Harry was in darkness. Zabini and the others chatted, but he couldn't keep up. Ron and Hermione were lost in their own world, leaving him alone. Draco drifted away. Harry struggled to chase them, but his legs wouldn't move. Something gripped his foot—Quirrell, face charred, clutching him. Harry couldn't escape.
Then, someone approached. Asclepius. They were at Platform 9¾, Hagrid waving goodbye. No Sirius. Harry and Asclepius headed to the Dursleys…
"No!" Harry screamed, waking. Dumbledore's white beard and crystal-blue eyes loomed over him. Harry realized he was in Hogwarts' hospital wing, not the Dursleys'. Memories of fighting Quirrell flooded back. His anger at Dumbledore vanished.
"Professor! Quirrell… he was after the Stone! He tried to revive him! I stopped him, but his hand burned, and the Devil's Snare…" (Did he take the Stone? What happened? The others? Quirrell?)
Harry paled, trembling, recalling Quirrell's murderous glare and the Snare strangling them both.
"Calm down, Harry. Breathe. Quirrell didn't get the Stone or the Elixir," Dumbledore said gently, his words soothing Harry despite his lingering resentment.
"It was close," Dumbledore continued, explaining. "Your friends saved you. Sadalphas stalled Crabbe and Goyle with magic. Malfoy stopped Sadalphas but didn't chase Azrael, who rushed to Snape. Snape summoned me, and I reached you as Quirrell attacked."
(Azrael… so like him.) Harry recalled Azrael's care for Slytherin's unity. Running to Snape, their head, made sense.
Harry felt deep gratitude for Snape. Despite his harsh classes, Snape saved him. "Thank you, Professor," Harry said to Dumbledore, swallowing his anger. Dumbledore shook his head.
"Thank Snape, not me. Though he might not accept it."
"Why does Snape hate me?"
"I don't know," Dumbledore deflected, then shifted topics. "I destroyed the Philosopher's Stone."
"But… it was priceless, made by you and Flamel!"
"The Flamels agreed. The Stone's Elixir gives life to everything, not always for good. You saw the Devil's Snare."
"But used right, it could save people… Did I destroy it?" Harry feared he'd ruined it.
"No, Harry. It was bait for Voldemort. We planned to destroy it after. You retrieving it let us do that."
"You shouldn't say that name…"
"It's just a symbol," Dumbledore said calmly. "Fearing it amplifies terror. 'You-Know-Who' is Voldemort's propaganda."
The Flamels chose to end their lives without the Stone, Dumbledore added. "Voldemort fears death most. He can't grasp their choice or yours. To a well-ordered mind, death is just the next adventure."
Harry struggled to understand. "I don't get it."
"You will, in time," Dumbledore said gently. Harry thought of Quirrell, who feared death most.
"What happened to Quirrell?" Harry dreaded the answer, fearing he'd killed him. (If I did, I can't stay here. I'll be expelled, sent to Azkaban…)
"Voldemort killed Quirrell," Dumbledore said gravely. "It's my fault. When I arrived, Voldemort fled, draining Quirrell's magic and life. Even the Elixir can't save a taken life."
Harry's vision darkened, tears streaming. "Quirrell tried to fight Voldemort," he choked out. "I saw him with you, and facing Voldemort…"
Dumbledore silently wiped Harry's tears with a wand flick. Harry recalled Hagrid saying great wizards mastered languages, like Quirrell with trolls. "He said he could control trolls, speak their tongue… He was a great wizard…"
"No," Dumbledore said coldly. "Quirrell tried to kill you, a student. No reason justifies that. A person's path is set by choices, not ability." He pointed his wand at Harry's bedside, revealing colorful sweets, flowers, and get-well messages from Zabini, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, even unknown Slytherins.
"True greatness lies in loving others, like your friends."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. They gazed at the gifts in silence.
"Sirius rushed here when you fell, guarding you during treatment," Dumbledore said.
Warmth filled Harry's chest. "Your friends regret not keeping up with you. Show them your smile. That's what you owe their friendship. They want peaceful days at Hogwarts with you—crying, laughing, learning, fighting, even playing sometimes. You've earned that right. Your choices stopped Voldemort, saving the wizarding world."
"But my spells didn't work…"
Harry remembered Quirrell's hand burning. "Why couldn't he kill me? I should've died…"
"It's time you knew," Dumbledore said. Harry's mother's love protected him, repelling Voldemort. That protection lingered, making Harry untouchable to him.
Harry bowed his head, thinking of his parents. Dumbledore continued: to sustain the protection, Harry must return to the Dursleys.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry's anger and confusion surged.
"I lacked the courage to burden you further. I feared you'd hate Sirius, so I let you direct that anger at me."
(He knew everything—how I'd feel?) Harry felt like Dumbledore's puppet, infuriated that even his resentment was anticipated.
Dumbledore revealed he'd given Harry the Invisibility Cloak, his father's. "I'm glad it helped."
"It did," Harry admitted uneasily. "We investigated a lot with it." It felt like confessing rule-breaking.
"Good," Dumbledore smiled, sharing the Stone's backstory. Eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans together, Harry saw Dumbledore tear up, baffled. (Which is the real Dumbledore? The manipulator or this sentimental old man?)
Watching Madam Pomfrey scold Dumbledore out for giving sweets to a patient, Harry pondered him endlessly.
In the headmaster's office, Snape, clad in black, raged. "Expel Potter now!"
He listed Harry's violations: aiding intruders, sneaking out, dueling, attempted murder. "He's James Potter's clone! Ignoring rules! He'll corrupt others! Expel him and his friends!"
"Harry's well-behaved, friendly across Houses," Dumbledore countered. "His actions saved the Stone. No reason for expulsion."
Snape wasn't serious—he was venting stress. "You know my burden! Potter gets special treatment! No matter my warnings, he won't stop! Is this fair?"
"You're a better teacher than I, Severus," Dumbledore said, halting Snape's tirade. "Teaching Harry discipline is your job as head of Slytherin. If it's too much, I'll address it."
Dumbledore praised Snape's role in the Stone's defense. Snape left, his step lighter.
"Dumbledore knew everything and let Harry face You-Know-Who? He's mad!" Ron whistled, admiring Dumbledore's cunning, as he, Hermione, Zabini, Azrael, and Farkas visited Harry.
"Not mad, Ron! Cruel!" Hermione snapped. "Harry could've died!"
"Exactly!" Azrael agreed. "If my dad had Ministry connections, Dumbledore'd be out!"
"Thanks, Azrael, Hermione," Harry said, touched.
Zabini and Farkas focused on his recovery. "Get well soon. Slytherin's survival depends on you," Zabini teased.
"Take responsibility, Potter! We've got your notes—thank us!" Farkas added.
"Mostly Granger's copies," Zabini smirked.
"No one outdoes Hermione's notes," Farkas grinned.
"Shut up, Bloom, Weasley. It's about claiming credit," Zabini quipped.
"Thanks, Zabini. I'll be out soon, catching up with your notes," Harry said.
"Saved the Stone and still studying?" Zabini grimaced, biting a cockroach-flavored bean.
"Because I saved it, I'm just studying," Harry laughed.
They praised each other's efforts. Harry cherished returning to normalcy, his friends easing Quirrell's shadow. As they left, he thought, (Studying, huh? Some hero…)
"You sound like Percy sometimes," Zabini teased.
"Yeah, but I want to study now. I couldn't do anything in that fight. Just luck."
The group fell silent, listening intently. Harry, embarrassed, continued, "With proper knowledge, I could change things next time. Maybe even make a Stone. Let's hang out after I'm out—mess around, have fun."
"Yes, Harry. Let's play until exams, then compete fairly," Hermione challenged.
"Bring it on," Harry replied.
"Not very Slytherin, taking a losing bet," Azrael teased.
"Let's bet on it, Azrael. Four Sickles on Granger," Zabini said.
"Four Knuts on Granger," Farkas added.
"That's no bet!" Ron laughed.
Amid their laughter, Harry belonged. (This is right.)
That night, Quirrell didn't haunt his dreams.
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