"You!" Harry thundered.
"Me," Quirrell agreed, smiling. He showed not the barest hint of a stutter. He didn't even twitch. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."
"I've got to admit," Ginny muttered, "I wasn't expecting this."
"Why would you, idiot girl?" Quirrell laughed. "It was perfect. Snape swooping around like an overgrown bat drawing everyone's ire, who would suspect p-poor, st-st-stuttering Professor Q-Quirrell?"
"It was you," Ginny said slowly, softly. She looked traumatized, staring wide-eyed, open-mouthed at the man they had hoped to support through the trial of standing up to Professor Snape. "You were the one cursing Harry's broom!"
"Of course," Quirrell scowled. "I underestimated your abilities. I won't do so again."
Harry turned back to Ginny to see that she was still staring at Quirrell. But something was wrong. She wasn't moving. At all.
"You, on the other hand," Quirrell sneered, "I have a perfect measure of. More raw power than you know what to do with, and no discipline to control it. The rage is building in you. You want to lash out at me. It's all too predictable."
"Why are you helping Voldemort?!" Harry yelled. He was angry, there was no denying it. Ginny's panic was flowing copiously through to him, fuelling his rage. And Quirrell's ability to read him was incensing him even further.
"There it is," Quirrell said wearily. "You're far too nosy for your own good, Potter. It's a pity my troll didn't squash you on Halloween."
"Your troll?" Harry snarled. That thing had nearly killed Hermione.
"Certainly," Quirrell smiled. "I've always had a certain affinity with trolls."
Harry's blood was boiling. Lightning was fizzling at his wand-tip.
"Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape headed me off at the third-floor corridor," Quirrell went on. "Don't you think it funny just how much you've misjudged him? No? What if I told you that he was muttering the counter-curse that day on the Quidditch pitch, and that's the singular reason why you're still holding on to your pathetic hide? That he oversaw your following game to protect you? Oh how your father would turn in his grave."
"What about my father?" Harry growled. The fizzling was getting more intense. He could feel it in his hands.
Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprung out of thin air, binding Harry tightly. Looking down, Harry noticed that it wasn't his wand that was fizzling. He was.
"Be quiet now, Potter, I need to examine this mirror..." Quirrell said, turning away.
Harry turned his wrists, gripping the ropes and focusing on his anger. The lightning that had been dancing at his fingertips surged, blackening the rope. Harry yelled, fury overwhelming his mind, and tore free of the ropes, charging at Quirrell.
"I said QUIET!" Quirrell roared, bringing his wand to bear on Harry. But a silvery shield sprang up in front of him, reflecting the spell at the young professor and blasting him off his feet.
"I thought you said you were done underestimating me?" Ginny said. Her whole body was shimmering with flames, and orange sparks flew from her eyes as she glared at him.
Quirrell didn't have time to twitch before an invisible fist slammed into his midriff, guided by Ginny's own. He coughed, but there was no visible impact.
"You are becoming more than a mere irritation," Quirrell warned. Harry found himself floating up into the air, completely incapable of controlling his body.
The greatest warriors apply their minds.
His thoughts were still his own. He had that much. All he could see was the high, stone ceiling. But he could still hear Quirrell. And the others were coming.
"I don't understand... Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
Harry's wand fell from his limp hand and clattered on the floor. Rage had freed him last time, but he found that he could no longer summon any. Now, he reached out to Ginny through their bond. He could feel her anger and fear. He delved deeper, and found only one thought.
'Burn.'
Whoosh.
He knew that Ginny had burst into flame again, but it seemed that Quirrell wasn't paying any attention.
"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"
To Harry's horror, a voice responded from within the room, somewhere very close to Quirrell himself.
"Use the boy..." the voice rasped. "Use the boy..."
Harry felt himself fall, and hit the ground in a heap, grunting at the pain of impact. He was grabbed by the collar and tugged forwards towards the mirror.
"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see," Quirrell commanded.
"I see myself tearing your head off your shoulders," Harry spat, refusing to even glance at the mirror. "Where's Voldemort? I heard the cowardly bastard. He's in here somewhere."
The blow stung, almost bringing tears to his eyes. "Speak of the Dark Lord in that way again and you will lose your head. Understood?"
The high, rasping voice came once again from very close by, laughing. If Harry didn't know better, he'd have said it was coming from Quirrell himself. "Potter, you've a lot of nerve."
"You're a lot of talk," Harry retorted. "Why don't you come out and face me, you spineless wretch?"
"Why not indeed," Voldemort agreed. "It is proper to look your foe in the eyes before you take their life. I should know. Quirrell, let me speak to him… face to face."
"Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have strength enough… for this…" Voldemort rasped.
Quirrell began to unwrap his turban, of all things. Harry stared, transfixed. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ginny, burning like a torch, flex her hand. Quirrell turned.
Harry's eyes went wide in terror. For there was no back to Quirrell's head. Instead, there was a face. It was a face that he almost recognised. Staring out of the back of Quirrell's head was a thing that looked like him, or at least, the Harry from the Mirror all those months ago. Fiery red eyes glared at him through slitted pupils; the skin was waxy, with slits for nostrils and an apparent lack of lips; it was almost like a snake.
"Harry Potter…" it whispered.
Harry's wand sprang into his hand, but he didn't move to attack. He could only stare at this vision of horror.
"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour… 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?"
"What stone?" Harry asked, surprised.
"I think he means this stone," Ginny said, holding it aloft.
"I don't think he'll get it though," George grinned, walking out from behind a column. "Fred'll have a fit when he hears about this. Hiding under Quirrell's turban? Could you feel it, mate? When we were bouncing snowballs off your face?"
"He'll sure as hell feel it when we bounce his face off the floor," Neville added.
"What's this, Potter?" Voldemort said, sounding more amused than anything else. "Have you brought an army of children to fight me?"
"No," Hermione cut in. "Harry's here to fight you."
"We're here to kill you for what you did to him," Ginny spat.
"Kill them all, Quirrell," Voldemort snarled.
"Avada..." Quirrell began. He wasn't fast enough.
Ginny's telekinetic fist threw him into the Mirror so hard that the great thing rocked, almost to the point of falling. Quirrell snarled, giving up on the Killing Curse and simply flicking his wand here and there, blasting them, or conjuring beasts to attack them.
Harry just saw Neville's shin bone burst out of his leg before he found a bear charging right at him. In the next moment, it was thrown aside, presumably by Ginny, leaving his path to Voldemort/Quirrell clear.
"Verdimillious!" he cast.
Time had been slowing even without him realising, and he watched the beam form. Swirling aether gathered about his wand-tip, a glow building faster and faster. It was a pure white at first, but as it built the outside seemed to stain blue, like ink being dropped into a glass of water. The beam burst from his wand without the slightest warning, a solid core of death.
Quirrell batted it aside with a flick of his wand, but had no time to evade Harry. Turning his shoulder into a battering ram, Harry smashed Quirrell back into the Mirror. He wouldn't allow the man to attack his friends. He couldn't. Lightning was once again sparking between his fingers, and Harry called instinctively on memories of Dudley beating him up. As Quirrell recovered from the blow, Harry turned and delivered a devastating right hook to his chin, making his head bounce off the Mirror like a tennis ball, into Harry's waiting left fist. Kicking savagely at the inside of Quirrell's knee, Harry was about to finish Quirrell with a Verdimillious to the face when he found himself thrown backwards by some curse.
When he got to his feet, he was fine, but Quirrell certainly wasn't. His face had been burned by Harry's lightning. But it was more than that. He was clutching at his head and screaming.
"KILL THEM!" Voldemort shrieked. "KILL THEM ALL!"
"Master, it burns!" Quirrell gasped.
"Then kill them, fool, and be done!" Voldemort screeched.
Harry didn't notice how peaceful the chamber had been until Quirrell attacked once more. He was casting spells so quickly that Harry couldn't keep track of everything that was happening.
Neville was lying on the ground now, reduced to firing off the odd Flipendo to keep summoned creatures away. George was using the columns for cover, picking off Quirrell's support or taking potshots at the man himself. Hermione, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
Ginny was even wilder now than she had been before. Ablaze with magical plasma, she literally tore through the oncoming enemies, raking a hand through a saber-toothed tiger to turn it into a cloud of ash and charred bones and teeth.
"Is this all you have?" Voldemort sneered. "Parlour tricks and classroom jinxes?"
The ground under Quirrell exploded, blinding Harry with dust and flying debris.
When it cleared, Hermione was standing there, shaking, hurling the rubble around. Where Quirrell had stood were now several large parts of the ceiling, sitting in the craters they'd made as they fell.
There was a rushing sound, and unimaginable pain ripped through Harry. He looked down to see that a hole had been blasted through his chest. He could feel air chilling parts of him it should never touch. Quirrell was behind him, cursing everything in sight while Voldemort cackled with glee.
Harry's fear turned into blind rage. He couldn't hear the screaming or the laughing, nor could he smell the burned flesh beneath his nose. He could only see... see Quirrell, and the path that he would take to get to him. Ginny got there first. Flaming so brightly and voluminously that Harry could no longer see her within the inferno, she was physically grappling with this man who was nearly twice her size. It should have been a very one-sided brawl, but Ginny's fire seemed to have the same effect as Harry's lightning.
The sparks started once more, and Harry knew somehow that this would be the last time. He approached Voldemort, staggering with the pain of his evisceration. He could hardly breathe, and every breath he took was shallower, more painful. Voldemort was glaring at him hatefully, the red eyes full of a very personal malice.
Harry grabbed onto Voldemort's face, pulling at it with the last of his strength.
"Nnnghh-aaaAAARRRGGHHHH!" Voldemort screamed, his face blistering and blackening and tearing away from Quirrell's skull.
"Reducto," George called.
There was no way for Quirrell to evade. Tormented by Ginny and Harry's touch, he struggled feebly, but could do nothing as much of his midriff was reduced to a fine mist, separating his spine into two parts, and leaving the open aorta to discard his lifeblood violently into the air. Quirrell slid down slowly, Voldemort's features fading from the back of his head as he slumped to the ground, quite clearly finished. Harry imagined he heard the feared Dark Lord shrieking as Harry also fell, collapsing down onto his knees before Ginny could grab him, laying him down gently on the cold stone floor. He was so very cold...
"Harry!" Ginny screamed. 'Stay with me, Harry, please. We'll get you to the hospital. Madam Pomfrey can...'
'Shh,' Harry interrupted. 'It's over now.'
"Out of the way," a voice said commandingly.
"Heal him," Ginny ordered. "I'm going to hurt you so badly for what happened here, but first..."
Ginny's words were lost to Harry as the darkness claimed him.
"Ungh." Harry groaned as he awoke. He felt as if he were being crushed under an elephant. Not for the first time, he opened his eyes to white ceiling, white bedspread, and red hair.
"Shh," Ginny whispered, easing his glasses onto his face. "You've been out for an hour or so."
"How's Neville?" Harry asked.
"He's okay," Ginny winced. "Madam Pomfrey put his bones back in place, but he won't be walking normally for another week at least."
Harry knew from her tone that something else was bothering her. "Ron?"
"He hasn't woken up yet," Ginny sniffed. "Professor McGonagall said that the curse on the chessboard was designed to knock someone out for at least a day, but it was designed for a powerful Dark wizard, not a twelve year old boy..."
"He'll be okay, Ginny," Harry reassured her. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she stared at him, biting her lip.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said as he burst in. "Are you okay? Madam Pomfrey didn't tell us much."
"Professor Dumbledore put phoenix tears in the wound," Ginny whispered. "Oh gods, it was so big!"
Harry lifted the bedsheet, but his chest was entirely unblemished.
"Phoenix tears heal completely, Harry," Dad said absently, staring at Harry's chest.
"I could have put my hand right through," Ginny went on. Her face was pale as freshly fallen snow, making her freckles stand out like ink spattered over a page.
"Ginny, I'm fine, and Voldemort's gone," Harry said softly.
"But it's all Dumbledore's fault!" Ginny growled. "Him and the other professors!"
"Now, Ginny, that might be a little harsh," Mr. Weasley said placatingly.
"What?!" Ginny shrieked. "How can you be defending them?"
"You didn't have to go down there, Ginny," Mr. Weasley pointed out.
"Would you rather have seen Voldemort rise again?" Ginny accused.
"Don't say the name," Mr. Weasley reprimanded.
"I just beat him within an inch of his life," Ginny hissed. "No thanks to the professors, who didn't even bother to have a look when we told them what was going on!"
"Don't you think it's a little suspicious that a few kids were able to find the Stone?" Harry asked.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Mrs Weasley called outside.
"Well, yes, that is rather odd," Mr. Weasley frowned.
"And that a handful of students could breach the defences and actually get a hold of the Stone?" Ginny pressed.
"Wait, start again, I missed a lot of this story," Mr. Weasley said, scratching his head. "You found out about the Stone when?"
The story took a little while to tell, but by then Mr. Weasley was completely incensed.
"And even after encountering him in the Forbidden Forest drinking unicorn blood of all things, they didn't post a member of staff to guard the place?"
Professor Dumbledore walked in then.
"It was a test, wasn't it, sir?" Harry asked. "This whole thing."
"A test, my boy?" Professor Dumbledore asked. "Surely you don't think I can summon Lord Voldemort at a whim to challenge you?"
"I don't mean him," Harry replied. "I mean the protections on the Stone. The only one that could possibly have stopped him was the Mirror, and you know it."
"Now, my boy, I assure you, those protections were the very best we could offer..."
"What about a Fidelius?" Ginny asked. Harry could tell how hard she was working not to scream at the headmaster. "Or a blood ward? Why a chess game, professor?"
"The professors had their reasons for their individual barriers," Dumbledore said dismissively. "I chose the Mirror because I knew that no-one who was there for selfish reasons could hope to claim the Stone from it. One of my better ideas, if I may say so myself..."
"You've certainly had a lot of poor ones, Professor Dumbledore," Mr. Weasley said. "What were you thinking, putting that thing in the middle of Hogwarts? Two of my children came within inches of death today because of your whimsy."
"Now I don't think it was quite so serious as all that, Arthur," Professor Dumbledore said soothingly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, professor," Ginny said bitingly. "Did you not notice the size of the hole you were pouring phoenix tears into? Personally, I could see his heart beating, but I'm sure he'd have been fine if you hadn't turned up just in time."
"Miss Ginevra Weasley!" Professor McGonagall cried. "How dare you speak to the headmaster in that manner?"
"I'll never forgive you for this," Harry said.
She looked at him for a moment, and her expression changed, turning anxious and sorrowful.
Suddenly, she went unnaturally still. Bile rose in Harry's throat as he realised that he too was frozen. The sensation was frighteningly familiar. Quirrell had put him under this very spell in the Mirror Room. His mind rebelled at the idea of not having control of his body; the panic was stifling.
"Obliviate," Professor Dumbledore cast. "Obliviate. Obliviate."
"Professor, what are you doing?" Harry asked, horrified, as first Ginny, then Professor McGonagall and Dad fell like marionettes with their strings cut.
"For the greater good, my boy," he said gravely. "Perhaps you will understand, when you are older. Obliviate."
Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.
He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.
He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.
Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell!"
"Ah yes, an admirable bit of work there on your part," said Dumbledore. "Thanks to the efforts of yourself and your friends, Quirinus Quirrell does not have the Stone."
"What about Ron? He-"
"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out. Mr. Weasley is just over there, and if you are not careful you will wake him."
Harry swallowed and looked around him. He was back in the hospital wing. Ron was across the room and one bed along, sleeping like a log, and next to both him and Harry were tables piled high with what looked like half of a 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 brothers, Fred and George Weasley, were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you both. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."
"How long have I been in here?"
"Thirty hours. Mr. Neville Longbottom, Miss Hermione Granger, Misters Fred and George Weasley, and of course Miss Ginevra Weasley 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 Miss Weasley. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."
"You got there? You got Neville's message?"
"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 save you."
"It was you."
"I feared I might be too late."
"You nearly were, we couldn't have kept him from the Stone much longer —"
"Not the Stone, boy, you – the blood loss alone 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, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who..."
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. 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."
"Why did Voldemort try to kill me?"
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.
"Why did it hurt Quirrell so much for me or Ginny to touch him?"
"I'm afraid that I am not quite sure, my boy. Perhaps someday the truth in that will reveal itself to all of us."
Harry frowned. Dumbledore wasn't being very forthcoming, regardless of what he'd 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."
"Over the year, people have let a few things slip about Snape..."
"Professor Snape, Harry."
"Yes, him – people keep mentioning things about him not getting on with my father. What actually happened?"
"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."
"What?"
"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 your father's memory in peace…"
Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.
"And sir, there's one more thing…"
"Just the one?"
"How did Ginny 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. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"
He said his goodbyes then and left Harry to enjoy some of his sweets.
"Harry?" Ron moaned. "That you?"
"Yeah, you alright?" Harry asked, forgetting the sweets entirely.
"I think so," Ron replied, "but everything's kinda blurry."
Madam Pomfrey hurried in with a tray of potion phials.
Harry's memory tripped, and he saw a table of phials. Ginny drinking a black potion from a crystal phial that almost disappeared in her hand when she held it, it was so small. A massive, black fire...
"Drink up, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said, gentle and firm at the same time.
"Ugh, that's vile," Ron complained.
"You took some nasty damage from that ward," Madam Pomfrey admonished. "You need help to recover from it."
"He'll be okay though, right?" Harry asked. He felt a bit guilty about how much his friends had been hurt following down that trapdoor.
"Of course, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said with a wry smile. "If you can survive a four inch hole through your chest, I'm sure Mr. Weasley here has nothing to worry about."
"Four inches?" Harry gaped. He stared at his unblemished abdomen.
Again his memory jogged, and he saw Voldemort snarling on the back of Quirrell's head.
"I advise you to rest while you can, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey. "Professor Dumbledore saw fit to allow you to play in the Quidditch match tomorrow."
"That's tomorrow?" Harry groaned. Wood would be doing his nut.
"Your parents are likely to arrive shortly, though, so try not to go to sleep just yet," Madam Pomfrey smiled.
"Boys!" Mum cried, running to Ron and embracing him tightly, kissing him on top of the head, before giving Harry the same treatment.
Madam Pomfrey hurried out to give them some privacy, while Dad stood by the doors, simply watching and smiling.
"Don't you ever do something so foolish again, do you hear?" Mum cried. "My poor, wonderful, heroic boys. Professor Dumbledore told me all about what happened down under the school."
Harry and Ron shared a look. Neither was sure whether they were in trouble or about to receive praise.
"I'm glad you didn't let him go in alone, Ron," said Mrs Weasley. "But this is the kind of thing the professors should be handling, not you. Gods, I'm just so happy you're all alive."
Harry felt something nagging at the back of his head, like there was something he ought to remember...
"Everyone else is outside," Dad smiled. "As well as a very large crowd of well-wishers."
"Oh dear, do make sure there's no trouble, Arthur," said Mum, feeling Ron's forehead.
"They're fine," Dad assured her. "Fred, George and Ginny are keeping them entertained."
'Ginny...' Harry reached out to her, feeling her jumble of emotions just outside.
"I'm very proud of you, boys," Dad said gently. "You've shown strength and courage worthy of men, and you are going to be great wizards, both of you."
Harry and Ron grinned at each other.
"Thanks, Dad."
"That doesn't mean you're to go risking your necks whenever you see a chance," Mum said in a warning tone. "If I hear about you running into the forest to rescue someone's toad, or..."
"We promise, Mum," Ron said hurriedly.
"Yeah, promise," Harry agreed. He was thinking about Neville's toad, Trevor. He hadn't seen the wilful thing in a while.
Mrs Weasley knelt at Ron's bed, an anxious look on her face. "Now, Ron, Madam Pomfrey told me that you suffered hypervitasia," she said in an urgent tone.
"Dad?" Harry asked softly, so that the others wouldn't hear. Mr. Weasley came to sit at his bedside, and took Harry's hand loosely in his.
"What is it, son?" Mr. Weasley said, smiling gently.
"What's actually wrong with Ron?" said Harry worriedly. In spite of his current vitality, Harry remembered how still Ron had been after the ward triggered.
"It's called hypervitasia," said Mr. Weasley solemnly. "Too much magical energy went through him at once. Combined with the ward itself being a stunning curse designed for a powerful Dark wizard..."
"But what does hypervitasia actually do to you?" Harry asked.
"It slows you down," Mr. Weasley explained, sighing. "The body slows everything down to try to stop itself from overheating again. You get weaker, and the slightest exertion has you drenched in sweat. Here, an exertion isn't running, it's trying to get out of bed."
Harry blinked at Mr. Weasley. In spite of himself, Harry turned to look at Ron. He was propped up on pillows, and besides his face barely any of him was moving.
"The problem with it is that it tends to happen in dangerous situations," Mr. Weasley went on, "and getting into a fight, or trying to escape one, while you're hypervitasic... It can never end well."
Mum came over to him now, fussing randomly and checking who knew what, putting her hand against his forehead and her cheek to his.
"Harry, nobody actually told us what happened to you," she said, frowning. "You seem fit and healthy to me."
"Professor Dumbledore did something," said Harry. "I don't really remember, but I think there was a hole, here." Harry pointed at his sternum.
Mum put a hand to her mouth. "Harry!"
She rushed over to Madam Pomfrey's office, while Dad simply stared at his chest.
"A hole?" Dad asked hoarsely.
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Quirrell cursed me, right at the end."
"My best guess was an imprecise Evisceration Curse or a very precise Blasting Curse," Madam Pomfrey declared. "There was too much spell residue to get a clear idea, and forensics is not my speciality."
"But what did it do to him, Madam Pomfrey?" Mum asked in a strained voice.
"A hole through his chest, just off-centre to his left, centring under the sixth rib," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding a little unbalanced herself. "Four and an eighth inches in diameter. It just missed the heart, but he lost a lot of blood and lung tissue. If Professor Dumbledore hadn't arrived with those phoenix tears, his lungs would both have collapsed even if the blood loss didn't kill him."
"The..." Mum started.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.
"Harry..." Dad said forlornly.
"Oh, my poor boy!"
Mum ran to him, squeezing him so tightly that tears came to his eyes too.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered. "This kind of thing isn't supposed to happen at Hogwarts. The wards..."
"It was Lord Voldemort," Harry offered.
"What?" Dad gasped.
"Don't say the name!" Mum admonished in a strangled, anguished hiss.
"Professor Dumbledore said that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," said Harry uncertainly. She'd reacted even worse than Madam Pomfrey.
"Professor Dumbledore never had much to fear from him," said Mum.
"I just fried him," Harry said stubbornly.
"He almost got you too!" Mum cried. The tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, and she clutched him to her bosom like a buoy on the open sea. "Harry, you can't do anything like this again, do you understand me? You're only a boy! You should be playing Quidditch and Exploding Snap, not fighting Dark lords!"
"If we didn't, who would?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Don't talk back!" she snapped. "I'll be having words with Dumbledore. Your safety should be better looked after here."
Harry sighed and hugged her back. What else could he do?
"Harry, did you say you fought You-Know-Who?" Dad asked quietly.
"He was possessing Professor Quirrell," Harry explained. "He doesn't have a body anymore. But his face was on the back of Quirrell's head."
"You're delirious, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey insisted. Harry hadn't realised she was still there. "You had a traumatic experience..."
"Ask any of the others," Harry retorted. "I wasn't alone down there."
"He's dead, Harry," Dad insisted.
"He will be," Harry agreed. "But not yet."
Mum and Dad left not long after that. Harry wasn't sure they believed him, but maybe when Ginny and George gave their accounts they'd be a bit more receptive to the idea. Not a minute had gone by after they left when Ginny came tearing in through the double doors, a red and black bullet that knocked him flat on his back.
The others all came in behind her, staring openly at Harry. He gave them a moment. As much as he hated it when people stared at him, they had pretty much seen him raised from the dead.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Neville asked warily. He was walking with a crutch, and Harry noticed that Hermione was standing close by to help if needed.
"Never better," said Harry. "What about you?"
"This?" he asked, indicating the wounded leg with his crutch. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about five minutes. Hurt like a manticore's sting, but it's fine now."
"What happened to you?" Ron asked.
"You-Know-Who blew his shin bone right out of his leg," Hermione said distantly. "He kept on fighting, but he was lucky he didn't end up like Harry."
"If it wasn't for Ginny, we'd have been toast," Harry added, stroking Ginny's hair. She mumbled something into his chest, but didn't surface.
"I still can't believe we actually fought him," George said, raking his fingers through his hair.
"It was a hell of an entrance, by the way, guys,"
"I didn't realise we were going for something like that until Ginny started in," George grinned absently. "After that, well... couldn't help myself, really."
"You should've seen your face, Harry," Neville chuckled. "What stone?"
Hermione stifled a laugh. "As if we had any idea what was going on. How did you get the Stone, Ginny?"
"The Mirror gave it to me," Ginny mumbled. Harry only barely heard her.
"Um, are you going to get up?" Harry asked. He supposed wrapping his arms around her wasn't helping matters.
"Nn-nn," she replied, squeezing him tighter.
He shrugged helplessly at the others. "Why don't you tell me so I can translate for the others, then?" he offered.
"The mirror gave it to me," she said, heavily muffled but audible. "The moment I looked at it, my reflection grinned and winked at me, holding up the Stone. She put it in her pocket, and then it was in mine."
"Huh," Harry replied. "I guess that's what Dumbledore meant about finding it but not using it."
"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Ginny got the Stone because she wanted to find it, but she didn't want immortality or gold. She just wanted to keep it from Voldemort," Harry explained. "So when she looked into the Mirror of Erised, she saw herself holding the Stone, and the Mirror gave it to her."
"Ahh..." Hermione gasped. "That's brilliant! But where was the Stone being kept?"
"Probably under the floor or something," Fred shrugged.
"Basic switching spell," George explained.
"Attached to a rune stone," Fred continued.
"Triggered by a ward on the Mirror," George finished.
Hermione's eyes bugged out, and she whipped her Muggle notebook and ballpoint pen out of an inside pocket and began scribbling away. Neville leaned over to look at what she was writing, but Hermione snatched the notebook away.
"You can see when I'm done!" she admonished.
Neville shrugged and hobbled over to Ron.
"Out, all of you!" Madam Pomfrey called, hurrying in. "You've had time to discuss the other day's events, now your friends need lots of rest."
They all groaned, but acquiesced. Apart from Ginny, that is.
"If you could kindly detach yourself from Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said impatiently, if not unkindly.
"Yeah, Ginny," Harry grinned. "How can I play Quidditch tomorrow like this?"
"Say what?" Fred and George said in unison.
"You're playing in the game tomorrow?" Fred asked.
"The game against Ravenclaw?" George added.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Harry asked.
"What's wrong, he says," George groaned.
"Wood's been doing his nut," said Fred.
"See, if we forfeit the match because we can't field a Seeker," said George.
"We lose the match and two hundred and fifty points," said Fred.
"But if we field a crappy, unpracticed Seeker..." George said leadingly.
"Ravenclaw can choose when the game ends," Harry finished, wincing. "You guys will tell him I'm playing, right?"
"Sure," Fred grinned.
"Do you think we're monsters?" George added.
"All in good time, though," Fred amended.
"After all, you need your sleep, Harry!" George laughed.
"Can't have Oliver..."
"... barging in here..."
"... disrupting your recovery..."
"... especially with you in such a tender state."
"Go on then," Harry laughed.
"Yes, do listen to Mr. Potter, by all means," Madam Pomfrey huffed.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Ginny," Harry said softly. "Thank you, for..."
She put a finger to his lips, smiling sadly. "Harry, I will never ever let you down."
Harry blinked and stared at her retreating back. She was the last one out the door, and she turned to look back at him, flames rippling through her hair as it flowed out behind her. Then she was gone.