I do not own the Neverending Story, the Neverending Story 2, the Neverending Story 3, or the Neverending Story: The Final Chapter

Chapter 19: Are We Done? F***, Yeah! We're Not? F*** You!

It was Quirrell.

"You?" Harry whispered incredulously.

Quirrell smiled.

"Me," he said calmly in an English accent. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"So it wasn't Snape?"

"Afraid not," Quirrell chuckled. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like a bulimic flying squirrel. Next to him, who would suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"Luna was right!"

"She is clever girl, yes. Perhaps too clever. I would have thought you'd have brought her with."

"The traps were rather difficult," shrugged Harry.

"Traps? Didn't you bother to read the sign by the Devil's Snare giving directions to the secret passage?"

"That figures."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang from the floor and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

"I am gifted in binding magic. That is why the dark lord trusted me with this mission."

"Voldemort?"

"No, Dark Lord Gargomel -- Of course I mean Voldemort!"

"There's no need to shout."

"I suppose there'll be no need for the ropes either?" asked Quirrell, quirking a bushy eyebrow.

Harry quirked right back at him.

"You are too nosy to live, Potter. Knowing about the three-headed dog and what was almost stolen from Gringotts made me decide that. If it hadn't been for Snape messing up my curse, you would have died at that Quidditch match."

"Snape saved me?" Harry asked, disbelieving.

"Purely by accident. He was also cursing you, but our curses got tangled and we were fighting for control before we were interrupted. Now wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this curious mirror."

Quirrell turned to face the mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell continued in a reverent whisper. "Trust Dumbledore to put it back where he found it."

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 suspected I was going to sell the secret of what his contribution was."

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?"

"I suppose that if your accent is fake, that eyepatch and turban are, too?"

Quirrell turned to face Harry, glowering angrily.

"The eyepatch may be fake, but the turban was given to me for my power!"

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand…should I break the mirror? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered. It came from everywhere and nowhere with all the beauty of nails dragged across a blackboard.

"Use the boy… Use the boy…"

Quirrell glared at Harry.

"Come here, Potter!"

Harry moved toward him, tiptoeing as slowly as he could. Quirrell hissed in exasperation and snapped his fingers. The ropes slid off. Quirrell forced Harry in front of him.

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

Quirrell moved closer, leaning over his shoulder. Harry looked into the mirror at his reflection. At first, all was normal, but then his 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.

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

"I see myself surrounded by sexy women. They're pleasuring me."

Quirrell frowned hard at him.

"Tell me the truth! What did you see?"

The screechy voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him…face-to-face…."

"Master, you are not strong enough!" warbled Quirrell in a genuinely frightened voice.

Quirrell let out a low, terrified moan as his head began to twist around, the neck muscles straining to move the head to an unnatural extent. Then, with the turban facing towards him, Quirrell's hand began to unravel it. Beneath was a sight so shocking that it would have made a New York cab driver feel mildly nauseated. It was a face.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered.

The eyes were glowing coals and the nostrils, slits. Quirrel's arms pulled him closer to the face's flicking tongue.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor with a form only when I can share the body of another. With the Stone, I will no longer have a need for my current methods. I can stand alone, as ruler of the world. Now… why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. Harry stumbled backward as feeling surged back into his legs.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better to save your own life and join me…"

"Never!"

"Then DIE!" screamed Voldemort, raising Quirrell's wand hand. "Llamarama!"

Chains sprang from the ground, reaching for Harry. He rolled to one side, causing them to miss and shatter the mirror. Harry crawled backward until one of his hands broke through the rotten floor. As he struggled to pull it free, Voldemort loomed over him.

"Die, Harry Potter!"

Voldequirrell lunged for him with hands ready strangle him. There was a sudden flash of light and Voldemort and his puppet were flung back. The whole room shook and an enormous stone chunk fell from the ceiling into the floor behind Voldemort. The rotten boards burst and Voldemort fell down… down… down onto a stalagmite below. The stone spike drove up through his back and out his stomach. Quirrell gave a few weak wails before falling silent with a gurgle. A strange black gas fled from the hole and up the passage, last words trailing behind it. Until next time, Harry Potter!

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The air stank of bleach, ammonia, or some other generic cleaning product. Harry opened his eyes. He was in a brightly lit room filled with empty beds covered by red sheets. Albus Dumbledore was speaking to a rather pretty lady that reminded Harry of Blaise. I'm in the hospital wing, he realized in a dull, distant sort of way. Dumbledore noticed at last that Harry was awake and came over.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore with a fatherly smile.

"Professor Dumbledore? I'm in the hospital wing, aren't I?" asked Harry dully.

"Yes, you are. Though I daren't say you've been here before. Hopefully you won't be here again anytime soon."

"What's going on? Did Quirrell get the stone?"

"No, he didn't. Check your pocket."

Harry realized he was still wearing his usual clothes instead of normal patient wear. He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the small red stone. I glowed gently in the sunlight.

"Shouldn't this be somewhere safer, sir?" asked Harry, frowning at the pounding headache that confronted him as he tried to sit up.

"I would have taken it if I could. It won't let anyone but its master touch it, however."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You took it from the mirror. You are its master now, as I once was. It will serve you in any way it can."

"Can it do anything about this headache?" groaned Harry.

"No. Set it down, quick, here on this tray."

Harry set the Stone on the tray and felt his head immediately begin to clear.

"The legends say that possessing the Stone gives its owner a big head. They mean it rather literally. Holding it for too long makes your head heavy and your wits dull."

"I guess it's a good thing Hermione didn't get it then. Those are her only redeeming qualities."

"Do not judge her so harshly. You have your own shortcomings. But now is a time to be glad. Tonight we shall have a feast to celebrate Voldemort's defeat."

"That's great. How are my friends?"

"They are all doing fine now. Mr. Longbottom has left twice today. He seems unable to stand leaving here for long. I suppose you would like to know how you got the Stone, yes?"

"I suppose I am a bit curious."

"It is only obtainable by those that deserve it. They must want it, but not care to use it."

"I have one more question, sir."

"Just one?"

"Yes. What stopped Voldemort from strangling me?"

"A worthy question, but not one I think you need to know the answer to just now, from what I've heard."

Harry frowned, then noticed a cart heavily laden with sweets beside his bed. Dumbledore followed his gaze.

"Tokens from your many admirers," he explained simply.

"Admirers?"

"Yes. At some point during this year, nearly everyone discovered Fluffy and tried to get past the poor thing. It must not have gotten much sleep with all those disruptions."

"Did Fluffy hurt anyone?"

"No, no. Hagrid trained Fluffy to not harm anyone. The worst it can do is growl and give sloppy kisses."

"Glad I wasn't on the business end of that tongue."

"Yes, miss Brown seems to still be recovering from the experience."

Madam Zabini left the room about then and a small black dog trotted in through the open door. In a flash, it had turned into a man with shaggy hair and closed the door.

"Sirius Black!" gasped Harry.

"Good afternoon, Dumbledore, Harry," he said, smiling behind a rugged beard.

"Sirius," nodded Dumbledore.

"Are you being… cordial with him?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"Of course I am. He's a good friend of mine, and your godfather."

"This day just gets weirder and weirder!"

"You must have heard about why I went to Azkaban. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it," said Sirius calmly.

"I'm listening," said Harry, nervously checking to see where the nearest exit was.

"Pettigrew was a spy for Voldemort. I found out and tracked him down after he told Voldemort where your parents lived."

"Then why did the ministry arrest you?"

"They didn't want anyone killed. Even the Death Eaters."

"Typical. So what now?"

"Eh?"

"What are you going to do now? You can't exactly stay at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Dumbledore, I think, may have a solution to that."

"Indeed I do," nodded Dumbledore. Sirius will teach here next year, in disguise, of course. We will of course need a new DADA teacher, among other things."

"What other things?"

"Well, now that we know Voldemort is up and about, guards, to begin with. Many things will have to change next year, not least what I discussed with the minister."

"I thought Quirrell sent that owl."

"He did, but I just happened to run into the minister at the dragonport. The school will be holding a special event next year. But I can say no more. I will leave you to speak with your godfather, Harry."

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The feast was excellent. After the tables had been cleared, Snape stood up to smugly announce that the Slytherins had won the house cup.

"The House Cup belongs to Slytherin!"

The Slytherins cheered as the other houses booed and jeered them. Abruptly, Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"Silence! I have a few last-minute points to dish out. First – to Lavender Brown, for wonderful skill with the fiddle- fifty points. Next, to Dean Thomas, for really nice hair, fifty points. To Ernie MacMillan, fifty points for an entertaining sword fight. To Justin Finch-Fletchly, fifty points for some mighty fine flying. Fifty points to Susan Bones for wearing a supremely short skirt."

Hufflepuff took the lead and their table cheered, bringing frowns to their classmates' faces.

"Terry Boot, none, because I don't like him. Fifty points go to Luna Lovegood for self-sacrifice and doing something I don't quite understand. To Ronald Weasley I award fifty points for making a valiant effort and being overconfident. Fifty points go to Blaise Zabini for giving Professor Zoriander," he gestured to the demonic woman sitting at the high table, "–a nicer time than she's had in a while. Hermione Granger gets fifty points for drinking herself silly. Seamus Finnigan is awarded fifty points for not blowing something up with a spell."

The Gryffindor table broke into applause at this accomplishment.

"And for Harry Potter, one hundred points for beating the piss out of Voldemort!"

The entire hall, aside from most of the Slytherins cheered at that. However, it was not enough to put the Gryffindors ahead of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Dumbledore raised his hands and the talking quieted.

"Lastly, I wish to award to Neville Longbottom for placing first in the President's Fitness Challenge… 20,000 points!"

Nearly a quarter of the students in the hall fainted and most of the rest refused to believe their ears. Neville had won them the House Cup.

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Harry and his friends were sitting aboard the Hogwarts Express, looking out the window, when they saw a strange sight. It was a turtle. And it was flying! Harry opened the window and it flew into the compartment. It landed on Ron's head.

"Looks like you've made a friend," commented Susan, stroking her Aisha.

"It's got a letter on its… flipper," said Seamus, pointing.

Ron slid the letter, which had a loop attached, off the turtle's flipper. He slit it open with his thumb and pulled out the sheet of notepaper inside. Upon it was written:

I hope you all had a good year, and I hope to make the next one even better for the lot of you. Don't cause too little trouble over summer break. Signed Professor Padfoot

P.S. The hot springs turtle is for Ron, to replace his rat. Sorry, I was hungry.

"Rat? What rat?" puzzled Ron.

The train carried them back to the platform nine and three-quarters, where the Dursleys waited to take Harry back to Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry couldn't wait to come back.

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For those of you who have had the patience to read this far, I've decided to share some of the best questions I've been e-mailed, and the answers. Feel free to send an e-mail if you have a question or just want to be annoyed.

Q: Were you traumatized as a child?

A: What do you think?

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Q: Why did you bleep out only half the swears?

A: I didn't. I bleeped out all the swears so kids can read it. It's rated T because I didn't want to offend anyone with funny ideas about sex.

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Q: Is this just going to be the first book?

A: No, I'm doing a second and third part as well, both contained under this story title.

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Q: I noticed that most of the characters are amoral or have psychological issues.

A: That wasn't a question, you asinine nitpicker.

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Q: Where do you get your inspiration?

A: Life, the world, everything.

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Q: How do you write good fanfiction?

A: With a computer.

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Q: Can I write the next guest author chapter?

A: Yes. Just e-mail me a basic summary of what happens in it after I release details on what I'm looking for.

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I hope you will wait patiently for part 2. It may be some time before I can start on it. I encourage you to look at some of my other fanfiction, which you can be directed to on my page.