2. Fireworks and Forgetfulness.
Fred and George wanted to set off fireworks.
They had read about that long-ago Halloween week, when You-Know-Who was defeated by baby Harry Potter. Some wonderful firework celebrations had been lit off then, when word got around. The twins thought the time had come again.
Dumbledore said no, but understanding their reasoning (or excuse) for it, he offered to provide a compromise they should enjoy.
At the end of the banquet that evening, only a certain few Slytherins opted to leave. The fires in the Great Hall were turned down; then, the enchanted ceiling put on a most spectacular and noisy skyrocket display.
Even Fred and George were in awe. It did not, however, prevent them from slipping a few items from their considerable arsenal to a gleeful Peeves, who shot them off at odd intervals for hours, keeping everyone awake. If Dumbledore knew the boys were responsible (and how could he not), he never said a word.
The reason for a celebration, of course, was Harry Potter's second successful encounter with You-Know-Who. As well, now everyone knew the legendary Philosopher's Stone had been hiding for weeks under their very noses, right here at Hogwarts! Dumbledore had told the story by way of explaining the departure of Quirrell to the staff, and by now the whole school was a-buzz with it. With each retelling, wonderful new fables and plot twists were attached to the saga, but did that matter?
On the second day, Ron wriggled his way out of Madam Pomfrey's mother-hen clutches. She had happened to mention the sound-and-light show, and he pouted about missing it all -- well, all except the grand finale, the repeating buzz bomb that Peeves had thrown in the Infirmary wing after midnight. In Ron's estimation, "Wicked, that!"
Pomfrey decided all this sounded very much like the workings of a normal 12-year-old boy's mind, and wrote his release. His headache had lasted only a few hours after the mild concussion, from being slugged by the white Queen. He'd have bruises and soreness from several falls. Otherwise, he was none the worse.
Ron was met in the Gryffindor common room by Hermione, who had sprained her wrist falling from the devil's snare, and had a few scratches from flying debris. Bickering certainly wasn't on the agenda today; they were mutually pleased to have escaped alive. So far, she hadn't talked much about their journey that night, telling others that Ron and Harry had really done it all, and they'd be the ones to ask. Ron agreed that they'd wait to talk it over with Harry.
Two adventurers semi-cured, one more to go!
The older Gryffindors made a list of Harry's favourite treats, and brought some home from Hogsmeade for his friends to deliver. When Harry would finally open his eyes from days of Pomfrey's sleeping potions, they wanted him to find something more than tinctures and a chamber pot by his bed.
Pomfrey reacted favourably to the lovely pile of treats. She tsk'ed about it being an excellent potion for creeping tooth decay, but freely admitted it would be good for Harry's spirits. NOT the additional present from the twins, though; by no means was a beribboned toilet seat going to grace her recovery ward!
A few Chocolate Frogs disapparated shortly after delivery; Ron just couldn't resist. Oh, he left the wizard cards for Harry -- except for the new one he coveted, Gren the Spear-Catcher, who looked even more beat-up than Harry the Sedated. Reading the cards kept Ron busy while Hermione dallied, feeling useful in trying to rub a little heat into Harry's chilly hands. They could hardly wait for Harry to be well enough to leave the Infirmary wing, so they could swap their blow-by-blow accounts, and hear about You-Know-Who.
Harry was finally awake late on the third day, but only Dumbledore was allowed to visit. Hermione and Ron were requested to wait at the school. The headmaster was expressionless when he finally returned. Of course, they asked him how Harry was.
He slowly replied, "Harry is recovering well; he should be out in less than a week. He was very impressed by the gifts, and he thanks everyone. There will be no visits, please. We'll let your friend get his needed rest."
Dumbledore began to leave, then turned and added, "As you are his closest friends, I must tell you: all of it has been rather a strain on Harry, and you will find that he may not remember everything just so."
With that, he left the two Gryffindors looking at each other in puzzlement.
By the seventh day, Harry was due for release. It was a chill morning for June, so the two waited for him on the entrance hall balcony, where it was warm and they could watch all the doors below... whenever their chatting didn't distract them from that purpose.
Ron thought Hermione was getting carried away, the way she ran on about their friend in almost gushy, hero-worshipping terms. Always ready to help his dorm mate, Ron decided to gush back. He told Hermione that he reckoned Harry fancied her.
"Talks about you rather a lot, y'know. Calls out your name in his sleep, and makes these snogging noises. It's awful, really. But if you ask me, Hermione -- I think he loves you."
Ron chortled to himself. Let's see you get out of that, Harry!
Hermione wondered why Ron would make up that silly story, but said nothing. Ron, she thought, if you only knew how I feel about...
Just then, from the side doorway below, a familiar voice: "Oy! Frog-napper!"
Hermione beamed, and Ron practically jumped for joy. "Oy yourself, Sleepin' Beauty!" he shouted.
Harry Potter was home, knackered but happy. Gryffindor's somewhat-unholy trio of First Years was finally back together.
Harry allowed he wasn't up to, say, juggling bowling balls; this week, anyway. A few facial cuts were still healing, and his hands were singed. He had bruises on his neck from Quirrell's stranglehold. Also, he must learn to stop landing so often on his backside... a very poor strategic move in combat, and rough on the spine. Other than that, he was so glad to be home!
They returned to the common room, settling in the warm, comfy chairs by the fire to chat, and to hear Harry's account of it all.
It went every bit as badly as Dumbledore had hinted it would.
Harry was wide awake and aware, but something was... off. He seemed to remember things just a little differently from their own version.
Harry said Ron had not immediately escaped the devil's snare. He related how he had flown alone to catch the key, because there had been only one broom.
But it wasn't like that at all, thought Hermione.
Ron and Hermione clearly remembered McGonagall's wizard chess board, and how three black pieces had walked off the board so they could take their places. But they listened while Harry said that Ron had ridden on King's Knight, and had fallen from the stricken piece's back!
Ron held his tongue; he knew he had stood alone at h3, and taken the full brunt of the brutal Queen-takes-Knight swing. Why, his skull had throbbed for hours!
Harry's self-assuredness was finally upset a bit by Hermione's mention of Snape's potions challenge. Harry did not remember it at all, but he let that go by.
Nor did he seem to recall Dumbledore's timely arrival which, they heard, had rescued Harry at death's door, and caused You-Know-Who to flee in spirit form. In his version, Harry had reduced Quirrell and his hanger-on Voldemort to complete ashes with the touch of his hands, then was downed by the dark lord's escaping phantasm, which ran him through like a sword while he tightly clutched the Philosopher's Stone.
Was Harry the sort to be pumping up his own reputation? Not likely. So why was he saying these things?
This was not going well. Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. Ron could tell she had the same reaction to the differences in their accounts.
Still, even as they conversed, something else bothered Ron, something he had discovered since then, and he had to find out.
"Harry, " he began, "back up. How did we get past Fluffy?"
"Oh, that was simpler than I expected," responded Harry, "as long as the enchanted harp kept playing. Rather a mad scramble when it stopped, wasn't it?"
Ron didn't answer, but gestured to Harry to wait, and turned. "Hermione? How did we get past Fluffy?"
Hermione looked down at her hands, and spoke slowly. "Fluffy was snarling. Harry brought his flute.... and he and I took turns tootling it.... and Fluffy slept." She looked up to Harry. "Please tell me you remember that?"
Harry hesitated. "I would, Hermione -- if that's the way it happened, but...it wasn't that way at all. I didn't think to bring the flute. You're right as always, I should have. But I figured we might whistle, or sing.....just wing it, y'know."
"Now there's a bother! You shan't believe what I found," said Ron.
Harry saw ironic humor in that. "Ron, if you told me Snape just went rolling by on a unicycle, wearing a clown suit and a red nose, I'd believe you. I'm a student wizard. I have to believe impossible things all day! But right now, I need both of you to help me, 'cause I'm very confused as to what to believe."
"All right, then," said Ron. "Three days ago, I went back with Hagrid to recover our stuff from Fluffy. The cloak was there -- it's all right, by the way, and no one else knows about it.
"But there was nothing else!
"So, I went poking about in your things yesterday. Sorry, Harry, but I had to know. And there it was, plain as day.
"Hermione, the flute was in Harry's trunk, at the foot of his bed, just where he always keeps it. It was like it had never left the dorm."
Hermione looked stunned. "So, you're saying... "
"I'm saying, that fits Harry's version, not ours. Which would mean that he's the all-right one. So far, Hermione, you and I are looking rather mental."
Harry decided not to make a wisecrack. "Actually," said Harry, "we're all looking like we need to visit Dumbledore, right off."