Chapter Nineteen - Oblivious

Harry opened his eyes, blinking. He was almost blind from the pounding pain in his head.

"That didn't go exactly according to plan," he heard Quirrell say.

Quirrell was looking down at Harry curiously and muttering to himself.

"The scar was glowing. I wonder, perhaps, if it's because it resembles Sowilo. You weren't supposed to black out, either. Pain was to be expected, certainly, but…"

"What's going on?" Harry asked, picking himself up. As his mind started to wake, he struggled to process the moments that had led to his current state.

"Yes, I can imagine this is quite confusing," Quirrell mused, patting the back of his own head with a smile." Harry's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse in the mirror, Quirrell's head was completely bare of Voldemort's face.

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"Ah, well," said Quirrell, "What I did and what I intended to do are two, quite different things."

"Where's Voldemort?"

Quirrell laughed, "So confident, Harry, saying the Dark Lord's name aloud. Though, perhaps you've earned it, after all the tests I've put you through."

Harry frowned, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "Tests? Only one of those defences was yours, and it wasn't even that hard. The other professors made most of them."

Quirrell laughed again, eyeing Harry like a shark might a fish. "Oh, I wasn't referring to those. Though, getting through these defences was impressive as well. No, I was referring to the game we've been playing this year. Surely you know what I'm referring to, or do I need to jolt your memory."

Harry met Quirrell's pale blue eyes and he was suddenly back on his broom, hurtling towards the ground, hands stuck and unable to do anything. The troll swung, Hermione screamed. The squid's eye gleamed at him, beaked mouth opening to consume him.

Harry shook his head, throwing Quirrell from his mind with an exertion. So all those things had been Quirrell after all.

Quirrell blinked, face going slack with shock, before the smile returned with interest. "Occlumency, Harry. What haven't you dabbled in this year?"

"Those weren't tests," Harry spat, "you were trying to kill me!"

"Kill you?" said Quirrell, looking affronted. "After the promise you showed from the very first day? No, boy, the Dark Lord wanted you dead. At his behest I sent Dementors after you on the train, and what did you do? You cast a charm that even the most powerful wizards struggle with, with no training! I couldn't bring myself to waste talent like that, even for the sake of what I pursued."

Harry shook his head, but his mind was struggling to deny Quirrell's words.

Quirrell continued, a smile on his lips as he watched Harry struggle.

"When the Dementors failed, the Dark Lord bid me try again, so I bound the giant squid to my will. I gave it just enough freedom to resist, otherwise many would have died on that lake, yourself included."

"I don't understand" said Harry. "Why would you do that? Why all this?"

Quirrell shrugged, "I wanted to see how far I could push you. Why else would I give you extra homework with the exact spell you needed to end the curse on your broom? Well, so long as you could learn to cast it wandlessly, of course. You rose to the occasion quite spectacularly."

Harry reeled in shock. Quirrell had tried to feed him the finite incantatem spell? Harry hadn't even read that book in the end. While Harry was confused, Quirrell had confirmed one thing, at least.

"So you did curse my broom," Harry said.

"It was too easy, in the end. I simply sent a cursed broom in the post. Your professors assumed it was from Sirius Black."

Harry blinked. He'd thought McGonagall had sent it.

"Well, what about the shrieking shack?" Quirrell's memory jolt hadn't included that. "Was that you, too?"

"The shrieking shack?" Quirrell said, cocking his head, "What do you mean?"

"Someone attacked me in the shrieking shack and nearly killed me!" said Harry. He hesitated. "That wasn't you?"

Quirrell shrugged, "Not me, I'm afraid. You'll have to figure that one out yourself."

Harry winced and grabbed his head, which still pounded in his skull, trying to think through the pain.

"The troll, though," said Quirrell, "That one was me. I truly had no idea how you would react to that." He laughed. "Impaling it into the solid stone wall with basic transfiguration and a banishing charm… now, that was my favourite."

"I still don't understand, though," Harry said. "So you didn't actually want to kill me, fine, but what was that ritual? What did you do to Voldemort?"

Quirrell smiled widely, "This ritual was meant to absorb the Dark Lord's wraith and use his power to empower my body, but his strength was greater than I expected. I could only draw on part of his power before he broke free. He must have some other tether to this plane, to have escaped the ritual as he did."

Quirrell regarded Harry with a look of interest, "But, most surprising was what happened to you, Harry. Your presence in the ritual circle was meant merely as a source of power. My body was not strong enough to do the ritual without assistance, you see. Why your scar reacted as it did, and why you collapsed, I do not know. It's not as though you were possessed, too."

Harry's head pounded, and he could feel the trickles of blood running down from his scar, nose, and ears.

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why would you try to defeat him after going through all this, after letting him possess your body like that? I don't understand."

"The answer is twofold, Harry." Quirrell's hand went into his pocket, pulling out a ruby red crystal. Harry froze. The philosopher's stone.

"This artefact is part of it," Quirrell said quietly, staring at the stone. "When I finally found the Dark Lord, in search of answers of how he escaped death, I was more fortunate than I could ever have hoped."

He looked at Harry, "My plan was to take advantage of him in his weakened state, take his secrets for myself, but the Dark Lord was desperate, so desperate in fact, that he almost immediately let me in on his plan to steal the stone. It would not have been possible without me, you see. He was formless without something to possess."

Quirrell sneered, looking past Harry in reminiscence, "When I realised how pitiful the Dark Lord had become, I realised I had no use for whatever his methods of immortality were. It was clear the cost was too great."

Quirrell's sneer turned into a soft smile. "The stone, however, now that was a goal worth making sacrifices for."

Quirrell gestured to the back of his head, "So I deceived him, playing the part of faithful servant until I was able to trap him, and take the stone for myself. Without his knowledge of its location, and the secrets of Hogwarts, I would never have succeeded."

Harry stared at him warily. "You said the answer was twofold."

Quirrell nodded, face growing stormy. "I did. The Dark Lord took someone from me, Harry. Someone I loved dearly."

Harry hadn't expected that. "He killed them?"

"Not personally, but I hold him accountable nonetheless."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Quirrell blinked, "Is it not obvious? Do you think I tested you — spent such effort — for nothing? I am offering you the chance to learn from me." He gestured widely to the ritual circle, hefting the philosopher's stone in his other hand. "I might not be a model teacher, Harry, but I'm not evil. I'm also not reticent to admit that I'm very powerful. I can teach you things this school never can or will."

Harry stared at him in shock. Quirrell wanted to teach him?

"I can show you the path to real power, Harry. Without the costs that the Dark Lord shouldered. I learned many of the his secrets. Secrets that I'm willing to pass on. I can teach you what you need to know to cast him down like he is nothing, should he find a way back again. Have I not already demonstrated that?"

Harry thought back to the spell Quirrell had used on the lake. It was true, Quirrell was one of the most powerful wizards Harry had ever met. He looked, again, at the patch of smooth skin on the back of Quirrell's head. Quirrell had beaten Voldemort, something no one else had ever truly done. Not even Dumbledore.

The mirror drew his attention, images swimming into frame beside him. For the first time that day, Harry saw his own reflection in the mirror. Harry stood tall, older than he had been before, an aura of power surrounding him like a cloak. He stood, looming over the smoking corpse of Voldemort.

Harry's mouth opened to answer, but a muffled sound drew his attention towards his friends in the corner of the room, where Hermione wriggled against the ropes that bound her. Draco's pale, lifeless face drifted back into the forefront of his mind.

Harry shook his head. "No."

Quirrell gave a long sigh. "I expected you might say that," he said. "I had hoped, but, oh well."

He flicked his wand again and Harry was once again frozen in place.

"If you ever change your mind, Harry, you just need to say my name out loud. I will find you."

Harry's eyes tracked Quirrell to the stairs. Quirrell began to wave his wand in a wide arc.

"And, for this, I'm sorry, Harry. This might be a little inconvenient for you," he said. "Obliviate."

Harry flinched, but the spell hadn't been for him.

Harry looked over to his friends, who were blinking owlishly, eyes drooping into sleep.

Harry looked back to the stairs, but Quirrell was gone. The spell holding him in place ended, and Harry dropped, unable to support himself.

He lay on the floor, no longer able to ignore the roaring pain that was pounding in his brain. Harry gasped, and fell back into unconsciousness.


Harry woke up to Draco, shaking him.

"Wh- Draco?" Harry slurred.

"Harry! Harry, are you alright?"

Harry groaned, trying to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't obey. There was other movement in the room, as Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout hovered over Hermione, Ron, and Neville, who were still out cold.

Harry tried to speak again, but the edges of his vision were already beginning to fade. The last thing he saw was Sirius, bursting through the doorway.

He slipped back into the darkness once more.


When Harry woke, the pounding of his head was there to greet him, and he struggled to recognise the hospital wing as he transitioned from a vivid dream back into reality. In his dream he had been waiting to go back home on the Hogwarts express, only he hadn't been going to Sirius' house, he'd been going back to an orphanage. Clearly the Dursleys were still on his mind, even now.

Harry sighed and turned over in his bed, trying to let the emotions drain back out of him, and focus on the present. He was alive, and so was Sirius. Harry wasn't going back to the Dursley's any more.

As Harry's thoughts and feelings stabilized, he sat back up with a start, and flung the sheets over his legs.

Harry reached for his wand and flung open the curtains surrounding him with a wave. He looked around the room. All the other beds were empty, save for one, which was hidden behind another set of curtains.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew Harry's attention to the doors of the infirmary, which opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore.

He smiled at Harry. "Planning on going somewhere, Harry?"

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore stopped beside Harry's bed. "I am glad to see you awake, Harry. You gave your Professors the scare."

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry said, "Quirrell has the philosopher's stone! And my friends, Draco, are they—"

"Absolutely fine," said Dumbledore, a kind smile on his face. "No worse for ware, other than some trouble remembering what occurred."

Harry frowned, worried. "What do you mean?"

"Their memory of the moments between your arrival and Professor Quirrell leaving are absent from their minds," Dumbledore said. "I take your confusion to mean you do remember the events I'm referring to?"

Harry nodded, eyebrows raised. So Quirrell hadn't obliviated them of the memory of the whole thing, then, just the bit with Harry. Why had he done that?

"And the stone?" Harry asked.

"Gone, along with Professor Quirrell."

Harry stared at his sheets in shock. "How did he even get the stone, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed, "The fault lies with me. I underestimated the lengths that Professor Quirrell was willing to go to, and the cunning he possessed. He took advantage of Neville Longbottom's desire to find the stone, but not use it."

Harry leaned back, shocked. He couldn't believe that Quirrell had outsmarted Dumbledore, and seemingly just gotten away with it.

"Will he be caught?" Harry asked, somewhat hopefully.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, "I fear it is unlikely. Quirrell showed his ability for deception quite spectacularly this year. If he wants to disappear, I think it likely that he will not be found."

Harry couldn't believe it. How had he managed to mess things up this badly?

"Harry," Dumbledore said, seriously, "What do you remember about those moments after you entered the room? It is imperative that you tell me, no matter what transpired between you and Professor Quirrell."

Harry thought back to Quirrell's parting words. If you change your mind…

"Uh, sure, Professor. Where do you want me to start?"

"From the beginning of the day's events, if you will," Dumbledore said, sitting down on the bed beside Harry.

Harry gathered himself, and started talking, from the moment that Draco had run over to him by the lake.

Dumbledore asked few questions, mostly responding to the events with nods, looks of surprise, or small smiles.

Harry eventually reached the moment that he and Draco took the potions.

"Is Draco okay?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering. "I thought I saw him before blacking out…"

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Mr Malfoy is fine. He consumed a powerful Draught of Living Death, and was able to wake up within minutes rather than hours, thanks to your excellent forethought to use a bezoar."

Harry let out a breath. He looked over to the bed surrounded by curtains and gestured to it.

"Who—"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, "Professor Snape, unfortunately, was overpowered by Professor Quirrell in a valiant attempt to confront him. I once again must shoulder the blame for allowing myself to be lured out of the castle."

Harry was shocked. "Is Professor Snape going to be alright?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly, "He will recover, with time. Magic is quite an amazing gift, and Professor Snape is as resilient as they come."

Harry nodded, thinking on what Dumbledore had just said. "So Professor Quirrell took my friends down to the stone?"

"He did indeed, seemingly for two purposes, to get the stone, and to lure you to himself."

Dumbledore paused, looking serious once more.

"What happened in that chamber, Harry?"

Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable. It was clear now, that Professor Quirrell obliviating his friends, but not Harry, looked quite suspicious. Maybe that's what his final strange apology had been about.

Harry explained everything. Well, almost everything.

"I see," said Dumbledore when Harry finished, looking pensive. "Well, I had assumed the worst when Miss Granger told me about the other voice that spoke with Quirrell. Lord Voldemort has long coveted the Flamels' stone, and I feared that it was he who had truly escaped with it."

Harry nodded, as bad as it was that someone had stolen the stone, at least it was Quirrell and not Voldemort.

"This ritual," Dumbledore said, glancing curiously at Harry's forehead, "Did he say anything else about what it did, or what happened to you?"

Harry shook his head, "No. It was just that the ritual was meant to absorb Voldemort's power and draw on my power to help. My scar was glowing, too, apparently."

"And you feel normal?" Professor Dumbledore asked, "No voices in your head, or unnaturally strong feelings or emotions that don't belong to you."

"No, Professor. I don't think so," Harry said.

"I wonder…" Dumbledore muttered, peering even closer at Harry's forehead.

"What, Professor?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore leaned back and smiled, "Oh, nothing, Harry. It's just curious, your scar looks somewhat faded compared to usual."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, surprised. "Really?"

"It may be nothing, but it would be worth keeping an eye on. Scars can be telling things, you know."

Harry nodded. He certainly wouldn't complain if his scar stopped being such a nuisance. Come to think of it, since Harry had woken, his scar hadn't twinged even a little. After a year of almost constant mild irritation it was a relief.

It could be the fact that Voldemort was no longer in the same building as him, Harry supposed.

"Did Voldemort say anything other than what you've mentioned, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shook his head. "He didn't have much of a chance, before Quirrell betrayed him."

Dumbledore looked at him, "You're remarkably calm, Harry, with the revelation that Lord Voldemort is still alive."

Harry shrugged, internally panicking. Of course it was suspicious he hadn't asked Dumbledore about it.

"I suppose I always thought he was," Harry said, thinking. "Lots of people have said to me that he might still be alive somewhere, biding his time."

Dumbledore sighed, nodding. "It is a belief many of us shared, though I am not glad, in this instance, to be proven right."

Harry was cursing internally. He should have told Dumbledore that Voldemort said something about a prophecy, and given him an opportunity to tell Harry. It was too late for that now, Dumbledore would be suspicious.

"Why did Voldemort want to kill me?" Harry asked, "The first time, I mean, as well as this year."

Dumbledore looked away for a brief moment. He looked back at Harry, his grandfatherly smile back.

"An astute question, Harry. But, alas, one I cannot answer. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day, when you are older. I know you will hate to hear this, but do not dwell on it. When the time is right, I will tell you."

It was as unsatisfying as the first time Harry had heard it.

"If you say so, Professor."

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "I will leave you in peace now, Harry. I have kept your friends waiting for too long."

Harry nodded, sinking back into his pillows with a sigh.

Dumbledore stopped half way to the door, turning.

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes, Professor?" Harry said, sitting up.

"Do let me know, if you remember anything else."

Harry nodded, "Of course." He tried his best to keep the worry off his face. He'd left out the detail of Quirrell's offer to him, and how close he'd been to accepting. And Harry knew he was a bad liar.

Dumbledore nodded and turned, strolling out of the room.

The door had been shut for barely a second when it burst open again, revealing Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

"Harry!" Hermione cried as they rushed over to his bed.

"Oh, Harry, we're so sorry! We thought it was Professor Snape, but Draco was right all along. If we hadn't—"

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, "Let him breath will you?" He gave Harry a sheepish smile.

Harry smiled at them.

"We are really sorry, Harry. Professor Dumbledore told us that Professor Quirrell got away with the stone."

"It's alright, guys, honestly."

"How can it be alright?" Hermione said, stricken, "We let someone steal the philosopher's stone! I'm surprised they've not arrested us already."

Harry laughed, "Honestly, Hermione, they're hardly going to blame you. What are a bunch of children meant to do against someone like Quirrell."

Harry's friends lapsed into silence.

"You didn't have to come for us," Neville finally said, quietly. "You knew he was probably going to kill you."

Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Especially after how many times you told us not to get involved," Hermione said.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Of course I'd come, honestly. You're my best friends."

He left out the though I did tell you so. Something told him that would ruin the moment.

Hermione reached out and clutched his hand in her own, eyes glistening.

Harry cleared his throat, smiling, "So does the whole school know, yet?"

Ron snickered, "There's a million different versions, but somehow, yeah. Most people agree Quirrell stole something important and that he duelled you and Snape to get it."

"Lots of people think he's even cooler because of it," Neville said, disbelieving.

"What did happen down there, Harry?" Hermione asked in a small voice. "Why don't we remember it but you do?"

Harry sighed, "It was Voldemort. He was possessing Professor Quirrell."

Neville and Ron both flinched, and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath.

"You-Know-Who was our Defence teacher?" Ron asked breathlessly.

"Not quite," Harry said. "He was just living in Quirrell's body, on the back of his head to be precise. But, Quirrell betrayed him and used a ritual to get rid of him. Voldemort's ghost flew away and Quirrell left with the stone."

They took it in, shocked into silence.

"Wow," Hermione said. "I suppose that explains why he was trying to kill you."

Ron's eyebrows rose even further.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Draco's blond head peered awkwardly around the door. He stepped through upon seeing Harry sitting up and awake.

"Uh, hello," said Draco.

"Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry!" Hermione cried, launching herself at him.

Draco blinked in shock as he caught Hermione's hug. He awkwardly patted her on the back.

"It's fine, please get off."

Hermione let go, stepping back with a blush.

"Sorry, I just feel so bad that you tried to tell us and we didn't listen. I can't believe you came to save us with Harry."

Draco stuttered, "Uh, that's no problem. It was the right thing to do."

Even Ron grudgingly admitted, "It was pretty decent of you."

"Yeah, thanks, Draco," Neville said.

After a moment of exchanged glances between Neville and Hermione, Neville turned back to Harry. "Harry, why did you keep this from us. You knew someone was trying to kill you the whole time."

Harry sighed, knowing this had been bound to come up. "It was too dangerous. I didn't want any of you to get hurt."

Hermione spoke up, nervously, "I know it was our fault, Harry, but I can't help but think, if you'd just told us, we could have helped. We weren't going to just let you face that by yourself."

Harry smiled at her, throat tight at her earnest expression, "I know, Hermione. I think I've learned that now." He chuckled. "I promise I'll let you know if someone is trying to kill me next year."

Ron smirked, "You better, unless you want us stumbling around messing things up again."

Neville shook his head, "I really hope this doesn't happen again, Harry, but you can count on us if it does."

Draco scoffed, muttering "Gryffindors."

Harry turned to him, eyebrow raised. "You're one to talk, Malfoy."

"Oh yeah, Potter? You better hope I rub off on you lot, before you do something even more stupid."

Harry laughed, thinking back to the plans that he, Remus, and Sirius had made for the summer.

"I'm pretty sure next year will be a lot calmer than this."


The following days passed quickly, despite the lack of activity in the hospital wing. Harry found himself exhausted despite having no injuries. His nights were the domain of vivid dreams that felt almost more real than the hours spent awake. The monotony of these waking hours were occasionally interspersed with visits from his friends, and, at one point, a stuffy ministry investigator.

With great reluctance, Madam Pomfrey allowed Harry to leave the infirmary on the evening of the end-of-year feast. Fortunately that night he'd slept amazingly, thanks to a Dreamless Sleep potion, and was feeling more than recovered. Even so, he was late to his seat thanks to Pomfrey's fussing, and a brief stop at a bathroom to flatten his bed hair. Harry managed to squeeze himself in between Hermione and Neville just things were starting.

The hall was decked out in the green and silver of Slytherin's banners. The house cup sat on a pedestal in front of the head table, where Dumbledore's lectern normally sat.

Fortunately, his arrival had been overshadowed by Dumbledore's own, and most heads had been turned towards the front where the headmaster stood beside the cup.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said, with a smile. "And I'm afraid I must trouble you with an old man's babbling before we can enjoy our delicious feast." Dumbledore cleared his throat and cast his gaze around the hall.

"What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than when you arrived. But, don't worry, you have the whole summer to empty them again before the next year starts!"

"Now," he continued, "as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding and the points thus stand: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and twenty-two; in third place, Ravenclaw have four hundred and thirty-five; second place are Gryffindor with four hundred and seventy-eight; and in first place are Slytherin, with five hundred and thirty-nine."

The Slytherin table erupted in cheers. Stamping broke out and goblets were banged on tables. Harry couldn't bring himself to join in with the grumbles around him.

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

The room went still, and the grins on the Slytherins' faces faded slightly.

"I have a few last minute points to dish out," Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Let me see. Yes… First, to Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger, and Mr Neville Longbottom…"

Ron dropped the goblet he was holding, face igniting into a radish red. Neville shrunk into his seat and Hermione just looked surprised.

"…for tenacity and loyalty beyond measure, I award Gryffindor thirty points."

The Gryffindor table roared in approval, slamming their fists into the table. Harry heard Percy, down the table, boasting to another student, "That's my brother!"

Gryffindor were behind by just over thirty points, Harry heard someone mutter.

"Next, to Mr Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. "For pure nerve, outstanding courage, and prodigious displays of magic, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Harry thought the actual foundations of the hall were shaking beneath the cheers of his housemates. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were cheering. Gryffindor were ahead by nineteen points.

Dumbledore raised his hand and the room once again fell silent.

"Boldness and courage can dwell in the most unexpected places," Dumbledore said, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand alongside our friends, but even more so to stand alongside our rivals."

Harry knew where this was going. His housemates were not going to be pleased.

"Therefore I award twenty points to Mr Draco Malfoy"

The Slytherin table exploded with cheers, many students rushing over to Draco to slap him on the back or shake his hand. The Gryffindor table might have been mistaken for the whomping willow, given the amount of groaning and weeping.

Harry and his friends exchanged looks of grudging acceptance as they looked over at Draco, and the empty seat where Professor Snape normally sat.

Maybe Slytherin had earned it this year, just this once.


Harry had forgotten about the exam results, given that, under normal circumstances, Hermione would have been reminding him of nothing else for the preceding weeks. He did embarrassingly well, Hermione squealing in frustration when she read his score in charms, a whole twenty-eight percent higher than her own ridiculous score of 112%.

To Neville's great surprise and delight, he had scored rather highly in the practical portions of his exams, something that he later told Harry was down to his new wand. Ron passed with good marks himself, blushing under the praise of Percy, and the teasing of the twins.

"We had you all wrong, Ronnikins," said Fred.

"We thought for sure you were dumb as a troll," said George, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Looks like we're stuck being the disappointment of the family."

When Harry arrived back at his dorm, his wardrobe was already empty, his things all packed away in his trunk. The only thing left out was his satchel, containing his cloak, mirror, and broom. Harry was grateful to whoever had retrieved it from the third floor corridor.

Harry quickly pulled out the mirror, calling out Sirius' name.

"Harry!" Sirius said. "How are you? I'm glad to see you're up and about. I was with you for most of yesterday, but you were out like a light."

"Hi, Sirius." Harry smiled. "I'm doing fine. Sorry I didn't call sooner, I didn't have the mirror with me and I just got back from the feast."

Sirius waved him away. "It's alright. I arrived at the school just as McGonagall and your other professors had found you."

"I vaguely remember seeing you," Harry said, and then paused, looking uncertain. "There's a lot I have to tell you."

"We'll talk soon, Harry." Sirius assured him. "I won't make you start now. I know you must be wanting to spend time with your friends before tomorrow."

Harry sighed, a bit relieved, and grinned. "Thanks, Sirius, I'll see you soon, yeah?"

Sirius winked and the mirror returned to Harry's darkened reflection once more.

The evening was spent in muted celebration, many of Harry's housemates still recovering from the near-win that evening. Harry felt particularly sorry for the seventh years, who had gone their whole Hogwarts career without seeing any house but Slytherin win the cup.

"Poor bastards," George said. "Maxworth talked about nothing but winning this year. He got very annoyed with me when I lost twenty points for turning Mrs Norris into a furry snitch." Seeing as we lost by a single point, I can't even argue.

Hagrid took them down to the boats the next morning. It took Harry a little while to feel properly awake, his dreams had been vivid and strange the night before. He supposed that leaving the castle was having an impact on him, even if he wasn't going back to the Dursley's this time.

The entirety of Harry's year group started the trip across the lake to the station in complete silence, but when they'd reached and passed the half way point without incident, the nerves were soon replaced with laughter and loud chatter.

Harry didn't mention it, but he thought he saw a lone tentacle waving from out across the waters as they floated away.

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express with a bittersweet glance back at the castle. Despite having arguably his most dangerous year at Hogwarts yet, a part of him didn't want to leave. Another year had gone by, and the thought of that made his stomach clench.

The countryside rushed by, bearing witness to the irresponsible amount of sweets being consumed. Harry had half expected to be bombarded with further questions by Hermione, or to be reassuring Neville about talking to his Gran, but in some sort of unspoken agreement, conversation never touched the events of the days before. Harry was grateful.

Before long, they were all pulling off their robes and putting on jackets and coats as the train rolled into King's Cross Station.

"You must come and visit," said Ron, as they stepped off the train and onto the platform. "It would be great having all three of you come over to the Burrow. We can play Quidditch with my brothers!"

"I'd love to," Harry said. "I'm away for some of it, at a summer camp, but I'll owl you when I'm back."

"You will write, won't you?" Hermione pleaded, tugging on Harry's arm, and looking at them all with wide eyes. "I can't bear the though of you all just disappearing off for the whole summer."

"We will," Neville said with a smile, "I don't exactly have many other people to talk to at home."

"You've got your plants, haven't you?" Ron laughed, slapping Neville on the back.

"That's true, I suppose," Neville said with a wistful smile. "Still, I prefer you lot most of the time."

A group of students bustled past them, a few of them calling out, "Bye, Harry!"

"Still famous as ever," said Ron, grinning. "I see my mum over there, I better go. Bye!"

"Me, too," said Hermione, picking up her things and walking off with a wave, "Don't forget to write!"

Harry looked around, eventually finding Sirius standing over by the wall.

"Well, I'll see you soon, Neville. Hope you have a good summer."

"You too, Harry." Neville said, visibly steeling himself at the sight of his approaching grandmother. "Thanks, for everything."

Harry waved, moving through the crowd until he reached Sirius.

Sirius returned a wave when he saw Harry.

"'You said your goodbyes?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded.

Sirius peered down at him. "Your scar is looking a little different. Am I imagining that?"

Harry shrugged, "Dumbledore said the same."

Sirius frowned. "We'll keep an eye on it." He cast off the frown and straightened, smiling widely. "You ready for the duelling camp? I've received the schedule and it looks as thorough as anything I could come up with." His smile faltered slightly. "It's going to be really challenging, Harry. Dangerous, even. It won't be an easy summer holiday, that's certain."

Harry's thoughts turned, unbidden, to the words of Quirrell, and his invitation. Thorough instruction was exactly what he needed. Harry didn't want to regret saying no. He was going to have to face Voldemort again and again. He knew that now. One of them was going to die. The old Harry would have tried to forget about it. Run away from the truth, maybe. But after this year… After seeing what someone like Quirrell was capable of against Voldemort…

He nodded resolutely at Sirius, "Good. That's exactly what I want."


A/N: Damn, we reached the end of year one. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited! Updates will be more sporadic until I finish writing second year, but it's already fully planned and underway, so expect new content soon. Hope you've enjoyed the ride so far. Please consider leaving a review!