The chamber echoed with silence after Voldemort's wraith vanished. Quirrell's body lay still on the stone floor.
I ran to Ron and Hermione, snapping the ropes with a flick of my hand. "You two okay?"
Ron rubbed his wrists, still pale. "I think so. My legs feel like jelly, though."
Hermione's voice shook. "Harry… what was that?"
I hesitated. Then sighed. "Voldemort. Or what's left of him. And before you panic, he wasn't here for me. He was here for the Stone."
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione whispered.
"The very one," I said, turning back to the Mirror of Erised.
Its surface shimmered as I stepped closer.
My reflection moved differently this time. It reached into its pocket and pulled out a blood red stone, glinting like fire.
A moment later, something heavy dropped into my real pocket.
I pulled it free. The Stone.
Ron's eyes bugged out. "Blimey… so what's so special about it?"
"Two things," I said, holding it up. "Immortality and unlimited gold. Which means the two worst things you could hand Voldemort on a silver platter."
Hermione frowned. "Then why could you get it?"
I shrugged. "Because I didn't want to use it. I just wanted to stop him. Mirror seems to like intent."
They exchanged glances. Ron muttered, "That's mental."
Later, when the Aurors had taken Quirrell's body away and the chamber was sealed, Dumbledore arrived.
His eyes went straight to the Stone in my hand.
"Ah," he said softly. "So the Mirror yielded it to you."
"Yeah," I said, turning it in my palm. "And before I hand it over deal time."
One of his brows arched. "Deal?"
"Personal tutoring," I said bluntly. "From you. All seven years. I'm not wasting my time playing catch up when I could be building real skill."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he didn't speak, so I pressed on.
"And in later years, access to the Restricted Section of the library."
His smile faded into something more serious. "That part, I must refuse. Dark magic is… influential. It corrupts even strong minds."
"Fine," I said with a shrug. "We'll just keep that part verbal, then."
He gave me a long, searching look.
I kept my face neutral.
Finally, he chuckled softly. "Very well. Personal tutoring it shall be. Every year. But Harry no dark magic."
"Understood," I said, and handed him the Stone.
For a moment, our fingers brushed. His eyes met mine, old and wise, but I didn't flinch.
"Clever boy," he murmured. "You drive a harder bargain than some ministers I've known."
I grinned faintly. "Then I'll make a great lawyer someday."
-----------------------------------------
The weeks after the Stone incident blurred into parchment and ink stains.
Classes ran as usual, but there was an undercurrent now, students whispering about Quirrell's sudden "illness" and then his disappearance.
The official story was thin. I didn't correct it.
Hermione went full throttle into exam prep. She had colour-coded revision timetables, practice essays, and enough parchment to smother a troll.
Ron, surprisingly, didn't complain much this time. After being tied to a wall by a possessed professor, he took his work a little more seriously.
When I asked why, he just muttered, "Not gonna be the weak link again," and bent over his notes.
I studied alongside them, though for me most of it was review.
My memory was sharper, my control finer.
Spells that other students sweated over felt like warm ups.
The exam week hit hard.
In Charms, Flitwick tested practical spellwork. My wand flicked, precise, steady. Hermione matched me beat for beat, beams of light sparking and fading.
Flitwick clapped his hands, eyes shining like a child at Christmas.
In Transfiguration, McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she inspected my work, a beetle turned into a flawless silver button.
Hermione's gleamed just as bright. The professor allowed herself the tiniest approving nod.
Potions was trickier. Snape prowled like a shark, waiting for us to slip. Ron sweated bullets but pulled through. Hermione's potion glowed textbook perfect.
Mine shimmered with a slight improvement I'd added from one of Lily's notes.
Snape's eyes lingered on it longer than I liked, then swept away without comment.
Even the written papers went smoothly. My handwriting wasn't pretty, but my answers cut straight to the point.
Hermione's were neat essays. Ron's were scrappy, but shocker accurate.
When the results finally went up on the board, the Great Hall buzzed. Students clustered, craning necks.
Hermione scanned the parchment, lips moving as she traced names. Then her eyes widened. She turned to me, half-incredulous, half-delighted.
"We tied," she whispered.
I leaned over, reading the list. Sure enough, first place: Granger, Hermione and Potter, Harry.
I smirked. "Guess the system couldn't handle both of us being number one."
Ron shoved between us, scanning for his name. "Bloody hell, forth place? I'll take that!"
Hermione blinked. "You worked for it."
Ron grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well. Turns out nearly dying's good motivation."
I chuckled. "Gryffindor slogan right there."
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DMLE Report (Confidential)
Case File #1124-Q
Subject: Quirinus Quirrell
Date: 6 June 1992
Filed by: Director Amelia Susan Bones
Summary:
Quirinus Quirrell, Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was discovered deceased in the third floor chamber.
Findings:
Magical residue consistent with high-level possession curse detected.
Subject's body showed extreme magical exhaustion and internal scarring, typical of long term parasitic attachment.
Cause of death determined as magical collapse upon the detachment of possessing entity.
Notes:
The possessing entity is suspected but not named in official record, to prevent panic.
Witness testimony (Potter, Granger, Weasley) suggests survival of a known Dark wizard. This remains classified Level Five information, restricted to DMLE senior officers and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
Public Statement Prepared:
"Professor Quirrell has stepped down due to sudden illness. He will not be returning to Hogwarts."
Action:
Body disposed of via St. Mungo's secure ward cremation. Case closed, but watchlist updated.
Signed,
Amelia S. Bones
-----------------------------------------
The Great Hall glittered under floating candles, house banners bright as the evening sun.
Gryffindor roared when the final points crowned us House Cup winners. Ron nearly split his lungs cheering. Hermione clapped until her hands went red.
Fred and George sang a victory song so off key it should've been illegal.
I just sat back, soaking it in. Food piled high, laughter filling the rafters. For once, it felt like a school, not a battlefield.
But across the hall, the Slytherin table was quieter. Heads bent together, whispers running like snakes through grass.
And I caught a few eyes flicking to me.
Slytherin POV*
Theodore Nott scribbled a note in the margin of his book as he leaned toward Daphne Greengrass.
"He's… different," he muttered. "Potter. Too calm. Too sharp. Not like a kid."
Daphne swirled her pumpkin juice. "He embarrassed Malfoy twice. No one does that and walks away unscathed. He's dangerous."
Blaise Zabini smirked. "Dangerous isn't bad. Dangerous means interesting. I'd rather watch him than listen to Malfoy brag about his father again."
They clinked glasses quietly. The Slytherin table may have lost the Cup, but they'd gained something else: respect mixed with wariness.
Harry Potter wasn't just a Gryffindor. He was a variable.
-----------------------------------------
The feast ended with songs, banners, and Dumbledore's eyes lingering on me just a bit too long. Then, like always, it was time to pack.
Trunks loaded, pets rounded up, and a flood of students toward the train.
On the Hogwarts Express, Ron demolished chocolate frogs while Hermione reviewed notes "just for fun." I leaned against the window, watching green fields blur by.
Normal. Almost.
-----------------------------------------
Dumbledore POV*
In his office, Albus Dumbledore sat alone, Fawkes shifting on his perch.
"Voldemort is weaker than he has ever been," Albus murmured, fingers steepled, "and yet… alive."
He thought of the Philosopher's Stone, now destroyed. Of Harry's eyes, steady and unflinching. Too steady for his age.
"He will be tested again," Dumbledore whispered. "The question is whether the boy is only surviving… or already thriving."
-----------------------------------------
The train screeched to a halt. Steam rolled across the platform, students spilling into the arms of waiting families.
Ron spotted the Weasleys and bolted. Hermione's parents hugged her tight. I stood there, the crowd thinning, waiting.
And then I saw him.
Sirius Black, thinner but cleaner, standing tall in a worn but fine cloak. Beside him, a man I recognized from stories and old photos.
Shaggy brown hair, kind but tired eyes.
Remus Lupin.
"Harry," Sirius said, voice cracking as he strode forward. He pulled me into a hug so tight it nearly cracked a rib. "Merlin's beard… you're real. You're here."
Remus smiled faintly. "James's walk, Lily's eyes. And something more. You've grown."
I grinned. "So you're the reinforcements, huh?"
"Family," Sirius corrected, still gripping my shoulder. "And you're coming with us."
For the first time since stepping through the barrier months ago, I felt it. Not just victory. Not just survival.
Belonging.
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