An Unsurprising BBE
The man in the center of the room turned to face the door. Harry could feel Draco’s hands grip the back of his robes, but kept his body firmly in between his cousin and the man.
“Evening, Professor Quirrell. Fancy meeting you down here.”
“Potter. I’d wondered if we would see each other here. Not surprised?”
“Surprised? It’s not the hardest thing to figure out, even for an eleven-year-old, professor. Older students say that you came back from your sabbatical with an entirely new personality. Multiple people, including myself, have heard you and Professor Snape at odds.”
Quirrell laughed. “Impressive, Potter. I had wondered if the hat misplaced you. Now I see it was correct. Sharp mind. Couldn’t do anything about your suspicions, could you?”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “As I said, I’m eleven. What was I supposed to do? I kept Professor Snape in the loop about things, and he made sure to keep an extra eye on me.”
“I have to admit, I thought you would paint Severus as the villain in the story. With how unpopular he is, how unpleasant.”
“He and I have come to an understanding.” Harry moved slowly down the stairs, trying to give himself and Draco more mobility in the room.
Before they could get very far, Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves around Harry, who fell to the ground. A flash of fabric told him that Draco had not been targeted, and that he had moved away from Quirrell’s ire.
“Now, now, Potter. We don’t want you going anywhere. You’ve heard too much, stuck that nose of yours into too many of my plans. You won’t be allowed to make it out of this alive.”
“Well, if you manage to kill me, you’ll be better than most. And haven’t managed it yet, to be fair. Didn’t manage at that first Quidditch match, or Halloween with the troll.”
“Ah, so you did manage to figure all that out. Well done. Now there’s no need for me to go on some cliched soliloquy. You wait quietly, I need to examine this mirror.” He moved out of the way so Harry could groan in frustration.
"This is where Albus put this blasted thing?” Harry looked up to see the Mirror of Erised looming over him. “Here I was hoping it’d disappeared back into oblivion.”
“You’re familiar with this? Hmm… You do have a tendency to know too much, Potter. This mirror is the key to finding the stone. Albus is apparently convinced that it is enough to hold me at bay. Me, perhaps, but not my master, and by the time he has returned from London, we will be far from here.”
“Your master ? Of course you call that bastard your master. Just a minion. Ridiculous. Is he here? Would love to meet him officially. It’s been a while.”
“Silence, Potter.” Quirrell gaze into the mirror. Harry watched with a clenched jaw, barely able to contain another groan when Draco’s terrified face appeared on the other side of the glass. Harry, making sure he wasn’t in the reflection of the mirror to Quirrell, subtly shook his head.
“I see the stone… And my master is gaining strength, using it… But how to get to it.”
Harry tried to shrug underneath the ropes. “Maybe you should break it. See if it’ll come out that way. Might as well try, you know?”
Quirrell turned and slammed a foot against Harry’s ribs. Harry slid across the floor, luckily still facing the proceedings.
As Quirrell angrily turned back to the mirror, his head in his hands, Harry laughed, coughing as he did. “Does your master not appreciate humor?”
Quirrell flinched. “My master is a great wizard, the greatest wizard this world has ever seen. I am weak, not worthy of his strength.” He stared into the mirror. “If I could only find this stone for him…”
Harry chuckled. “And this mighty master of yours, he approves of you terrorizing schoolchildren? Sounds like a fantastic man indeed. When can I meet him?”
Quirrell turned back to Harry. “But, Potter, you’ve already met him. But if you’d wish to meet him again, I’m sure that can be arranged shortly. After I find the stone, of course… He was angry enough after my failure to capture the stone from Gringotts... Even decided I needed to be watched more carefully…” He fisted the fabric of his turban. “Master, I am not strong enough, not wise enough to succeed in the mission you’ve set for me. Help me!”
Harry froze when he heard a haunting voice from Quirrell, a haunting voice that haunted his nights. “Oh, shit.”
“Use the boy…”
Quirrell rounded on Harry again. “Potter, here. Now.” He clapped his hands, and the ropes around Harry disappeared.
Harry got more comfortable in his position on the floor. “I’d rather not. I don’t take kindly to orders from people who’ve tried to kill me. That includes both you and your master.”
A moment later, he was being dragged across the floor by his collar, only to be thrown to the floor in front of the mirror. “Circe, enough with choking me, Quirrell.” He coughed again and pushed himself to his knees. “Okay, I’m here. What.”
“What do you see, you impertinent brat?”
Harry blinked. “Uh… I see me. My friends. Around a massive table, looks like we’re eating a meal together. Too much food on a too-big table. Looks delicious. Maybe I should have eaten more at dinner.”
Quirrell cursed. “Move.” He kicked Harry aside, and Harry awkwardly caught himself with a shaky arm.
The voice echoed across the room once more. “He lies…”
Harry let out a hiss as Quirrell picked him up by the robes and shook him. “Tell me the truth, boy! What did you see!”
Harry spat in his face. “Don’t call me boy.”
Before Quirrell could act on the pure fury he felt, the other voice spoke. “Let me… Speak to him… Face to face…”
The blood fell from his face, and the man shuddered. “Master, you are not strong enough!”
“I have… the strength… for this…”
Quirrell dropped Harry, who suddenly felt as though he couldn’t move an inch, watching Quirrell begin to unwrap the horrid turban. Harry watched the fabric slowly fall to the ground… And then Quirrell turned.
The most terrible face he had ever seen sneered at him from the back of Quirrell’s head. It was a chalky white, flat like a snake, eyes gleaming red.
“Harry Potter…”
“Voldemort, I presume? You’ll have to forgive me, the last time we met I wasn’t quite in a position to remember.” Harry could almost feel the look of pure fear and outrage on Draco’s face from under the cloak somewhere in the room. He knew his cousin was going to give him the lecture of a lifetime after this.
The face simply laughed. “I have always valued bravery… But this bravado… Is not needed. Do you see what I have become, Potter? Reliant on another’s body… Quirinius is but one of many who would have opened themselves if I asked… Drinking of unicorn blood, finding any rituals that may bring me back… this stone would be the last step to create a body of my own. Just give it to me… Save your own life… Join me… And give me the stone…”
Harry stood, brushing dust off of his robes. “I hate to break it to you, Voldemort, but I don’t have anything, let alone a stone that could turn my extensive vaults into petty change.”
The face narrowed its eyes. “I can feel… its presence in the room… Do not lie, Potter… Give me the stone.”
“You can feel its presence?” Harry had to quickly stop himself from smacking his face with his hand. “Uh… Maybe it’s not in the mirror? Maybe Albus had some other puzzle in here.”
“Then why… Potter… is the stone moving?”
Before Harry could react, Quirrell raised a hand, and there was a thunk across the room, and the cloak fell from Draco’s head after he had slammed against the far wall.
“Malfoy? You dare act against your father’s master?” Quirrell raised a hand again, and Harry couldn’t stop himself.
“No!” He tackled the man to the ground, and immediately screamed at the pain that coursed through his body at the contact. It wasn’t like anything he had ever felt—it was the same piercing pain that he had felt on occasion in his scar around Quirrell, but a thousand times worse, and throughout his entire body.
When he finally stomached the pain enough to take a heaving breath, he realized he wasn’t the only one screaming. At each point of skin-on-skin contact, Quirrell had an oozing, blistering mess where skin once was.
Harry looked down at his own blistered hands. A terrified Draco met his eyes, still blinking his own pain away, and he shrugged.
Voldemort stared from Quirrell’s prone body with fury in his eyes. “SEIZE HIM! THE MALFOY BOY! GET ME THAT STONE!”
Before Quirrell could stagger to his feet, Harry, chest heaving with pain and anger, was in between him and Draco, wand held tight. “I dare you to touch one of mine.”
Voldemort was facing him, and laughed darkly. “Already collecting pawns, Potter? Perhaps I should have offered you a place at my side rather than below me.”
Harry sneered, an expression that would not have been out of place on any Slytherin. “If I’m already collecting pawns, what makes you think I’d need you at all? Your pawn can’t even touch me.”
The guttural scream from what Harry was starting to think of as Quirrellmort made him tighten his grip. “KILL THEM BOTH YOU IMBECILE!”
Quirrell whimpered but dutiful pulled himself straight to raise yet another hand against the two first years.
With an instinct he could only attribute to almost an entire year of dueling with upper years, whether in the Dueling Room or in the corridors, Harry didn’t blink before casting.
“Diffindo!” A flash of light green flew from his wand, and blood splattered across the mirror.
Quirrell screamed as he clutched the stump where his right hand once was, now twitching on the marble floor beneath him.
“I told you not to touch one of mine.” Harry tackled the man once more, and they tumbled, crashing through the mirror, which shattered and fell to pieces around them. Harry, used to ignoring pain, took a deep breath and shoved his hands against Quirrell, at any soft tissue that might give way.
Any attempts that the man took to break free failed as Harry squirmed above him, finally stopping any movement from the screaming Quirrellmort after clamping a hand around his neck, and the other against the still-bleeding stump on his right arm. Quirrell may have stopped moving, but the face on the back of his head was still screaming. A burst of magic was released, and the screaming got louder.
Harry matched it as he pulled Quirrell’s head up and slammed it against the floor. Again. And again. It wasn’t until a shaking hand landed on his shoulder that he stopped.
“Hadrian, he’s gone. Quirrell is dead. The Dark Lord’s spirit just flew out of the room. You’re kneeling in glass and blood and Merlin knows what else. Let’s get you out of here.” Draco’s pleading voice brought Harry out of his rage.
He took a deep breath, and the red at the corners of his eyes bled away so he could look up at his cousin. “You’re alright?”
“Just a bit of a headache from hitting the wall, some bruises. I’m more concerned about you, Hadrian. You’re bleeding all over the place and your hands look like a boils curse gone wrong.”
“You might have a concussion, Draco, make sure you don’t go to slee—”
“Hadrian, please, my concussion will mean nothing if I have to have the trauma of watching you bleed out kneeling in a professor's blood.”
Harry nodded, but as he went to stand, the room spun around him, and he fell into his cousin’s arms, blackness overwhelming his vision.
He woke to a soft bed and murmurs around him. Surprisingly, no pain.
Hospital Wing.
He wasn’t looking forward to hearing Madam Pomfrey’s speech. Or Hermione’s. Or Draco’s. His only hope was that Ron would be more sympathetic than angry so that he could hide behind his friend at the onslaught.
Harry blinked and looked around him. He saw Ron sleeping in the bed next to him, and an expressionless Professor Snape standing in the far corner. Harry groaned as he tried to sit up straighter. Snape’s eyes snapped to him.
“Albus. He’s awake.”
Harry shot the professor a betrayed look as the headmaster came into view.
“Good afternoon, Harry.”
“Albus.” He ignored Snape’s muted cough (or maybe snicker?) of surprise and settled in a seated position. “Does Madam Pomfrey know you’re about to interrogate me before she gets at me?”
The headmaster chuckled. “Poppy is indisposed at the moment, I’m sure she’ll get to you soon enough. And I wouldn’t call it an interrogation, Harry, just a request for your accounts of what happened.”
“Convenient, that she’s busy.” He sat up and looked around, clocking an unconscious Draco across the room and Hermione watching the proceedings over an open book from his bedside. “Well, since my friends are still here, I can only guess I’ve not been here too long.”
“Just one full day, Mr. Potter. You were found late Tuesday night, and it is now Thursday afternoon. Captain Flint was most displeased at your missing the final Quidditch match this morning.” Snape moved from the corner to stand at Harry’s side with a smirk.
“And the results of the match?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Professor McGonagall will not be having a particularly enjoyable evening, after I am to receive the spoils of our wager.”
Harry grinned. “Please tell me I’ll be out of here for the victory party tonight.”
“I have no knowledge of such a thing, but Poppy did mention you would be able to attend dinner this evening, and to retire to your common room after.”
“Brill. Sorry, Albus, you wanted to ask me something?”
Dumbledore’s eyes flickered between the two Slytherins. “Yes, Harry. Ms. Granger explained why Mr. Weasley was injured. Mr. Malfoy told us most of what occurred while you were down there, but I’d like to hear your point of view.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “If you have Draco’s report, surely that’s enough? He was there for every second I was. What more do you need to know? We followed a professor that you hired that was harboring a Dark wizard, he attempted to kill me and my cousin, and I retaliated in self-defense. Point of view over.”
Snape settled a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Perhaps, Albus, this conversation could wait until after Mr. Potter here has had Poppy clear him. For all we know he could still be experiencing symptoms from his head injury.”
The headmaster frowned slightly, but the expression was gone in a split second, replaced with his usual genial smile. “Of course, my boy. Bring Harry here over to my office whenever he’s cleared.” Dumbledore turned to the doors with a sweep of too-colorful robes and left the Wing.
Harry looked up at Snape. “He calls you boy, too? Condescending—"
He was cut off by Hermione settling on Harry’s bed. “He’s been here all morning. Wouldn’t leave even when Professor Snape promised to alert him as soon as you woke. It’s been driving me crazy, I couldn’t read with him pacing.”
Snape took a step away. “I’ll go alert Poppy that you’re upright; she, too, was not thrilled with Albus’s constant presence all day.”
“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate you spending your day overseeing us.” Harry nodded to the man, who just sneered and headed towards the back office.
“It’s hard to believe that expression means he actually likes the students he’s around.” Hermione leaned against Harry softly.
“Hm. How are you? Ron okay? He was injured?” He leaned back against her.
“We’re both fine. Ron’s just sleeping naturally now. Troll woke up on his way back through, smacked him around a little bit, but he’s already downed enough bone-mending potions to fix a man Hagrid’s size. Draco’s on his last round of potions to fend off his concussion. I honestly didn’t even need to stay, but I told Madam Pomfrey that it was either let me stay as a patient or have me join Fred and George in attempting to break in every other hour.”
Harry laughed, cradling his ribs at the slight pain that caused. “Course. Surprised they didn’t break an arm just to get in.”
“Oh, they did. But Madam Pomfrey just fed them Skele-gro and pushed them right back out the door. Fred’s face at getting kicked out, George not even making it in? It almost made Professor Snape laugh.”
“What happened? After I went through the flames, I mean.”
“I heard Ron’s shout, pulled him out. I managed to fly him past Fluffy and found Professor Snape, who was conveniently in the area patrolling and was interrogating Hannah. He stabilized Ron and sent us to the Hospital Wing, and by the time we were looked after, he was bringing you in with Draco crying a few steps behind him.”
“I was not crying, Granger, I was exhausted and suffering from a severe concussion and fractured ribs.” Draco sneered from his own bed on the other side of the room.
“Did we have to give up our prize, cousin?” Harry looked over at the smug Malfoy heir.
“To quote our dear professor, I have no knowledge of such a thing. But when the twins managed to visit yesterday morning, they may have walked away with their pocket a little heavier than when they came in.”
“ You, Draco Malfoy, trusted the Weasley Twins with something like that?”
Hermione laughed. “You should have heard the threats he threw out. George actually looked scared at a few of them. They’re hiding it in the Nook so we can figure out what to do with it.”
Harry grinned. “Brill. What did you tell the professors?”
Draco walked over with the airs he usually gave to students he deemed not worth his time. He sneered. “I don’t know about any stone. I was making sure the Heir of my house and his idiotic friends didn’t die in the basement of this ridiculous school. Wait until my father hears about how easy it was for some Dark wizard to kidnap the heirs of three of the most important houses in the Wizengamot.”
“Thank you, Draco. I know you didn’t have to follow us, let alone come into the Mirror Room with me. I appreciate your dedication to the family.” Harry rested a hand on his cousin’s arm.
“Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t. I have a reputation to maintain.” Draco sneered and sat on Ron’s bed. He did a double take at Ron’s sleeping form and started to flick his leg. “Wake up, Weasley, if we miss dinner because of your inability to sleep a normal amount of hours I will be furious with you.”
Ron groaned. “You say that like I care, Malfoy.” He blinked and sat up. “Heya, Harry. You good?”
“Never better.”
“Can’t imagine how you’re gonna write this up in that journal of yours, mate.”
“Merlin, that Lockhart idiot would eat his heart out.”
Before dinner, Professor Snape took the newly released Harry up the stairs. Before they reached the top of the flight of steps, Snape held out a hand.
“I hope, Potter, that you understand the risks you are taking with whatever story you plan to tell up there. Whether it be the truth or a fabrication, the man in that office has near unlimited power in this world, and whatever you may tell him will be more impactful than you can imagine.”
Harry took a breath and looked up at his favorite professor. “I appreciate the concern, sir. But I refuse to let a man I’ve only known for ten months have the power to influence me, let alone my life.”
“I understand, but I simply needed to impart the severity of the situation. This is not a game, Hadrian. This has real-world implications.”
“Professor, I’ve never been the one to play games. And if I do, I only play if I know I’m going to win. This isn’t bravado. This is me trying to keep myself and my people safe.”
A hand went to the bridge of Snape’s nose. “I implore you keep such phrases out of your vocabulary in front of others, Potter. You sound dangerously like you’re attempting to start building a following.”
“I’m a bit too young for that, Professor. Maybe in a few years. You, of course, would be welcomed as a mentor. Hermione, however, may be starting one already. I think there was a signup sheet going around a few months back.”
Snape pushed him towards the top of the stairs. “Inside, Potter. I’m tired of dealing with your impertinence.”
“Aw, but sir, how will you entertain yourself over the summer without my impertinence?”
“I’m sure I will manage, Mr. Potter.” He pushed Harry forward as Dumbledore called for them to enter. “I am, however, already dreading your return in September.”
“Ah, Severus, thank you for bringing young Harry up here. I’ll return him to you shortly.” The headmaster smiled at them as he peered over his half-spectacles.
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer he stayed. He is the one who found me, after all.” Harry matched the fake smile of the headmaster as he sat across the desk from him without prompting. “I don’t expect this will take long.”
“If you insist. Severus, sit if you’d like.”
Snape remained standing.
“Now, Harry, my boy, why don’t you tell me what you remember from your incident with Professor Quirrell?” Dumbledore settled into his chair behind the desk.
“Of course, sir.” Harry took a calming breath and started. “My friends and I were studying in the Charms courtyard that evening when we saw Professor Quirrell walking quickly and talking to himself. We followed. Call it the Gryffindor in me,” Harry ignored Snape’s disbelieving scoff, “but when I saw that he had managed to sneak past Fluffy, and knowing you were no longer at the school, I couldn’t help but pursue.”
“Brave of you, to be sure, my boy.” Albus continued smiling, a twinkle entering his eyes.
Harry pretended to blush and looked down to avoid eye contact. “We managed well enough until Ron took a hit in the room with the troll. Hermione stayed with him while Draco and I followed Quirrell. Draco hid under my invisibility cloak in case we needed the upper hand, and I faced the professor. We argued, he showed me Voldemort, they realized that Draco was in the room, and tried to attack him. I used a severing charm on his arm, hoping to stall him, and brought his attention to me.”
He took a shuttering breath. “My wand… My wand fell, and I didn’t know what else to do. So I tackled him, and we ended up falling through the mirror. For some reason, Quirrell couldn’t touch me, and I passed out after he stopped moving in the middle of the glass.” He took another gulp of air. “I’m sorry! I know it was probably some priceless artifact, I didn’t mean to break it!” His eyes flickered to the point of Dumbledore’s nose before he looked back down, watching his own hands as he fiddled with the end of one of the bandages.
“It’s of no concern, my boy. Your safety is more important than the mirror. What of the stone?”
Harry blinked furiously, wiping away the frustration he was showing. “The stone? Flamel’s stone?” He paused for a moment. “Wait, it was down there? I knew that was what Quirrell was after, but I had thought it would have been hidden here, in your office, not in the very obvious off-limits corridor.”
Snape’s huff was ignored by both as Albus’s smile tightened. “So you didn’t get the stone from the mirror?”
“How would I have done that, sir? The stone was in the mirror? How is that even possible?”
Dumbledore sighed. “A small bit of magic, my boy. It is of no consequence. I will simply have to tell Nicolas that the stone was lost.”
“Won’t that mean he dies? He and his wife?” Harry leaned forward.
“Yes, unfortunately. They will have enough elixir to put their affairs in order, and then I am afraid they will finally succumb to the call of Death.”
“He can’t make another stone? I’ve killed him?” Harry let himself pause, taking a deep breath. Between on breathe and the next, the façade of his one-man play faded into the harsh reality of what happened in the bowels of the school. “Oh Merlin, I killed Quirrell.”
Dumbledore stood and crossed to the front of his desk, sitting on its edge. “You didn’t kill him, Harry. He was dead as soon as he made the deal with Voldemort.”
Harry noticed the flinch from Snape behind him, a twitch towards his forearm.
Interesting.
But Harry pushed that aside to focus on the events of the mirror room, pretending to have a panic attack.
He didn’t have to try that hard to pretend, as memories flooded his mind, and he could almost feel the burning of Quirrell’s skin underneath his hands.
“Holy shit, I’m not even twelve and I have a body count.” He stood and heaved a breath as he began pacing behind the chairs, ignoring Snape’s reprimand for language as he panted.
Albus simply watched him from his perch on the desk. “There is a difference between a murderer and a soldier, my boy.”
Harry felt anger build in his veins, in the form of ice that cleared his mind. He froze and turned to face the headmaster’s pitying gaze.
“I’m not one of your little soldiers, Albus. I’m an orphan who already lost everything to this bastard. And you’re trying to turn me into something I’m not for the sake of being the herald of the Light before I’m even old enough to have the knowledge to make the choice for myself.”
He took a deep breath and stared down at the floor, too much in his mind to try and meet Dumbledore’s gaze. “Apologies, sir, I must still be more tired than I’ve realized. I think remembering my presence during Quirrell’s final moments must have been a bit too hard for me. Is there anything else, sir?”
Dumbledore walked back to take his seat, folded his hands, and looked over them as he stared Harry down. “Is there anything you wish to tell me? Anything at all? Any problems, any questions, any issues in Slytherin?”
Snape finally scoffed loud enough to warrant Albus’s attention. “If he has any issues, Albus, he can talk to his head of house. If you are done talking about things Mr. Malfoy has already told you, may I take him to dinner? Poppy will have both our skins if he misses another meal.”
The headmaster simply nodded, but watched them both as they descended the stairs towards the Great Hall. Neither spoke until they were a floor down and a hallway over.
“Well done, Mr. Potter. You managed to lie to a man who, by his nature, is not easily swayed. I applaud your barely-contained restraint in your anger at his insinuations. However, do not think that because he allowed you to get away with it this time that it will be as easy the next. Have Ms. Granger or one of the other pureblood scions research Occlumency before you come back next term, it may make your lying easier.”
Harry looked up with an innocent, tired smile. “Lying about what, sir?”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Go eat, you’re wasting away before my eyes and Poppy really will blame me if you don’t eat something substantial before the celebrations this evening.”
Harry paused at the door. “Thanks again, sir. I may not know the full history between you and my parents, but I appreciate you looking out for me. It’s… not something I’m used to, but I can see the benefit.”
Snape’s jaw clenched. “Leave, Potter, before you somehow manage to get the last detention of the year.”
“I don’t know sir, the look in Marcus’s eyes tells me there might be some trouble tonight.”
Harry was leveled with a classic Snape glare, but it was the I might put in my resignation tonight look and not a they will never find your body look.
“Bye!” Harry ducked into the Great Hall, immediately running into a worried Flick who dragged him to her usual seat, where Ron and Hermione already sat.
“Hadrian, tell me everything, and right now, before I finish the job and kill you here and now.”
Harry looked over at Ron. “I vote tell her, mate. There’s more harm in keeping things from people than them knowing what happened.”
Hermione just nodded her head. “Information is power. You never know who knows something about this all that we haven’t even considered.”
Harry took a deep breath as Marcus sat on his other side, Terry hovering behind him. The twins were on their way, and his friends from some of the other houses were standing at their own tables to peer over at him.
“I guess I better get my story down, it looks like I’ll be telling it a lot.”
No one laughed, and everyone, even the students who barely knew Harry, listened on the edge of their seats as Harry launched into what happened.
None of the professors blinked twice at students intermingling on one of the last nights of the year, and before dinner was over, anyone who could even tangentially be considered sympathetic to any cause led by Hadrian James, Heir Potter-Black, had heard of his near-death experience in a school, by the hands of a professor with ties to the apparently still present Dark Lord.
(They may not have told everyone that Voldemort had been staring at them through Quirrell’s turban all year. There’s some horrors that don’t need to be shared.)
And by the time Dumbledore stood at the front of the hall, handing the House Cup to a smirking Severus Snape, everyone had returned to their own tables, and the Slytherins were pounding their own table with a glee rarely seen from the snakes.
Harry was simply thrilled that Dumbledore hadn’t tried to award him any points for following the Dark Lord down into the bowels of the school.
Later that night, a group of students, multiple years, multiple houses, all gathered in the Nook, looking over the rock in the center of the massive table.
A rock that was infinitely more important than the exam results that had been passed out in the common rooms that night, thought Hermione just couldn’t help but take a picture of Harry’s wide smile as he shoved his results under everyone’s nose, pride emanating from every pore, because this was the first year he was allowed to try, and he was just behind Hermione and Draco for the top of the year.
The beaming photo was placed in a box in her trunk, full of the pictures and notes that had accumulated on the walls of both the Nook and the first year Slytherin lounges, safe until they could put them all back up next year.
(Hermione had to bite back her anger at the fact that Harry wasn’t allowed to outperform his cousin, but she instead just met Susan’s eyes, who nodded and added it to the list of things to discuss with her aunt.)
“Endless gold, eternal life. And you want to give it away?” Fred groaned as he watched Harry wrap the stone in cloth.
“Give us a couple years, Fred, and Ron and I will make our own. In the meantime, this should probably go back to its actual owner.”
Hermione finished the letter and attached it to the package. “Hedwig, here girl.”
The owl, who was at her preferred post by the Nook’s owl port, flapped her wings, grabbed the package in a talon, and disappeared in a flurry of feathers towards France.
They watched her turn into a speck on the horizon in silence.
“Mione, you remembered to ask about basic alchemy, right?”
“Year three, Ronald.”
“Say, does anyone know anything about Occlumency?”