Dumbledore's smile froze for a moment, as if struck by some invisible boomerang.
"By the way, I picked this up. Do you still want it?"
In Harry's hand was the Philosopher's Stone, the very one belonging to Nicolas Flamel.
For Harry, the purpose of taking the stone had been to enhance his own power. Now that his main goal was achieved—his magical strength significantly boosted—the stone's importance had diminished. It was undoubtedly a treasure, still brimming with potent magic after over six hundred years. Lord Voldemort believed that possessing it would allow him to resurrect on the spot.
But to Harry, it wasn't that significant anymore. Moreover, the system had informed him that each Philosopher's Stone only unleashed its true potential in the hands of its creator, making it even less essential for him.
"You don't want it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"I do, but I've already got something better. Oh, and are you testing me?" Harry said, his tone sharp. "Are you using the Philosopher's Stone to figure out what kind of person I am? I'll be honest, I'm starting to dislike you. Even if you don't seem to have any bad intentions, I still don't like it."
Dumbledore didn't argue. The schemes he'd set up were the kind that could only fool children.
All Harry had to do was think back on the inconsistencies surrounding the whole affair—like Hagrid's journey, retrieving the Philosopher's Stone right in front of him. Or how the obstacles guarding the stone seemed half-hearted. Professor Sprout, for instance, had only set up Devil's Snare, not even a Chinese Chomping Cabbage, let alone anything more deadly. She must have been tipped off by Dumbledore.
"Harry, you possess wisdom beyond your years," Dumbledore said. "I think you can understand. You're so extraordinary—the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world. Your power is undeniable, and I can't help but worry…"
"Worry that I'll become the next Dark Lord? That you don't want to waste your time fighting another Voldemort?" Harry interjected.
"Yes, as you said…" Dumbledore admitted. "Once upon a time, Voldemort—Tom—was my student. I failed to guide him properly. Perhaps he was born evil, but I had the chance to steer him, to change him."
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, "your mastery of magic is unparalleled, and you're probably brilliant at teaching it. But you're not suited to guide people's minds. After just one year with you, I can tell—normal people would go mad under your guidance. Did you figure out Quirrell's true identity and decide that day to set me up to kill him?"
"Well…" Dumbledore faltered, momentarily speechless. His teaching methods might indeed have issues, but legendary heroes were often extraordinary. He'd been so focused on fulfilling prophecies and testing the magic of love that he hadn't considered the consequences.
Now, looking at Harry, it was clear he wouldn't suffer any psychological scars from defeating a Dark Lord. Killing Quirrell was, to him, as mundane as eating bread or drinking water—as if he'd done it countless times before.
"Er, Harry, there's something I'd like to ask…" Dumbledore hesitated. "Besides Quirrell, have you… killed anyone else?"
"Yeah," Harry replied casually.
Dumbledore's heart sank. Perhaps sending Harry to live with the Dursleys had been a mistake. Over the years, Harry must have secretly killed plenty of Muggles who bullied him, and the people Dumbledore sent to watch him never noticed…
When he'd placed Harry with the Dursleys, Dumbledore had anticipated they wouldn't treat him kindly. But for the sake of the protective magic—and to prevent Harry from growing up in an environment where he was worshipped, to forge a strong heart through hardship—he'd made that choice.
Had he made another mistake?
Just as he'd once tried to persuade Tom with power, only to push him deeper into his obsession with dominating others. By letting Harry grow up in hardship, had he instead made Harry capable of inflicting pain on others without hesitation?
"When was it?" Dumbledore asked.
"When I was one," Harry said. "You forgot? Voldemort."
"And the second time?"
"Guess."
Harry couldn't answer. His second killing had happened when he was older than he was now, but he'd returned to being eleven. There was no way to explain that.
Dumbledore was at a loss for words.
"The Philosopher's Stone belongs to Flamel, Harry," he said finally. "I promised him I'd handle it properly. You should give it to me."
"Fine."
Harry tossed the stone to Dumbledore and walked away without looking back.
Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't heard the answer he wanted, or maybe he never intended to give the stone to anyone. To him, it was just a tool for testing.
If Harry hadn't already learned how to create his own Philosopher's Stone, he might have had a serious talk with Dumbledore. But now, his mind was set on bigger things, and he had no interest in a subpar artifact.
Gryffindor Common Room
Harry's two closest advisors were visibly anxious. They had a rough idea of what had happened recently, and when Harry vanished that evening, they'd made their guesses. Though they trusted him, their worry was unavoidable. Only when Harry returned safely did they breathe a sigh of relief.
"You're finally back!" Hermione said, patting her chest. "I was scared to death, thinking something happened to you. I couldn't find Professor Dumbledore, so I only told Professor McGonagall."
"You okay?" Ron added, not to be outdone, showing his concern for Harry.
"Lollipop…" Harry muttered, then waved it off. "I'm fine. Turns out Voldemort was hiding in Quirrell all along. I told Professor Dumbledore, and he suggested I face off against Voldemort again to test some of his theories."
"What?!" Ron and Hermione exclaimed in unison.
Even after a year of getting used to Harry, Ron no longer flinched at the name Voldemort, and Hermione had grown accustomed to the wizarding world's often bizarre mindset. But tonight's revelation still shocked them.
Harry wasn't joking, was he? Voldemort was at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore was really that reckless?
Harry continued, "Dumbledore told me Voldemort was after the Philosopher's Stone. I followed him and found him. He's in a bad state right now…"
Harry briefly described the obstacles and Voldemort's current half-dead condition.
Ron and Hermione gasped, the tale sounding like a mix of a fairy-tale adventure and a ghostly wizarding horror story.
"…He got away. I only killed Quirrell. Dumbledore said he can't do much about Voldemort in his current state, so he didn't bother chasing him. I gave the stone back to Dumbledore in the end."
"I don't think he cares much about the stone either," Harry added. "I'm starting to suspect Voldemort's belief that the stone would revive him was just wishful thinking."
"No," Hermione said thoughtfully, "judging by Dumbledore's reaction, it probably has some use. But maybe it comes at a cost… Voldemort's the kind of fool who doesn't care what he has to sacrifice to get what he wants."
Harry told them everything—well, almost everything, except for the existence of the system. He trusted his friends, especially since their loyalty had maxed out early on. If Ron weren't so terrible at keeping secrets, he might have even told them about the system. With his five-point charisma and the system's keen insight, if Harry couldn't trust them, he'd start questioning whether this world was even real.
Ron was still hung up on the fact that they didn't get the stone—a source of endless gold and immortality. Immortality was one thing; they were still kids. But the gold! Ron had grown up poor and couldn't let it go.
Harry almost suggested Ron join him in Diagon Alley's underbelly over the summer—killing, robbing, and claiming territory. Even temps got benefits: health insurance, hazard pay, free food and lodging, and triple overtime. A summer's work could earn more than most adult wizards made in a year or two. The Night's Watch—his crew of wizards—could cast six spells a second, and their loyalty grew fast.
Harry had robbed Gringotts to spend the gold, not hoard it like some fantasy dragon. With his own Philosopher's Stone in the works, he'd never lack for money.
But Ron was still too young. Eleven was a bit early for blood. Oh well.
Harry wasn't Dumbledore, after all.
"By the way, have you guys eaten? I'm starving."
Killing had worked up an appetite.
Ron nodded, then shook his head. He'd eaten but hadn't saved anything.
Hermione shot Ron a withering look before proudly presenting a pile of pies and cakes, offering them to Harry like a treasure.
"I saved these for you, Harry. Eat up!"
Ron glared at Hermione, thinking, "Damn you, you little sycophant! I was here first!"
Hermione glared back. "Being here first doesn't mean anything. That's why I'm the chief strategist and you're the second-in-command. Progress takes brains, which you clearly lack."
Their gazes sparked in the air—a figure of speech, not literal electric eyes, though Harry's eyes did occasionally flicker with thunderous fire when he went all out.
The school year was nearly over. Hagrid could no longer keep Norbert, the baby dragon, hidden and handed it over to Harry. Harry used a secret passage the Weasley twins had told him about to smuggle Norbert out, where his crew was waiting to take over. They also updated him on the state of Diagon Alley's underbelly.
Hedwig had already delivered messages to them. Say what you will—owls were pretty useful. Hedwig: I finally get a cameo after a whole year!
Harry's crew, the wizards dubbed the "Night's Watch," had started as ordinary folks. But over the past year, with Harry's remote authorization, they'd built training grounds and honed their skills, undergoing a second growth spurt as they evolved into elite wizards. For now, it was just skill proficiency, but attribute growth would come later.
Controlling an underage dragon was no issue for them. United, with their group buffs, they held Diagon Alley's underbelly firmly in their grip, even without Harry's presence. No major incidents had occurred.
As for Norbert's mother, Hagrid had been completely in the dark, despite being the one feeding Harry hints all along. Poor Hagrid, played like a fiddle by the riddle-loving Dumbledore.
Did Dumbledore manipulate all his subordinates like this?
"It's all—my—fault!" Hagrid sobbed, covering his face. "I told that villain how to get past Fluffy! I told him! He knew everything else, but not that, and I just had to tell him! You could've died! All for a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be kicked out and live as a Muggle forever!"
"Hagrid!" Harry comforted him. "He would've found out one way or another. It's Voldemort. He just wanted the easiest way, but even if you hadn't told him, he'd have figured it out."
"You're a true hero!" Hagrid said through sniffles. "Oh, don't say that name!"
"He's not that scary, Voldemort," Harry said, still soothing. "He got hurt this time and didn't get the stone. He'll be quiet for at least a couple of years. Have a Chocolate Frog—I've got tons."
Hagrid wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "That reminds me, I've got a gift for you."
"What? More food?" Harry grinned, and Hagrid managed a weak smile.
"No, Dumbledore gave me a day off yesterday to put this together. He really should've sacked me, though—here, this is for you."
It was a beautiful leather-bound book. Harry opened it curiously and found it filled with wizarding photographs. On every page, his parents smiled and waved at him.
"I sent owls to your parents' old classmates, asking for photos," Hagrid said. "I knew you didn't have any of them… Do you like it?"
Harry was speechless, but Hagrid understood completely.
The Last Day
The Great Hall was packed for the end-of-year feast, decorated in Slytherin's green and silver to celebrate their seventh consecutive House Cup victory. A massive banner with the Slytherin snake hung behind the head table.
As Harry entered, the hall fell silent. Whispers broke out in the Slytherin section. He took his seat at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Hermione.
Moments later, Dumbledore arrived.
"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully. "Before we indulge in these delicious dishes, I must trouble you to listen to an old man's ramblings. What a splendid year! Your little minds must be richer than before… You've got the whole summer to digest it all and make room for next term."
"Now, as I understand it, we must award the House Cup. The points are as follows: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with 352 points; third, Ravenclaw, with 406 points; second, Gryffindor, with 413 points; and first, Slytherin, with 472 points."
Gryffindor's score was largely thanks to Harry's easy Quidditch Cup win and his relentless point-earning in classes other than Potions. He never got caught breaking rules, despite his frequent nighttime wanderings, so deductions were minimal.
Not that Harry cared much. If Snape played favorites, Harry could've easily earned the points back.
Slytherin's table erupted in quiet cheers. Many glanced at Harry, noticing his indifference, which only made their cheers louder.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore said. "However, recent events must also be taken into account."
The hall went dead silent, and Slytherin's smiles faded.
"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I have some last-minute points to award. Let's see… Yes."
"Harry Potter…" The hall grew even quieter. "For his fearless courage and extraordinary bravery in defeating the dark wizard Quirrell, who infiltrated Hogwarts, and protecting the Philosopher's Stone, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."
Dumbledore had softened the story, avoiding mention of Harry's killing or the gruesome details of Quirrell's fate. As a powerful figure, Dumbledore used his influence sparingly, ensuring Harry wouldn't face a wizarding trial for the act.
If anyone had been standing outside the hall, they might've thought an explosion had gone off. With the sixty points, Gryffindor surpassed Slytherin, and the Gryffindor table erupted in waves of cheers.
All eyes were on Harry. A grown dark wizard had infiltrated Hogwarts, unnoticed by the professors, and Harry had defeated him with apparent ease. But he was the famous Harry Potter, so it wasn't surprising.
"This means," Dumbledore shouted over the thunderous applause, as even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff joined in celebrating Slytherin's sudden defeat, "we need a little change in decoration."
He clapped his hands, and the green banners turned scarlet, the silver ones gold. The Slytherin snake vanished, replaced by a majestic Gryffindor lion.
Snape, now a witch, shook hands with McGonagall, forcing an awkward smile. Her gaze met Harry's, radiating unmasked malice tinged with a hint of buried concern. Well, that wasn't so bad.
Harry's mood lifted. By the Seven's lacy knickers, I'm a bloody genius!
Oh, and the exams—Harry, Ron, and Hermione all passed with high marks. Hermione, the natural scholar, aced the written tests. Harry, with his system and raw talent, dominated the practicals. Ron rode their coattails—proximity to greatness had its perks.
With report cards in hand, it was time to leave. Hogwarts didn't keep students over the summer.
Harry went to Dumbledore to claim the Sword of Gryffindor, as agreed. Dumbledore lent it to him, advising him not to kill anyone over the summer, even bad people—they should face legal justice. Also, to spend some time at the Dursleys' to ensure an extra layer of protection.
Notices went out to all students, warning them not to use magic during the holidays. Harry had no intention of complying—Diagon Alley's underbelly was safe enough, and he could always use a different wand.
Hagrid led them to the boats crossing the lake.
The wind rose. They boarded the Hogwarts Express, chatting and laughing as the countryside grew greener and tidier.
The train passed Muggle towns as they munched on Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, shedding their wizard robes for jackets and shirts. Finally, the train pulled into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross.
"You can come to our house this summer," Ron said. "Harry, I still can't believe I'm your friend."
"Thanks," Harry said. "It's an honor to know you too, Ron. You're a great wizard and helped me a ton. Let's be friends for life."
"For life…" Ron's eyes misted, and he let out a goofy laugh.
Hermione clenched her fists, glaring at Ron with gritted teeth. "Why should you get all the credit just for meeting him first, sharing a dorm, sleeping in bunk beds? Damn it, if I were a boy, I could sleep with Harry!"
She looked at Harry with puppy-dog eyes, like a big golden retriever.
"You too, Hermione," Harry said. "You're both my best friends in this world."
He meant it—his even closer friends weren't in this world, after all.
They headed toward the exit to the Muggle world, people pushing past them, some shouting:
"Bye, Harry!"
"See you, Potter!"
"Great Lion King!"
"Hey, Mr. Potter!"
"Hail to you, long live!"
"Still so famous," Ron said, grinning at him.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione passed through the barrier.
"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!"
It was Ginny, Ron's sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.
"It's the legendary Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum, I saw him—"
"Don't shout, Ginny. It's rude to point," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling down at them. "Busy year?"
"Very," Harry said. "Thanks for the fudge and sweater, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it's nothing, dear."
"Ready, are you?"
It was Uncle Vernon, there reluctantly. Dumbledore had paid him a visit recently, furious that the Dursleys were partly responsible for how Harry had turned out. Vernon didn't dare argue—Dumbledore was terrifying when angry.
Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley, looking panicked at the sight of Harry.
Dumbledore and Harry—both so frightening.
"You must be Harry's family!" Mrs. Weasley said.
"In a manner of speaking," Vernon said. "Hurry up, boy—I mean, Harry. Let's get home. That headmaster fellow said… I've got a new room ready for you."
Harry lingered to say a few more words to Ron and Hermione.
"See you after the summer, then."
"Have a—er—pleasant holiday," Hermione said, eyeing Vernon skeptically, shocked that Harry's relatives were so ordinary and ill-mannered.
"Oh, I will," Harry said, flashing a brilliant smile that surprised both Ron and Hermione.
"One more thing," he added. "I've got some ideas about the Philosopher's Stone. This summer, I'm going to try making one myself. Wait for my good news…"
"What?" Hermione froze, thinking he was joking.
But Harry was already waving, dragging a massive but utterly unresisting Dudley behind him as he walked off into the distance.