, that was easy to find.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently, "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage and lied about Dumbledore and Quidditch Cup, making Quirrell snarled and pushed him away. Harry thought this was a good time to make a break for it. But the same voice accused him of lying, and Quirrell was back on him again. Urging him for the truth.

Then the high voiced asked–correction; demanded to meet him. Face to face. And Harry didn't know what was happening other than he doesn't want, whoever it was though it had some suspicion, to meet him. His gut was proven right when Harry was too petrified to scream at the chalk-white, snake-like face at the back of Quirrell's head once he untied his turban. Harry can't even move away from the terrible sight before him.

'Harry Potter…' the thing whispered, as it does not have the strength to address him as equal, yet still couldn't hide the large, dark presence emitting from that very being. His slit red eyes looked like it can reach into your soul; witnessing your dreams, fear, weakness, and desire before using it as his plaything.

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

The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs, and he managed at least to stumble backward.

But Voldemort taunted the boy, knowing the buttons to press. And Harry fell for his trap as the Dark Lord recalled the last of his memories before his demise; his parents. And Voldemort or not, Harry could not run without hearing of his parents, and the Dark Lord knows this. Harry barely turn before a harsh grip seized his wrist. Needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened – he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers – they were blistering before his eyes.

'Seize him, SEIZE HIM!' shrieked Voldemort, he was getting desperate. The blistered hand clued the has-been-man what it meant, and knew he had to push Quirrell before the boy realized it too and used it against him. They needed to either get the stone or kill the boy before he could kill them back.

Quirrell, the fool, instead of seizing him to search the stone, seized him to kill him. Grabbing the boy's neck in an attempt to strangle him. Which only worsened the blistering. He rolled off him and looked upon his burnt, raw, red palms of his hands in horror.

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

"Then kill him you fool, and be done! What use is magic to you?!" Sometimes it's a wonder for Voldemort how he could stand hitch-hiking the man for a year. Then again, it was that idiocy that made him so easy to manipulate.

Quirrell raised his hand to dealt the boy with a heavy curse, but Harry moved by instinct and seized Quirrell's face–

"AAAAAARGH."

The blistering on his face has gotten worse; burnt, raw, red, and looks like it can be peeled off. And Harry kept on it even as Quirrell rolled off and the pain in his head felt like it can split him apart from touching him.

But Harry jumped to his feet, ready to push himself if it meant stopping Quirrell for good and preventing Voldemort from rising. He caught Quirrell by the arm and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off – the pain in Harry's head was building, and building – he couldn't see – he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of 'KILL HIM! KILL HIM!' and other voices, maybe in Harry's head, crying, 'Harry! Harry!'

"Now isn't this quite a pickle," a sweet female voice cut through the hoard of voices with a croon, and Harry found himself being thrown aside like a ragdoll by the back of his robe. He was quite ready to pass out but he kept his wits up from the sudden arrival of an unexpected guest. He hardly could discern who it was with his head felt like splitting, only the fact that the woman was pretty, had brown hair, and eyes that seemed to look at you like insects.

She came up to Harry, and swiftly before he could react, grabbed his neck and lifted him with one arm. "Honestly, Sweetie, I can't believe you have this much of a hard time with a mortal boy."

'Then hurry up and kill him!'

"Tut…tut… always impatient. You know I can't do that since that's not my call to make."

Harry had never been this scared in his life. Sure the incident in the Forest and meeting Voldemort face-to-face was scary enough to freeze him. But never had those episodes gave him this horrible, icy feeling as his life was literally at the hands at the wimps of this woman.

The woman rummaged his pocket and Harry began struggling harder beneath her iron grip. Clawing and kicking with no avail. "No!" he yelled once she got her hands on the red stone. She lifted it by the light of the fire as if examining it like a piece of jewellery.

"Here's the stone. Now you can rise again as the Dark Lord and kill the boy yourself." Circe purred, offering the stone on hand.

"No..." But Harry's voice was losing strength.

Quirrell reached out, grinning gleefully even as his face makes one want to puke their guts out, and stretched out his hand, the stone just… within… reach…

A silver streak came flying with terrifying precision, sweeping the stone from her hand, and a sword was left stabbed on the concrete ground at the end, the famed Philosopher's Stone became useless pieces on the ground.

"NOOOOOO!" The witch cried and let go off Harry in her fury, and he fell into a limp on the floor. Both Voldemort and Quirrell were too dumbstruck to say anything.

"Hey fellas, mind if I join the party?" said the cherry yet obnoxious voice that is the bane of all monsters and gods.

Harry looked up toward the voice but found he couldn't see the person because of the loss of his glasses. But he could tell from the blurry outline that he had black unruly hair, greenish eyes, tanned skin, and an out-of-place smile that show off his pearly teeth.

"Why, why, why, why can't you just leave me alone?!" Circe snarled.

"Hmm, I don't know, why can't you try to be a nice person for a change?" The newest company scanned the room and winced at the sight of Quirrell, "Eessh, what happened to you? You look like a sunburn gone wrong."

The wizard growled at him, and Voldemort was strangely silent throughout the conversation.

The young man then addressed to his collective adversary, his voice hard, "Your plan failed. The stone's gone. And there's nothing you can accomplish now. So I'll give you a choice; either get your sorry butts out of the school or I'll remove them for you." Then he made a mischievous grin. "I can't promise not to be literal though."

'Perseus Jackson…' Voldemort whispered like he couldn't believe what he was seeing–or hearing.

"So what's it gonna be?" He pressed on the group.

Circe put up a smile–a shaky one–and kept her bravado, "Oh? You said there's nothing to accomplish, but we have here the Boy-Who-Lived. What's stopping us from killing him, right here, right now?"

To their shock, his grin became a tad wider in response, "I was hoping you'll say that." He produced a wand on hand and pointed it at them, turning their guard up. Harry was wondering why they became so tense, even if this person was good, surely he had a hard time facing two people at once?

"The great thing about being a wizard?" He continued, his tone never went above or below that of a casual conversation, "Is that I never have to run out of water. Imagine putting that together in a tight spaced room like this."

Circe's eyes widen and jaw slacked in horror. She ordered Quirrell to get his wand out but it was too late for them all.

"Manesqua."

A streaming jet of water with a destructive force that you wouldn't expect from the tip of a wand. Harry watched in awe as the wild running water seemed to flow around the room like a tamed steed, gently pushing him to the side and striking mercilessly against the witch and two-in-one wizard. The water rose up, up, up unnaturally fast for anyone witnessing it, but hey, that's magic for you.

But even as Harry was pushed aside, there was no avoiding the rising water currently up to his neck. He braced himself and took a deep breath and closed his eyes before being fully engulfed by the water. To his astonishment, there was never a need for that. It took blinking up and heaving a small amount of breath to realize he wasn't in the water. Not really. Instead, he was in a giant bubble that kept him from drowning. It floated gently toward the exit where he was greeted by a mysterious person who came and rescued him. The man smiled down at him, and up-close Harry noticed his eyes were a gentle sea-green.

"It's okay, Harry. You're safe now. It's over. You're safe."

Like a magic trigger, he didn't know he had, Harry finally relaxed, along with the muscle on eyes as he finally could let himself rest. Letting the edging darkness that's been creeping up at his mind to come and take him away.

"Harry… stay with me… don't… sleep… hear me… SEVERUS!"

Harry knew all was well and fell into blackness.

Down...

Down…

Down…

. . .

Harry woke up to find himself unconscious for three days, Dumbledore on his bedside and a mountain load of get-well presents that put his pile of Christmas presents to shame. The best news of all would be knowing that Voldemort hadn't got the stone in the end. The worst news is to know that Voldemort isn't dead, not really, not unless he finds other ways to bring himself back. The unfortunate news is that by destroying the stone to prevent Voldemort from resurrecting, Harry - or technically his mysterious saviour - doomed Nicolas Flamel and his wife to their inevitable death.

Dumbledore made sure to ease his guilt, claiming he would have had the stone destroyed anyway for all the trouble it caused. Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

Harry lay there, at a loss for words, then asked why Voldemort wanted to kill, as any reasonable person should, a child or not. Why Dumbledore didn't expect it to be the first question when it was weird enough a terrorist leader would want to target a specific baby during a war. You would think the man had nothing else to do than just being a horrible person.

Harry suspected Dumbledore wouldn't answer him so he didn't argue when he didn't.

No matter how unfair he secretly felt.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

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

Dumbledore became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry ample time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the Invisibility Cloak—do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah, your father happened to leave it to an old friend who I suggested to give it to you. I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful thing—your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

Their conversation descended to Professor Snape to who Harry still had mixed feelings off because he can't imagine any reason why that man would want to save him when he loathed him and his father. His head pounded even worse when it was revealed that his dad tried saved Snape's life and so the man couldn't forgive him for that and decided to make it even to a dead man through saving Harry.

'Urgh, adults are so weird.'

Dumbledore was about to leave, having said what needed saying, and after stumbling an unfortunate taste of earwax jelly bean, but Harry stopped him with one last question.

"Professor, in the dungeon, there was someone else there. A witch helping Voldemort and someone… someone else… I can't quite remember him but I do know he saved me from them. Do you know who it was?"

Dumbledore stayed silent a little too long for Harry to think he doesn't know what he's talking about, "I'm afraid there was no such person by the time I came down for you."

Later that day, Harry told his two best friends everything: Quirrell, the Mirror; the Stone, Voldemort. Ron and Hermione 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. Then he continued reciting what happened next; a mysterious woman named Circe came and almost stole the stone if not for the timely arrival of a young man who threw a sword over and destroyed the Philosopher's Stone and saving him by flooding the place.

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

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

"Always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how mad his hero was.

"Honestly Ronald, what's the matter with you? There was a powerful wizard who appeared and faced off You-Know-Who and this mysterious witch appearing out of nowhere and all you can think of is the stone?"

"Hey, he saved Harry's life, so he's a good guy, right? That's all I need to know."

"So what happened to you two?" asked Harry.

"Well," Hermione began, "I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were barely out of the third floor before Snape and a Hufflepuff student came rushing over." Harry straighten his seat, he would have jumped off his bed if not for the looming threat of Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione continued, "Ron and I were shocked of course, since we believed he was the one trying to steal the Philosopher's stone. He started barking, 'Where's Potter?' with the angriest look I've seen him in and immediately told him where you were. I was almost worried that there may be two people after the stone and was about to stop him if not for the Hufflepuff who reassured us that he'd go and get you for us.

"We didn't stand still though, we kept 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 he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

They talked of Dumbledore being tied to the Invisible Cloak and how he might have led Harry to find out about the Philosopher's Stone and provide a way to sneak out without getting caught. Ron thinks him crazy, Hermione thinks him cruel, but Harry smiled and shook his head.

"He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could..."

Harry trailed off when a sudden thought occurred to him, "Hermione, do you know who that Hufflepuff that followed Snape?"

"I'm, I'm not sure. He's obviously a senior, probably in his sixth or seventh year."

"What did he look like?"

For some reason or another, Hermione blushed as she tried remembering back, "He, he had black hair, green eyes–a bit darker shade than yours that seemed to sparkle like the ocean, his skin looked like he often comes out under the sun for too long, and a nice, strong jawline, he… er… he looked like he's from mid-Europe, maybe Romani or Greek."

Blessed Hermione for her good memory. "That's him, that's the person who saved me!"

The Golden Trio exchanged hushed whisper as lines of questions began to form in their heads. Where was Professor Snape if he had come with him? Who was he? How did he manage to get through the obstacle so quickly? And how come they never heard of this powerful wizard capable to face against You-Know-Who?

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT!" she said, firmly.

"We'll see you at the end-of-term feast, Harry!" Ron called out before they both left him to his own devices.

. . .

Harry didn't sleep much that night. After sleeping through three days, it was a wonder he could feel sleepy at all.

It was why he noticed someone else's presence in the room, he swore wasn't Madam Pomfrey, she isn't this quiet or still if she was anywhere near him. Harry kept still, even as he tried to keep his breathing even and heart beating normally, but the latter was a tall order even for him.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Severus."

"Headmaster," Snape greeted him.

"Are you worried for the boy?"

"I'm merely vigilant concerning the antics of the Boy-Who-Lived. You never know when Potter's arrogant, immature, foolish mind deems whisking off in the middle of the night and fighting the Dark Lord by himself would be an appropriate past time."

Dumbledore chuckled, "I see, you're still angry."

"He could have died."

"But he did not. You and I both know it wasn't his time, nor can we protect him from the world. Not forever. We can only prepare and watch over him."

"Then we have different definitions of 'watching over' because sending him to the gallows isn't what I call 'watching over'. I have an obligation to meet, Albus. I can't fulfil that duty if you let him galivants to who knows where and fighting who knows what!"

"...don't you mean You-Know-Wh–"

"There is a lot of your quirks I tolerate because I respect you but finish that sentence and I'll take you to an early grave, old man."

Harry hope his breathing wasn't labouring by that point, and the only reason they might have not noticed him awake by that point is because of Dumbledore's drumming laughter. The Headmaster might think him funny, but Harry found Snape's tone to be entirely too serious for a joke. Harry briefly thought if he should reach for his wand, just in case.

"I understand your concern, Severus. However, know that what I'm doing, I do with the best intentions in mind. You've always placed your trust in me before, so I ask of you to place your trust in me now."

Snape didn't say anything. There was an unbearable hush that stretched for maybe a second, a minute, or an hour. Harry didn't know, he didn't count. He only the sweet relief of tension once he heard the angry huffed from his nose, the tell-tale steps of his shoes, and the swish of his robe as he started walking out.

"Severus," Dumbledore stopped him, "Thank you for taking care of Harry when I couldn't. I know this must be hard and trying things for you."

"I'm simply doing my duty. I am, for better or worse, a teacher of Hogwarts."

There was nothing else left to be said, and Harry was left to the dark. Stewing within his own mind as the Professors just left him with more questions than answers.

. . .

Hagrid came, apologize with big ugly tears, and gave him a photo book filled with wizard photos of his parents, then it was Harry's turn to cry.

Harry loves Hagrid all the more.

While the Gryffindor winning had been the icing on the cake on that day. He can't deny having Sophia barging to the infirmary despite Madam Pomfrey's protest just to give a small little package for him. Harry opened the gift with relish, curious for the out-of-schedule present and on his hand were a pair of new glasses and a rarely written note:

Percy Jackson used to wear these glasses

You have much more use for it than I

Take good care of it

Have a swift recovery

It was the first gift that was related to his namesake, and Harry gaped at it for a while before wearing it immediately, gleefully discovering they were better than his old pair. He'll have to meet Dumbledore and have him thanked the unknown sender for the glasses.

Or better yet… there were blank notes and a quill among his presents and Harry made a quick grateful note now knowing it was normal to send a letter back through Sophia instead of having your own owl. Harry sent Sophia off with a smile, feeling like he had accomplished a job-well-done.

But maybe having such a brilliant day is what gave him the courage to stand behind Professor Snape's office the next day. He would have like Hermione and Ron to stand next to him, but apparently, you can ask them to go through killing plants, deadly three-headed dogs, and walking through fire. But going to your (scariest) teacher's office is too much for them.

So here's Harry, pacing back and forth. He already had his speech ready; an apology for suspecting him and a thank you for saving. Even if the Evil Git hates him, he deserved at least that much. But every time he steeled his nerve and ready to knock on his door, his mind went blank and went back pacing to mentally rehearsed his words.

"Whichever dunderhead is mocking around my door, either get inside or I'll be docking 50 points the minute the first term starts for frolicking outside the teacher's office."

if one was being logical, the person hearing that would know that Snape couldn't have known which house they were from the other side of the door so they would have realized Snape was talking horseshit. However, it needs to be reminded whenever talking to snape, wizard or not, would be struck by the cold harsh tone of his voice without ever lifting a single decimal volume, and manage to strike their fight-or-flight instinct, washing all the logic away in one's mind.

Seeing no way out from here, Harry truly braced himself this time and open the door.

Professor Snape was sitting on the chair to his desk. Seemingly writing a list or working with a stack of parchment on the side. Harry took a moment to take in the room that was unlike the dungeon despite being next to one. Shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manners of revolting things Harry didn't want to know the name of at the moment. On one side and thick rows of books on the other. The fireplace was currently lit, and Snape looked right at home here. Empty rows of cauldrons set to one corner that Harry knew weren't from his classroom and made him wondered what Snape would need with that much cauldrons.

"Well, well, Mister Potter. To what do I owe the honour for Gryffindor's champion gracious appearance?"

Harry's hackle raised at the sarcasm oozing out in every word he used, making him think that the Slimy Git doesn't deserve an apology. After all, Harry wouldn't think him evil if he wasn't such a jerk. But Harry's a Gryffindor, and Gryffindor sticks to their word, right? So he used the same method he used when dealing with the Dursley (and subconsciously rearing in his magic now that he thinks about it); counting ten from backward, taking a deep breath, and focused on the why he was here instead of the bubbling anger threatened to blow up.

"I came here to… er… I came because…"

"Please do speak up, Potter. I have better use of my time than to hear you mumbling."

Gritting his teeth, Harry took a second deep breath, "There's something I needed to say to you before I leave Hogwarts, Professor."

Snape paused his hands, looking him over through the curtain of his oily hair. His lips curved into a nasty smirk, and cross his hands for his chin to rest. "My, isn't this a privilege? I don't think any of the professors are given this special treatment. Tell me, what does Harry Potter have to say to his professor? Have you come to gloat of your house winning from the Headmaster's blatant favouritism, or have you possibly come to pay respect after it had occurred in that thick head of yours how abysmal your conduct was in the last year?"

Snape sounded amused at his own idea, and Harry curled his lips. He was about to walk out that instance, apology be damned if not for the last night conversation playing back in his mind. But Harry Potter isn't Harry Potter if he doesn't talk smart to anyone looking down at him.

"Actually, Professor, you're not entirely wrong. I happened to be here to express my gratitude for keeping me safe despite my wrong impression of you for being an evil wizard because of how much you've shown to hate me. Please accept my deepest apology."

The air seems not to be still, but frozen solid. Harry regretted his words But kept his face blank from having it shown on his face. Unfortunately, he could quite hide the 'Oh, I fuck up' in his bright green eyes—if you excuse my use of modern muggle term.

Snape was unnaturally still, and he had the perfect lid to what he was feeling, leaving Harry wondering if he'll decide to take that early 50 points after all as they locked eyes at one another. Harry mentally cursed himself for not being able to properly apologize to the man he owed his life to, no matter how much of a git he was.

At last, after a long uncomfortable silence, "You're lucky that the school year is over because not only would I take points for your cheek and blatant disrespect, but I would have personally designed your detention to take up your Quidditch practice for the whole month with Filch."

Harry gulped from the image and thanked heaven he didn't talk to Snape at any other time.

"If you're done wasting time, get out of my office."

Harry took the get-away-card as it is and practically ran out of the room with one thought in mind:

'Professor Snape is the worst.'

AN: So what did you think? It was a lot of fun writing Asshole!Snape interacting with Sassy!Harry. The scene was honestly a headcanon of mine because can you imagine canon!Severus suspecting the Golden Trio of some mischief and thought they were planning an end-of-term prank, and waiting relishly to take points just so he can set a record for Gryffidor's lowest point in history (because Severus has a horrible sense of humour) only to find out the truth the next day and mentally screamed, "HE DID WHAT AND FOUGHT FUCKING WHO?!"

So I thought, there's no way he wouldn't watch over Harry at night afterward. He must have thought he had to be constantly vigilant if he wants Harry to stay put and not go out in search of the next death-stunts even with Voldemort gone. "I must not let my guard down, I will not fail my mission because Potter's son is an idiot who can't be trusted with his own life"

Severus was hired to protect anyone who wishes him harm. He never imagined he had to protect Harry from himself thanks to his lack of self-preservation. Oh, Sevvy, you silly, you. You should have learned that from Percy, long ago.

Also, I thought it was more in-character if Harry came to apologize to Severus. He has a high sense of justice, so he would owe him an apology if he deserves it. But I figured Severus would not let down his nasty disposition, which resulted in the scene above you. Oh, Harry and Severus, one day there might, might be hope for the both of you, but today is not that day.

What did you think of my mysterious sender? It might be who you think. It might be not. Whichever it is, I ain't telling, hahaha. And is Severus still the same kind of Asshole in canon? Or is it all a mask he's wearing and actually has a loving heart? Or is he something else entirely? And how come Percy is there and looking not an age older?

Well, I can't spoon-feed you with everything. Where's the fun in that? I will make you suffer within the stew of the unknown and mysterious and have you lost within your own mind! Go and suffer! SUFFER!

*cough* Excuse my craziness. Anyway, hope you like it. Please tell me what you think.