Harry raked a hand through his messy black hair, wondering just how he ended up in this mess. Malfoy and fang trudged beside him as they trekked through the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night. The dragon fiasco got Harry, Hermione, and Neville of all people thrown in detention. At the very least, Hagrid would keep his job. Malfoy, surprisingly, seemed to be in detention for the kicks. "I've never been in trouble before," he said, "Father suggested I try it. Said it would be good for character."
"I still don't see why you'd voluntarily tramp through the Forbidden Forest so close to exams," Harry said, shaking his head, "Why are you really here?"
Draco sighed and stopped walking, looking Harry in the eye bearing an expression that was serious for once. He even looked a little concerned and Harry was even a little touched. "Harry, you've been avoiding everybody since Christmas. I haven't been able to get a hold of you since I got back from holiday, so maybe, I thought you could use some company," he said, slapping him on the back, "I wasn't joking about this being a character building exercise, though. Father was insistent I give it a try."
It was true he'd been aloof since the Mirror of Erised was moved. Harry knew it wasn't real, what he saw in the mirror. He could see the lack of magical threads coming from the ghostly figures of his long-dead family who had his kneecaps and his eyes, feel the mirror probing his mind gently. Desire spelled backwards. Gimmicky name. As showy and elaborate as the mirror was, Harry knew that it was probably just some sort of strange curiosity, the type of thing that showed up at a castle as old as Hogwarts. He ended up going back to see it every evening under the invisibility cloak Dumbledore sent him for Christmas. Now, the invisibility cloak was far from a gimmick. Even though it was clearly some sort of ploy to get him to go looking for the Sorcerer's Stone, Harry decided that a cloak that belonged to his father was too valuable to burn. Sentimentality, however, did not stop him from scanning the cloak rigorously, removing every compulsion spell Dumbledore had weaved into the fabric.
He spent every evening under that cloak for at least a month after discovering the Mirror of Erised. As logical as his analysis of the mirror was, he couldn't squash the burning sense of longing that welled up in his chest. On his fifth or sixth visit, Harry reached out to the mirror tentatively to touch his mother's face. When his hand met only glass, he sighed, but supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else. It was only when Dumbledore came through the door mere moments after that Harry knew the mirror was some sort of test and touching it had been a grave mistake. The floaters rumbled. A despicable ploy to play on a child. This displeases us greatly. Tread lightly, child.
"Ah, so you found it," Dumbledore said from behind him, "The Mirror of Erised". Harry didn't dare move. He looked back once, trying his best to look like a grief stricken orphan.
"What do you see, my boy," Dumbledore questioned as he padded over, gaudy purple robes scraping softly against the stone floor of the empty classroom.
"I see my parents," Harry replied, voice trembling just for effect. It wasn't totally a lie, but Dumbledore didn't deserve to know about the others. The dead deserved to rest. Dumbledore nodded sagely and Harry knew he'd passed the test. As long as he was still the vulnerable orphan pining away for his parents, he was everything Dumbledore expected him to be.
"Do you see yours?" Harry continued before he could stop himself, "Do you see people you've lost too? Is that what this mirror does?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed minutely, but his posture remained relaxed. "No," he replied, an obvious lie, "I see myself holding a pair of woolly socks." It might have been a half-lie, then. Socks weren't too far fetched where the headmaster was concerned. "No, this mirror displays the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. Most would see fame, glory, even love. Many have gone mad staring into its depths. Few would see what you do. You long for the family you never had and that innocent love is a reflection of the purity of your heart." Harry thought he might be sick. He tried to act crestfallen when Dumbledore said the mirror would be moved and found that truthfully, he probably was a bit disappointed. After Dumbledore swept from the room thinking he'd made a breakthrough with the boy who would be his tool, Harry sat for a few moments more before tearing his eyes away from the image of the boy in the mirror reunited with his parents in heaven.
No, it wasn't the mirror entirely that caused his withdrawal from his friends. It was the breakthrough he had with Snape and the prophecy. The floaters looked it over in his head over and over again, but found that Snape had overheard an incomplete prophecy and nothing could be done until he knew the whole thing. Harry spent a lot of time alone in the library looking up everything he could find on prophecies and mulling over his own feelings about Snape. He'd forgiven him in his heart because Snape's love for his mother was genuine, but his head was having a harder time agreeing with his heart. Snape couldn't have known that Voldemort would come after them, but his involvement in his parents' deaths was undeniable. Logically, Harry should hate him. Even so, Snape was his best ally at the moment and he decided to leave well enough alone. These feelings didn't have to be resolved overnight. Shaking himself, Harry gathered his cloak tighter around himself and stomped after Draco and Fang. He could see the malignant magical signature before they saw him, a cloaked figure drinking hungrily from a dead unicorn. The creature's energy stream was being bolstered and gleamed silver from the unicorn blood, but also absorbed corruption that whipped the magic into a maddening whirlwind.
"Run!" Malfoy shrieked in a decidedly cowardly manner, dragging Fang along with him. Harry bolted, but fought with the pain that exploded from his scar as the creature looked up at him. He ran a few yards, but stumbled and fell, vision too red and hazy from the pain. Acting on adrenaline, Harry flipped over and crawled backwards, kicking as he went, planting a shoe in the creature's face. The creature stood from where it was on the floor and prepared to maul him when it was again kicked in the face by a hoof connected to a centaur. Harry wasn't sure if he should be surprised anymore. Centaurs existed and suddenly, every crazy thing the Greeks ever wrote down started making more sense.
"Come, Mr. Potter," the centaur said as he hauled Harry up from the floor and onto his back, "You are safe now. You are with Firenze."
"Friends?" Harry was still bewildered.
"No," Firenze chuckled, curly hair heaving on his bare chest, "Firenze is my name, though you may consider me a friend." Firenze reminded Harry a lot of Draco. Really pretty, white blond hair and blue eyes. If he had a death wish, he might ask Draco if he had centaur in his blood
"These woods are dangerous at night," Firenze said as he trotted, "especially for you, Mr. Potter."
"Thanks for saving me," Harry replied, clutching the hair on Firenze's back to avoid falling off, "I thought centaurs didn't like people."
"That would be true for most of us, but not for me." Firenze's eye lost a little bit of its sparkle. "I'm an anomaly among my people, Mr. Potter. I suspect after tonight I shall have to sleep alone under the stars for a few moons."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, shocked, "You didn't have to do this, Firenze."
"Nonsense. Voldemort is a threat to us all. The others will realize that soon enough."
Harry was deposited with Hagrid, who thanked Firenze profusely before sending him off with his best rock cakes. Hermione and Neville were sent to bed much earlier, leaving Draco and Harry to walk back to the castle together.
"What was that back there?" Draco asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
"You heard Hagrid, probably a wolf or something."
"Bollocks, Potter. You know wolves don't run around killing unicorns."
"As sharp as usual, Malfoy. No, it wasn't a wolf."
"Well?" Malfoy asked expectantly, eyebrows arching into his hairline, "Don't keep me waiting. What is it?"
"I never took you for a whiner, Draco."
"Malfoys do not whine. Just tell me."
"It was a wizard whose name rhymes with Moldywart."
"I'm serious, Harry, if you know-"
"It was Voldemort, Draco," Harry said quietly. Malfoy's mouth snapped shut and he stopped walking.
"You're serious. Your scar?" Harry nodded.
"He's weak. Firenze told me that unicorn blood will keep you alive, but give you a curse that nobody's ever lived long enough to talk about. He's desperate."
"He's back then? Shouldn't you tell Dumbledore?"
"No," Harry bit back, "I can't trust him."
"So you've said, but if he's really this close to school, you don't have much of a choice. You know he'll go after the stone."
"I can't. I'd take talking to Voldemort over asking Dumbledore for help." They reached the staircases and had to part ways.
Just as Harry turned to leave, Draco grabbed his arm. "You are taking me with you whenever you decide to do...whatever it is you're planning."
"Of course," was Harry's simple reply.
Everything came to a head after exams when they finally got Hagrid to reveal how to get past Fluffy. Hermione was immediately whipped into a frenzy, bushy hair getting bushier with every excited word she spoke. Ron joined in on her tirade and soon, Harry was tearing down transfiguration hallway with them, bursting through McGonagall's door and frightening the old woman into considering an early retirement.
"We know about the Philosopher's Stone!" McGonagall dropped an armful of books into an ungraceful heap onto the floor.
"What on Earth-"
"Someone's trying to steal the stone," Hermione cut in, "and we think it's Professor Snape."
"Nonsense, Granger," McGonagall said, finally finding her words again, "The Professor is one of the people protecting the stone."
"I agree, Professor," Harry said, eyeing Hermione reproachfully, "but we think you need to get the headmaster to check on the stone and rethink your security. We have reason to believe that someone in the school is trying to get the stone and manipulated Hagrid into giving up details about it."
"We have had no reason to believe that the stone is in any danger here, Mr. Potter," she clucked, "There is no place safer than Hogwarts."
"Oh come on Professor," Ron said, leaning on her desk, "If we could figure out the stone was here, anybody could." Harry looked openly surprised that this mildly intelligent thought had come from Ron Weasley. McGonagall was equally shocked and, upon recovering, reconsidered her earlier statement.
"If the stone is in danger, there is nothing we can do at the moment. Dumbledore has been called away to an urgent ministry matter in London and will be back tomorrow to deal with your concerns."
A bit later in the defense corridor, Hermione fumed. "Why didn't she listen to us? It's like she doesn't take us seriously!"
Harry spun on his heel. "We're eleven 'mione, we're not exactly authorities on private security. Besides, the stone's been safe so far, one day won't make any difference."
"Dumbledore's away, mate," Ron interjected, "That doesn't sound fishy to you?" Both Harry and Hermione stopped to stare at their friend in wonder.
"Full of surprises today are you?" Harry said, a lopsided grin spreading on his face. "Fine, but I have revision with Quirrell right now. How about we stake out the third floor corridor tonight?"
"Steak out? Mmm I'm in," Ron said, rubbing his stomach.
"And the moment is gone," Hermione said, dragging Ron away. "Have fun Harry," she called over her shoulder. Harry raked a hand through his hair again in exasperation and continued to the Defense classroom where Quirrell had been conducting their weekly "revision" since Halloween. Upon opening the door, however, he found Quirrell slumped over his desk, muttering nonsensically to himself. As he got closer, it was apparent that his professor was asleep, but delirious with fever.
"Professor!" he called, grabbing his shoulders. Harry tried to rouse him several times, but found that he would not wake. Just as he was about to get help, Quirrell spoke. His voice was all wrong, however, and rasped unnaturally from his mouth as if it didn't fit all the way into Quirrell's body. Harry's scar burned and festered, bringing Harry to his knees.
"The blood of muggles will spill on the floor at my feet and the dark shall overtake all," he slurred. The ramblings continued along those lines and stopped. Quirrell's mouth floundered and the voice that was not his continued as if in an argument with itself.
"No...killing muggles makes no sense...too many of them...magical inbreeding...no, blood...blood is the answer...the dark will prevail...no, not like this...the stone, yes the stone-" Quirrell's head snapped up and looked around the classroom. Harry had already bolted out the door at the mention of the stone. He caught his breath and walked back into the classroom as if he'd never entered in the first place.
"Ah, Harry," Quirrell said from his desk. The professor looked pale, but otherwise no different than usual. Harry fought to keep his heart rate down and his breathing even. He could last an hour with Quirrell despite his anxiety if he remained calm.
"Unfortunately," Quirrell continued, "I am occupied with something Dumbledore asked me to do tonight." The stutter was quite absent from his speech, but his anxiety was somehow amplified by his shaking hands and sweaty brow.
"I understand, Professor," Harry said, evenly, "Are you well?" Quirrel was silent for a time and Harry struggled to keep himself from running. As Harry weighed killing himself against bashing Quirrell in the head with a cauldron, Quirrell sighed and wiped his brow on his sleeve.
"I am w-well, P-potter. H-however, s-something does w-w-weigh on my mind this evening. Y-you would ease my anxieties by s-staying safe. Y-y-ou will stay out of t-t-trouble, won't you?"
"Of course, professor," Harry said, acting confused. Quirrell dismissed him and Harry waited until he made it out the door and out into the staircases before allowing his legs to kick into a maddening sprint down into the dungeons. Harry reached Snape's door and raised a hand to knock, but hesitated. If it really was Voldemort in Quirrell's head, Snape...Harry didn't want to put Snape in an uncomfortable position. If he was a spy, then it could ruin his cover. If he really was on Voldemort's side, then...Harry didn't want to finish that thought. No Snape, then. He veered off towards the Slytherin common room and grabbed the nearest Slytherin he could find.
"Please, could you get Draco out of there for me?" Harry was desperate. The gorrilla-like boy whose name he could not recall wrinkled his nose.
"What do you want with him, Potter," he spat. Ah yes, Goyle. Sensing that he wouldn't get Goyle to budge any time soon, Harry dove into his simple mind and planted the memory that Draco had ordered him to fetch him when Harry arrived.
"Tell Draco I'm here, Goyle," Harry said again. Goyle looked confused and flipped Harry off before opening the passage and stepping in. Draco came out moments after, clearly bemused.
"Blimey, what did you do to Goyle?" Draco chuckled and went on about how Goyle couldn't sort out the words in his own head about meeting Harry in the corridor until he got a proper look at Harry, who was hunched over, panting and clutching his forehead.
"It's happened? He's going after the stone?" Draco was alert and serious as anything in an instant.
"Not yet," Harry said, still catching his breath, "We have to get Ron and Hermione." Together, they set off at a quick pace for the Gryffindor common room, heels clicking against the stone floors. Harry turned to a breathless Draco and asked, "What do you know about Quirrell? How did he get his job?"
"Not much," Draco replied, "only that he used to be a Muggle Studies teacher and took a year of to get some life experience. It's funny, though. He got back and turned into a bloody Defense prodigy." Harry cursed, smacking himself in the head.
"Ugh I should have known," he hissed, "And I liked him too."
"What are you going on about, Potter?"
"I'll explain later. For now, we need to get my cloak and Ron and Hermione. Come on."
A few minutes later, Ron, Hermione, and Harry emerged from the Gryffindor common room under the invisibility cloak and grabbed Malfoy, who'd been leaning casually against the wall around the corner. They got him under and quiet just in time to avoid McGonagall making her rounds of the halls.
"Are you sure we're not going to get caught?" Hermione lowered her voice, clearly anxious.
"What's wrong with you? It's not the first time you've been caught this year. The worst is over," Draco mocked.
"She had to put a body bind on Neville," Ron explained.
"It's not my fault he tried to keep us from leaving," Hermione huffed, "Honestly, curfew was only just about to start. I don't see why he had to play hero."
"Maybe Potter's rubbing off on him." Harry punched Draco in the arm. The four of them barely fitting under the cloak, they scuttled to the third floor corridor as quietly as they could. Harry discreetly cast a silencing and disillusionment charm around them just to be safe. Entering the room with the trap door, Harry was dismayed to find Fluffy fast asleep.
"Bollocks," he cursed as the cloak was blown clear off of them by the massive dog's snores.
"Snape's been here, then," Hermione whispered.
"You think my godfather's been here? Fat chance, Granger. Stop pinning this on him," Draco snapped.
"He's your godfather? No wonder he's such a git. Must run in the family," Ron scoffed.
"It doesn't work that way, Ronald." Hermione huffed.
"You would know how blood works, mudblood-"
"Hey!" Harry shouted in warning to all of them, "If we're going to do this, I need all of you to stop being prats. No foul language," he said waggling a finger at Draco, "and no more of this Snape nonsense," he finished, pointing to Hermione.
"But Harry-" they all started, only to be cut off by Harry.
"Enough! It's not Snape, it's Quirrell, now shut up!" a gust of wind whipped through the room in time with Harry's rage and frustration.
"Uh, Harry, I think you might want to calm down, mate," Ron said, taking a few steps back.
"Yeah, Potter, I think I agree with Ron on this one," Draco said at Ron's side.
"What are you two on about?" Hermione said, hands on her hips, "Since when do you agree with each other?" Both cowards whimpered slightly and pointed behind Hermione and Harry. Hermione turned slowly and let out a curious squeaking sound before backing up to where Draco stood and latching on tightly to his robes. Harry arched an eyebrow and turned to find that the harp that kept Fluffy at bay had toppled over due to his outburst and the dog had awoken and stood growling menacingly at him. In no mood to waste any more time, Harry pulled out his wand and in a single motion, cast a shrinking charm on the three headed dog. No sooner had reducio flown from his lips than the dog had shrunk to the size of a full grown rottweiler. Undeterred, the dog growled again at the four children and prepared to maul them. Still angry, Harry muttered a mild stunner and the dog toppled over, sleeping soundly. After all, it wouldn't do to kill one of Hagrid's pets.
"Merlin, remind me not to get on your bad side," Draco said, relief coloring his voice. Suddenly getting along, the four of them jumped down through the trapdoor and landed in a sea of plants. Draco, who'd gotten at least decent marks in herbology, knew right away to cast an incendio to burn the plants away. Ron, who'd gotten less than stellar marks, lay writhing on the floor thinking himself dead as the others picked themselves up.
"Ronald, honestly," Hermione said, slapping him lightly to sober him up, "if you'd paid attention in class you'd know that devil's snare hates exposure to light. Even Malfoy knew that."
"I dunno, Granger," Draco said, winking at Ron, "I just figured plants burned and got it on a fluke." Hermione, much to Harry's amusement, looked livid.
"I guess it's safe to assume that each professor was in charge of rigging up a room to be a crazy death trap," Harry sighed, plucking a singed vine from Hermione's hair, "The troll from Halloween was probably Quirrell's part in all this. He probably let it out on purpose to distract us."
"How did you know it was Quirrell?" Draco asked. Harry told him about his encounter earlier that day. He left out the bit about the mumbling and the muggle killing fantasies, but he told them enough.
"Blimey, so V-V-you-know-who is living inside his head?" Ron looked as if he were trying to imagine what that might be like and rubbed his head unconsciously.
"I honestly don't know for sure, but something wasn't right with him," Harry replied, shaking his head. They continued into the next room to find that it was full of winged keys. A broom floated in the middle of the room and it was soon apparent that one of them would have to fly and catch the key to the next door.
"Right, well, step aside, Potter," Draco said, seizing the broom, "this one's mine."
"Do you even know which key it is?" Harry crossed his arms, looking pointedly to Draco.
"No, but Granger does." Hermione huffed indignantly and pointed at a key that lagged behind the others and fluttered along lamely on broken wings. Draco took off in pursuit of the key, but didn't anticipate the ferocity of the other keys. They distorted his vision and planted tiny cuts on his hands and face. Determined, Draco reached out recklessly with both hands, one to bat away the other keys and the other to catch the key. Once his fingers closed around it, however, he lost control of the broom and landed badly on his ankle.
"Draco!" the others yelped, rushing over to him.
"I think it's broken," Draco said from the floor, "but I got the key." He grinned sheepishly up at them.
"Draco, you're going to have to stay here," Hermione said, tearing off some of her robes to make a makeshift brace.
"Here, let me," Harry offered, transfiguring the cloth into a rudimentary splint. He pointed his wand at Draco's foot and muttered a numbing curse discreetly.
"I'll try to make it back from here," Draco said, wobbling to his feet. The numbing curse clearly working, he didn't seem to be in very much pain. It would be slow work, but Harry knew Draco had to go back. Before they parted, Draco shouted, "You lot better not die on me!"
The next room was a chessboard of all things. Harry was about to bombarda the whole setup before Ron stepped in to play the game out. On the best of days, Ron was a pretty decent player. It was just about the only thing he was good at. His playing style, however, sacrificed a lot of pieces. Before he knew what he was doing, Ron realised he had to sacrifice a knight, the piece he happened to be sitting on. It won the game, but Ron lay on the floor unconscious with Hermione crying over him. Harry pressed a finger to his neck, but checked his life force just to be sure.
"He's only knocked out," Harry said reassuringly, "He'll probably have a headache later, but he'll be okay." Hermione nodded at him, wiping away tears.
The final room was full of potions and Hermione had no trouble solving the silly riddle. Really, the whole room reeked of Snape and potion nerdyness. Snape needed better riddles. When it became apparent that only one person would be allowed to pass through the black flames to reach the stone, Harry ordered Hermione to turn back. Hermione growled, but acquiesced, snapping at him to "stay alive or be flayed". Harry found himself about to confront Voldemort alone. Really, it was better this way since fewer people got hurt and better still, there were fewer people around to discover his secrets. The floaters rumbled in his head. The one you call Voldemort is a soul without a body. We regret that we could not see past the stuttering fool's disguise.
"I heard him talking to himself, Voldemort, I mean. I'm curious. Is there a way he can be saved? The madness seemed to be leaving Voldemort."
It is...a possibility. However, it is inadvisable that you attempt to contact his soul. It is dangerous unless you anchor him to something. Otherwise, he will do what he did to the fool and take over your mind. Souls are like liquids. Once one fills a vessel, it merges with whatever is already in that vessel.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched into a smile. He pulled out a tiny aluminum soldier, one of Dudley's discarded toys. Clutching it tightly in hand, he walked through the flames. When he emerged, he found Quirrell standing there in front of the Mirror of Erised.
"Hello, Professor," Harry said, "I'm sorry I didn't take your advice."
"Harry," Quirrell said, looking tired and crestfallen, "I told you to stay out of trouble. You do not underst-"
"Oh I know that Voldemort's in your head, Professor. Let me talk to him." Quirrell looked conflicted and then confused as if he were having a private conversation with himself.
"But master, you are not strong enough." The horrible hissing voice from earlier that evening rasped out from somewhere.
"I have strength enough for this." As Harry watched, horrified, Quirrell unwrapped his turban to reveal the face of Voldemort plastered onto the back of his scalp. Harry's scar burned as if a scalpel forged in fiendfyre had dug its way into his head, coloring his world with pain and fury.
"How on Earth did you get that past Dumbledore. Oh wait, the old codger probably knew." Harry muttered curses to himself. Voldemort's face looked puzzled.
"You do not trust the old man?" The madness for now was clear from his eyes, red slits still visibly sane.
"No, he left me in an abusive household with blocks on my magical pool and pushed me to come looking for this blasted stone," Harry spat, "So no, I don't particularly like him."
"That is interesting. You do not want the stone for yourself?"
"No, according to that mirror, my most desperate desire is to die, not live forever. Oh look, the stupid stone's appeared in my pocket. Funny, since I don't want it."
"You want to die? Whatever for? Youth is a precious thing, boy. You could give the stone to me and I can take down Dumbledore for you." At this, Harry hesitated, not wanting to reveal more about himself.
"Eternal life matter that much to you, does it? You're not getting the stone the way you are. Something happened, right? There's something wrong with you. I can fix you," he pleaded. Something in Voldemort snapped and madness suddenly colored his eyes.
"The stone is mine. Give it to me!" Quirrell whipped the right way around and lurched towards Harry. Quirrell was still conscious, but losing the battle against Voldemort for control of his body. His limbs were lost to the other soul invading his body.
"Harry, listen to me," he said, "I can't fight him anymore. Touch me! Your hands will burn us away." Quirrell stopped and screamed in agony as Voldemort shouted, "Shut up you fool! You have undone us both." Harry scrambled to his feet and grabbed both of Quirrell's hands. They crumbled to dust at his touch. Harry moved on to Voldemort's face. Soon, Quirinus Quirrell was reduced to a pile of ash on the floor. Quirrell's face looked more serene than Harry had ever seen it.
"Harry," Quirrell beckoned with a feeble voice, "He was sane once. He was sane. I met him and he was glorious even as a spirit. I can see the spirits now, backing you. You have so much talent. You must fix him, please, Harry. Fix him." With those words, Quirrell's face disintegrated. The violent spirit of Voldemort exploded from his remains in a cloud of dust. Working quickly, he held his toy soldier in front of his face and tethered Voldemort's soul to it. At once, Voldemort was dormant, having no life force to feed on and relying only on Harry's power as a necromancer to stay in the living world. Looking down at the hateful red stone that had given him so much grief this last year, Harry cast his most powerful blasting curse at it and watched it blow up into a million stupid red pieces before promptly passing out on the floor.
When he woke, he was in the hospital wing and Dumbledore was watching him from the foot of his bed.
"You've rejoined us, Mr. Potter. Excellent!" Dumbledore was all twinkles and gaudy colors. Harry felt nausea unassociated with his injuries.
"Sir, what happened," he asked, sitting up, "Where are the others? Are they alright? Draco and Ron are hurt. Where are they?"
"Hush, my boy," Dumbledore said, obviously pleased at Harry's concern, "Everyone is alright but you. You gave us quite a scare. It's been three days since your collapse. Naturally, the whole school knows." Dumbledore gave another speech about love and all that nonsense before sweeping out of the room.
"Alas, earwax," he'd said in parting. Harry pulled a face. No one who loved lemon drops, but hated earwax jelly beans could be trusted. Harry looked around and was relieved to find his wand, glasses, and toy soldier/soul of Voldemort on the bedside table piled on top of his neatly folded robes. Madame Pomfrey scuttled out from her office and fussed over him.
"We were so worried about you, Mr. Potter," she tutted, "Oh, the state you were in. How dare you make an old woman worry." Harry apologized profusely, seeing her close to tears.
"Snape was here, you know," she said gravely, "He was here every day watching you, monitoring your vitals, not that I blame him. It was touch and go for a bit. I made him go back to his quarters." Finished with her ministrations, she picked up her skirts and bustled away.
Later on, Harry found himself surrounded by weeping girls. Hermione blubbered on one side of his bed about not dying and Pansy blubbered something about Draco not dying and both blubbered on and on about being so scared. Draco and Ron looked on looking suspiciously morose.
"What's wrong with all of you? You lot aren't still concussed are you?" Harry extricated himself delicately from the girls' arms.
"You should have seen yourself, mate," Ron said quietly.
"Yeah, mate," Draco echoed, "Your scar was pouring blood. It was more than I'd ever seen. They had to levitate you in here and spent hours pumping blood replenishing potions into you."
"I still don't see why all of you look so dead," Harry retorted, "I've had worse." Hermione blubbered something into his robes.
"I was not on my deathbed, Hermione Granger!"
Hermione, Pansy, and Ron left some time later to get to dinner. Draco hung back and walked up to Harry, hands fidgeting, looking like he wanted to say something.
"When you said you had worse," he began, "you meant your relatives, didn't you."
"Yes, what of it?"
"Well I asked father, and he said that, legally, you don't have to stay there."
"I know. Before you say anything, I really do have to stay there for at least two weeks for, er, reasons that I can't say for now, but let's just say a wizard named Moldywart has it out for me. After that, I can go where I want." Draco beamed.
"That settles it! You're staying with me for the summer. We are family after all, so we have reason to invite you to our home." The boys shook on it and parted feeling excited for the holidays.