CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE MAN

WITH TWO FACES


It was, in fact, Quirrell.

"You!" Harry frowned, enraged.

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

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

"More or less. Although, my first guess was Snape —"

Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp.

"Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry took this into account, for however true it was, he still didn't want to believe it.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

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

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to keep an eye on you during the next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really… he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. What a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."

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

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

"You let the troll in?"

"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 not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly."

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

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This 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…"

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

"I saw you and Snape in the forest —" he blurted out.

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

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it. "I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… but where is it?"

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

"But Snape didn't seem to like me, at first."

"Of course, he did," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father and mother, didn't you know? Severus and your father loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

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

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

"Sometimes," he said, "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.

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

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

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

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

Harry's mind was racing.

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

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

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

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

"Use the boy… Use the boy…"

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes — Potter — come here." He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

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

Harry walked toward him.

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

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

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket — and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow — incredibly — he'd gotten the Stone.

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

Harry screwed up his courage. "I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I — I've won the House Cup for all houses at Hogwarts."

Quirrell cursed again.

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

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

"He lies… He lies…"

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

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him… face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

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

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

"Harry Potter…" it whispered.

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

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor… I have form 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?"

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

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

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

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

"How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father, and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother didn't die for reasons I cannot explain… she did her best to protect you both that night… Now give me the Stone, unless you want your him to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a 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 again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck — Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him — 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 — Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

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

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

"AAAARGH!"

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

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 — the pain in Harry's head was building — he couldn't see — he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and another voice, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down… down… down…

Something was glinting just above him. He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. To Harry's surprise, it was a pair of glasses. How strange.

He blinked again. The smiling face of Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," he said.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick —"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Sir, I —"

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

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

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

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone —"

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

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

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

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer —"

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

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend — Nicolas Flamel —"

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

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

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face. "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all — the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling. "Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking… Sir — even if the Stone's gone, You-Know-Who —"

"As I said during your birthday, call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. As I always say, 'fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself' . "

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

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

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

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

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

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

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

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your father died to save both you and your mother. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your father'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 now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry 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 in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else…"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape —"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Right, sorry… Quirrell said Professor Snape hated me at first because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Oh, right, I did say to you to ask me that for another time." Dumbledore nodded remembering, "Anyway, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What's that?"

"He saved his life."

"What?"

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

Harry had no problem with that answer, but he was still trying to make heads or tails to understand that, but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing…"

"Just the one?"

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

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets."

"Why not have a Bertie Bott, sir?" Harry recommended, "I know you were unlucky in your youth and on my birthday, but you know what they say about the third time being the charm. Let alone it being a magic number."

"If you insist, Harry." Dumbledore nodded hesitantly, "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, sir," Harry said, as he crossed his fingers.

So Dumbledore popped a bean into his mouth and to both his and Harry's amazement, he smiled in relief.

"Well, what is it, sir?" Harry asked, hoping his prediction would be correct.

"Tutti frutti." Dumbledore replied, naming off the flavor.

"Oh, Rudy." Harry joined in, memorizing the lyrics of one of his favorite Rock 'n' Roll songs. *

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore smiled and laughed. "For giving me a good memory."

"You're welcome, sir."

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

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in…"

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

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…"

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

And she let Ron, Neville and Hermione in.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to — Dumbledore was so worried —" said Neville.

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

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and 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 and Neville gulped.

"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.' "

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

"So what happened to you three?" said Harry.

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

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

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did — I mean to say — that's terrible — you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "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…"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly.

"Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow." added Neville, "The points are all in and Hufflepuff won, surprisingly — you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw— but the food'll be good."

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

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

"I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes and put them in to-go bags for Harry. "I can, can't I?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed his other magical uncle. "An' stop saying the name!"

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

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

"It's a delicious cake, isn't it?" said Harry anxiously with excitement as Hagrid gave a warm chuckle.

"Nah, Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter make some additions to it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead — anyway…"

It turned out to be the book full of photos that Hagrid gave him for his birthday. Harry opened it to discover that it was now full of new wizard photographs — smiling and waving at him from every new page were Harry himself, Ron and Hermione, as well as their other friends having enjoyed their first year at Hogwarts, like his mom and dad before him.

"D'yeh like it?"

"Of course." nodded Harry. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Hagrid. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry." Hagrid then shuffled through his pockets, "An' a little summat else."

From out of his jacket pocket, Hagrid pulled out a vinyl record album called Greatest Hits. Harry immediately recognized the artist as the long-lost Bee Gee, Andy Gibb, who, as legend goes, would've joined his brothers and become a welcome member of his musical family and clan, the Bee Gees, or Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibb, despite his tragic and early death in 1988. *

Hagrid smiled.

"Yer mum an' uncle Remus told me o' your taste in music, so I thought yeh might like this in yer music collection."

"And a good call," Harry nodded, agreeing with a big smile on his face. "I've heard how underrated Andy is compared to his brothers. Thanks again, Hagrid."

"My pleasure, Harry."

With that, both magical uncle and nephew shared a warm hug.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Hufflepuff colors of yellow and black to celebrate their very first winning the House Cup. A huge banner showing the Hufflepuff badger covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between his peers at the Slytherin table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

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

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are 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 two points; in third, Ravenclaw, with three hundred and seventy-six; Slytherin has three hundred and ninety-two and Hufflepuff, four hundred and fifty."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Hufflepuff table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy scraping his fork onto the table, denting it. It was a sickening sight.

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

The room went very still. Some of the Hufflepuff' smiles, except for Professor Sprout's, faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First — to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

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

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

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

At last there was silence again.

"Second — to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Ravenclaw House one hundred and ninety-six points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Ravenclaws up and down the table were beside themselves.

"Third — to Mr. Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, as well as well proving that our choices are far more important than our abilities, especially to prove not all people who have been in Slytherin are wicked, and for staying true to his word on being his own man and stepping outside of one's shoes, I award Slytherin House one hundred and eighty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that it was a surefire bet that both Slytherin and Ravenclaw would win as they had tied for the House Cup.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"And finally, there are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. As well as proving that even if we don't belong, you are just as loved by family as you are with your friends and to be gifted in one or two subjects. I therefore award Gryffindor an extra hundred points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before, outside of his Herbology studies. Harry, still cheering, gave Ron and Hermione two thumbs-up, they soon followed suit, then looking over Neville, they did the same. Neville, finally escaping his peers, soon smiled.

Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned, didn't know what to say.

"I guess you're not such a screw up after all, Potter."

Harry pretended to hurt, "Is that a compliment, Malfoy? Coming from you?"

"Don't press your luck." Malfoy replied, giving a sarcastic smile.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the yellow became scarlet, sapphire green and the black became gold, bronze and silver; the huge Hufflepuff badger vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion, Ravenclaw eagle and Slytherin serpent took its place. For the first time in history not since before Harry's time, Hogwarts's House Cup had not one but three winners for a three-way tie.

Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout's hands, with his rare smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's expression was something that told him to meet him in his office before going off to bed. This worried Harry a little, but deep down he knew, life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

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

That night as promised, after the celebration, Harry arrived at Snape's office and knocked on the door.

"Enter," said Snape.

Harry did so and took a seat, "You wished to see me, Professor?"

"Ah, yes," Snape replied, "Potter, do come in. First off, congratulations on helping us win the House Cup. And secondly, I am pleased to see you got my nonverbal message."

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry paused to think — He wondered, could he, if he wanted, talk to Snape about why hated his father? He decided against it, instead, there was a far more important and serious matter at hand.

"Professor," Harry said, finding his voice at last, "I'd like to say I'm sorry' for suspecting you were trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone and — well, you know… everything else. I hope that you can forgive me."

Snape nodded, "Apology accepted, you do know what happens when you assume, I trust?" *

"I do." Harry confirmed, "I'm very intimately familiar with that Muggle saying."

"Well then," Snape said, giving Harry his rare smile, "just see to it you be more careful in future and you get your facts straight before accusing someone, especially your own Head of House."

"Of course, sir. Also, while I got you here, I also wanted to thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"Not only looking out for me this year," Harry replied, "but I am sure you will for the next six years of my schooling while I am here at Hogwarts." He paused and then resumed, "Well, that and for being a great teacher of teaching me useful potions this year, I look forward to seeing what you have to offer next year."

"And believe me, Potter, it was my pleasure." Snape agreed, "I look forward to six more… shall we say, spellbinding years together in this castle together?"

Harry couldn't believe his ears, he did a double take and laughed.

"Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke just now, sir?" *

Snape's smile didn't falter, as he simply replied, "Perhaps."

Letting out a yawn, Harry said, "Well, I better turn in. Good night, Professor, And thanks again, for everything."

"You're welcome."

But as Harry turned to leave, he then stopped a moment later, Snape noticed this, "Something else on your mind, Potter?"

"No Professor," Harry said, "I also just wanted to wish and hope that you have a good summer this year until we meet again."

"And I hope you do as well," said Snape.

"Good night, sir."

"Sleep well, Potter."

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

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

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

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to besides vacation and my birthday."

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

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

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

"True that," agreed Harry.

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

"There he is, Mom, there he is, look!" It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron. "Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see —"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them. "Busy year?" she said.

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

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready to go home, sweetie?"

There was his mom, still as beautiful with her dark red hair and green eyes that were like his, as she and Lupin, took Hedwig in her cage and his cart with magical supplies in a station full of ordinary people. Behind them stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking excited at the very sight of Harry having returned home.

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

"Guilty as charged," confirmed Aunt Petunia.

"That we are," said Dudley.

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

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have a great holiday," said Hermione, looking after Harry, his mom, Lupin and his Muggle relatives, who were happy to see their own flesh and blood.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and his family was happy at the grin that was spreading over his face. "I'll let you know when I am back home so we can celebrate my birthday. But for now, I am going to have a lot of fun this summer…"


Author's notes:

* So that was my seventeenth and last chapter of the Sorcerer's Stone, and as always with every one of my stories, let me know what you all think so far by leaving your feedback in the comments area.
* Join me next time when I post my AU of the Chamber of Secrets, that said, one AU down, six to go.
* The Harry Potter franchise, its characters, elements and everything else are owned and were created by J. K. Rowling.
* Tutti Frutti by Little Richard, is, as you can guess for Dumbledore, is one my favorite songs. Same to be said about me loving Andy Gibb as a music artist, much like his brothers Barry, Maurice, and Robin.
* The dialogue where Harry and Snape talk about them looking forward to six more spellbinding years together as professor and pupil, as well asking Snape if he made a joke comes from the live-action Beauty and the Beast movie from Disney, which as we all know, stars Hermione herself, Emma Watson.


That said, until my Chamber of Secrets AU my fellow Wizards, Witches and Muggles:
I'm M. R. Parkerson signing off…