A/N: I decided that it made the most sense to post Chapter 34 and 35 together, as they're both part of the finale, putting us back at Chapter 1 (end of Tom's first arc) and the end of first year (present day first arc). Many of the moving parts will come together; but of course, some questions will be left unanswered. Of course, there has to be foreshadowing and mysteries left over for second year and so on ;)

But that's enough rambling.

"ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ—" ʟᴇᴇ ꜱᴀɪᴅ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, "ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟᴛʏ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ."

― ᴘʜɪʟɪᴘ ᴘᴜʟʟᴍᴀɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ

Chapter Thirty-Four: Paradise Lost (Cleansing Fire)

-May, 1992-

There was the heavy, sleeping darkness of the Slytherin first-year girls' dormitory and then an awful, high-pitched squeal slicing through it.

"What's that noise!" shouted Pansy, shoving her curtains back. "Whoever it is, make it stop!"

The sentiment was repeated by several of the other girls, all of them lighting their wands and looking around for the source of the offending noise.

Ruby, rubbing her eyes, peeled her curtains back, too. Her trunk was vibrating; she was certain the noise was coming from there.

"Sorry!" she whispered, then groggily slid off the bed and opened it to investigate amidst a barrage of complaints. The source of the noise turned out to be a small black box, and inside it, Lily's 'Time-Turner.'

It was hot to the touch, and the little rings were spinning so quickly that they left a spherical blur of golden light.

I'm supposed to put it on, thought Ruby, though she wasn't sure why. Nor did she know where the sinking feeling in her stomach had come from, so she hung the necklace about her neck, put a pair of sensible shoes on, grabbed her wand, and hurried out the door, into the common room, and through to the dungeon corridor.

The further she went out of the dungeons, the more certain she was that something was wrong. In fact, the wrongness was a physical sensation, a heavy stone that seemed to have sunk to the very bottom of her stomach.

She realised that the meridians had stopped spinning and lifted the pendant to get a closer look.

Now, instead of the standard phrase, the rings read:

"Don't trust Quirrell. One of us is in danger. The time to act is now. L.E."

Ruby felt a strange mix of fear and calm; yes, something had gone very badly wrong, she wasn't in danger, so Harry must be, but Lily was with them. Everything would be alright.

A ghostly wail and the rattling of chains permeated the dungeon corridor, but luckily for her, it was a familiar ghost ― the Baron ― in all his silvery, bloodstained glory.

"Good grief, child," said the Bloody Baron, giving her a contemptuous look and sheathing his sword with a metallic zing. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Please, sir," she spluttered, attempting to grab his ghostly hand and failing. "Go up and see if Professor Quirrell's in his quarters."

Maybe the necklace is wrong. Maybe Harry is safe in his bed. Maybe nothing's happened yet. Maybe nothing will happen.

But all the same, Ruby knew she was only denying the truth.

"My dear, it is well past midnight," said the Baron fondly. "I see you are clearly distressed, but that is a truly heinous breach of privacy, even if I could. He might, well, keep female friends for one—"

"Look, I don't care who he's with!" cried Ruby. "It's a matter of life and death, can't you see? And get Professor Dumbledore after that, do it quick, please!"

The Baron tutted, placing his broad hands on his hips and sighing.

"Very well, very well then. I depart forthwith. And where are you going, pray tell?"

"Gryffindor Tower," she said. "You'll bring Professor Dumbledore, won't you? And Quirrell, if you find him."

"Certainly."

Ruby was in such a fright that she nearly tripped over her nightgown several times on her way up, only lit by wandlight since most of the fires that usually lit the hallway had been mysteriously extinguished (she couldn't help but wonder if it was somehow Harry's doing, there was an empty feeling in the air), but managed to make it to Gryffindor Tower in one piece.

She shivered, hunching her shoulders and rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm herself as she drew closer to the portrait who guarded Gryffindor Tower against intruders like her.

"Let me in!" she demanded of the Fat Lady.

"No," she said irritably. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"This is really important, ma'am! Please! If you won't let me in, check that Harry Potter's inside!"

The Fat Lady glared. "I have no time for pranks or children's games, especially not at this time of —"

The whole castle gave an awful shudder, and Ruby lost her footing, falling hard on the floor. The Fat Lady looked as shaken as Ruby felt as she scrambled back to her feet. Then, she left the painting, and a few minutes later, reappeared.

"He's not here, dearie. Didn't see when he left."

"You mean Quirrell's gotten at him already?"

Of course he has, Ruby berated herself. He's been gone at least a full day, probably in preparation to kidnap Harry... for Lord Voldemort.

She gripped the ends of her hair, trying and failing to suppress her utter despair.

I must keep it together. I mustn't panic. I mustn't.

"You'll want to run and get Professor McGonagall," the Fat Lady instructed. "Professor Dumbledore's—"

"Ruby!" shouted Ron, leaping out of the portrait hole closely followed by Hermione. "You haven't seen Harry, have you? He's gone missing!"

"He's gone somewhere with Quirrell!" said Ruby, pulling the 'Time-Turner' off her neck and shoving it at him frantically. "Something's happening, something bad, I can feel it—"

"Calm down," said Hermione, putting her hands on Ruby's shoulders, and she felt a rush of immense gratitude for the other girl's levelheadedness. "You can't help Harry if you're hysterical. We need to do what the Fat Lady said and find the professors as soon as possible. You go with Ron and get Professor Snape; I'll get Anthony, we'll get Professor McGonagall, then and we'll meet in the Great Hall. Alright?"

The castle shook again, and Ruby felt her nerves wearing even thinner.

Fortunately, Ron was in less of a frenetic state than she was, and Professor Snape was still in his office, marking exams.

"Come in," he said in a disgruntled voice, and they rushed inside. Ruby noticed with an odd sort of shudder that the fireplace was empty and he was reading by wandlight, but then again, Snape might not mind the cold.

"Quirrell's got Harry, Professor! And—"

He put down his quill, frowning, but strangely, looking unsurprised about Quirrell and Harry, although both he and the clump of blinking eyes did a double-take once he saw Ron standing behind her.

"You are quite sure? Right now?"

But why should he be surprised about Ron being here, of all people?

"I'm sure? Of course I'm sure!"

Just then, the castle shook for the third time, and this time Ron and Ruby had to duck beneath the chairs to protect themselves from falling rubble that never came; Snape turned it to dust.

"Now, we go to the third floor," said Snape in a matter-of-fact tone, retrieving two cloaks from under his desk and passing one to each of them.

"But Hermione and Anthony went for Professor McGonagall!" said Ron. "They're going to the Great Hall!"

"They will do the same as us."

"You're really letting us come?" asked Ron.

"You're really letting us come, sir," Snape corrected, sneering. "And yes. Though you will be maddeningly underfoot, I suspect you may be needed at some point, should the situation... evolve."

Neither of them asked for more clarification; they put on the cloaks, grateful for the warmth in the suddenly cold hallways, and followed after Snape, who had created some sort of magical shield around them to ward off the falling rubble. As they approached the forbidden corridor, he ordered them to stay back; they saw that Hermione and Anthony were at the other end just as Snape said they would be, along with Professor McGonagall.

I've got a bad feeling about this, she thought.

Together, the two professors approached the door; Professor Snape pointed his wand at it, and it flew off its hinges, disintegrating into dust. They disappeared inside.

"It's horrible," said Ruby after a few minutes of keeping silent in the alcove and feeling sick to her stomach. "Not knowing what's happening to him. He could be dead, Ron!"

"He'll be fine," said Ron, though he didn't sound convinced.

"I've got to go in there."

She stood up in a rush of impetuousness, but Ron grabbed her hand to hold her back.

"You can't! Snape told us to stay back!"

"You hate Snape!"

"Yeah, well, I think he's right this time. We're all first-years; of course I want to help Harry, but what can we do that McGonagall and Snape can't?"

Ruby didn't know what was going on; she hadn't trusted Quirrell, and she'd been right in the first place. Her mother's necklace was right, too, and both it and her gut were telling her she must act, now. She tugged her hand away from Ron and stared him down.

"If I can't help him, no one can. Look. He needs my help; I can't just stand here and be useless."

Ignoring Ron's protests, she stood and began to walk towards the door but stumbled back as someone barrelled into her without a second thought, as if they were running for their life. Next, the corridor was blanketed in an eerie chill as something nebulous and dark swept through it; then, finally, she saw Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall stumble out, both looking pale and wounded.

Against all reason, she chased after the dark thing, skidding to a halt as it backed her into a corner, lashing at her with vicious wind so cold it felt like fire, and when she looked into the midst of it, she saw its burning green eyes that were sad and haunted and angry and somehow, strangely familiar, and, with an odd jolt of existential fear, knew that it was probably going to kill her.

But something bright and brilliant dove between them, with silvery wings and a joyful song that filled the freezing corridor with a tangible warmth, and Ruby scrambled away from the dark thing that howled in defeat as the silver phoenix darted and dove, forcing it back from her.

At the end of the corridor stood Dumbledore, garish magenta robes and all, and somehow his demeanour was transformed from that of the serene headmaster to something strange and stern and fearsome. This was, perhaps, the Dumbledore of legend, the one even the greatest Dark wizards feared.

Ruby didn't think she'd been so glad to see someone in a long while.

"Behind me, Ruby," he ordered, and she obeyed. For a while, they were both silent, watching the silver phoenix soar above the dark thing until it was swallowed whole, and the dark thing consume the hallway even as it cried out like a wounded animal, chunks of torn rocks and classroom doors tossed to and fro in its blacker-than-black turbulence.

"What is that horrible thing that's trying to kill people, Professor? Is that... Voldemort?"

When he spoke, Dumbledore's voice was so grim that it would make the dead tremble.

"No," he said. "That is Harry."

Dumbledore continued carefully levitating enormous pieces of the torn rock from the corridor to create a sort of cage around the dark thing that she refused to believe was Harry.

It was McGonagall who stumbled into the corridor next, clutching her stomach and looking unnaturally pale, but not as much as she had in the hallway. Ruby couldn't help but gaze at McGonagall's hand; there was a charcoal-coloured wound on it that could have only come from one thing.

She gazed at the Obscurus churning air and rock at the end of the corridor and quailed at its seemingly heartless destruction.

"Quirinus is dead," she said simply. "I am afraid it is Harry Potter's doing."

Ruby heard Dumbledore utter a "Hmm," only barely seeming to recognise what he had been told; he was too preoccupied with his task.

Following her were Ron, Hermione, Anthony, and last of all, Snape, dragging Quirrell's limp body behind him. He let the body fall to the floor with a look of disgust, and Ruby couldn't help but look away from it. She had seen her fill of dead bodies, she thought. The sight of it left a sour taste in her mouth.

She hadn't liked Quirrell when he was alive, but now that he was dead, how would they find out what had happened to Harry? He must have seen what happened. He must have done this to Harry.

More people were spilling into the hallway; she saw Gemma and Alastair, Percy Weasley and one of the Ravenclaw prefects, Professor Flitwick, and Mafalda amongst them, all staring at the monstrous being turning the other side of the hallway to dust.

"The school must be evacuated," Dumbledore was saying. "And the Obscurus, for that is what it is, contained."

"You can't just leave him like that!" said Ruby. "We have to rescue him!"

"I will do all I can. I will not let him die."

The Obscurus burst forth through the rubble, tendrils of black smoke like cruel, sharp fingers reaching and slashing.

There was darkness rushing over her; for one, awful moment she was tangled in and choked by the shadow, and then, there was a yawning chasm in the midst of the corridor, and the Obscurus was ensconced in it; cleaving her and Dumbledore from the rest as sticky tendrils of oily storm began to seal them inside the freezing hallway like some kind of makeshift mausoleum.

"We'll go around!" shouted someone; Ruby could not see through the smoke to whom the voice belonged.

"There is no around," said Professor Snape. Dumbledore gave him a stern look through one of the quickly-sealing gaps, and he sighed. "Very well. Professor McGonagall and I will make our way up through the dungeon passage. But it may take time, time we do not have."

"You must try," said Dumbledore. "Have the students evacuate to Hogsmeade. That will be far enough."

"PREFECTS!" someone bellowed above the cacophony of frightened children. "RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU'RE A PREFECT!"

Dumbledore turned back to Ruby.

"I am afraid," he said, "that we are alone. I will admit to you that our chance of survival is slim should I use magic once more. In this state, Harry is invulnerable to magic, much too strong to be held back by even the most powerful of Shield Charms, so he cannot be restrained effectively. Anything I do further may anger or frighten him."

"So we're just going to do nothing?"

What kind of hellish nightmare was this?

"You have already done something," said Dumbledore gently. "If you had not alerted the Bloody Baron, I would not be here. And if I were not here, I would not be able to tell you how to return Harry to his human form."

"How do I do it?" she asked breathlessly. "Tell me, please."

"Harry trusts you, yes?" he asked, and at her feverish nod, he continued. "You must talk to him. Find out what frightened him. Calm him. Make him remember who he is."

Ruby stared at the howling dark thing, the solid, oily wall of shadow and storm that seemed to encompass the entire corridor, and wondered how it could ever be Harry.

Then, she remembered its eyes. Sad and awful and haunted.

It howled. It sobbed.

I think it's in pain.

"I'll do it," she said. "I have to."

"I will be right behind you. You shall not be alone."

And, in a fluid motion, he conjured a handful of blue flames, which were warm to the touch, but somehow did not burn, and passed them to her.

"Harry," she said, the handful of blue flames her only protection as she approached the monster; the shadows roiled and screamed as if in terrible pain. "I don't know if you can see me; I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you know who I am anymore, or even who you are... But I'll tell you."

TheThe storm seemed to settle; it seemed to want to listen to whatever she had to say.

She turned towards Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid, Professor."

"It is only natural. You should tell Harry how you feel."

She turned back towards the monster and tried to convince herself that it was Harry.

"I'm really scared... I know you must be scared, too, and that's why you're like this. I don't know what happened in there, Harry. I don't know what Quirrell did―"

The shadows screamed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She stumbled back. "I didn't mean to scare you. Hey, remember when we used to stay at Mrs. Figg's house? It was so boring, but at least it wasn't the Durs― Oh, no."

Ruby glanced back at Dumbledore as the Obscurus screamed, tearing fresh chunks from the ceiling.

"I can't do this," she said. "I keep saying the wrong thing."

"You must. Do not speak to the thing that you perceive to be a monster. Speak to Harry."

To Harry? Harry was gone. How could Harry be that monster?

"The Obscurus," said Dumbledore, as if he knew what she was thinking, "is part of him. We all have a shadow; his is painfully visible."

"Then how―"

"If you do not believe Harry can survive this, how can he?"

Dumbledore continued. "You have not seen me, nor has he, as I have watched him over the course of the school year. You must trust me; if anyone is capable of breaking free from an Obscurus, it is he."

And so, she walked to every edge of the storm that was somehow, inexplicably Harry, and stood there, waiting for it to quiet. Finally, after a few tense seconds, it stilled.

"Harry," she said, her voice pitifully small compared to the great wall of storm and shadows. Ruby shut her eyes so she didn't have to look at it. There was only silence and the tingle of the flames in the palm of her hand. "I know you're in there. You have to be. As much as it's hard to believe this is you, you can't be gone. I know you can't."

And emboldened, she continued, stepping forward. The storm tore at her hair and her cloak, almost swallowing her voice as it had the silver phoenix and debris; but she mustn't think of that.

"I'm scared. I'm scared you won't come back. I just want everything to be okay, and I don't know how it can be... but I know it would be a whole lot better if you came back. Please tell me you're in there, somewhere. Please, Harry. Please."

The storm stilled even further, and she continued into it, knowing that she had been entirely swallowed by the Obscurus, that she was at its mercy.

"I know what they did to you," said Ruby. "I know you're hurting. I know that's why you're like this, and it's not your fault, Harry. None of this is. But you don't have to do any of this alone. I promise that if you just come back, it will be all right. It has to. And... maybe... You'll remember that you're not a monster. No matter what anyone thinks."

The handful of flames burned brighter than they ever had before, and she had to close her eyes as they rocketed towards the ceiling. But yet, despite the incredible heat, she felt no pain, and the air did not fill with the scent of burning.

She squinted through the light, and the shadows seemed to be settling just as the fire dimmed, condensing into something solid.

The blanket of anguish and helplessness seemed to lift.

He stumbled back into his body; as he fell back, it materialized around him, and Harry heard someone shriek his name as he toppled to the floor, heard two sets of footsteps coming towards him.

But he could not draw his gaze from the horrible sight of the body lying across the chasm, even though exhaustion was making his limbs and eyelids heavy and strangely wax-like. He felt as if he were being mummified.

Under the unmistakable mask of death, Quirinus Quirrell's face was white as bone, with strange marks swirling around his empty eyes like a macabre sketch in charcoal.

No breath. No heartbeat.

Nothing left.

In fact, his was getting fainter, too.

Everything was getting colder. Darker.

Silent.

When Harry woke up, it was in the sterile, unfamiliar surroundings of the Hospital Wing. Several worried, familiar faces were peering down at him; he craned his neck to look at them all: Hermione, Ruby, Anthony, all the Weasleys and Mafalda, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and even one of the Slytherin first-years.

The nurse, Madam Pomfrey, looked slightly irate at the number of visitors in her Hospital Wing.

Slowly, Harry began to remember how he ended up here in the first place.

"Did I stop Voldemort? Did anyone get hurt?"

From the frowning that followed, it seemed that he had failed horribly.

It was Dumbledore who spoke.

"You were very brave, Harry. Your parents would have been proud of you."

"Quirrell's dead," said Mafalda. She glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. "Voldemort's not — I mean to say, we're pretty sure managed to get away with the Stone. But it's not your fault, really, Harry. A first-year against Voldemort—"

"—Please stop saying Voldemort!" squeaked Neville.

Mafalda gave him a withering glare.

"Fine, You-Know-Who and a first-year, it's not really very fair, is it?"

"I am afraid I have yet more bad news, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You are an Obscurial."

"I know," said Harry. "Quirrell—" His insides squeezed, as he realised with a shock who exactly he'd been pouring out his heart out to "—I mean, Vol — sorry Neville, You-Know-Who told me. He said he'd teach me how to control it. And that if I told anyone, you'd have me locked up." His throat thick with fear, he barreled on. "And maybe I should be locked up. I put everyone else in danger—"

"You are not going to be locked up," said Dumbledore reproachfully. "I am not sending you to St. Mungo's to be caged like a wild animal and poked and prodded by so-called specialists who know no more about your condition than they did a thousand years ago."

"And when the Ministry comes?" asked McGonagall.

"I will not be dictated to by bureaucrats on the everyday affairs of Hogwarts."

Harry thought he might like to give Dumbledore a hug.

"So, what's going to happen to him?" asked Ruby, shifting in her seat. Hermione and Lavender had each put an arm around her.

"I'm in the room," said Harry irritably. "Could you not refer to me in the third person?"

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "we have the counsel of a good friend of mine — Nicholas Flamel."

"Hello, Harry," said a new voice ― warm and somehow ancient. When Harry turned his head in the direction of the owner of the voice, he saw that he, like Dumbledore, was very old and yet not frail at all.

Nicholas Flamel. The name wandered through his mind in search of some significance, but his thoughts were sluggish.

"Bloody hell," Harry heard Ron mutter under his breath. "He's not ― he's not really six hundred years old?"

Before Harry could get a chance to process it, Flamel responded.

"Six hundred and sixty-five years old, actually, Mr. Weasley." He laughed. "But who's counting?"

"So, if the Philosopher's Stone is gone," began Professor McGonagall.

"Ah, not to worry, Minerva. I have enough Elixir set away to last a few years more for the sake of young Harry."

Nicholas Flamel is the inventor of the Philosopher's Stone! Of course!

"And what about Voldemort?" asked Harry. "Now that he's got the Stone he must―"

"Lord Voldemort lives to fight another day, we believe," said Flamel. "But fortunately, so do we."

Ron nudged Harry and gave him a cheeky grin. "Can't say the same about the third-floor corridor, eh?"

Despite himself, Harry managed a smile.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"If you will allow Nicholas and I to speak to Harry alone?"

Almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey managed to usher out all of the students; only Ruby lingered in the doorway.

"Alone, Ruby."

"Yes, Professor," Harry heard her mutter, and she disappeared with a scowl.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, and Flamel drew up a chair, his ancient gaze fixed on Harry.

Harry swallowed nervously.

"So, what's the bad news?"

Dumbledore looked at Flamel as if for guidance; it was strange to see the wise Headmaster look at another in such a way and stranger yet to comprehend that Flamel was many times older than Dumbledore.

"What happened, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, very gently. "We have tried to retrace Quirrell's ― that is to say, Voldemort's steps, but it is not completely clear to us what happened three weeks ago on the night that the Philosopher's Stone was taken."

That long ago? Harry wondered. What... what did Voldemort do to me?

Is that the bad news?

He realised that Dumbledore and Flamel were waiting for him to speak.

"Well, Her― some people mentioned that Quirrell was missing earlier, and we were supposed to meet ― we'd been meeting for a while―" It's not a secret, not anymore. "About the Obscurus. Quirrell knew, he was helping me, or at least I thought he was. But anyway, I went to his office, and..."

"The letter," said Dumbledore. "I did find it after I returned to find Quirrell gone."

"So I read the letter... and I followed him. The dogs were dead, the troll, too, and it looked like someone had been there very recently. And then, I went in―" He was trembling "―and I saw him."

I saw him sitting there, calm as you please.

"Did he tell you who he was? Or did he deny it?"

"He did," said Harry. "He had something on the back of his head; it looked like something was growing in him."

He noticed Dumbledore and Flamel exchange a look, but neither said anything about the topic.

"He said he wanted to kill me, but he wanted the Stone more. And he realised that he could only get one at a time, so he took the Stone."

"And how did he get the Stone in the first place?"

"Did you know he was Voldemort, Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Harry―"

"Did you know?"

"I suspected that Quirrell was untrustworthy," Dumbledore admitted, looking steadily at Harry despite the weight of his statement. "That is why I had Aurors stationed at Hogwarts for a time. I was never able to tell... not for certain, not until it was too late. I see now that perhaps I should have acted on my suspicions rather than play the long game. If I had known of your condition, I would never have allowed the risk."

If not even Dumbledore was certain... Harry wasn't sure if that made him feel relieved or not. He simply felt numb.

"But you can read minds."

Dumbledore looked a little startled that he knew this.

"There are ways to counteract such abilities, for better or for worse." Dumbledore paused. "How did Voldemort retrieve the Stone, Harry? If the school is compromised in some way, I must know."

"It was my fault," said Harry quickly. "I looked into the Mirror of Erised, I thought I was going to die―" The word made his throat feel thick; he was close to tears now. "I wanted to see them again, my parents. I didn't want to be alone down there with him. But instead, I saw the Stone, but I don't understand why."

But Dumbledore did. And even Flamel, who had been silently taking notes all this time, looked somewhat surprised.

"Because you wanted to stop Voldemort from getting it, more than anything... Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice full of admiration, "have you any idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in that mirror?"

"No, sir." And right now, Harry didn't really care about exceptionalism. "Fawkes came," he said, to change the topic. "He tried to help me. And the Sorting Hat, too... I pulled a sword out of it, and I don't really understand how. I broke the mirror, and then... and then he turned me. My scar... sometimes it hurts, but this time... it was burning."

"Voldemort used your connection to force out the Obscurus," said Dumbledore, his gaze flickering up to Harry's forehead, where the lightning-shaped scar was hidden under his hair. "More must have happened on that night than I previously thought."

"And then he left Quirrell," said Harry, glad to have the recollection over with. "He put the Stone down on the rune circle, and the green thing on his head was gone."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Thank you, Harry. There is just one more thing we will speak of, and then you should rest."

"The bad news, which I am very sorry to be the bearer of," said Flamel, "is this. To be an Obscurial, as I am sure you know, is a... a death sentence."

Harry sat nothing, staring straight ahead at the pristine white wall, unbidden tears forming in his eyes.

What are you crying for, boy?

He looked down, desperately trying to ignore the memory of that terrible gaze, and dragged his sleeve across his eyes.

I'm not crying.

"Harry? Harry, I did not want to burden you with this, but it is, unfortunately, an inevitable problem. It will not simply go away if we do not think about it."

"Quirrell ― Voldemort ― whatever that was, he said there was hope. Said he could help me control it." Maybe I'm already dead. Once you know for certain you're going to die soon, doesn't that make you dead in a sense? "He said there was hope. Is that true?"

It was Flamel who spoke next.

"Harry, I ― it can be manageable, perhaps you might be able to survive into adulthood, but it will severely impair your ability to use magic."

Flamel sounded almost apologetic, and for some reason, it made Harry see red. He bunched up some of the sheets in his fist, wrenched it off the bed, and tossed it away.

"But you can't cure it."

"As far as I know, I cannot. It can be managed, we can work together on reducing your responses to emotional triggers―"

"Everything can be managed, can't it!" snapped Harry, sweeping out with an arm with the intent to knock over the contents of his bedside table, but he stopped as he saw a glint of silver.

The ring.

As he lifted it up to his face, he saw it for what it was; shackles. But Harry felt that he needed the extra security, swallowing bile as he held back the memory of being utterly helpless before Voldemort. Of lashing out. Nearly killing Ruby, leaving destruction in his wake.

"Harry, it is not advisable to wear the ring once more! It is completely unknown to us what Quirrell has done to it!" said Flamel, standing up and holding his hand out for the ring as if Harry were a particularly difficult and naughty child.

"I won't," said Harry nastily, sneering at both Dumbledore and Flamel. "It's mine."

"Harry, you are not yourself," said Dumbledore quietly. "I know you have just received terrible news, but acting irrationally cannot possibly help."

"Right," said Harry, and now he felt hysterical. He drew his knees up to his chest, staring at the emerald eyes of the snakes glinting on his hand. "What happens now, then?"

"You will stay at Hogwarts?"

"And Voldemort?"

"He will surely return."

"He'll try to kill me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes. But this is more than enough for now, Harry. You will make yourself sick with worry."

"One thing, though," said Harry. "I'm not ― we're not ― going back to the Dursleys."

"Arrangements have been made. You both will remain at Hogwarts. We will both let you get some rest now."

Harry said nothing as they left the room but laid down and attempted to go to sleep anyway. Despite his mounting anxiety, he was exhausted and fell asleep soon enough.

In the middle of the night, he woke to a splitting headache; his scar was hurting much more than any decade-old wound should.

On the bed across from him sat a strange boy, perhaps about fifteen, in old-fashioned pyjamas, faded and frayed at the collar and the hems. Harry was sure that the inhabitant of the bed had been some Slytherin girl with a cold.

"Drink up," he said, pointing at the vial of pale blue liquid on the bedside table. He flicked a finger against it, and the glass rang high and clear, like a bell. "You'll sleep better."

Harry blinked, and the stranger was gone, but the vial remained.

Well, it wasn't the oddest thing that had happened in the past seventy-two hours, and he was sure he'd never get back to sleep with his scar hurting the way it was, so he reached for the vial and downed the contents.

The stranger, or ghost, or whatever he was, was right. He fell back to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Harry Potter. Enjoy these next few months; I promise they'll be the last peace you'll ever get."