Harry Potter and the Bleak World

Quirrell.

"You." Harry spat, managing to sound unfazed.

"Me," Quirrell said, smiling. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"Of course your pathetic stutter was fake. We've suspected you since the first Quidditch game. You were the one who was trying to force me off my broom, weren't you?"

"Another few seconds and I would've gotten you off your broom. I would've gotten you even earlier if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you." Quirrell said.

"Padma was right. You are a rotten, nasty crook," Harry snarled. Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

"You're too noisy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew, you'd seen through my distracted and caught me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in? What am I saying- of course you did."

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls-- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape had already suspected me, went straight up to the third floor to head me off-- and not only did my troll fail to beat you or your friend to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell muttered, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London, I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

"I saw you and Snape in the forest the day of the Gryffindor Quidditch match." Harry blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell distractedly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was onto me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me, as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side.."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone.. I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. What I wouldn't give for Hydrus to be here, he thought, thinking of Hydrus's sharp fangs. But he kept talking-- he had to keep Quirrell thinking.

"Snape seemed to hate me so much. And you were always such a coward, I wouldn't have even thought--"

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, pretending to ignore the coward part. "Heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"-- if it wasn't so obvious that you were faking it. Everything. I heard you a few days ago, sobbing-- I would've thought Snape had been threatening you, if it made any sense, because I knew he had just had a class. Nowhere near where you were busy crying yourself to death."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," He said frantically, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions-- he is a great wizard and I am weak--"

"Well you're right on one part. You are pretty weak. I mean, but-- you mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry asked.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me."

Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley-- how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, and had even shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron. He should've atleast considered Quirrell a suspect on his own. Someone in the school, with ready access to the stone. Yet, he probably wouldn't have even considered-- not a stuttering, idiotic mess. 

Quirrell cursed under his breath meanwhile. "I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry still squirmed, locked tight in the ropes, feeling pathetic.

What he wanted more than anything else in the world, at the moment, was to find the Stone before Quirrell did. The last thing Quirrell needs is to stick around forever, let alone Voldemort... So if he looked in the mirror, he should see himself finding it, atleast right now, right? And that would mean he'd see where it's hidden.... But how could he look without Quirrell realizing what he was up to? There had to be a way. He just had to find it. 

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight and didn't budge; he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's surprise, a voice answered and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy... use the boy."

Quirrell whipped around to look at Harry.

"Yes-- Potter, come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry almost felt tempted to ask, 'Why should I?', but walked toward him without a word.

He had to lie. He just had to look and lie about what he saw, that's all he had to do.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry held his breath to not breathe in the stench that came from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw... he didn't know what he saw. Or, who. It was someone- a student, actually, just at his height, and their hair was the same-- no-- it was him. The reflection smiled at him wickedly, and pulled a little red stone out his pocket.

The Sorcerer's Stone, Harry realised, as the reflection winked and dropped it back into their pocket, and faded away into black steam. As he disappeared, Harry felt a weight in his pocket.

He had the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage and put on his best face.

"Is that my family?" Harry lied, before he could even think. "Do you see them too? Or is it just in the mirror?"

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies... he lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

"I saw my parents!" Harry lied again. "I- I think they were my parents! You didn't see them, and I don't know how they look! I--"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him... face-to-face...."

"Master, you are not strong enough!" Quirrell shrieked.

"I have strength enough... for this...."

Harry suddenly couldn't move, as Quirrell unwrapped his turban. The turban fell away a mere moment later. Quirrell's head looked horridly small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, or retched in disgust, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible and ugly face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake, yet it was wilting and almost sad to look at, with an eerie distortion to it.

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.

"Ew," Harry could help but gasp. He really should get better about keeping his mouth shut before he returned to the Dursleys, but this time, he supposed, it was perfectly ethical. 

This...? This, was what Voldemort was now? He looked old and dying, as if he'd clung to the nearest thing that was alive and refused to let go. 

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds.... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," The face snarled. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging me for mercy."

"You liar. My parents wouldn't ever," Harry said bitterly. He might not have known them, but he knew they wouldn't. Something just told him that they wouldn't die begging him to spare them. 

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it hissed. "But you don't act like a Ravenclaw. Much more bravery... ah, and cunning.... Yes, boy, your parents were brave when I arrived to your home that night... I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight.. but your mother needn't have bothered so much, for she suffered in the end... she was trying to protect you and the other, wasn't she... and she met the consequences. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have done so in vain."

"No." Harry whipped out his wand, screamed out, "Incendio!" and made a break for the flame door. Quirrell screamed as his robes burned, but Voldemort wasn't deterred.

"SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close to his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; His head felt as though it was about to split in two; He yelled, screamed, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened-- he looked around, trying to see where Quirrell had gone. He had been hunched over in pain, looking at his fingers-- they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck-- Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him-- my hands-- my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms-- Harry could see they looked burned; Raw, red, and very shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, still holding his own wand, acted at once- put his hand up to Quirrell's face and started to yell out a spell, but--

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face, blistering, too, and then Harry knew; Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain-- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse, but touching Quirrell didn't help him either. But he found he didn't really care. He wasn't sure what all he could manage, but he was hitting Quirrell as hard as he could. Again, and again, and again, for Quirrell had still been squirming and screaming in pain.

Harry was sure of one thing. He wasn't going to die by the hands of someone like this-- not Quirrell. If it came to it, he'd fight Voldemort himself. If this was what he had to do, if this was all he could do to even do anything to Harry, and even then, couldn't even withstand Harry's touch... he felt incredibly unafraid.

Quirrell grabbed his arm, still screaming, and managed to throw Harry against a wall. Harry hit his head, and quite hard, but he was nearly surprised to find himself smiling against the ground.

Quirrell was dying.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Harry could still hear Voldemort yelling, as Quirrell screamed louder, and pulled at his flesh violently. He seemed to be burning alive, and not even his devotion to Voldemort could ease his pain. His skin melted horrifically, giving Harry the feeling he wouldn't sleep easy any time soon.

"Harry," A voice said. It felt like he heard it in his head, but he couldn't put it to anyone's face. It didn't sound familiar-- it sounded mumbled, but despaired. But before long, Quirrell had stopped screaming, and his skin had been undeniably red and blistering that he had stopped moving and fell to the ground with a thud,  and Harry's vision had begun to go black. He felt something liquid down the side of his face, the longer he laid there, and the voice of whoever had been saying his name had become muffled.

He suddenly saw something golden before his eyes. The Snitch? He felt like he had been flying upside down on his broomstick. He reached for it, but his arm was too heavy to move. He tried his other arm, but to no avail. He tried looking up, or down, but his neck hurt too much. His head hurt. He didn't want to think he had lost the Snitch when it had been right infront of his face... and he couldn't not catch it-- it was his one job. He couldn't afford to mess that up, too.

He blinked, once, twice, and a third time, before he could see. It wasn't the Snitch he was reaching out for. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him. He was holding Dumbledore's glasses.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him and pulled his hand back immediately. Then he remembered-- "The Stone! Quirrell's dead, but- but--"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell is dead, yes."

"Sir, I--"

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

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half a candy shop, familiar looking baskets-- about three of them-- and a lot of chocolate.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. Mr Weasley had been very specific on letting people know that you really like chocolate. Infact- I believe it was his brothers- Fred and George Weasley, of course- were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

Harry laughed at the thought of the twins trying to place a toilet seat beside his bed. "How long have I been in here?" 

"Three days. Your friends will certainly be the most relieved you have come round, they've been extremely worried. Coming here every day."

"But sir, the Stone, I--"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well then, the Stone. I arrived in time to prevent that it had gone missing, although you were doing very well from keeping it from Quirrell, I must say."

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed mid-air. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to get you out of there before you became unresponsive, or before Voldemort had managed to--"

"It was you,"

"I feared I might have been too late."

"You nearly were. I couldn't have kept the Stone from Voldemort much longer--"

"Not the Stone, boy, you. The effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. But when you tried to grab my glasses twice, I had been quite pleased to know you were still in there. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend-- Nicolas Flamel- h-he--"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

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

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all-- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... even if the Stone's gone, Volde-- I mean, You-Know-Who -"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. In the past, it was all we knew to do, but, now, it will do no harm, nor help. I fairly think it's been proven that 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. I heard him, when Quirrell stopped moving. He was still screaming."

"No, Harry, he has not gone. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. Yet he left Quirrell to truly die; I apologise you had to see that, but 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, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head and neck ache horribly. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me the things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well.... Voldemort said that he only hurt my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know. But do know, that Voldemort has lied to you. Not entirely, and for all he knows, he has not. But he does not speak the entire truth."

Harry wanted to, but he knew it would be no good to argue.

"Why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother, assuming her own death, sacrificed her life force to protect yours and your twin's, her wellbeing for the both of yours. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, will never understand-- it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone from our lives, physically or emotionally, it will give us some protection forever. It is in your soul, your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, all of that and more, could not touch you for this very reason. It was pure agony for him to touch a person marked by something so good. Quite the genius way you took him out, I must say,"

"Twin?"

"Perhaps... that is one I cannot answer. Because, currently, I do not know where she is."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry asked, "And the invisibility cloak-- do you know who really sent it to me?"

"Ah. Yes, your father had it written in his will that I would hold it until you came of Hogwarts age. You would receive it in the least conspicuous way possible, and what so wrong about a Christmas present?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It's best used for useful things and useful reasons.... Your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens with his friends to steal food when he was here. I can't help but wonder how things turned out so poorly for them..."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell and Snape--"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

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

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not like yourself and Mr Malfoy, hm? You two get along very well, unlike many say... ah, yes... your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"Your father saved his life."

"Wait, what?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt.... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. He could go back to hating your father's memory in peace if he protected the bit of him in you..."

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head hurt, so he stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just one?"

"Yes, sir. How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone-- find it, but not use it maliciously, if use it at all-- would be able to get it, otherwise they'd only see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life, or just holding the stone itself. My brain surprises even me sometimes... I imagined it would hold off Voldemort long enough for me to stop him, but I congratulate you for doing so in my place, while I was foolish.... Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on those sweets.... Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them-- but, I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. Despite his better judgement, he would've believed if Dumbledore had only come for the candy and only found himself here at a poor time.

The days passed undeniably quickly, with Harry having nothing more to do than lay around and sleep. He constantly begged Madam Pomfrey to let his friends in. She was a nice woman, but very strict, and always denied without a second thought.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, it's quite different. You need rest."

"I am resting! Look-- lying down, my heads laying like it's supposed to be‐- and I've got my neck brace on and everything, see? Please, Madam Pomfrey,"

"Oh, very well." she said. "But they only get five minutes."

And she let Padma, Luna, Lisa, Ron, and Hermione in.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. She looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his neck was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to.... Nevermind-- it doesn't matter now, does it?" Padma said, cheerily, placing herself on the edge of the bed.

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron.

"I heard someone say you fought-- oh, should I say his name?" Luna was staring at him, her eyes wider than normal. "Did you?"

"What really happened? Or, are you able to tell us?" asked Lisa.

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Harry told them everything-- Quirrell, the mirror, the Stone, and Voldemort. They were a very good audience; They gasped at all the right moments, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione shrieked.

"That's wicked, Harry," Lisa said, clapping when he finished. "I mean, how you took out Quirrell."

"So the Stone's gone?" asked Ron.  "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that-- what was it... 'to the organized mine, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy the man was.

"So what happened to you four?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back alright," said Hermione. "We couldn't get Ron walking right, so we had dropped him off in the Charms classroom-- while we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore, when we met him in the entrance hall! He already knew-- he just said, "Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?" and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" wondered Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled.

"It was in his father's will. It was meant to be his the day it was meant to," said Luna, patting Hermione and Ron's backs.

"I don't think it's on Dumbledore anyway." said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man. I think he sort of wanted me to know that he knew more than he lets on. He probably knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help cause he didn't know if he could-- he said something about, er- how he was gonna stop Voldemort, but then he was foolish. I still don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked, though. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could. The cloak was mine from when I got here anyway, it's just coincidence I got it on Christmas."

"Yup, Dumbledore's off his rocker, alright," said Ron. "Listen, you've got to try and be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin's won, no surprise-- you missed the last Quidditch match, but we got steamrolled by Ravenclaw, lucky you that your teams got a good reserve-- but the food'll be good."

Luna's eyes finally returned to their normal amount of wide, and she sadi, "I think you all did spectacular. I really feel like I should've gone-- I would've, but I knew you'd do just fine without me. I think six is a crowd... ooh, Harry- I just thought to tell you about a very interesting animal my dad sent me a letter about the other day--"

"Luna, you're rambling," said Hermione, as she looked at the door. "Should we go?"

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "Yes! You've had nearly fifteen minutes! Now, OUT," she said firmly. 

After a long rest that lasted nearly a day, Harry felt nearly back to normal. He'd even got his neck brace taken off.

"May I go to the feast, Madam Pomfrey?" He asked, for what felt like the hundredth time, as she straightened his candy boxes. She sighed, and he automatically felt more hopeful.

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said annoyed. Harry already knew that in her opinion, Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be-- she had already told him twice that he shouldn't go. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

"It's-- it's all-- my ruddy-- fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaken with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him. And look, I'm doing better now."

"But yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don; say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry yelled, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "Nothing happened, see? And I'm sorry, but, I mean-- I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Here-- have a Chocolate Frog..."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and took the chocolate frog hesitantly. "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present." He said.

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

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it up. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead-- anyway, got yeh this..."

It was a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were.. his parents, and in few, they were joined by people he had seen in the mirror. There were even pictures of him as a baby.

"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, and, suddenly, he found that he was sobbing. Luckily for him, Hagrid understood the muffled cries of "Thank you."

Hagrid was not his only visitor that day; Draco had come by too. And it seemed Madam Pomfrey was tired of his asking, because, to his surprise, she said nothing and let him in.

Draco sat beside him, not saying a word and staring at the ground. And his ears, surprisingly, were very low. He just seemed upset, and for a moment, Harry thought he'd done something.

"Draco? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," He said quickly, as though Harry had asked him the stupidest question ever.

"You don't seem okay."

"Well, compared to you, I think I'm perfectly fine," Draco snapped. "I don't probably have a concussion. I'm not in the Hospital wing. ... you know, the hospital wing is a little boring."

"I think so too." Harry nodded. "There's not really a lot you can do when you're healing, I guess."

Then Draco went quiet again. "... sorry," he said, not looking up. "I'm glad you're not... dead. I was just really worried. You scared me, I thought you'd die," He muttered, his voice breaking. "I was terrified."

"You were scared I'd die?" Harry repeated, smiling much more than he probably should've, but it was nothing he could help. "No- terrified? Really?"

"You're an idiot if you're really asking me that. Why wouldn't I be terrified?" Draco scoffed, and Harry's smile grew even wider when his face went pink and scrunched up.

"Sorry. I was just making sure," He said.

"Sure of what?"

"Nothing. Oh, I just got an idea!"

"What?"

"Do you know morse code?"

"Morse...? Code? What kind of--? That sounds Muggle, Harry, as if I'd--"

When he saw Harry frowning, he paused. "You could just say that you don't. And I would've guessed magic people use morse code. Since there was a war, and all. Morse code is- it's like, his number of taps is that letter or number or whatever, and then you tap a bunch of times so that it forms a sentence. I could find something over the summer. I read about it when I was in primary school. I learned it, but I never really used it so I kind of forgot."

"That's... nice, I suppose. But why would I need to know this-- morse code? What's the point of that?"

"So, I can talk to you. I mean, if we're in class, but we can't talk to eachother."

"We've got the books."

"Yeah, and those are... convenient. But believe it or not, I'm not a big fan of writing all the time. I've got to do it enough for class. Tapping is more convenient. Well, morse isn't really tapping. I mean, I think it could be. 'll figure it out. Just- just trust me, it'll be way easier than writing all the time. Eventually."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You do, but I think it'd be really nice."

"Fine. If you think so, fine. I'll ask father to have someone to teach me."

"Great! I'm not a good teacher."

"Oh, I bet you'd be great. You're the best student in the year, after all,"

"Am not! That's Hermione!"

"No, I'm certain it's you. You're more enjoyable."

"Thanks."

He stuck around until it was time to go to the end-of-year feast that night. Draco had gone ahead when Harry had been help up for almost ten minutes by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last check-up before he leave, so the Great Hall was already full when he got there. It was decked out in 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 Lisa and Padma at the Ravenclaw table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him. Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were.... You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; In third place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and fifty-seven points; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-seven, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco banging his goblet boredly on the table instead of yelling. It was quite the funny sight, he thought, and Luna clearly thought the same when she saw, for she burst into laughter.

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

The room went very still. The Slytherins had gone quiet, and their smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out, for we haven't been able to give them out previously. Let me see. Yes...

"First, to Mr Ronald Weasley..."

Ron went red in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house twenty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; Even the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second-- to both Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin, for creativity and bravery, as well as willingness to step into harm's way for justice for their friends, I award Ravenclaw house thirty points."

Lisa's entire face went pink with embarrassment, as Padma started screaming happily. Every Ravenclaw was roaring with excitement-- they were thirty points up.

There was soon silence again.

"Third, to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house thirty points."

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'd gained fifty points.

"Fourth-- to Mr Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "...for pure genius and outstanding courage, I award Ravenclaw sixty points."

The silence lasted no more-- the Ravenclaws had been cheering, screaming, taunting, all of the above. People had been knocking into eachother for jumping in pure joy.

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

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became royal blue and the silver became bronze; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a proud bird took its place. Snape was shaking Flitwick's hand, with a horrible, sarcastic smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't been one bit different than how he thought they were. This didn't worry him though-- he didn't like Snape either. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts. Which was, well, likely not at all.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget this year.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise; All six of them had passed with good marks; Hermione and Harry, which very few found surprising, had the best grades of the first years. Padma's good Charms mark made up for her less than adequate Potions score; She had forgotten how to make a forgetfulness potion, Harry had guessed. Lisa had hoped that Mandy, for whatever reason, might've be thrown out, but she had passed, too; It was Lisa, instead, who'd be in remedial classes next year-- she looked as though she wanted to cry. It was a shame, but as Ron said, patting her back, you couldn't have everything in life. 

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Sly had found her way into someone's trunk and taken multiple possessions, and notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays; Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts express. The countryside became greener and tidier as they spoke, eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; Pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; Pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in threes and fours so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You gotta come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all of you-- I'll send you an owl. I really think you should, Harry, those Muggles you live with sound terrible."

"They're fine, but thanks," said Harry, "I'll have something to look forward to."

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called: "Bye, Harley!", or "See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning, as if he found it funny.

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

"I'm sure your summer will be alright anyway," said Luna hopefully. "It's always nice to be optimistic."

He, Padma, Lisa, and Hermione passed through the gateway together. Ron and Luna followed with another student.

"There he is, Mum-- there he is, look!" said Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harley Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see--"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Mrs Weasley scolded, and smiled down at them. "Busy year, I hear," she said.

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

"Oh, it was nothing, dear." She said kindly. Harry caught sight of Draco standing next to a tall, stern looking woman wearing a coat with a large Ministry badge over a small handbag. She must've been his mother, he'd guess. She had his blonde hair, or rather, he had hers, but unlike Draco, she had dark streaks of brown- -or black-- in her hair. Her eyes were blue, and her skin was pale.

"Ready, are you?" He heard, and turned around; Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying a snake and a niffler in cases in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, who was looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

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

"Yes, in a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." And he walked away. Atleast he hadn't changed much-- yet, Harry had never been so displeased at something staying the same. When it came to the Dursleys, it wasn't a very good thing.

Harry hung back for a last word with his friends.

"Maybe your summer won't be very nice," Luna said, peering over Harry's shoulder to take a glance at Vernon. She held a sneer on her face a lot like one Harry had seen from Draco.

"Yeah I don't think so either. Sorry you have to spend your summer holidays with... them," said Padma, watching his aunt and uncle with a growing hatred in her eyes.

"You could come stay with any of us, if you need to," Hermione insisted, semi-cheerfully, but Harry shook his head.

"Don't worry. I do think I'll enjoy this summer. They don't know I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school." He said, with a smile.

"Harry, don't do that! It's creepy!" Lisa said, though her giggling would've suggested otherwise.

"Alright-- goodbye." Harry wished them a good summer, and had said goodbye to Draco before he walked off with the Dursleys.

Maybe the world wasn't as empty as Harry once found it to be. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't something sad and boring all the time. He thought of his friends, friends he really had-- all that he had learned-- all he could now do. He found himself smiling ear to ear.

What was the word? Bleak. That's what it was.

Maybe the world wasn't as bleak as he imagined.