Harry has woken up to the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, Harry," the old man greets him.

Harry stares at him, then remembers, "The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Quick—"

"Calm yourself, dear boy; you are a little behind the times," says Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

Harry swallows and looks around. He realises he must be in the hospital wing. He is lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him is a table piled high with what looks like half of a candy shop.

"How long have I been out?" he asks curiously, noticing that the sun has already come out.

"Three days. Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round; they have been extremely worried."

"But what happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I remember – reaching the Stone – Quirrell – Voldemort..." Harry stops, noticing something odd about the way Dumbledore is looking at him.

"What happened to the Stone? I know Quirrelmort couldn't find it." Dumbledore chuckles at the nickname before sobering as he reports that the stone has been destroyed.

"Destroyed?" says Harry blankly. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel—"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" says Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did 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, don't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order, and then, yes, they will die."

Harry stares out of the window. He should feel glad, and a part of him does, but another, bigger part feels sad.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"I don't think you need to be," says Dumbledore softly.

Harry lies there, lost for words. Dumbledore hums a little and smiles at the ceiling.

"Headmaster?" says Harry. "I've been thinking... 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... as he is 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 have only 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 nods but stops quickly, as it makes his head hurt. Then he says, "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 sighs. "It has been 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."

In the midst of their talk, Harry's mind was racing. He felt really heavy from all the things that had happened, and he couldn't get rid of the mixed-up feelings inside Stone was gone, Flamel and his wife were getting ready to pass away, and Voldemort was still out there, undefeated. He couldn't stop thinking about life and death, good and bad. Dumbledore's words gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could keep the darkness away. He also understood that he had a big role to play. But as he looked at the wise old wizard, he knew he hadn't shared something important with him.

After Dumbledore's departure, Harry's gaze shifted to the shadowy corner of the room. "You know, I remember you saying you won't come into the castle," he said, idly fidgeting with the edge of his bedsheet.

The Rider, their features obscured by the hood, pushed off from the wall and approached Harry with a wry smile in their voice. "That I did. But Alohilani had other plans. So, here I am."

Harry paused, his fingers idly tracing the edge of a chocolate frog box on the table piled high with treats. "You don't take a toy from a dragon, right?"

The Rider raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in their tone. "Hmm, true."

Harry fell silent once again, his gaze fixated on the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Then he looked up at the Rider, his curiosity ever-present. "Dumbledore set me up, didn't he?"

The Rider let out a low huff of agreement, their unseen eyes never leaving Harry. "Most likely."

Harry furrowed his brow in thought, folding his arms across his chest. "I wanted to ask him."

"Why didn't you?" the Rider asked, taking a step closer.

Harry's gaze darted away, his eyes landing on the brightly wrapped Chocolate Frogs. "I had a feeling he wouldn't give me a straight answer."

The Rider leaned against the table beside Harry, their arms crossed casually. "You're not wrong there."

"What about the others? Do they know?" Harry inquired, his fingers now playing with the edge of his bedsheet once again.

The Rider shook their head, their expression thoughtful. "Your friends? No, they don't."

"Good," Harry said with a hint of relief.

The Rider's piercing gaze fixed on Harry. "What would have been the issue if they knew?"

Harry shrugged, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "That, I do not know."

The Rider remained silent, observing Harry closely as the young wizard grappled with his thoughts.

"So, what now?" Harry wondered aloud, his voice tinged with a touch of disappointment.

The Rider pushed off the table and strolled to the window, their gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Now? Nothing. You finish your school, I return home."

Harry sighed, his gaze following the Rider. "Oh."

The Rider turned to face him, their voice carrying a hint of sympathy. "It's a shame."

Harry met the Rider's gaze, intrigued. "Why is it a shame?"

The Rider's voice softened, and they stepped closer to Harry. "You have a gift, young one. It's a shame to waste it. But there's nothing that can be done about it."

A spark of determination gleamed in Harry's eyes. "I could drop out and come with you."

The Rider shook their head, their voice gentle but firm. "No, you could not. Your place is here, in this castle. You can't just leave like that. You're too young and too famous there to disappear."

Harry sighed, his back pressing against the cool wall. He stared at the floor, deep in thought, the turmoil of frustration and longing playing across his face.

The Rider's gaze softened, and they walked back to Harry's side, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's not fair," Harry muttered.

The Rider nodded in agreement. "Life rarely is."

Harry's eyes brightened with resolve. "I want to learn more."

The Rider smiled, their eyes hidden beneath the hood, and their voice filled with warmth. "You will, with time."

"I mean the wandless magic. I want to learn it from you," Harry admitted, a spark of eagerness in his eyes.

The Rider chuckled and tousled Harry's hair. "You already know the basics. Now you need to learn on your own, practice."
-

In the morning, Harry successfully Convinced Madam Pomfrey to allow Ron and Hermione a brief visit. Their faces lit up with smiles and evident relief upon seeing him well, and they eagerly clustered around his bedside. After the initial joyous reunion, their curiosity got the better of them, and they pleaded with Harry to share the rest of his story since they had parted ways in the passages.

Then it was Ron and Hermione's turn to fill Harry in. Hermione had been assisting Ron, trying to finding help, and their path had crossed with Dumbledore. She mentioned that they hadn't seen anyone else during their journey.

Ron's furrowed brow revealed his puzzlement. "Why do you think Dumbledore gave you that invisibility cloak?"

Harry's expression darkened. "I think the whole thing was a setup."

Ron and Hermione both stared at him in bewilderment.

"A setup?" Hermione asked.

"I think he wanted me to find the Stone," Harry said. "Think about it. Three first-year students managed to get past Dumbledore's defences."

Hermione's face scrunched in pondering. "But, Harry, why would Dumbledore set up a challenge that three first-years could pass?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was testing us? Or more like testing me? Because of who I am," Harry said.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"I am the boy-who-lived. Everyone is waiting for me to grow up and save the world," Harry replied.

Ron and Hermione exchanged concerned glances, a growing sense of suspicion hovering over their conversation. Harry's words had cast a shadow of doubt, leaving them with more questions than answers.

The next day, Harry received an unexpected visitor: Hagrid. His massive frame seemed to fill the room as he stumbled in, his eyes red and puffy. It was clear that he was torn apart by guilt and grief, bearing the weight of the secret he had unknowingly revealed to Voldemort.

"Harry," Hagrid's voice trembled as he spoke, "I've come ter say tha' i'm sorry. I never should've spilled tha' secret 'bout fluffy ter you-know-who. I should've bin more careful. I put ev'ryone in danger," he sobbed, his face in his hands.

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said softly, his heart going out to his friend. "It's okay, really. You didn't know what would happen. None of us could have predicted this. Voldemort is the one to blame here, not you."

Hagrid looked up, his eyes still glistening with tears. "But i should've known better, harry. I should've kept me mouth shut. Dumbledore trusted me with tha' secret, an' i let 'im down."

Harry walked over to Hagrid and placed a reassuring hand on his massive shoulder. "Listen, Hagrid, you've always been there for me and for everyone at Hogwarts. You've done so much for all of us. You can't blame yourself for what Voldemort does. He's the one who's seeking power and causing harm. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone. It's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads. . ."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "Tha' reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last, Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'course, he should've sacked me instead. Anyway, got yeh this..."

It seemed to be an elegant, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in, there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Seriously? Again? He couldn't help but roll his eyes inwardly. One could think they get over that during the year.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The chatter died away.

As Dumbledore began his speech, Harry let out a small sigh. The headmaster's whimsical words didn't do much to ease his growing discomfort. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the gazes fixed on him. The mention of the house cup and Slytherin's winning streak only added to his growing unease. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

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

Ron and Hermione flanked him, and he exchanged a nervous glance with them. The anticipation in the hall was palpable, and Harry's heart began to race.

What are you doing?

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes..."

As Dumbledore started announcing the points, Harry's inner monologue took on a desperate tone.

Oh, no... please no.

He watched with a mix of dread and hope as Ron received points for his chess game and Hermione for her quick thinking. Each time Gryffindor's points increased, so did Harry's inner conflict.

You can't be serious.

He had a sinking feeling that this was leading to something he hadn't asked for, yet he couldn't deny the slight glimmer of anticipation building within him.

You're doing this, Dumbledore.

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves — they were a hundred points up.

And then it happened. "Third — to Mr Harry Potter..." Dumbledore's words hung in the air, and the room fell into an eerie silence. "... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." The words echoed in Harry's mind, and he felt a rush of emotions. Part of him was grateful, proud even, that his actions were being acknowledged. But another part of him, a stronger part, wished that he could just blend into the background.

This is so unfair.

The eruption of cheers and applause filled the hall, but amid the noise, Harry's inner thoughts remained conflicted.

You just did not... unbelievable.

He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to be the centre of attention, didn't want to be singled out for doing what he believed was right. The tie with Slytherin for the house cup only added to the surreal nature of the situation.

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points — exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup - if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

As Dumbledore went on to award points to Neville Longbottom, Harry's inner thoughts began to quiet down. The headmaster's words about different forms of courage struck a chord with him. He couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment, even though he still wished the spotlight wasn't on him. The applause and cheers continued, but in that moment, Harry found solace in the realisation that he wasn't alone in feeling the weight of expectations and recognition he didn't necessarily seek.

The explosion of noise from the Gryffindor table was almost deafening, as if some magical force had unleashed a wave of jubilation. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were swept up in the frenzy, their cheers and shouts joining the chorus of celebration that enveloped the Great Hall. Neville, his face a mixture of astonishment and disbelief, found himself engulfed in a tide of congratulatory embraces as Gryffindors from all directions rushed to celebrate his unexpected triumph. It was a stark departure from his usual role, having never been in the spotlight for Gryffindor before.

As the celebrations continued, Harry noticed Malfoy's stunned expression out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight. Malfoy had always been so used to Slytherin's dominance that the current turn of events must have been a harsh blow to his pride. Harry elbowed Ron playfully, sharing a moment of satisfaction at seeing Malfoy's haughty demeanour crumble.

Dumbledore's voice cut through the noise, directing everyone's attention to the changing decorations. A touch of guilt replaced Harry's excitement as he watched the Slytherin colours transform into Gryffindor's. The towering lion that now adorned the wall seemed to symbolise not just the house victory, but also the shifting dynamics of power within Hogwarts.

As Snape exchanged an insincere smile with Professor McGonagall, Harry's gaze met Snape's for a brief moment. The animosity between them hadn't dissipated, and Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort. Despite the house rivalry, there was a part of him that empathised with the Slytherins. He understood what it was like to be judged and looked down upon simply because of the house one belonged to.

In the midst of the celebrations, a twinge of sympathy tugged at Harry. He knew that not all Slytherins were like Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. There were students in that house who had their own struggles, dreams, and virtues. Harry's thoughts momentarily strayed from the surrounding elation, reflecting on the complexities of the situation. He wondered if Slytherins like Severus Snape, who had shown both darkness and depth, were celebrating their house's fall from grace.

But as quickly as those thoughts arose, the surrounding cheers and cheers drew Harry's attention back to the present. Life at Hogwarts was indeed returning to some semblance of normalcy, and despite the mixed emotions, Harry couldn't help but feel hopeful for the upcoming year.