Chapter 13: The Man With Two Faces
"You!" Harry gasped before he could stop himself.
Quirrell had his back to him, but rather than flinching in surprise or fear, as expected of the nervous professor, he turned around calmly, a smile on his lips.
"Me," he said, without a single quiver to his voice, "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you down here, Potter."
This was perplexing. Had Quirrell suspected that Harry and his friends were trying to steal the stone this whole time? Perhaps he had been waiting to take Harry straight to Dumbledore to have him expelled...
Harry wasn't going down without a fight. His excuse was already on his lips, "Sir, I thought that Professor Snape..."
"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? It was very convenient, having him around. Next to him who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
It was then that Harry understood he had made a very grave error. Quirrell wasn't here to stop someone from stealing the stone. He was here to steal it himself.
Harry didn't know what to say. From the looks of things, Quirrell hadn't gotten his hands on the stone just yet. But Harry had been prepared to face the potions master, not the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was certain that this new, confident Quirrell could cast many spells that would easily deflect the few hexes Harry had mastered.
As he stood there, trying to think of what to do next, Quirrell continued talking.
"At any rate, it is fortunate that you came to me tonight. It saves me quite a bit of trouble."
He snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry.
"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school, loitering around the third floor... You might have spied me trying to get to the stone!"
"You're the one who let the troll in..." Harry said, as the events of the past year slowly began falling into place.
"Certainly. 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, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off. And who should follow him but you and your misguided friends? If I had been lucky that dog would have used its three heads to rip you all to pieces, but luck was not on my side that night. I had to be patient..."
"Please, Professor..." Harry pleaded, struggling against his magical restraints, "I promise I won't tell anyone that it was you. You can let me go."
It was a desperate lie, and Quirrell saw right though it.
"Oh Potter," he said with another sinister chuckle, "I'm not worried about exposure now. The world will know the height of my ambition soon enough. I have another reason for wanting to kill you. Now, wait quietly until that time comes. I need to examine this interesting mirror..."
It was only then that Harry noticed what stood behind Quirrell. It was a very large mirror surrounded by an ornate gold frame. It rested on two clawed feet, and from where Harry stood, he could just make out an engraving along the top.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," Quirrell intoned, his hands raised to the mirror. He was reading the inscription as if it were some kind of invocation. He and Harry waited, but when nothing happened, Quirrell lowered his hands again.
"The mirror is the key to finding the stone," Quirrell 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..."
Taking the stone for himself was out of the question now. The only thing on Harry's mind was keeping Quirrell distracted until Millie could come back with reinforcements. If Quirrell got the stone before then, Harry was certain the professor would make good on his promise to kill him. He had to keep Quirrell talking, and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.
"I saw you and Snape the day of the Quidditch match," he blurted, "You were arguing."
"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to inspect the back. "He suspected me from the very beginning, and the troll incident on Halloween did not help. He wanted to know how much I knew and tried to frighten me. As if he could, when I have Lord Voldemort on my side..."
Harry felt as though he'd taken another drink of the icy potion. His blood congealed in his veins. Quirrell had just uttered the name of the man who murdered Harry's parents. It was a name he seldom heard spoken aloud, and certainly never in the casual tone used by Quirrell just now. If Harry had any doubts about Quirrell's intention to kill him, they were instantly dispelled.
"Lord Voldemort?" Harry said, sounding a bit louder than he had intended, "What do you mean by that?"
"You mean you hadn't guessed, Potter?" Quirrell said, sounding highly amused. "Did you really think that I wanted the stone for my own use?"
"I thought that Snape..." Harry began, but he was roughly interrupted by Quirrell.
"Snape had nothing to do with it!" Quirrell declared, "The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better!"
"But I heard you crying in an empty classroom. Was Snape threatening you then, too?"
For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.
"Sometimes I find it hard 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, "Voldemort? But that's impossible, isn't it? He's supposed to be dead!"
"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell. Harry thought he sounded almost mournful. "I met him when I traveled around the world. I was a foolish young man, 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..."
Quirrell's voice trailed away as he became lost in his own recollections. Harry was beginning to think Quirrell was nothing more than a madman. After all, it was impossible for Lord Voldemort to have returned from the dead. No one had seen him since the night he killed Harry's parents, or so Harry had been told. Quirrell must have deluded himself into thinking he was serving Voldemort. But if Quirrell was insane that made his next move unpredictable, and therefore dangerous.
Quirrell cursed under his breath.
"I see the stone... I'm presenting it to my master... But where it it?"
He was staring at his own reflection in the mirror, but of course it was only his reflection.
"I don't understand. Is the stone inside the mirror? Should I break it? How does it work? Master... Help me!"
And to Harry's horror, a strange voice answered him, a voice that seemed to come from Quirrell himself.
"Use him... Use the boy..."
Quirrell rounded on Harry. He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell to his feet.
"Potter, come here," he ordered. When Harry did not respond immediately to his demand, he clicked his tongue against his teeth in impatience and drew a wand from the sleeve of his robes. Wordlessly, he waved it at Harry, who was pulled across the ground by an invisible force, his toes scraping across the ground. He came to a stop by Quirrell's side, who wasted no time in pressing the tip of his wand against Harry's neck.
"Look into the mirror, and tell me what you see," he said.
Harry did not know what to expect, but if this was truly some final test of Dumbledore's, Harry knew that no matter what he saw, he must lie. There was no way he could tell the truth if a good lie would keep him alive a bit longer. He thought of Millie and hoped desperately that she'd met a teacher on the way to the hospital wing. Or Peeves. Or anyone.
But his resolve vanished as soon as he saw his reflection in the mirror. He saw himself, but it was not Quirrell at his side. Instead, Harry saw a room full of people. He looked over his shoulder, ignoring the pressure of the wand at his neck. The room was empty. But when he looked back at the mirror, he still saw them, rows and rows of people. They were all smiling at him. Some where craning their necks to get a better look. He saw hands waving, and he had to resist the urge to wave back. Some of them looked familiar, though he knew he'd never seen any of these people before.
"What is it? What do you see?" Quirrell repeated, but Harry ignored him. He was staring intently at the people standing on either side of his reflection. The man looked just like him, only older and without the lightning scar. He wore round glasses, like Harry, and had the same unruly black hair. The woman's hair was a dark auburn. She was very pretty. When she smiled at him, he saw her green eyes shine, and he was shocked to see that they were the exact same shade as his own.
"Mom...?" he whispered, "Dad...?"
The smiles of the reflections grew wider, and he knew that he was right. He watched his mother's reflection reach out to grip the shoulder of his image, and he felt unbearably sad that he couldn't feel her touch.
As he continued to stare, Harry watched as his father drew something out of his pocket. He held it up for Harry to see. It was a glittering blood-red stone. Harry's father winked at him, and tucked the stone into the pocket of Harry's reflection. At the same time, Harry felt the weight of something fill the pocket on his robes. He didn't know how, but his father had just given him the Philosopher's Stone.
"What?" Quirrell asked, prodding him again with the wand, "What is it?"
"My parents..." Harry said truthfully, "I see my family..."
Quirrell cursed and pushed Harry out of the way. He continued to stare into the mirror, muttering to himself. Harry backed away from him, feeling the weight of the stone against his leg. He considered making a break for it while Quirrell was distracted, but he had only walked a few paces when the voice spoke again, and this time Harry was sure that it couldn't be Quirrell's.
"He lies... He lies...!"
"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted, the anger in his voice stopping Harry in his tracks, "Tell me the truth! What did you see?"
"I told you the truth! I saw my parents!" Harry said, his heart pounding. Who's voice was that?
"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..." the voice hissed again.
Quirrell looked as frightened as Harry felt,
"Master, you are not strong enough..."
"Do you think me so weak?" hissed the voice, "No... I have strength enough for this..."
Harry did not think Quirrell was mad anymore. He thought he knew whose voice that was, and his heart continued to beat madly against his ribs as Quirrell turned his back to him and began unraveling his turban. He still did not understand the horror he had in store until the turban fell away entirely, and Harry screamed.
Where there should have been only the back of Quirrell's head, there was instead a face. It was the most horrible face Harry had ever laid his eyes on. It was chalk white and had glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. In fact, Harry was sure there was nothing human-like about the face at all.
"Harry Potter..." it whispered in its strange, high-pitched voice.
Harry promptly threw up on the floor.
"That's disgusting!" he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "Ugh, and it speaks. That is seriously the most revolting thing I have ever seen in my life!"
"Hold your tongue in front of the Dark Lord!" Quirrell demanded, half-turning toward Harry so that for a moment, he could see both faces on the same head. He felt like retching again.
"Silence, Quirrell..." Voldemort commanded, "Let me speak to him, myself..."
Quirrell turned away again, and Harry stood looking into the eyes of the man who had killed his parents. Or what was left of him, anyway.
"See what I have become?" the face said, "Mere shadow and vapor..."
"Oh I wouldn't say that," Harry said, his fear making him reckless, "Shadows aren't this hideous."
The face stared at Harry, its expression unreadable. Harry figured he'd offended Voldemort by interrupting him, so it couldn't hurt to offend further.
"Sorry," he said, "But you are repulsive."
To his surprise, Voldemort did not order Quirrell to kill him on the spot. Instead, he continued speaking, as if Harry hadn't said a word.
"I have form only when I share the body of another. But there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds..."
"Wait, there were others before Quirrell?" Harry asked, interrupting a second time. "What happened to them?"
"I was speaking metaphorically!" Voldemort snapped, "Quirrell has been different... He has served me faithfully, drinking the blood of unicorns to sustain me, strengthen me... But once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own..."
"How?" asked Harry.
"What?"
"How are you going to create a body with the elixir?"
"The Philosopher's Stone is capable of magic far beyond your understanding, Potter."
"Maybe so, but I met Flamel. You know, the guy who made it? And he never said anything about it making human bodies. It just grants eternal life, if you've got a body to drink it, that is. So maybe Quirrell would live forever, but I don't really know what would happen to you..."
"Silence!" Voldemort seethed, "I've had enough of your backtalk! Now... why don't you give me that stone in your pocket?"
Harry didn't know how he knew, but he did. Harry stumbled backward, prepared to flee.
"Don't be a fool," snarled the face, "Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same fate as your parents. They died begging me for mercy..."
"Yeah, mentioning my parents – who you murdered – isn't really selling the whole 'join me' angle," Harry said bitterly. He no longer felt fear. The Voldemort he saw before him was too pathetic to be feared. But Harry could feel disgust, and he could feel anger.
Quirrell began walking backward toward Harry, so that Voldemort drew closer and closer. The evil face was now smiling.
"How sentimental..." he sneered, "Defending the parents you never knew. I always value bravery... Yes, your parents were brave, too. And what happened to them? I killed your father first. He tried to fight me. 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..."
Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the curious mirror behind Voldemort's evil face. He could still see the reflections of his family, his mother and father more clearly visible than his other lost relatives. His mother was looking at him, her face full of longing and love.
"I'll never join you!" Harry said. His parents looked on proudly. Harry spared only a moment more to memorize their faces, then he sprang toward the exit, still blocked by the black flames.
"Seize him!" screamed Voldemort, and the next second Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist.
At once, needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar. It felt as though his head were going to split in two. He screamed, struggling against Quirrell with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let him go. The pain subsided, and he looked at Quirrell in wild confusion. He was hunched on the ground, apparently in terrible pain. Harry watched in shock as Quirrell lifted his fingers, which were blistering before his eyes.
"I said seize him! Seize him!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry to the ground and landing on top of him. He clutched Harry's neck with both hands, strangling him, but Harry's scar hurt far worse. It was blinding him with pain, yet he could hear Quirrell howling in agony.
"I cannot hold him!" he wailed, "My hands! My hands!"
And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms. They were burned raw, red, and shiny.
"Kill him!" Voldemort screamed.
Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face.
Another flash of pain tore through his scar, but it was nothing compared to the torment Quirrell experienced, judging by his scream. He rolled off Harry, his face blistering as badly as his hands, the marks the exact size and shape of Harry's fingers. Then Harry knew for certain. For some reason, Quirrell could not touch his bare skin. His only chance at survival was to keep hold of Quirrell, at least until someone showed up to rescue him.
Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off, and the burning in Harry's head was almost unbearable, but still he held on. He couldn't see anything, only hear the sounds of Quirrell's screams and Voldemort's cries of "Kill him! Kill him!"
Suddenly, another voice broke through the chaos, calling his name.
"Potter! Potter!"
He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, but he was already at the end of his strength. He tried to open his eyes one last time, but it was no use. All was blackness.
His eyes were open, so that must mean he wasn't dead. But where was he?
Harry rolled his head to the left and could barely make out the blurry figure of a table next to him. He groped in semi-blindness and found his glasses, exactly where they would have been if he had placed them on his own nightstand. For a moment, Harry considered the possibility that it had all been a very bad dream, and that he was back in his own dormitory. But reality came back to him swiftly once his glasses were in place. He could see Blaise in a bed next to him, fast asleep under a blanket of white linen. Harry was lying in an identical bed. He realized this must be the hospital wing.
He stared at Blase for several long minutes, taking comfort in the sight of his chest rising and falling with calm breath. Then he rolled his head lazily to the right, and found himself staring at Professor Snape.
Snape was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair facing Harry's bed, and he was watching Harry with his usual expression of dislike. They might as well have been in potions class, with Snape critically eyeing some brew Harry had concocted.
"... Professor Snape?" Harry said, revisiting the notion that he might be dreaming.
"Potter," said Snape, his lip curling slightly in an unmistakable sign of contempt.
"... I'm in the hospital wing..."
"Yes, Potter. Well done. If only you could be this observant in my class, perhaps you wouldn't be such an unbearable disappointment."
"I mean, I'm not dead."
Snape hesitated, though he showed no signs of softening his callous demeanor. Harry was oddly comforted by Snape's familiar antipathy for him. It made things seem normal, more easy to cope with.
"No. You aren't dead," Snape said simply.
"But how did I get here? Where is Quirrell? Did he take the stone?"
"Quirrell is gone," Snape said flatly. "The stone is safe."
Harry took a few moments to process this information. He still was so tired. His brain felt like oatmeal mush. Snape did not hurry him. He continued to sit in silence by Harry's bedside, though now, rather than stare at Harry, he seemed to prefer to look anywhere else.
"How long have I been here?" Harry asked after what seemed like an age.
"Three days."
"Three days?" Harry said, astounded at how much time had passed. He was suddenly seized with worry for Blaise. He looked at his friend again to assured himself that Blaise was in fact still breathing, then he returned his gaze to Snape.
His concern must have been evident on his face, because Snape answered his question without needing to be asked.
"He woke two days ago. He's only sleeping now. I imagine he is still recovering from the effects of my potion. He's very lucky. The poison was designed to be lethal if not treated within fifteen minutes of its consumption. Miss Bulstrode must have been very fast."
Harry made a mental note to give Millie an especially strong hug when he next saw her, whether she liked it or not.
"I still don't understand. Where has Quirrell gone to? And how did I end up here?"
"I suspected someone would attempt to steal the stone when I heard of Dumbledore's absence. I was already on my way to the chamber when I met Miss Bulstrode on her way to the hospital wing. She told me I would find you there."
"Wait... You mean that you saved me?"
"Yes, Potter, I saved you," Snape said tersely, seeming angry with himself at the reminder, "You seemed to be handling Quirrell just fine on your own, but then you passed out just as I arrived."
"But... I thought you hated me."
"I do hate you."
Harry appreciated his honesty, but he was more confused than ever, "So then why did you save me?"
Snape apparently had no ready answer to this question. He glanced at Harry for the first time in several minutes. Harry caught his gaze and held it, forcing Snape to look away first.
"You would be more trouble dead than you are alive, Potter," he said, "I've already got Edana Zabini breathing down my neck on account of her son. Do you really think I wanted to deal with the consequences of letting Famous Harry Potter die when I could prevent it?"
His words did not have the same ring of cruel truth to them as they usually did. He felt that Snape was hiding something from him, but he decided not to press the issue further. He was certain that this was the longest conversation he'd ever had with the Potions Master, and he didn't want to push his luck. Compared to their other encounters, Snape was being downright pleasant.
"Thank you for saving me," Harry said. It really was enjoyable to watch the look of quiet self-loathing on Snape's face. He looked as if he'd just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. He probably would have retorted with another cutting remark, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Albus Dumbledore.
"Severus! I asked you to fetch me as soon as he awoke!" Dumbledore chided in a friendly tone.
Snape stood immediately from his chair, obviously eager to leave as soon as possible.
"Forgive me, Headmaster. Potter had a number of impertinent questions, as usual. But I'm sure they were not all wasted on me."
"Is that so, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Harry through his half-moon glasses. "Have you woken from your long slumber only to give me a pop quiz?"
"Actually, I would like to talk with you," Harry said, then added quickly, "If that's OK, sir?"
"Of course, Harry. After all, the whole school has already heard of your adventures. It's only fair that you hear of them as well."
Snape gave Dumbledore a small bow and swept from the room without another word. Dumbledore then motioned to the table placed on the other side of Harry's bed, where a heretofore unnoticed pile of sweets had been assembled.
"Tokens from your admirers, Harry. You see, I was not joking when I said word of your adventures had spread throughout the school."
Harry blinked at the massive pile in some surprise, but he was not concerned about candy at the moment.
"Sir, I want to talk to you about the Philosopher's Stone."
Dumbledore laughed, "You have a one-track mind, Harry!"
"Well... You aren't wrong. Snape said..."
"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.
"... Professor Snape told me that Quirrell is gone."
"Ah, yes. Quirinus Quirrell is in fact gone. Once Voldemort left his body, the strain was too great for him to withstand. He had already suffered through so much."
Harry was shocked, "You mean he's dead?"
"Yes, I am afraid so. You mustn't blame yourself, Harry."
"Oh, I don't," Harry said promptly, "I blame Voldemort... I mean, you-know-who."
"I would think, after facing him yourself, that you would be past these little superstitions. You may call him Voldemort if you wish, Harry. After all, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."
Harry considered this carefully. He head was still a little fuzzy. Eventually, he decided he could see the logic in Dumbledore's words, and he nodded.
"Voldemort was on the back of Quirrell's head," he stated.
"Ah. That must have been quite terrifying."
"It was gross."
Dumbledore smiled at him.
"What about the stone?" Harry asked, "Is it safe?"
"As to that, the stone has been destroyed."
Harry stared at him, open-mouthed. His first thought was that somehow, in the scuffle between himself and Quirrell, the stone had fallen, shattered into a million pieces. He broke a precious artifact.
Harry suddenly thought of Nicolas Flamel and his pretty, smiling wife. He felt unbearably guilty.
"But... Without the stone... Flamel... Won't he die?"
"Nicolas and I had a long chat, and we decided it was for the best. He and Perenelle have enough elixir saved up to set their affairs in order. And then, yes. They will die."
Harry bowed his head. Flamel had warned him not to seek the stone, but Harry had ignored him. He had plotted all year to steal the stone himself. Dumbledore and everyone in the school must be thinking he was some sort of hero for defeating Quirrell and Voldemort, but in reality, Harry felt less like The Boy Who Lived, and more like The Boy Who Killed Someone.
"Harry... Do not blame yourself," Dumbledore said again, only this time his words were needed. "Nicolas and Perenelle have lived a very, very long time."
"But I broke it. I broke it and now they have to die!"
Dumbledore laughed again, and Harry looked at him in amazement. How could Dumbledore laugh at the deaths of two people whom he called friends?
"Harry! You did not break the stone! Nicolas destroyed it after our talk together. Besides, he created it in the first place. Don't you think he could make another if he wished?"
Harry felt very silly for being so distraught, but he was also terribly glad that Dumbledore was here to explain this to him. His cheerful laughter was preferable to Snape's jeers. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Or near silence, as Dumbledore began humming a strange tune quietly to himself. He seemed to be giving Harry time to process, but the fact that he was waiting told Harry that he expected more questions, and what was more, he was prepared to answer them.
"Sir, I've been thinking," said Harry after awhile, "It's about Voldemort. With the stone gone, he can't come back, can he?"
"Ah, that is the question, isn't it Harry? I am afraid there are other ways for him to return. Other bodies to share... Other people to bind to his will... So long is he is not truly alive he cannot be killed. I believe that so long as some piece of him survives, there will always be a chance of his return."
"Did you know? I mean that he wasn't really dead all this time?"
"I had my suspicions, Harry. They never found Voldemort's body the night your parents were killed. But suspicion is all I had, until three nights ago, when Snape found you in that chamber and pulled Quirrell off of you himself."
"About that, sir. Why did Snape help me?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise, "You mean he didn't tell you?"
"Well... He said it was his duty as a teacher, I guess. But I got the feeling he wasn't telling me everything."
"Hm... Well then, it is not my story to tell. Perhaps Professor Snape will tell you himself, one day. In his own time. At any rate, he had very little to do. You were doing just fine on your own, from what I've heard."
Harry remembered the struggle with Quirrell, and the way his hands had caused him to burn.
"Why couldn't he touch me, sir?"
"That would be because of your mother. She died to save you, Harry. And love... The love a mother has for her child... It is the most powerful magic there is. Voldemort never understood that, and so he could not protect himself from that magic. Love leaves a mark, Harry. Not a scar, but one that marks us long after our loved ones have gone. Her love continues to protect you to this day, and so Quirrell, full of avarice and tainted by Voldemort's hatred, could not touch you without agony."
"Voldemort said she didn't need to die," Harry said, remembering the conversation he had with the evil face, "He said she was just trying to protect me... Professor, why would he want to kill me? I was just a baby..."
"Alas, Harry, that is one question I cannot answer now," Dumbledore said, rising from his seat, "I think it would be best for you to get some sleep now."
Harry was going to argue. He felt there was still so much he did not understand, and besides, he had been sleeping for three days. But then, he did feel very tired. Perhaps all of this new information had worn him out emotionally. He nodded his head and allowed himself to sink back against his pillows, hardly realizing he'd been propping himself up. Dumbledore began to make his way toward the door when Harry stopped him.
"Professor! One last question," he said.
Dumbledore turned around, a curious smile on his face.
"The invisibility cloak. Were you the one who gave it to me?"
"Oh yes! Your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you would like to have it. Useful thing. I believe your father used it mainly to steal food from the kitchen..."
Harry smiled, wondering why his father would need to steal food when there was so much to be had at meal times. He thought of the man he'd seen reflected in the mirror, and wished to know more about him. Then he thought of something else.
"Professor!" he called out again, pushing himself into a seated position perhaps a little unwisely. It made him dizzy.
"The mirror!" he said, ignoring Dumbledore's entreaties to lay back down, "I saw them in it! Both of my parents! It was my dad, he gave me the stone! How? How did it work?"
Dumbledore had returned to Harry's side and was looking at him with a mixture of pride and pity.
"That was the Mirror of Erised, Harry. It shows us our deepest desires. In your case, I suppose it must have shown you the family you've always wanted. But it was also designed to give the viewer access to the stone, but only if they did not want to use it for their own gains."
Harry thought back to that moment. It was true he had plotted to steal the stone all year, but he never thought of using it himself. He had gold enough already, and he had no interest in living forever. Though when he thought about his parents, he felt that he wouldn't mind having a way to bring people back from the dead.
Perhaps Harry would have shared this thought with Dumbledore, had not Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, not swept down upon him, blaming the headmaster for Harry's state of agitation and banishing him from the hospital wing, but not before Dumbledore could steal one of Harry's chocolate frogs with a wink.
Harry dreamed that he was in the chamber again. Quirrell was unwrapping his turban, but when he turned away, it was not Voldemort's white face he saw, but the face of a large, ugly snake. It hissed his name...
When Harry awoke, he could still hear it hissing. Only it wasn't a snake at all. Blaise was whispering intently from his own bed.
"Harry! Are you still sleeping?"
"Not anymore," Harry said grumpily, blaming Blaise for his bad dream, but pleased that he had woken him.
He rolled to his side so he could peer at Blaise over the edge of his pillow. Blaise had rolled over in a similar fashion, and was looking at Harry in amazement.
"I heard you and Dumbledore talking," he said. It was dark in the hospital wing. Harry figured he must have dozed off, and it was now night.
"You were awake?" asked Harry.
"Yeah. I didn't want to interrupt."
"You were eavesdropping," Harry said, grinning.
Blaise grinned back, "Yes. But just a little."
"How much is a little?"
"I heard everything."
Harry laughed, but Blaise shushed him with dire warnings of what would happen if they woke Madam Pomfrey. He had been awake more often than not while Harry slept, and was more acquainted with the nurse's strict habits.
"Is it all true?" Blaise asked, "Did you really see Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head?"
"Yeah," Harry said, shuddering at the memory. He pulled his blanket closer around him.
"Blimey..." Blaise breathed, staring at Harry in awe. It made Harry slightly uncomfortable.
"And Flamel?" he asked next, "He's really going to die?"
"Dumbledore said he could make another stone if he wanted. Maybe he's just decided he's ready to die."
They said nothing to each other for awhile after that; each eleven-year-old lost in a private contemplation of death, both puzzled in his own way why someone would welcome it gladly. They were quiet for so long that Harry thought Blaise might have drifted off to sleep, until he spoke again.
"Millie came by a few times. She's bound to come again when she hears you're up."
"Good," Harry said, "I'm going to hug her."
"What for? She saved me, not you. If anyone should hug her, it's me."
"Then you do it."
"No! She'd probably punch my lights out, and I'd be here for another week!"
They began laughing again, only this time they really did wake Madame Pomfrey. They were scolded, and warned to get some sleep midst threats of being treated to a sleeping draught.
She was even more outraged the next morning, when Harry jumped out of bed to make good on his promise to give Millie a great bear hug. To his surprise, she hugged him back. Grinning, she plopped onto the end of Blaise's bed, grabbed some of the candy from Harry's bedside, and began eating happily while Madame Pomfrey forced Harry to lie back down. With a wave of her wand, Harry was tucked in so tightly he thought he'd never be free of his bed again.
"I've brought someone!" Millie said cheerfully.
Harry, still able to turn his head, glanced toward the doorway and saw Hagrid's large body waiting hesitantly in the doorway, as if uncertain he was welcome there.
"Hagrid!" Harry and Blaise both shouted joyfully, earning a few scowls from Madame Pomfrey.
"Don't be afraid of her, Hagrid!" Blaise said, "You can come in!"
Hagrid tottered into the room, took a seat that seemed far too small to support his weight, looked at Harry, and burst into tears.
"It's all my ruddy fault!" he wailed, his face in his hands, "I told that evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn' 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, startled by this touching burst of emotion, "He'd have found out anyway! This is Voldemort we're talking about!"
"Yeh could've died! And don't say the name!"
"I'll say it if I want. Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort!" Harry shouted, and Hagrid was so shocked he stopped crying.
Harry smiled at him, "See? Nothing the matter with saying Voldemort. I've met him, and let me tell you, he's more sickening than scary. Anyway, why don't you do as Millie does and have a chocolate frog? I've got loads from people I don't think I've ever even talked to..."
Hagrid wiped his nose and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."
"No fair! Where's my present?" Blaise complained.
Hagrid reached into his coat pocket and tossed a roughly wrapped present to Blaise. It was a pile of his infamous rock cakes. Harry smiled at Blaise's attempts to be thankful, then he stared down at the gift Hagrid placed in his lap.
It was a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously, wondering what sort of book Hagrid thought would interest him. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.
"Sent owls off ter all yer parent's old school friends, askin' fer photos... Knew yeh didn't have any... d'yeh like it?"
Harry couldn't speak, so he got up from his bed to give Hagrid a hug, hoping he understood how much the gift meant to him.
He made his way down to the end-of-year feast with Blaise and Millie. They had been held up by Madame Pomfrey's last-minute checkups, so the Great Hall was already full with the rest of the school. When they entered, it was to see the hall decked out in silver and green. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.
"Well, I guess Slytherin won for the seventh year in a row," Blaise commented. "Guess they did OK without us for a few days, eh Harry?"
Several students turned to stare when Blaise said Harry's name. They caught the attention of their neighbors, so that they stopped to stare, as well, and a sudden hush fell over the hall. Then everyone stared talking at once.
Blaise waved to them as they made their way to the Slytherin table, saying things like "Yes, hello! I've missed you all, too. It's good to be back."
"I don't think they're staring at you, Blaise," Millie said dryly.
"Who else would they be looking at? You? Don't be so vain, Millie."
Millie rolled her eyes and Harry laughed, and they slipped into seats at the table with the rest of their house.
Dumbledore arrived moments later, and began his speech for the end-of-year banquet.
"Another year gone! 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 all 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 and his friends were among those cheering the loudest.
"Yes, well done Slytherin," said Dumbledore, "However, it has recently come to my attention that a certain teacher has erroneously removed points from a certain house, falsely believing a particular student belonged to said house, and removing points accordingly."
Harry groaned, dreading the next words to come out of Dumbledore's mouth.
"Therefore I feel it only appropriate to restore some of the points there were mistakenly taken from Gryffindor house. I'm sure Mr. Potter, of Slytherin, will not begrudge me an opportunity to right a wrong committed in his name, when I award Gryffindor the one hundred and seventy points I would have awarded to him for his stunning display of bravery only a week ago."
A stunned silence filled the room, followed by the gasps of students who were good at doing math in their heads. Realization dawned on Slytherin house last, as their groans were drowned out by the deafening roars of the other houses. Dumbledore had just awarded Gryffindor enough points to win the house cup.
"There's no way Snape took enough points away from Gryffindor on account of me to make that fair!" Harry argued even as the banners were transformed from silver and green to red and gold.
Harry caught Snape's eye and knew that his feelings toward Harry had soured even more on account of this upset. Harry returned his look with one of equal dislike. It was Snape's fault this had happened, not his.
Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To his surprise, he passed with very good marks. Naturally, Blaise got the highest marks on his Charms exam. Even Millie scraped through with excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts scores and a passable grade in Potions. They had hoped that Crabbe or Goyle would be thrown out, but they somehow managed to pass, too.
"Cheated, probably," was Blaise's opinion.
And then, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, and notes were passed out to all the students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays. Hagrid was there to see them off, and they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, talking and sharing Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns. Harry swapped his school robes for jeans and a jacket, and in no time at all they were pulling in to platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.
"You have to come and stay this summer," said Blaise, "Millie too. It's OK, isn't it, mum?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Zabini, hugging Harry as well as her son. She had the sense not to try it with Millie, though they did shake hands. "I'd be delighted to have any friends of Blaise stay with us."
"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to."
Mrs. Zabini was looking at Harry curiously, and seemed prepared to say something more, but people kept jostling past them on the platform. Many of them, all Slytherin students, called out to Harry as they passed.
"See you later, Potter!"
"Have a good summer, Harry!"
Even Draco Malfoy muttered something has he hurried toward his parents. He was careful to nudge Harry with his trunk to that he wouldn't miss his whispered, "Potter..."
"Malloy," Harry said, knowing it would bother Draco all summer if he got his name wrong.
Harry passed through the gateway with Blaise and his mother. Millie had already moved off to join her own parents. Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced and mustachioed, was looking furious as usual at the sight of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. He wasn't surprised to see Vernon give Mrs. Zabini a double take. His Aunt Petunia was standing behind him with Dudley, and she eyed Mrs. Zabini with a look of envy.
"Ready, are you?" Uncle Vernon said, recovering himself.
"You must be Harry's family," said Mrs. Zabini breezily.
Vernon was caught off guard. He hadn't realized that Mrs. Zabini was walking with Harry.
"In a manner of speaking," he mumbled, then, "Hurry up boy, we haven't got all day."
He walked away, leaving Mrs. Zabini in shocked silence. Harry shrugged, expecting no better from his Uncle Vernon or any of the Dursleys.
"Well, that's my ride. I hope you have a good holiday."
"Sure Harry, and don't forget to write," said Blaise.
"Harry, I do think it's best if you come to visit us this summer," Mrs. Zabini said quietly, giving the Dursleys a critical look.
"Oh don't mind them," Harry said, "They're always like that. Anyway, they don't know I'm not allowed to do magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer..."
Author's Note: Whew! That was a long chapter! And so concludes Harry's first year at Hogwarts. But fear not! This story will continue in Year 2, or "the year Harry discovers a giant killer snake living in the school sewer." I'll be taking a brief hiatus in order to use NaNoWriMo to bust out the first draft of the second year. I hope to start uploading new chapters after January 1st! Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on the story thus far. I hope to see you all again in the next installment! Until then, happy reading. - jinxauthor