The exam season was upon them, and Harry was having a rough go of things. Since early May, he'd begun to experience pain in his scar that made it nearly impossible to function. Despite being confined to the hospital ward twice, being given potions to take every day, and every diagnostic bother in the world, he was still suffering with the pain.
After a particularly painful jaunt, Dumbledore, with clear concern and worry lined in his eyes, had told Harry to take the remaining day off, and get some sleep.
"Harry," Dumbledore had said, drawing the youth's attention back to him. Harry turned and noticed the nuance. He wasn't talking to Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster; he was once again talking to Albus Dumbledore, the "greatest wizard since Merlin". He was drawn up to his full height, and his normally sparkling eyes were cold and steeled.
"I am leaving, today, for the Ministry. I have been summoned to discuss matters with the Head of the DMLE. Please be wary of danger to come, my boy."
Harry felt a tightness in his chest as he silently nodded. Dumbledore folded his arms behind him, and gave a quiet nod. Harry went to the Slytherin dorms, and immediately went to bed, curling up and rubbing his scar in frustration.
…
Harry was startled awake by another nightmare, this time of dark shadows chasing after him. It was dark, and he could hear Blaise snoring to his right. A moment of serenity passed, and a chill went up his spine as he slowly realized there was somebody in the room with him. He squinted his eyes and realized it was the blurry shape of Professor Quirrell.
"Professor? What are you doing in here?"
It was the last thing Harry said before Quirrell raised his wand.
"Hm. Imperio," Quirrell commanded.
Harry suddenly felt a numbness spread across his body, and began to suddenly move without intending to. Attempts at resistance didn't seem to work very well, as he was unable to stop himself from getting dressed and following Quirrell closely behind. They made frequent stops to check the hallways. At one point, Quirrell had cast a stunner spell at both Filch and Mrs. Norris, before proceeding up to the third floor corridor.
After reaching a wooden door, Harry followed Quirrell close behind as he authoritatively summoned a harp and soothed the large cerberus that was guarding a wooden trapdoor. After opening it, Quirrell poked Harry in the back with his wand.
"Jump down there first, Potter."
Harry had no choice but to comply, and leapt into the darkness, landing in a writhing mass of something.
"Alive?" Quirrell's impatient voice called back.
"Yes." Harry said unwillingly.
"Good," He said, before leaping down and landing in the same writhing mass. Quirrell whipped his wand up and created a large, bright light which caused the writhing mass to begin to shrink and recede. Harry identified it as Devil's Snare, a plant he'd read about in his Herbology book, one that was hostile to sunlight.
They landed on the ground, and Quirrell pointed for Harry to proceed to the next room. The room was full of keys that were whizzing around like little flies. A broom was nestled in the nearby corner. Quirrell frowned, "Accio key!" He said authoritatively.
A key zipped by and slammed into Quirrell's hand, sending his wand spilling from his possession. It was quite unfortunate that the wand soon rolled into a nearby drainage grate, with the wand loudly clattering it's way down into the lower dungeons.
Quirrell looked stunned, and Harry felt both control return to his limbs, and a sharp pain in his scar. However, he soon felt Quirrell's hand grab the wand that was sticking out of Harry's pocket.
"Imperio," Quirrell repeated a second time, though Harry noticed that this time the numb feeling did not happen. However, Quirrell still had a wand, so Harry quickly reasoned the best idea was to just play along.
Quirrell ordered him to track down the key, and so Harry did, with Quirrell tracking him the entire time. After managing to grab the golden key, Harry landed the broom and Quirrell forced him into the next room at wandpoint. The following room was clearly Professor Snape's, given it involved potions and dramatic poetry.
A long-winded riddle that went on for quite too long, which was set to obfuscate whoever was trying to get access to whatever it was that laid beyond the door. Quirrell, who seemed to have a pretty good grasp on the logic (or had already figured it out earlier), picked up a potion and forced Harry to drink it, before drinking it once it refilled himself. As the two proceeded together into the final door, they found themselves in a small room, with a large mirror.
"Do you know why I brought you down here, Potter? It is easy for me to simply get here on my own, but the Stone… perhaps you are the solution to my problem. If not, well," He let out a dry chuckle. "Easily contained. A small Obliviate and you're back to your bed before you even realize you've been had, boy."
"Go stand in front of the mirror, boy," He coldly commanded, gesturing with the wand.
Harry made his way to the front of the mirror and peered into it. Harry wasn't sure what the mirror was, but the inscription at the top was certainly interesting.
"What do you see?" Quirrell commanded.
The reflective image of Harry put a finger to their lips, before reaching into their pocket and pulling out a ruby red stone. They winked and then slipped it back into their pocket. As they did this, Harry felt a sudden weight in his right pocket, but didn't move a hand towards it in fear of it being noticed.
"What do you see, boy?" Quirrell commanded a second time.
"I don't see anything, sir," Harry said, maintaining the same monotone voice.
"LIAR!" Quirrell shouted. "CRUCIO!"
A cry of pain rang out, but it came from the person behind Harry, rather than Harry. Quirrell fell to the ground and Harry's wand clattered out of his hand. Harry picked up his wand and backed away from the professor.
Quirrell struggled to his feet, his breath ragged. "Oh, please, Potter. Your wand is useless as could be. It can't even perform basic spells, how could you ever possibly hope to defeat me?"
"I don't need to, sir," Harry said. "I don't need to at all."
Quirrell, in something Harry felt belonged in a Muggle horror film, flew across the room and attempted to wrench Harry's wand out of his possession. Harry grabbed Quirrell's wrist as it made for Harry's wand, and Quirrell began to scream in pain as the skin around where Harry was touching began to turn gray and ashen.
Harry withdrew his hand and clambered to his feet, and tried to make a run for it. As he approached the door to exit the chamber, green flames shot up in front of him, causing Harry to stop and face down Quirrell. Harry raised his wand and aimed it at Quirrell.
"Flipendo!" Harry shouted, performing the necessary wand movements. The now familiar hiccup surged through Harry and he saw the tip of his wand tip flicker red and orange. A stream of flames shot out of it, and Quirrell, who was in the middle of charging Harry once again, was caught in the face.
Harry felt sheer horror as he watched Quirrell become incinerated by his magic. The fire stream continued, slamming into the Mirror, shattering the glass into many pieces. The fire stream stopped, but the fire continued to consume the room.
Harry watched as a dark smoke began to lift from Quirrell's body, and it turned on Harry and passed through him. Harry felt very cold, and fell to the ground, unconscious.
…
The first thing he noticed was that it was too bloody bright for him, like someone had put the sun right up against his face. As the light sensitivity faded, Harry was once again confronted with blurry people. Once again, his glasses landed on his face, and he came to look at Professor Dumbledore.
"My dear boy," Dumbledore gave a quiet smile. "Good afternoon,"
"Sir!" Harry blinked in recognition, before rubbing his scar. "Where am I?"
"The Hospital Wing, of course," Dumbledore said fondly, before gently puffing on his pipe. "You did well, Harry. Very well, indeed. I have never seen such resistant Fiendfyre in many years."
"What's Fiendfyre?"
"That is the spell you cast which defeated Voldemort's bid at resurrection, my boy," Dumbledore said with a wry chuckle.
"How long have I been out?"
"Oh… only a couple days, in fact. There are many people who will be quite pleased you are finally awake and well again. I'm very proud of you, Harry, you did fantastically… but I promise, I shall not repeat such errors in my judgement."
"Sir, what exactly went on there? What was the… thing Quirrell was trying to get?"
"That, my young man, was the Philosopher's Stone," A new voice said. Harry peered over at the door, where a man who looked positively more ancient than Dumbledore strolled into the room, smiling.
"Nicolas," Dumbledore breathed. "What a surprise, I didn't expect you to visit."
"I feel I should only thank the young man who saved us all a large headache," Nicolas Flamel said with a smile. "Thank you, Mister Potter. For your help."
"Indeed, we were fearful you wouldn't wake up, Harry. But, the stone has been destroyed, and with it, another tool of misery has been removed from the public circulation."
"Philosopher's Stone… you mean that thing used in alchemy? Sir, doesn't this mean that…"
"Yes, I will die, eventually," Nicolas said with a wry chuckle. "As for how long, I am not sure. Perhaps it will be tomorrow, perhaps in a year, or maybe another twenty. That is the wondrous thing about mortality, something I wish I had learned long ago."
Harry had more questions to ask Dumbledore, which the old man tried to answer as truthfully and best as he could. Questions about why Quirrell and Voldemort couldn't physically touch him, why Voldemort had wanted the stone in the first place, and why Harry was able to retrieve the stone from the Mirror.
Dumbledore took a deep breath. "As for the stone… well, the spell I cast upon that Mirror, and the stone itself, was that only a person who had no intent of using the stone could retrieve it from the mirror; so that only those of noble intent could foil those with ill-intent, and it seems to have worked out quite nicely."
Dumbledore and Flamel rose to leave, but not before helping themselves to one of the Bernie Botts' beans sitting on the edge of Harry's bed.
"Mister Weasley's compliments, something about repaying you for a gift you gave him after the troll attack," Dumbledore said, before picking one out. "I must profess, I used to have a taste for these, but after… a vomit-flavored one many years ago, I lost my appetite for them,"
Flamel helped himself to one and, after chewing it, grinned. "Cherry cola, what about you, Albus?"
"Alas," Dumbledore said, his face sour. "Earwax."
…
Harry was discharged the following day, having been denied access to his friends in the meantime. Upon his return to the Great Hall, his bones had nearly been crushed by Hermione who had wrapped him in a massive hug. Naturally, the story of what had happened in the third floor corridor had spread far and wide across the school.
He didn't hold much long of a pity party before buckling down for exams the week following. Harry didn't know if it was the latent magic or just the unfortunate early summer weather, but every room save for Snape's was boiling hot, and was full of students who were decidedly uneager for exams– except for Hermione.
The first exam was Charms– Professor Flitwick called them into his office one by one to see if they could make a pineapple do a tap-dance across his desk. Hermione seemed very pleased when she emerged from the classroom, and Harry bit his lip and hoped his wand would behave itself. He got partial marks in Charms for the fact that he did get his pineapple to dance across the table, but unfortunately it didn't tap-dance, it pogo-danced across the desk.
The second exam was Transfiguration, and unfortunately, Harry's exam was monitored by an official from the Ministry. The nameless bureaucrat would observe and give marks or not depending on his performance. Harry's mother seemed put off, but resigned. The goal was to turn a mouse into a snuffbox– points for decorative effort, points taken away for keeping whiskers around.
By some miracle, or grace of God, or what have you– Harry's wand complied in a rare moment of peace, and transfigured the mouse into an ornate snuffbox decorated with little snitches. The proctor gave him full marks, and Harry felt incredibly pleased by the concept.
They did exams for Magical Theory, History of Magic, and Astronomy on parchment, and used freshly made Anti-Cheating Quills to ensure no violation of school rules by each student.
The final exam for Harry, held after the standard DADA exam was performed (which was a written exam only this year due to the Professor's untimely demise). His DADA exam was performed privately before Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore. Harry's wand seemed more loyal as it was slightly easier to cast spells now that he knew the difficulty scale.
He had gotten acceptable marks on his DADA exam, which was good considering that he was taking an exam that combined first and second year materials.
After exams, Harry had gone down to see how Hagrid was doing. The half-giant was still beside himself.
"All my ruddy fault," Hagrid said, nearly sobbing. "I told the bloody git how to get past Fluffy, I told him! I didn't know that- you could've died! Just for a dragon egg! I'll never drink again, I should be sent out to live as a Muggle!"
"Hagrid!" Harry said, grabbing what he could of the large man's hand. "He'd have found out somehow. This is Voldemort we're talking about, after all."
"You could have died!" Hagrid said, borderline sobbing. "And don't say his name!"
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed. A clay pot with a plant in it flew off Hagrid's table and shattered on the ground. Hagrid seemed shocked and had stopped blubbering completely. "I've met the bastard, and I'm going to call him by his name. Fear in the name only amplifies fear in the person. Now, please, cheer up. We've saved the day, the stone is gone, and all sorts of other things,"
Harry dug around his pockets and procured a small package. "Here, have a chocolate frog. I've got more of them now than I care to count."
Hagrid wiped his nose and accepted the gift. He set it on the table and snapped his fingers.
"That reminds me, I've… I've got a present for you,"
Harry ended up with a thick, leatherbound book in his hands. He gently opened and gasped. It was a book full of pictures of his birth parents.
"Sent owls off to all your parents' old school friends, asking for photos. Knew it'd be hard for you to have any, what first livin' with those Muggles, and then being adopted by Professor McGonagall." Hagrid said with a nod.
"I love it," Harry said quietly. "Thank you, Hagrid."
That evening, Harry went to the End of Year feast, and found the entire Great Hall decorated in Gryffindor's red and gold. Dumbledore had discussed with him the idea of publicly praising his service to the school, but Harry had demured, saying he didn't want to take the cup away from Gryffindor for that reason– they deserved it.
That didn't stop him from getting roped into a PR event where he was awarded with "Special Services to the School" in front of a Daily Prophet photographer and Lucius Malfoy, who was head of the Governor's Board. Harry had felt quite sour after that, but had lived with it.
Seated at the Slytherin table next to Draco and Hermione, Harry let out a deep sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was glad it was all done.
"What a year that has come and past," Dumbledore said with a grand smile. "And I must trouble you now with the ramblings and trivial pursuits of an old man before we sink our teeth into a delicious feast. I hope that your brains, full and bursting with knowledge of the year shall retain those ideas, and return next year, eager for more."
"Now," Dumbledore said. "It is time for the House Cup, of course. In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three-hundred and fifty-two points; Ravenclaw in third, with four-hundred and twenty-six; Slytherin in second, with four-hundred and seventy-two points… and finally, in first place, Gryffindor, with four-hundred and eighty points."
A raucious cheer came up from the Gryffindor table, and Harry could see Neville and Ron making a bunch of loud noise and cheering.
Harry grabbed his goblet and raised a toast to them. Neville caught eye and nudged Ron. Ron picked up his goblet and did the same to Harry.
Dumbledore seemed to pick up on the gesture, and raised his own goblet.
"But despite this, remember we are all one family in ourselves. So let us raise a glass in remembrance of that fact. To family!"
A rumbling noise shook the room, and the great array of food appeared before them, and the students dug in with gusto.
…
The first year exam results were finally posted, and Harry had been interested to see where he'd come in. He'd nearly had a stroke when he saw his placement.
At the very top, to the surprise of literally nobody in first year, was Hermione Granger, who had gotten near to perfect marks in everything.
But right there, in number two, was his name. HARRY POTTER was written in a glittering green ink in the very familiar handwriting of his mother. He felt a welling of pride in his chest, and noticed Draco as a close third.
Neville had done well too, his mediocre (but not abysmal) Potions grade was kept from being an albatross around his neck due to his perfect grade in Herbology– Ron was rounded quite well, and had done acceptably in all classes.
And just like that, the year came to an end. Their trunks and wardrobes were packed away, and sent to the trains. Hagrid escorted the first years back across the water on boats, and helped them load up into the Hogwarts Express.
With a change back into Muggle attire, or whatever casualwear they liked, the students of Hogwarts returned to London's King Cross stations in droves.
As they disembarked from the train, Professor- no, his mother was waiting, with Rolanda standing to her left, both of them smiling ear to ear. When they weren't in school, his mothers looked totally different– gone was her long, conservative robe, and in its place was a collared blouse and a pair of blue jeans.
Harry ran and embraced his mothers in a hug, and grinned at them and his friends.
On the platform, he was introduced to Neville's grandmother, who seemed shocked that her grandson was friends with Harry Potter. She seemed very taken in, and beamed ear to ear at her grandson, which Neville seemed to like.
Draco's parents were a mixed bag of cordiality. Lucius was his typical cold and remote self, but Narcissa was very friendly, and had asked him at arm's length about his time in Slytherin and if he enjoyed it. She mentioned that Draco constantly wrote about him, and seemed to enjoy having him around as a friend. That pleased Harry quite alot, and he said he couldn't imagine not being Draco's friend.
Narcissa seemed to be relieved slightly by that, and Harry wasn't sure why.
He also met Hermione's parents as well, which was nice, as since they were Muggles, they had no idea who he was. They treated him like just some kid, and he was forever thankful for that one. They seemed to approve of Hermione's choice of friend.
And of course, the Weasley family was there, and Molly had caught Minerva in a mile-long conversation, the two loudly laughing and enjoying each other's presence. Once the platform had cleared out some, Minerva and her wife collected their charge, and made their way to the Floo gates.
"I'm very proud of you, Harry," Minerva said once they were out of earshot, kneeling down in front of her son. "Both with your grades, and your bravery," She gently tucked his hair behind his ear. "You're certainly your father's son."
Harry smiled, and hugged her. "Thank you."
And with that, the trio (and Crookshanks) returned to Wulver's Hollow.