Light was filtering through Harry's eyes. Then, he felt a dull soreness begin in his legs, quickly spreading to the rest of his body and increasing in intensity as it did. He felt tired, like he had not slept at all the previous night, which was odd, as it was clearly day and he had clearly just woken up.

Weirdly enough, he had no memory of the previous night. The last thing that he could clearly remember was the fire, the evacuation, and falling unconscious in the teachers' staircase. From there, his memory went fuzzy. He tried to concentrate as hard as he could to remember what happened. He recalled that he had found himself in an unfamiliar room with Quirrell, who had called him over to look into the Mirror of Erised. Then, somehow, the Philosopher's Stone had appeared in his pocket…

The Philosopher's Stone! And then, he suddenly remembered what he had found out. Quirrell was the one who had been after it, not Snape. Quirrell – or Voldemort, as he now remembered whom Quirrell had been serving all this time – had used some kind of spell to force the Stone from Harry's hand – some spell that had caused Harry terrible pain. Then, he had brewed an Elixir of Strength, drank it, and used the same torture spell on Harry again, again, and again, trying to get information out of Harry that he did not even know. And after that…Harry could not remember a thing, except that Voldemort had begun making the Elixir of Life.

Suddenly, Harry bolted upright. Quirrell still had the Stone, and he was surely making now the Elixir that would bring Voldemort back to life. His eyelids flew open, and desperately, he looked for Quirrell, knowing that he needed to stop him, no matter what it took.

When he looked around and took in his surroundings, however, Harry realised that he was not in the room with the Mirror of Erised anymore. It took him a few more seconds to realise where he was. He was, somehow, lying in a bed in Hogwarts's Hospital Wing, and instead of Quirrell, the only other person who he saw was the matron, Madam Pomfrey, who was leaning over a cauldron on the other end of the room, mixing potions.

'Why am I here?' Harry blurted out, knowing that he was perhaps being rather rude but not caring.

Madam Pomfrey spun around. 'Mister Potter!' she exclaimed, rushing over. 'You're finally awake.'

'What do you mean, "finally"?' Harry asked.

'You've been asleep for the past week,' Madam Pomfrey said, hurrying to Harry's bedside and beginning to examine the myriad of potions placed there. 'Actually, Albus and I decided that it was best to keep you asleep. When the headmaster brought you in, you were in a terrible state.'

'The past week?' Harry gasped, horrified. 'Wait…did you say that Headmaster Dumbledore brought me in?'

'He did,' Madam Pomfrey replied. 'And we decided that it was best to put you to sleep for at least several days to allow you to recover. I gave you a Draught of Living Death twice a day for the last week, and only today did we decide to take you off it.'

'Here, drink this,' she said, handing Harry a small cup of a blue potion. Harry put it up to his lips and drank – the liquid was cold on his tongue, and tasted vaguely of vinegar. When he emptied the cup, he felt the soreness in his body alleviate a little.

'What was that?' he asked, putting down the cup.

'Draught against inflammation,' Madam Pomfrey answered. 'Your muscles were terribly strained. This potion helps reduce the inflammation temporarily. On that note, you'll need to take about five different potions a day for the next two weeks. I'll give you a write-up soon on which ones you need to take and how.'

Harry nodded, and his mind jumped back to what Madam Pomfrey had said earlier. 'I've been in here for a week?'

'Yes, that's what I said.'

'Has…has anything happened in a week?' he asked, afraid. Had Dumbledore been able to stop Voldemort when he had gotten him out? Or had he arrived too late, and Voldemort had managed to escape? Was he out there again, terrorising?

'No, not that I can think of,' Madam Pomfrey replied after a moment of thought. 'If you're looking to hear something specific, I would ask Albus. He will be here later.'

'He knows I'm awake?'

'I'll call him,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'He asked me to call when you woke up. He wants to talk to you.'

Madam Pomfrey administered one more potion to Harry before returning to her office. Harry sat in bed in silence, thinking and trying to remember what had happened. There was something else that had happened, but which he did not remember. Vaguely, he somehow knew that he had seen lights, heard explosions, and most of all, the screams of a man in horrible pain.

Thirty minutes later, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened, and in came Headmaster Dumbledore. He did not try to hide his guilty and apologetic expression as he slowly walked over to Harry's bedside, conjured a wooden chair and took a seat.

They sat in silence for a while, neither seemingly knowing what to say. Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence with a gesture at Harry's nightstand. 'I'm sorry that you'll have to take so many potions, Harry.'

Harry shrugged, looking over. There were six or seven different bottles and flasks, and Harry noticed for the first time that sitting at the edge of the table was his wand, which he had lost down in the gauntlet.

'They don't seem too bad,' he replied. 'Obviously wish I didn't have to take them, though.'

'I wish you didn't have to, either,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'I owe you an apology, Harry. What you have been put through should not have happened at all.'

Harry did not know how to reply to that. It was not like Dumbledore was responsible for Quirrell kidnapping him, after all. 'There wasn't anything you could have done,' he said.

Dumbledore shook his head. 'Whenever something – especially something bad – happens, Harry, we always think about what else we could have done to prevent it. In rare circumstances, the answer might truly be "nothing", but this is not one of those times. You may be relieved to know that Voldemort did not succeed in his plans, at least this time, and I'm certainly relieved, both for that, and for the fact that you are now, mostly, safe and well. That, however, does not absolve me in the least bit from blame.'

'The events that led up to this are my fault and mine alone, Harry,' Dumbledore continued. 'I chose to bring the Stone to Hogwarts, where I believed I would be able to keep an eye on it and whoever was trying to steal it. I could have, for example, opted to use one of the many spells available to hide an object like that – some so close to fool-proof that a seeker will have almost no chance of finding it. But no, I did not make the safe and rational decision that I should have.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'That's not the end of it. I suspected that Professor Quirrell was up to no good for a long time – he had been acting strangely since he returned from Romania in June – I even set Professor Snape to watch over him and find out more – '

'Snape was trying to protect the Stone?' Harry asked. 'I thought he was…he was the one trying to steal it for the longest time. What was he…but he…'

'Severus always has a way of making himself look more suspicious than he might actually be,' Dumbledore answered. 'It comes from a…history. I know that you suspected Snape, and that's another thing that I could have done better. Anna – I believe you are on a first-name basis now? – spoke to me about your suspicions that he might have been up to something against you. The least I could have done was to clarify those with you.'

'You brought in the Aurors,' Harry pointed out. He was unsure of why he was defending Dumbledore against himself – perhaps It had something to do with him not wanting to see such a powerful man, the person who had introduced him to the magical world, at fault?

'I did, but it was too little and too late,' Dumbledore replied. 'The presence of the Aurors simply forced Voldemort's hand. And in the end, they were unable to do much. Four of them were called to London that morning to deal with an emergency – the same one that required my presence at the Ejwent Zehwolt – and the two that remained were preoccupied with helping the staff fight the fire that Voldemort set off as a diversion. If I had been more competent, I would have called them earlier, perhaps from the moment that I suspected Quirinus was plotting something – though, Harry, I must admit, that even I did not expect Voldemort to be here himself. The type of magic that he exploited to maintain his cover is perhaps darker than the darkest magics I know of – so dark that I did not even think they were possible.'

'An old man's folly and arrogance is why you ended up in that room with Voldemort, Harry,' Dumbledore concluded. 'I bought into the legends that others had constructed around me. I thought I was all-powerful, that I could prevent anything. What has happened is a terrible reminder of how wrong those legends are. Every one of us is a human, Harry – teachers, students, wizards, muggles – for both good reasons and for bad. Your ordeal, your pain, the fact that you have now been lying in a hospital bed for the last week, and your friends' impulsive – albeit brave – decision to rush to save you, are all the result of my failure to remember that.'

'What do you mean "my friends" rushing to save me?' Harry demanded. 'Do you mean that they were…'

Dumbledore nodded slowly and sadly. 'Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom knew something was wrong almost immediately. They did not see you, nor Professor Quirrell, exit from the Defence classroom. From their account, they stayed behind to wait for you, but when you did not show up, they, still assuming Professor Snape was at fault, believed that he had kidnapped you both.'

'And they ran…down through the trap door after me?' Harry breathed, horrified.

'How do you know about the trap door?' Dumbledore asked, and Harry's heart froze. Without realising it, he had just admitted that they had been in the third-floor corridor of their own will – something that was certainly against the rules. He was terrified to even look up at the headmaster, but when he did, he saw that Dumbledore did not have an angry look on his face, but rather one of simple curiosity.

'Hermione and Neville and I…we accidentally wandered into the corridor one night,' Harry admitted, looking at his lap. 'We were…well, we wanted to hide from Mister Filch – '

'Perfectly understandable,' Dumbledore said, giving a slight smile. 'Please continue.'

Harry forced a grin back. 'We were desperate, and…well, we didn't even realise we were there until…until we got past the door and saw the Cerberus.'

'And this was before Halloween, correct?'

Harry nodded. 'I think…I think it was sometime in September.'

'Like father, like son,' Dumbledore said to himself before turning back to Harry. 'I apologise for another mistake of mine, Harry. I put Hagrid in charge of feeding the Cerberus – it was one that he had raised, and had named, of all names, Fluffy. Hagrid is an honest man, but sometimes, he could be rather…clumsy. The door has an enchanted lock that requires three different keys to open and close, and in order for it to work, all three keys must be turned exactly right. I found out after the troll attack on Halloween that Hagrid had not been locking the door properly, which rendered the lock able to be defeated by an elementary Unlocking Charm. May I hazard a guess that that was the method that you used to breach the lock?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, it was. Hermione did it.'

'Miss Granger never fails to impress with her knowledge,' Dumbledore remarked. 'All her teachers say this. She even managed to impress Minerva – Professor McGonagall to you – a rarer feat than – and permit me this awful joke – the creation of a Philosopher's Stone.'

Harry could not help but chuckle a little in spite of everything. 'She's good,' Harry agreed. 'How did she get past the lock this time, though, after you secured it properly?'

'She did not,' Dumbledore answered. 'I doubt very much that even with her abilities, she would be able to. What happened was, as Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom waited for you, they ran into Miss Vesnova – Anna, rather, since that's what you would call her. I am generally accustomed to addressing my students by their surnames, and she could certainly pass for a student. In any case, that day, it was a stroke of luck that she ran into Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom as she was on her way to help the rest of the staff contain the fire.'

'So…Anna opened the door for them?'

'Not exactly,' Dumbledore replied. 'I believe that if Anna began her first year at Hogwarts, she would have been sorted into Gryffindor at the drop of – and pardon the pun – a hat. When Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom told her what was going on, she immediately rushed down the third-floor corridor to help. It was she who opened the door. Actually, she less so opened it, and more so destroyed it completely.'

'And Neville and Hermione…'

Dumbledore looked out into the distance. 'You are very lucky to have the friends you have, Harry. Don't ever forget that,' he said softly. 'Anna told Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom to go join the rest of the students outside, but they refused to abandon you and ran after her. She told them to go again, and they once again, refused. At the end, knowing that she was wasting time arguing with them, she finally relented, and they accompanied her all the way to the last room, where they found you.'

'I don't remember seeing them,' Harry said, momentarily confused before a frantic thought came into his mind. 'Are they okay?' he asked, his eyes darting around the Hospital Wing.

'They're all safe and well,' Dumbledore said reassuringly. 'Mister Longbottom received a concussion and a broken leg, but was released by the end of the day. Miss Granger had to be treated for a serious concussion and a major wound on her right arm, but she made a full recovery by the next morning. Anna had more serious injuries from trying to duel Voldemort – she did not know, of course, that it was Voldemort, but nonetheless, it was a feat of incredible bravery – but she also managed to recover in two days' time.'

Harry felt both relieved and shocked by that. On one hand, his friends were safe, but on the other, as he imagined what they might have been put through… Harry could not help but shudder.

'What happened…down there?' Harry asked, though he was almost too afraid to. 'They…they managed to stop Quirrell – Voldemort – didn't they? You said he didn't succeed? Is he…is he gone, then?'

'No, Voldemort did not manage to make the Elixir of Life that he needed to return fully to his…previous strength,' Dumbledore replied. 'I would caution against, however, believing that he is gone for good. Voldemort…I suspect that Voldemort has done much to try to circumvent death – it has always been his greatest fear, after all, to know that he could not control his own mortality. No, he is most likely still out there, waiting for another chance. Whether that comes tomorrow, next year, in a decade, or in a century – we don't know. And as for what stopped him…'

Dumbledore looked off into space for a long while, not saying anything. Harry sat quietly, waiting and expecting for him to continue, but he remained silent. Finally, Harry could not suppress his curiosity – or rather, his need to know – anymore, and, knowing that perhaps he was being a little rude, he asked the question that he had been expecting Dumbledore to answer.

'What stopped him?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'A type of magic that Voldemort does not care for, and as such, he had never bothered to understand. He, like all of us, fell into the common trap that all humans do, and paid for it.'

'What kind of magic?'

'Love.'

'Love?'

'Yes, love,' Dumbledore affirmed. 'Only, it's not as simple as that, and I would be doing both myself and you a disservice by attempting to justify everything with that one word. You have to understand, Harry, that we are speaking of a source of magic that even many wizards do not believe in. I do not blame them for that, but they are woefully wrong. Some of the things that are made possible by such a strong feeling, which, as you might know by now, helps us create magic…I do not believe could be replicated with anything else. What is more, these effects are almost always subconscious and unrealised – in many cases, neither the one who invokes such a magic, nor the one who so foolishly trespassed upon it, will end up realising what had just occurred.'

'So Voldemort was somehow defeated by…love?' Harry asked, more confused than ever.

'Yes, and no,' Dumbledore answered. 'Do you remember anything that happened in that last room?'

'I remember waking up,' Harry replied, thinking. 'I remember being called in front of the Mirror of Erised…and then the Philosopher's Stone suddenly appearing in my pocket…'

'Ah, an idea of mine that was perhaps the only one in this catastrophe to at least not backfire,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'I'm sure Anna has told you about how I asked her to do some research on the Mirror. With what she found out, I was able to modify the Mirror's magic so that it would now, instead of showing a person's desires, give up the Stone to a person who, firstly, knows of its existence, and secondly, has no intention of using it. I envisioned this as the perfect defence against Voldemort, who would not ever be able to satisfy the second condition. I did not, however, account for the scenario that someone like you would be right there with him – someone who has no desire of using it and who was dragged into the situation against their will. If I had done better, I should have defended against that…'

He looked back at Harry. 'My apologies for interrupting. Please, continue. What else do you remember?'

Harry dug through his memories. 'I remember Quirrell making the Elixir of Strength. Then…then he – or Voldemort – drank it. He…he then demanded me to tell "my secrets" – I'm not exactly sure what he meant. And then…then he hit me with a spell that caused so much pain…and then, I don't remember anymore.'

'The Cruciatus Curse,' Dumbledore said quietly.

'Pardon?'

'The Cruciatus Curse,' Dumbledore repeated. 'A terrible curse, which has no other benign purpose than to cause the victim excruciating pain, a common side effect of prolonged exposure to which is a loss of memory. It is a mark of true sadism to use it in any way, but especially against an eleven-year old boy. Only one like Voldemort, who does not understand the power or subtlety of magic like love, could accomplish such a…feat.'

Harry nodded slowly. From what little he could still remember of what had happened – and coupled with the pain and soreness he was still feeling – it had surely been a terrible spell. What any of that had to do with love, though, he still could not understand. Seeing that Dumbledore was about to speak – and perhaps answer his questions – he held onto them, and let him continue.

'You might be wondering what that all has to do with love,' Dumbledore observed, and Harry nodded in reply 'And I should be honest with you, I cannot give you an exact answer, either. I could only hypothesise.'

'What's your hypothesis, then?' Harry asked.

'You likely do not remember this,' Dumbledore began. 'When I found you, having received Anna's message and rushed back from the Ejwent Zehwolt, you were lying right next to Professor Quirrell – or what had once been him. His body was burned beyond recognition, almost on the verge of disintegrating into dust. I thought for days why. There are spells that could do something like that, of course, but they are horribly dark curses that I would not expect anyone who has not devoted their lives to the study – or use – of the dark arts to know. And then, suddenly, I understood.'

'What did you understand?'

'That night, ten years ago, when Voldemort broke into your home with the intention of murdering you,' Dumbledore answered, 'your mother, Lily, chose to protect you with her own body. Voldemort, who does not believe in the power of such magics, chose to take what he believed to be the easy route – that was, kill your mother first before moving on to you. Unfortunately for him, for the first – and as we have just seen, not the only time – in his life, he fell into a trap that he did not even know was there. Somehow, the curse that he cast, instead of killing you, rebounded onto himself, and destroyed his body.'

'And here, it seems that love's true potential escaped even me,' he continued. 'It was not until I asked Miss Granger for her account of what happened in the final chamber that I realised how terrible of a force it could be. She told me that she saw you in melee with Voldemort, and wherever you touched him, she said that she remembered seeing his skin boiling and hearing him screaming in pain. Once again, there are dark curses that could do that, but this was of a completely different nature.'

'It seemed to me that your mother's sacrifice that night has given you a sort of protection that you carry with you in your soul. In Finding Magic, you learned about "transcendental energy" and "channelling", but this is none of that. What love has accomplished is a wholly different type of magic – something that even the most learned struggle to grasp. Quirrell's body, carrying Voldemort's soul, one so corrupted by years of self-mutilation, evil, and immersion in magic of a nature so dark that it should kill any other, could not stand contact with you. Voldemort's soul, sensing its mortal enemy, tried to fight back with everything it could bring forth, yet Quirrell's body could not handle the forces that were brought forth. It was utterly destroyed, and Voldemort's soul, though still, I believe, very much surviving, was forced to flee once again.'

'Do you think he'll try again?' Harry asked. 'To return to life?'

Dumbledore nodded sadly. 'Without doubt. His failure now will simply make him more desperate in the future. One thing, however, is for sure: whatever he attempts next, it will not be the Philosopher's Stone. The Stone has been degraded.'

'What does that mean?'

'The Philosopher's Stone, the only known one in the world, has been reduced to nothing more than water and air,' Dumbledore answered. 'Neither Voldemort, nor any other with nefarious designs, will be able to exploit its powers. For Nicholas Flamel and his wife, though, this means that they will, in short time, die.'

Harry gasped. 'Die?'

'Yes, die,' Dumbledore affirmed. 'But, Harry, I urge you to not look at that as necessarily a terrible thing. In the Istworjancis legend, a wizard re-joins the fundamental forces of magic upon death. Whether that is true or not, it remains that death is as natural as life, and Nicholas and Perenelle, wise people as they are, have come to accept this over their six-hundred-sixty-five-year lives. Voldemort, ever so foolish in his judgement of the world, does not understand this, and actively attempts to fight against it. That futile fight has turned him into what he is today, and will, I am certain, lead one day to his destruction.'

'But as for now, the destruction of the Stone will hopefully strike a short-term blow to his plans of returning,' he continued. 'But that is no reason for us to celebrate or lower our guards. As you have seen with your own eyes, Voldemort now, more than ever, craves power, and he will keep trying to obtain it again until he, one day, inevitably succeeds.'

'When do you think he'll try again?' Harry asked. 'And how?'

'That, I am afraid no one could answer,' Dumbledore replied. 'I am not a seer, and even seers – both True and Relative – would be unable to see so far and so specifically into the future. It may be tomorrow, in a year, or in a decade. We cannot know, but we can prepare. We have already been speaking for very long, Harry, and I would not want to disturb your needed rest more than I have to, but I want to give you one last piece of advice before I leave. Remember to keep your friends close and appreciate what you have, Harry. The events of the previous week should have shown you what calibre of friends you have. Very few will be so willing to knowingly risk themselves for someone else. Whether you are consciously aware of it or not, you have deep friendships that many others would rightfully envy, and yet others – and I believe Voldemort is one of them – fear.'


The next afternoon, Hermione and Neville came to visit Harry in the Hospital Wing. Harry, who, despite Dumbledore's reassurances that they were okay, had been worried ever since he had heard about what had happened with Voldemort, was more than a little relieved to see them well. The two of them, too, were ecstatic to see him, apparently having not been allowed into the Hospital Wing ever since they were discharged.

Hermione and Neville recounted to him what had happened on their way through the gauntlet to the Philosopher's Stone. Harry felt rather impressed at their quick thinking on getting past the static enchantments and the fire trap – and he, with a bit of a shyness, told them so. A blush erupted over Neville's cheeks when he did, and he replied with a choked thanks, while Hermione gave him a small smile of appreciation. When Harry asked them about what happened in the chamber with Voldemort, however, neither of them seemed to want to talk about it very much, opting instead to change the topic. After one or two tries to find out, Harry did not push them any further.

They talked for nearly an hour, mostly about mundane things that he had missed in the week that he had been unconscious. Slytherin had played Hufflepuff, winning by just fifteen points with the snitch and taking third place in the Quidditch Cup. Ron, Raul, and Sally-Anne, apparently, had gotten in major trouble with Professor Ross for copying their History of Magic homework word-for-word from one another, managing at the same time to get half the answers wrong. In addition, Hermione also brought him a copy of the notes that she had taken in the past week and asked Harry to study them, which he agreed to do with gratitude.

Hermione and Neville left to go to dinner, and surprised Harry by returning thirty minutes later with a plate of food from the Great Hall in their hands. There were all his favourites – the shepherd's pie, the Yorkshire pudding, and the treacle tart. They stayed with him as he ate, talking, and when Madam Pomfrey finally asked them to leave, Harry watched them go, feeling the soreness and pain of his muscles go away a little.

It was four more days before Harry was finally discharged, though he was still walking awkwardly due to his injuries and had to be helped up the spiral staircase by Hermione and Neville. Hermione and Neville had kept what truly happened between themselves, and as classes began once again, Harry was surprised by the number of rumours that had sprung up in its place, trying to explain his absence. According to Ron, whose version of events was the most widely believed in Gryffindor Tower, he had been injured fighting the dragon that had caused the fire in the fourth-floor corridor. The Slytherins, meanwhile, were less flattering. Pansy's explanation for his absence, for example, was that he had not managed to flee fast enough, and the fire had caught up to him and burned the hair right off his head. At the beginning of the year, Harry might have been annoyed or bothered by all that, but now, after all that had happened, he could not find in himself any reason to be. Let them talk – the world was bigger than that, and as Dumbledore had said, he had people who he could count on.

Quirrell's sudden departure from Hogwarts also drew quite a lot of chatter from the students. Dumbledore had explained his absence as him taking a medical leave after being injured fighting the fire, though Harry, Hermione, and Neville, of course, knew the truth. In his place, Anna had stepped in as the temporary Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, something that made Harry – and the rest of the class, who no longer had to deal with terrible lectures and the smell of garlic – rather happy.

Soon, June approached, and as term exams loomed on the horizon, so did the prospect of the summer holidays. As the end of the year drew closer, Harry found himself reflecting more and more on everything that happened this year. He thought about what Dumbledore had told him that day in Diagon Alley – that even though he should be careful with people, that should not stop him from making friends. As he sat at night doing homework and revising with Neville and Hermione, or perhaps talking to Anna after Defence, Harry thought that he had accomplished that.

But as June came, so came with it the prospect of the end of the year at Hogwarts – and his inevitable return to Privet Drive. On one hand, Harry thought that it might not be too bad – his aunt and uncle had left him alone after Dumbledore's visit last year – but on the other, would be as alone as he had been then? He had Hedwig, he supposed, but would the Dursleys really allow Hermione or Neville to visit? Despite wanting to hope, the rational part of his mind knew that he should doubt the possibility of that happening.

Then, the Friday before exams were due to start, Hermione passed him a note at lunch. 'Professor Flitwick told me to give this to you,' she said.

'What's this about?' Harry asked. 'Who's it from?'

Hermione shrugged. 'He didn't tell me anything else. Why don't you just open it.'

Carefully, Harry unfolded the piece of parchment. The handwriting inside was instantly recognisable – for Harry had seen it once before, on the note that had accompanied his invisibility cloak.

Dear Harry, it said. If you are able, please see me in my study right after the end of classes today. I have something that I need to discuss with you. You'll find directions on the back. – A. P. W. B. D.

P.S. Currently, I'm in an Ice Mice phase – that's a sweet that makes your teeth chatter.

The last line had been so unexpected that Harry read it again. 'What does Ice Mice have to do with anything?' he muttered, confused, flipping the parchment over to see an enchanted map of Hogwarts, much like the one on the back of his timetable.

Both Hermione and Neville shrugged. 'Maybe he really just likes them that much,' Neville proposed.

None of them came up with any answers, and at the end of the final Flying lesson of the year, Harry, following the map on the back of the parchment, made his way up to the right-hand corridor on the second floor, which was deserted save for a stone sculpture at the end, which, upon closer inspection, resembled the gargoyles that Harry had seen in pictures of the Notre-Dame de Paris. As he got closer, the gargoyle suddenly moved, spreading its wings.

'Password?' it asked.

'Password?'

'The password to the Headmaster's Study,' the gargoyle said lazily.

'I don't know what the password is,' Harry replied after a few moments. 'The headmaster asked to see me. Could you please let me through?'

'If the headmaster asked you to see me, he should have given you the password,' the gargoyle answered stubbornly. 'Never once has Headmaster Dumbledore forgotten to give a visitor the password.'

Harry flipped his parchment over to the front and read the note, hoping to find something that he might have missed. He did not know what he was looking for until he got to the seemingly random postscript, when, suddenly, it finally made sense.

'Ice Mice,' he told the gargoyle confidently.

'There you go,' it replied as it and the entire wall behind it moved aside with a deep rumble, revealing a spiral staircase behind it. 'Headmaster Dumbledore never forgets.'

Harry stepped up to the staircase and started to climb. The stairs underneath him, meanwhile, seemed to be moving upwards slowly, carrying him up as if he were on an escalator. Finally, at the top of the tower, he found himself standing in front of a set of large, elegantly carved wooden double doors. At the centre of each was a golden knocker with the Hogwarts crest on it. Harry reached up to the one on the right and softly knocked on the door.

'Please enter, Harry,' he heard Dumbledore's voice call. Suddenly, the doors swung open, revealing behind them a large, spacious circular office. There were shelves full of books all around, while tables, on which sat random-looking objects, some of which were spinning and whirring, sat almost chaotically around the room. An empty bird's perch stood off to one side of the room, an odd pile of ash sitting in a magnificent gold bowl beneath it. The most striking thing about it all, however, was that on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk – which occupied a prominent position on a raised platform at the centre of the room – were at least fifty paintings of ancient-looking wizards and witches, almost all of them moving just like the portrait which guarded the Gryffindor Common Room did.

'Welcome, Harry,' Dumbledore said. 'What do you think?'

'It's…interesting,' Harry answered truthfully. 'I haven't seen anything like it before.'

'I'm glad you at least don't disapprove,' Dumbledore replied. 'Others may have said that it was chaotic.'

'Well…it is…a bit…'

'The truth always comes out,' Dumbledore said with a smile. 'Well, why don't you take a seat? There is something that I must discuss with you.'

Obediently, Harry took a seat across from Dumbledore. 'What is it, headmaster?'

'It concerns your…life outside of Hogwarts,' Dumbledore said slowly. 'More specifically, life at your aunt and uncle's home.'

Harry's heart sped up – where was Dumbledore going? Was he going to offer to let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer, so that he would not have to go back to the Dursleys? Or was he going to help him in some other way, perhaps ensuring that he could visit his friends? He had seen what his aunt and uncle, especially Uncle Vernon, was like for himself, after all.

'Have you ever wondered why you ended up living at your aunt and uncle's?' Dumbledore asked.

Harry shook his head. 'No, I haven't,' he answered truthfully.

'Perhaps you should have,' Dumbledore said, though not in an accusatory way. 'The reason I say this is because the life that you had the last ten years is another example of my failures, stemming from my oversight and hubris.'

'James and Lily knew that they were being hunted when they had you,' he continued. 'And, in what might have been the greatest mistake of their lives, they entrusted the responsibility of finding someone to care for you in case they were ever…unable to…to me. After the events of that Halloween, I decided, perhaps correctly, perhaps wrongly, that you would be safest away from the magical world, for the time being, and with the only family that you have left.'

'Why did I think this? At the time of Voldemort's downfall, there were still many Death Eaters – his former followers – on the loose. I was afraid that if you were left in the magical world, you, as well as whichever family agreed to take you in, would immediately become the target of revenge attacks – which, incredibly sadly, did indeed end up befalling some that had fought against him. Second, I wanted to relieve you from the suffocating fame and blinding attention that would no doubt fall upon your shoulders from the moment the news of Voldemort's death came out – and as you may have experienced this year, did indeed fall onto you even perhaps from the first day you returned to the magical world.'

'When I placed you at your aunt's and uncle's home, I had no idea at all that not only would they end up treating you not just indifferently, but sometimes outright cruelly,' Dumbledore said, and his face grew sad. 'I had wrongly imagined that the Dursleys, being after all your family, would grow to love you, or failing that, at least care for you. To make things worse, I opted not to visit you personally or send, for example, Professor McGonagall, to check on you. I thought that that would attract far too much attention, and if the wrong people were watching my movements, they might be able to deduce who was living at Number Four, Privet Drive, and put you in danger. I chose instead to ask a friend of mine to keep an eye on you from a distance, but she, as limited by her distance, reported that nothing egregious was happening.'

'Who kept an eye on me?' Harry asked, curious, trying to remember if he had ever met someone wearing robes in Little Whinging.

'Her name is Arabella Figg,' Dumbledore said. 'I believe that the two of you had met?'

'You know Missus Figg?' Harry gasped, surprised.

'I do,' Dumbledore affirmed.

'Missus Figg is…a witch?'

'No, she is not,' Dumbledore answered. 'She is what is known as a squib – one who is born to wizarding parents but is unable to control magic themselves. I have known Arabella since she was a young girl, and by happenstance, she was living close to your aunt and uncle's in October 1981. With her agreement, I arranged for her to move to Little Whinging and befriend the Dursleys in the hope that she would be able to monitor your situation. I do not doubt that she tried her best, but unfortunately, her best clearly was not enough to see and relay to me the worst excesses of your aunt, uncle, and cousin.'

'I want you to know that I'm sorry, Harry,' he said. 'Once again, I assumed that I knew all that was best, and that led you to almost ten full years of unhappiness. Of course, I know that an apology cannot fix everything, and certainly not immediately, and so I will back it up with a promise. If you would not like to return to the Dursleys this summer, then I will do everything in my power to find you somewhere else to live.'

'I don't want to go back,' Harry replied immediately, attracted by the offer. 'But…where would I go?'

'Well, anywhere you would like,' Dumbledore answered. 'Your mother and father's wish was that I would be responsible for finding someone to take care of you until you turn seventeen. If you would like to stay with one of your friends, then we can arrange for that, though of course, with your friends' families' permission. Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, as I understand it, is very busy at the moment – she, like me, is an Overseer on the Ejwent Zehwolt – and may have trouble accommodating you if you choose to go to them, but if you really would like to, I can of course ask.'

Harry thought about that for a few moments. It would be nice to spend the summer with Neville, but if his grandmother was going to be busy, then perhaps he should not further burden them. 'What about at Hermione's?'

'I do not know her parents at all,' Dumbledore answered. 'We could arrange that, certainly, if you would like to stay with her, but that will have to be worked out for the most part between you, her, and her parents on your own.'

'What if Hermione's parents can't take me?' Harry asked, thinking that he might like that but also knowing that he should have some other options. 'Where else could I go?'

'Well, there're some choices,' Dumbledore said. 'You could stay the summer at another family's. The Weasleys, for example, could be an option – Molly would certainly be thrilled to take you. If that is not something you would like – which I would understand, seeing that you and Ronald are not the best of friends – then there are other families, although the downside is that you would not know any of them at all. The final option that I can see will be you staying here at Hogwarts.'

'I can stay at Hogwarts?' Harry asked, perking up. That sounded quite nice, certainly much better than going back to the Dursleys, and perhaps even better than going to Neville's or Hermione's. He would not be intruding on anyone here, and he would still be immersed in the magical world.

Dumbledore nodded. 'I can arrange that. Generally, the Board of Governors, who oversee Hogwarts, are not thrilled about the idea of students staying the summer – since many professors carry out experiments or research during that time with their Magister students. Recently, though, they have seemed to become more malleable. Considering that you will be the only student here and, pardon me, you being who you are, I can't see why the Board could reasonably disagree – even if they don't love the idea.'

'Will I have to stay in the dormitory?' Harry asked. 'Or would I be free to…I don't know, go to the library?'

'I can't see why you would not be allowed to. To roam, that is,' Dumbledore answered. 'You would have access to the library, any empty classrooms you would like to use, or the Quidditch Pitch if you're so inclined.'

'And I won't be alone in the castle, right?'

'No, you will not. The teachers are usually here during the summer – the castle is home for many of them, after all. Professor McGonagall will be here. Hagrid will be here, Anna will be here. Mister Filch, for better or for worse, will also stay. I myself will not be here every day, though I will be available if you find the need to talk to me.'

'And I can…I can write my friends? Or have them visit?'

'Having them visit Hogwarts might be a little challenging,' Dumbledore answered, 'since the Board of Governors, again, prefers as few regular students here as possible. If you'd like to visit them, though, that will certainly be possible, and the same goes for letters.'

Harry nodded, his heart racing in excitement. The prospect of staying at Hogwarts for the summer sounded attractive. Obviously, he would avoid returning to the Dursleys, but also, he was going to remain in the magical world through the summer holidays, and in Hogwarts, too. He thought about all he could do… Even walking around Hogwarts's corridors sounded incredible, but not only that, he could also go to the library if he wanted to, talk to Anna and Hagrid, write and maybe even visit Neville and Hermione… Everything that had seemed impossible was now, suddenly, possible.

'Are you sure I could stay here?' Harry asked, wanting to make sure that he was not simply getting his hopes up over nothing. 'That the Board of Governors will allow it?'

'Well, one can never be sure of anything,' Dumbledore replied, smiling. 'But I would say that there is a rather good chance that you will be able to. If you want to, of course.'

'Definitely,' Harry answered eagerly. 'I want to stay here.'


The last days of classes came and went quickly. Soon enough, the dreaded exams were over, and to Harry's relief, he passed every class with a mixture of E's and O's – even Potions, where Snape, despite giving him unfairly low marks all year, gave him an E. Harry thought that he had decent revision habits, but looking at Hermione – who got all O's with the exception of Potions and Defence – made him realise just how disorganised he actually was. She had everything written down, colour-coded, made revision plans – and even managed to stick to them. There would be quite a lot for him to still learn, Harry thought.

Hufflepuff had won the Quidditch Cup, and with the one hundred bonus House Points that they had gained from the victory, they easily clinched the House Cup, as well, coming in more than fifty points ahead of the next place, Gryffindor. With a wave of Headmaster Dumbledore's wand, the hangings in the Great Hall turned into the yellow and black of Hufflepuff, and a rather pained-looking Professor Snape mechanically handed over the large silver House Cup trophy to Professor Sprout.

Departure day neared, and the rest of the boys in his dormitory packed their trunks – after waiting until the last minute, of course. Harry, knowing that he was not going anywhere but here, simply watched on with mixed amusement and envy. It was not that he was not happy about staying at Hogwarts or appreciative that Dumbledore had given him the option, but he wished that it did not have to be this way, that this was never a problem that had to be solved. If he had only his own family and home to return to like the rest of them…

'What're you even going to do here for two months?' Ron asked rather brusquely as he tried to shove his second Wizard's Chess set into his already overflowing trunk.

'I don't know, read?' Harry replied. 'I'm sure there'll be something to do.'

'You're not just going to leave me out to dry, right?' Neville questioned in a joking manner.

'Well, you haven't invited me to visit yet,' Harry replied. 'Who's leaving who out to dry?'

Harry watched and Dean laughed as Neville blushed a little. 'I will,' Neville promised defensively. 'Just…Gran's a little busy. I don't know when would be good.'

The next morning, just like the day before the Winter Holidays, everyone got up early for their last breakfast at Hogwarts. After they ate, the students returned to their dormitories for their trunks, wrestling them down the staircases to the Entrance Hall, where a long queue had already formed. Harry, despite having nothing in his hands, accompanied Hermione and Neville. He would hear from them and see them a lot, for sure, but still, it would be more than two months before they were back together in earnest again.

'Get outside,' Neville said as they neared the end of the queue. 'Don't spend all your time in the library.'

Hermione nodded as a carriage pulled up for them. 'Make sure to also write!'

'I will, I will,' Harry promised as he helped them push their heavy trunks on board.

'Well, then…I guess…see you,' Neville said, looking a little awkward as he and Harry stood face-to-face, neither knowing what to say.

'See you soon,' Harry replied, feeling his face grow a little hot.

'Oh, just give him a hug,' Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 'It's not that hard.'

The two of them hesitated, then, at the same time, they stepped forward, their knees crashing into each other. Briefly, and quickly letting go, they embraced, both coming away blushing.

Neville darted onto the carriage to hide his embarrassment, and it was Hermione's turn to say goodbye. 'I'll see you…soon, hopefully,' she said, biting her lip and looking somehow uncertain.

'Yeah,' Harry replied. 'See you.'

Quickly, Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry and gave him a squeeze before, like Neville before her, she turned around and ducked into the carriage, her face red. Harry's own face heated up even more, and as their carriage pulled away, he did not know what to do except wave dumbly at them, continuing to wave until the carriage disappeared around a corner.


KENA DELAT OJWISSNENE