Madam Pomfrey saw me before I had the chance to say anything.
That was a mistake.
Not mine.
Hers.
The moment Dumbledore entered the hospital wing carrying Harry, Pomfrey sprang up from behind her desk.
First she saw Harry.
Her expression immediately turned serious.
Then she saw me.
More specifically, the dried blood beneath my left eye.
She stopped.
"Mr. Peverell."
"Madam Pomfrey."
"No."
I frowned.
"I haven't said anything yet."
"I'm stopping you before you start."
Dumbledore laid Harry on the nearest bed.
Pomfrey was beside him immediately.
Wand.
Light.
Several spells I did not recognize.
I watched.
For a moment, no one paid attention to me.
That was nice.
Dumbledore stepped aside and let Pomfrey work.
Ron was lying two beds away.
Conscious.
He had an enormous bruise on his temple and the expression of someone who had just lost a fight with a building.
Hermione sat beside him.
She saw me.
Then Harry.
She stood so quickly that the chair scraped across the floor.
"Harry?"
"He's alive," Dumbledore said.
Hermione exhaled.
Ron sank more heavily into his pillow.
"Good."
He looked at me.
Then at the blood.
"Again?"
"Don't start."
"I didn't say anything."
"You said exactly enough."
Hermione looked at me.
Then at the entrance.
"You got through."
"Yes."
"Without the potion."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Unpleasantly."
Her lips tightened.
Ron looked between us.
"Got through what?"
"The fire," Hermione said.
"That fire?"
"Yes."
Ron looked at me.
"Without the potion?"
"Yes."
"How?"
I sighed.
"That question has already been asked."
"You didn't answer it."
"That has also already happened."
Pomfrey turned her head.
"Silence."
We fell silent.
Surprisingly.
Pomfrey finished one spell.
Then another.
Finally, she straightened.
"He's exhausted. Severe magical strain, several minor burns, and his body appears to have gone through considerable shock."
"So?" Hermione asked.
"He'll recover."
That was enough.
Hermione sat down.
Ron closed his eyes.
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders too.
Only a little.
Pomfrey immediately turned to me.
Unfortunately.
"Now you."
"I'm really fine."
She looked at my face.
"Bed."
"Madam Pomfrey-"
"Bed."
Dumbledore did not help.
Hermione looked almost pleased.
Traitors.
I sat down.
Pomfrey lifted my chin.
"Left."
I looked.
"Right."
I did.
"Up."
The light from her wand passed in front of my pupil.
Unpleasant.
"Loss of vision?"
"No."
"Blurred vision?"
"A little earlier."
Her hand stopped.
"For how long?"
"For a bit."
"Mr. Peverell."
"A few minutes?"
Hermione shifted in her chair.
I looked at her.
She said nothing.
Good.
Pomfrey continued the examination.
"Pain?"
"Yes."
"Bleeding?"
I looked at her.
Then at the blood on my own sleeve.
"I suspect so."
Ron snorted.
Pomfrey did not even turn around.
"Mr. Weasley, I can very easily add another night to your stay."
Ron went silent immediately.
Respect.
Pomfrey moved her wand closer to my eye.
Several seconds.
Then she sighed.
"Less serious than last time."
"Good."
"That was not praise."
"It almost sounded like it."
"It wasn't."
She lowered her wand.
"The vessels are irritated again. There is magical strain, but I don't see any permanent damage."
I nodded.
"No experiments."
"That wasn't an experiment."
Pomfrey looked at me.
"I don't care what you call it."
"I understand."
"Several days."
"Several?"
"At least."
I did not answer.
That was a trap.
She handed me a vial.
"Drink."
I sniffed it.
"What is it?"
"Drink."
I drank.
It tasted like someone had boiled grass and taken revenge on the world.
I grimaced.
Pomfrey looked satisfied.
Suspicious.
"Lie down."
"I'm not tired."
I yawned.
Ron opened one eye.
"Impressive."
"Shut up."
I woke several hours later.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows.
Harry was still asleep.
Ron was not.
He was sitting on his bed eating toast.
Hermione was gone.
So was Dumbledore.
For a moment, I lay still.
My left eye did not hurt.
Good.
I blinked.
Normal.
Even better.
Ron noticed I was awake.
"You're alive."
"Disappointed?"
"A little."
"I understand."
He took a bite of toast.
"Pomfrey said she'll let me out tomorrow."
"Congratulations."
"What about you?"
"I don't know."
"She said if you try to leave on your own, she'll tie you to the bed."
I looked at him.
"Really?"
"No."
"Sounded believable."
"Very."
I sat up.
Harry shifted slightly.
We both looked over.
Nothing.
Still asleep.
Ron put down his toast.
"What was there?"
"On the other side?"
He nodded.
"Harry. Quirrell. The Mirror."
Ron became serious.
"Quirrell?"
"Dead."
He froze.
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"Harry..."
"I don't know."
That was close enough to the truth.
I had not seen exactly what happened.
Ron looked at Harry.
"Damn."
"Fairly accurate."
"Voldemort?"
"Escaped."
Ron stopped eating.
"How?"
"I don't know."
This time the answer came easily.
Because I did not know.
Not exactly.
I had only seen what was no longer there.
Ron apparently decided he had enough questions.
So had I.
Pomfrey released me that afternoon.
Reluctantly.
Very reluctantly.
"Straight to your dormitory."
"Yes."
"No experiments."
"Yes."
"No checking whether the eye can handle things yet."
I did not answer immediately.
Pomfrey narrowed her eyes.
"Yes," I added.
"That came far too late."
"I was considering my wording."
"To your dormitory, Mr. Peverell."
I left.
I did not make it to the stairs.
"Mr. Peverell."
I stopped.
Dumbledore stood at the end of the corridor.
Of course.
"Professor."
"Walk with me."
It did not sound like a question.
I followed.
We walked in silence for a while.
"Professor Snape examined the protections this morning."
Alright.
Here we go.
"How is he?"
Dumbledore glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
"Professor Snape?"
"His protection."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"It remained almost entirely intact."
"That's good."
"He was interested to hear that you managed to pass through it."
"Interested?"
"I'm paraphrasing."
That almost sounded like a threat.
Dumbledore kept walking.
"Miss Granger informed Professor McGonagall that there was only enough of the potion that would let you pass through the black flames."
"Yes."
"And that she herself took the potion allowing passage back."
"Also true."
"And yet I found you on the other side."
"Also true."
Dumbledore stopped beside one of the tall windows.
"Did you know beforehand that you could pass through the barrier?"
"No."
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"And yet you tried."
"Harry was on the other side."
That was enough.
I did not add anything.
Dumbledore nodded.
"How did you do it?"
"I tried something."
"What?"
I looked at him.
"I don't know what to call it."
Silence.
Dumbledore did not look away.
Neither did I.
"You did not use a wand."
"No."
"Nor a spell."
I did not answer.
Dumbledore waited.
So did I.
After several seconds, the corner of his mouth moved slightly.
"I see."
"I don't think you do."
"Perhaps not."
We continued walking.
That was all.
Good.
We reached an empty classroom.
Dumbledore opened the door.
I went inside.
There were no instruments of torture.
Good start.
Dumbledore closed the door.
"Quirinus Quirrell is dead."
"Yes."
"You knew that before you approached him."
There was no accusation in his voice.
Only a statement.
"Yes."
"And you knew Lord Voldemort had left him."
I stayed silent.
"Mr. Peverell?"
"It looked different."
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly.
"What looked different?"
"Quirrell."
He waited.
I did not help him.
"In what way?"
"I don't know how to explain it."
"And yet you knew what you were looking at."
"No."
That stopped him.
"No?"
"I only knew that something was no longer there."
Dumbledore watched me for a moment.
"Lord Voldemort."
I shrugged.
"It seemed the most likely possibility."
I said nothing more.
Nothing about the trace.
Nothing about Death's Sight.
Nothing about how my right eye had seen fresh death through magical fire.
Nothing about how the emptiness left by Voldemort had looked almost as distinct as what remained of Quirrell.
That belonged to me.
Dumbledore seemed to understand that.
Or perhaps he simply understood he would not get more.
"Are you always this economical with your answers?"
"No."
Pause.
"Usually more so."
For a second, his eyes flashed with amusement.
Then he grew serious again.
"I do not intend to interrogate you."
"That's nice."
"That does not mean I have no questions."
"I have some too."
"I don't doubt it."
Dumbledore walked over to a desk.
Rested one hand against its edge.
"There is, however, something I would like you to think about."
I waited.
"There is a particular kind of danger in discovering that something impossible is merely difficult."
I did not answer.
The black fire.
The scar in the forest.
The Red Cap.
The troll.
Voldemort.
Each time, the boundary had looked different.
Each time, it had yielded a little.
Dumbledore continued.
"Success can teach useful things."
He looked at my left eye.
"And very dangerous ones."
"You mean I shouldn't have gone through."
"No."
That stopped me.
"I mean exactly what I said."
I waited.
He did not elaborate.
Irritating.
"Harry was alone."
"I know."
"So I went through."
"I know."
"It worked."
"Yes."
That was the worst part.
If he had said I had done something wrong, arguing would have been easy.
Instead, he simply acknowledged that it had worked.
"Just be careful what lessons you learn from your own successes."
For a moment, I said nothing.
The problem was that success was usually a very convincing teacher.
I did not say that.
"I'll try."
Dumbledore looked at me.
We both knew how much that was worth.
He did not comment.
I appreciated it.
Harry woke the next day.
I heard it from Hermione.
She found me at breakfast.
Sat opposite me without asking.
Draco looked at her.
Then at me.
Then back at her.
"Why is Granger sitting at our table?"
"The chair was free."
"That's not what I asked."
Hermione ignored him.
"Harry woke up."
I put down my fork.
"How is he?"
"Fine. Pomfrey says he still has to stay."
I nodded.
Draco looked between us.
"Potter was in the hospital wing too?"
Blaise looked up from his book.
"Apparently we missed something."
"A little."
Draco narrowed his eyes.
"What did you do?"
"Night walk."
Hermione gave me a look.
"That was not a walk."
"There was a lot of walking."
"Oliver."
"What?"
Draco put both hands on the table.
"No. We're going back. Why was Potter in the hospital wing?"
I looked at Hermione.
She looked at me.
"He fell."
Hermione closed her eyes.
Blaise started laughing.
"I'm not asking."
"That's sensible."
Draco did not look convinced.
Nothing new.
I visited Harry later.
Pomfrey only let me in after I assured her I did not intend to test anything.
I did not point out that the question was too broad.
Growth.
Harry was sitting on the bed.
There was enough candy beside him to open a small shop.
"Popular."
"Fred and George."
"Explains the quantity."
I sat down.
Harry said nothing for a moment.
"Quirrell's dead."
"Yes."
"Dumbledore told me."
I nodded.
"Voldemort escaped."
"I know that too."
Harry looked at his hands.
"When Quirrell touched me..."
I waited.
"His hands started burning."
"Sounds unpleasant."
He looked at me.
"That's all?"
"For now."
"It got worse after that."
"I assumed."
Harry clenched his fingers.
"Dumbledore said it was because of my mother."
"If he said so, then it probably was."
He looked up.
"You don't have a theory?"
"Surprisingly, I don't feel the need to compete with Dumbledore at explaining Dumbledore things."
Harry snorted.
"That's unlike you."
"I'm developing."
He reached for a Chocolate Frog.
Did not open it.
"The Stone is going to be destroyed."
"Yes."
"Flamel agreed."
"Logical."
"That means he'll die."
"Yes."
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Harry studied me.
"You don't sound surprised."
"He was over six hundred years old."
"Six hundred and sixty-five."
"Of course you remembered."
Harry shrugged.
"Kind of hard to forget."
He was right.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Part of me wanted to see it.
Very much.
Not for the gold.
Not even for immortality.
I wanted to know how it worked.
What its structure looked like.
What it left behind.
Whether a trace reacted to something that extended life beyond its natural limit.
I stopped.
I did not have the Stone.
The Stone was going to be destroyed.
And trying to steal one of the most heavily protected objects in Britain from under Dumbledore's nose was, even for me, slightly ambitious.
Slightly.
Harry looked at me.
"You got through the fire."
Right.
"Yes."
"Without the potion."
"Yes."
"Hermione said you tried to move it."
Traitor number two.
"I did."
"And it moved?"
"A little."
Harry frowned.
"How?"
"With difficulty."
"Oliver."
"Harry."
"I'm asking seriously."
"I know."
He waited.
I did not answer.
Harry sighed.
"Did you do the same thing in the forest?"
I looked at him.
Not a stupid question.
He had seen both events.
He could connect that much.
"Not exactly."
"But you did something."
"I tried to stop Quirrell."
"How?"
"Successfully for a very short time."
"That's not an answer."
"It is. Just not the one you want."
Harry watched me for a moment.
Then his gaze shifted to my eyes.
"Does it have something to do with them?"
Well then.
I looked at him.
"Many things have something to do with my eyes."
Harry waited.
"For example, seeing."
He rolled his eyes.
"Seriously?"
"You asked."
"You're impossible."
"That's becoming a popular opinion."
Harry kept looking at me for another moment.
Then let it go.
Good.
He did not need to know more.
Yet.
I returned to the dormitory that evening.
Blaise sat on his bed with a book.
Draco was at the desk.
Both looked up when I entered.
Draco spoke first.
"So?"
I took off my robes.
"So what?"
"Are you finally going to tell us what happened?"
I thought.
About Fluffy.
Devil's Snare.
The keys.
Chess.
Ron lying on the floor.
The black fire.
Quirrell.
Voldemort.
Harry.
Dumbledore.
"No."
Blaise did not even look up from his book.
"Told you."
Draco looked at him.
"You said he'd lie."
"I didn't lie."
Blaise turned a page.
"Even worse."
I sat down on the bed.
Draco turned toward me.
"At least you can still see out of both eyes?"
"Yes."
"Good."
I looked at him.
"Worried?"
"No."
"That sounded like"
"If you go blind, I'm still not reading to you."
I smiled.
"Touching consistency."
"Idiot."
Blaise turned another page.
Draco started complaining that both of us were impossible.
I lay down.
My left eye barely hurt anymore.
Blaise read.
Draco kept talking.
I did not remember when he stopped.
AN:
Just to make this clear early: Dumbledore will not be an evil mastermind or some secretly malicious manipulator in this story.
He can be secretive and overly cautious. He can make mistakes, withhold information, and make decisions Oliver disagrees with - because he is still Dumbledore. But he is fundamentally trying to protect people and do what he believes is right.
He is allowed to be intelligent without being omniscient, and flawed without being evil.
So no, not every conversation with Oliver is part of a twelve-dimensional chess game to control his life.