Harry awoke slowly, the world swimming back into focus not with a jolt, but with the gentle, rhythmic beeping of a monitoring charm and the sterile scent of the hospital wing. His head ached, but the searing, agonizing pain in his scar was gone, replaced by a dull throb. He sat up to find a mountain of sweets and "get well soon" cards on his bedside table. And sitting in a chair beside him, his blue eyes twinkling with a weary but profound relief, was Albus Dumbledore.
The Headmaster explained everything with a serene patience: how Harry's mother's love had left a mark of protection on him, a magic so old and powerful that Voldemort, inhabiting Quirrell, could not bear to be touched by it. He explained how the Stone had been destroyed, a mutual decision made with his friend Nicolas Flamel, to prevent it from ever being a temptation again.
When Harry asked about the events of the duel, Dumbledore's expression grew more complex. "You, Harry, performed an act of pure, selfless bravery. And Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley showed a loyalty that any friend would cherish." He paused, his gaze becoming distant. "As for Miss Dumbledore… she demonstrated a form of magic, a control of will, that goes far beyond any curriculum. She stood as a shield, not just for Professor McGonagall, but for all of you. She paid a heavy price in energy, but she held the line."
The aftermath of their subterranean adventure echoed through the school. They were no longer the pariahs who had lost Gryffindor a hundred and fifty points. They were legends. The story, in its simplified, school-yard version, was that the four of them (and McGonagall) had faced down a dark wizard and saved the school. Their status soared.
Life returned to a semblance of normality, but with a new undercurrent of respect. Final exams approached, a prospect that terrified most of the first years but was met by Ariana and Hermione with a calm, surgical precision. They didn't just study; they synthesized.
Their notes were a tapestry of established spell-craft, advanced theory, and Ariana's unique insights into the fundamental grammar of magic. Harry and Ron, beneficiaries of this intellectual powerhouse, found themselves better prepared than they had any right to be.
The exams were, for Ariana, a simple exercise in recitation. She wrote flawless essays on the properties of moonstone, transfigured a mouse into an ornate silver snuffbox and back with silent ease, and performed every charm with an artistry that left her examiners scribbling furiously on their clipboards. She and Hermione, unsurprisingly, tied for the top spot in the year, their scores a perfect, unbroken line of 'Outstandings'.
The end-of-year feast arrived. The Great Hall was decked in the green and silver of Slytherin. They had won the House Cup, a fact that Professor Snape seemed to relish with a smug, triumphant sneer that was particularly directed at Harry. The mood at the Gryffindor table was funereal.
Dumbledore rose to speak, his voice filling the hall. After a few preliminary remarks, he smiled.
"However, I believe we have some last-minute points to award."
A hush fell over the hall.
"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley," Dumbledore announced, "for the support of a friend even in the face of peril, I award Gryffindor fifty points."
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Ron turned a shade of scarlet that matched his hair.
"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger," he continued, "for the use of cool logic for a friends defense, I award Gryffindor fifty points."
Hermione buried her face in her arms, but Harry could see her beaming.
"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter," Dumbledore's voice grew stronger, "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor sixty points."
The noise was deafening. Gryffindor was now tied with Slytherin.
"And finally," Dumbledore boomed, silencing the hall once more. He looked directly towards the Gryffindor table, his eyes finding Ariana. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies. And it takes a power beyond measure to stand as a shield for your friends against them all." His voice filled with a profound respect. "For unparalleled magical proficiency, tactical brilliance, and the wisdom to seek counsel when faced with overwhelming odds, I award Miss Ariana Dumbledore seventy points."
The explosion of sound from the Gryffindor table was an avalanche. They had done it. They had won. With a clap of his hands, Dumbledore changed the green and silver banners to a triumphant scarlet and gold. The feast that followed was the happiest Harry had ever experienced. Even Snape, forced to shake Professor McGonagall's hand, looked less sour than usual, his gaze flickering towards Ariana with a grudging look of her hidden Slytherin tendencies he was beginning to decipher.
The train ride back to London was a joyous, relaxed affair. The four of them shared a compartment, the atmosphere a world away from the awkward, tentative meeting at the beginning of the year. They were a unit, battle-forged and bound by shared secrets. They talked of their summer plans.
Ron was ecstatic to be returning to the Burrow. Hermione was off to France with her parents, though she promised to write constantly. Harry, clutching the precious photo album, faced the prospect of the Dursleys with a quiet, grim resignation.
"What about you, Ariana?" Harry asked. "Are you going back to the orphanage?"
Ariana looked out the window at the rolling green English countryside. "I suppose so," she said, her voice neutral. St. Jude's felt like a lifetime ago, a place from a different story.
When the Hogwarts Express finally steamed into King's Cross Station, the transition back to the mundane world was jarring. They said their goodbyes on the platform, promising to write. Harry went off to find the Dursleys, Ron vanished through the barrier with his family, and Hermione was swept into a hug by her beaming parents.
Ariana stood alone for a moment, her trunk beside her, the roar of the station a familiar but alien sound. She was preparing to find a taxi back to the orphanage, to a summer of quiet, solitary study, when a calm, familiar voice spoke her name.
"A moment, if you please, Miss Dumbledore."
She turned. Albus Dumbledore was standing there, having appeared from the crowd as if by magic. He had shed his flamboyant robes for a simple but well-cut tweed suit, though the twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, the noise of the station seemed to fade into a respectful hush around them.
"I confess," he said, his voice low and for her ears only, "that I do not believe St. Jude's Orphanage is a suitable environment for your continued development. Your talents require… a different sort of nourishment."
He reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket and produced a thick, creamy envelope, sealed not with the Hogwarts crest, but with a single, elegant wax seal depicting a phoenix in flight.
"Your arrangements for the summer have been altered," he explained. "This letter is for the Head Goblin at Gringotts. Present it to him, and him alone. He will understand what is required. You will be provided with a Portkey."
Ariana took the letter, the parchment warm and thrumming with a faint, powerful magic. "A Portkey? To where, Professor?"
A genuine, fond smile touched Dumbledore's lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "To a quiet country home in Devon. A place of immense knowledge, where you will be most welcome. You will be staying with some very old, very dear friends of mine." He leaned in slightly, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I believe you are already familiar with their work. You will be the guest of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel."
The name landed not with a shock, but with a sense of profound, quiet rightness. It was the most logical, most perfect solution imaginable. A summer spent not in a mundane orphanage, but in the home of the world's greatest alchemist, a place of ancient magic and deep, scholarly peace. It was not just a vacation; it was an apprenticeship. It was Dumbledore's ultimate act of protection and acknowledgement, placing her in a sanctuary where she could truly flourish, far from the prying eyes of the Ministry and the coming storm that would inevitably surround Harry Potter.
"I see," Ariana said, her voice perfectly calm, but a spark of genuine, intellectual excitement lit her periwinkle eyes. "That is… acceptable."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I thought it might be. Have a wonderful summer, my dear. I suspect you will find it most educational."
With a final, meaningful look, he turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving Ariana standing alone on the bustling platform. She looked down at the letter in her hand, the key to the next chapter of her extraordinary life. The first year was over. The foundation had been laid. Now, it was time to begin the real work, to delve into the ancient secrets of a magic she was born to weave.