Something gold was glinting just above Harry. 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! 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? Bella! Sir, she—"

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

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realised 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, Miss Lestrange 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. Ronald Weasley 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. When I had arrived, Miss Lestrange had succeeded quite well in preventing that, 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 find Miss Lestrange trying to revive you—"

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, if Bella hadn't broken out of her ropes somehow—"

"Not Miss Lestrange, 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-organised 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…thingsI 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 mother because she 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 mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realise that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loves 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 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, "Quirrell said something about…I didn't really understand, sir…but he wasn't going to kill Bella. He said he wouldn't. He said he had plans for her, once school was over…"

At this, Dumbledore was suddenly very stern, "this, I'm afraid, I cannot tell you. I have my own suspicions, of course…but whatever plans Voldemort has for the last heir of House Lestrange remain with him. Miss Lestrange has expressed her own ignorance to the matter…I am inclined to believe her. To this day no one knows for certain why Corvus Lestrange's brothers turned against him, only that the whole business was very odd. It is against the family's very nature to betray one another as they had, a crime most grievous indeed."

Harry frowned, "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 when he was here."

"And there's something else…"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape—"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him—Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"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 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 those sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured 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!"

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 and Hermione in.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him, 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—"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron, "but Bella told us what really happened."

And there she was, hovering behind Harry and Hermione with a soft smile. Harry could see her wince a little as she sat down on the empty hospital bed next to his, "alright, Potter?"

Harry grinned at her, and she fought a chuckle, nodding at him. The simple move made her wince again. Harry's grin turned into a frown, "you're hurt."

"I burnt myself quite terribly when I got out of those ropes," Bella confessed quietly, "they're healing along quite nicely, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey of course. I'm sure you got off worse.

Harry agreed that he was, and then explained nearly all of what Dumbledore had told him. Ron looked quite bewildered. "So the stone's gone? Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that—what was it?—'to the well-organised 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 was.

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating him," Bella shook her head, "if ever the Sorting Hat made a mistake, it was sorting that man in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin."

"What happened to you two?" Harry asked Hermione and Ron.

"Well, we got back all right," said Hermione, "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. I think he was quite surprised to find Bella there with you."

"We levitated you to the hospital wing together," Bella agreed quietly, "you should've seen the other professors, McGonagall still hasn't forgiven herself for not believing you all."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" Ron was suspicious, "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!"

"I would've, if Bella wasn't there," Harry agreed, "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—"

"—which would've been perfectly acceptable after you became a fully-trained wizard, but you can't even manage a half-decent levitation charm," Bella cut him off sternly, "what he did, if he did it willingly, was beyond manipulative and entirely unfair on you, Harry. He should've faced Voldemort himself."

"Listen," Ron changed the subject quickly, a little afraid now of Bella, "you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course—you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrolled by Ravenclaw without you—but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had your five minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

"Another year gone!" Bella nearly jumped when Dumbledore's voice boomed through the Great Hall at the end-of-year feast the next day. "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 our 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 twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

All around her, the Slytherin table erupted in a storm of cheering and stamping. Bella cracked a smile at her housemates, banging her goblet on the table in solidarity.

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

All joy sapped from her face at once. Oh no you don't, you meddling scourge. We earned that cup fair and square. I did not slave away all year just to—

"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 fifty 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 Gryffindor House fifty points."

Bella could see Hermione drop her face in her arms. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves—they were a hundred points up.

"Third—to Mr. Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

The din was deafening. Bella did the math quickly—Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points—exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the House Cup—the meddling—

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"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. I therefore award ten 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 table. 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. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him. If they looked further left to the very end of the Slytherin table, they would've seen Bella look ready to murder Dumbledore herself.

As if he could read her mind—and Bella had always suspected the old coot could—he raises his hands and settled the hall down, "lastly, for an uncharacteristic display of bravery and loyalty, and for setting aside her beliefs and differences in the face of true danger, I award Miss Belladonna Lestrange another Special Award for Services to the School."

All hope Bella had within her crashed in an instant. The Slytherin cheers were half-hearted at best, even the Gryffindors roared louder for Bella. She scowled. Who cares about another gold trinket? You just robbed us of the House Cup! The audacity of this man and his favouritism, honestly.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of her house, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. Bella had burnt a handprint into her golden goblet in her stewing rage.

Not even the exam results could assuage her mood the next morning. She had the best grades of the year by a mile, which she was quickly growing accustomed to. Bella had the whole summer to get over Dumbledore, again, and she hoped peaceful solitude in Castle Lestrange would balm her wounds. It was a rare thing to look forward to the holidays for Bella, and she wasn't sure how long the feeling would last. Soon her wardrobe was empty, her trunk was packed; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (Bella always ignored hers, there was too much magic in Diagon Alley for the ministry to track her there); the thestral-drawn carriages were there to take her to the train; a book she'd already read kept her company in the far lonely corner of the mostly-Slytherin-filled carriage; her robes got swapped for her dragonhide coat; and, at long last, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

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. Bella ended up behind her little Gryffindors, pulling her singular trunk along behind her without the need of a cart.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all three of you—I'll send you an owl. Bella, you get on with Fred and George, right?"

She wasn't sure if 'get on' was the right phrase for it, but she smiled politely anyway.

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to."

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," Bella teased him.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," Harry blushed.

They came out in pairs—Bella and Hermione first, then Harry and Ron a few minutes after.

"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!"

Bella suspected the little ginger girl was Ron's sister, but she wasn't pointing at him.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see—"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at them all.

"Busy year?" she said.

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

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"It was delicious," Bella countered with her best charming smile, "and the softest sweater I've ever worn."

"Ah, you must be Bella!" she brightened cheerfully, cheeks tinged pink, "oh I can't ever thank you enough for the whole business with the troll, dear—oh, Ron, you were right, she is very pretty!"

Ron's jaw clamped shut hard, cheeks flaming as red as his hair as Bella grinned down at him, looking away from her very, very suddenly, "oh I am, am I, Ronnie?"

But Harry didn't get the chance to laugh, interrupted by an unexpectedly high voice. "Ready, are you?"

The fellow Bella assumed to be Harry's muggle uncle was very round and very short and very purple, with a ridiculous thick blond moustache and a thin little mop of matching hair atop his too-large head. He looked absolutely furious at Harry. Behind him stood a very tall, very thin woman with a horse-like face and an even more rotund boy, the very replica of his father. This must be the cousin Harry wanted to curse. The latter two looked absolutely frightened of Harry, and Bella's eyes squinted with suspicion.

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

"In a manner of speaking," said the Muggle. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day."

As he walked away, Harry hung back for a last word with his friends.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have—er—a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer."

"If they need sorting out," Bella offered, still frowning at the Dursleys, "owl me."