“Did I kill him?”
Dumbledore sighed and rested a hand briefly on Harry’s arm.
“What happened to Professor Quirrell was not your fault, my boy. He killed himself the moment he allowed Voldemort to possess him. His body lasted only moments after the wraith abandoned him.”
“So Voldemort escaped.”
Harry scowled.
Of course the monster had slipped away.
Anyone who could survive being killed once could probably survive being half-killed.
“Yes. Voldemort is no kinder to his servants than to his enemies. He fled the moment Quirinus ceased to be a useful host.”
“And the Stone, sir? How did I get it out? What happened to it afterwards?”
“A rather clever enchantment, if I do say so myself.” The twinkle returned.
“Only someone who wished to find the Stone but not use it could retrieve it. Few would meet that description—certainly neither Quirrell nor Voldemort.”
“And after?”
“I have spoken with Nicolas. He agreed the Stone had to be destroyed; the risk of another attempt was simply too great. He and Perenelle retain enough Elixir to set their affairs in order before the end.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“Life, unfortunately, is rarely fair, my boy.” The twinkle faded for a moment, then Dumbledore looked up with a soft smile.
“Do you have any other questions?”
Harry considered.
“Voldemort said Snape hated my father while they were at school…”
“Professor Snape, Harry. And yes—your father and Severus disliked each other intensely. Matters grew worse when James later saved Severus’s life. I do not believe Severus ever forgave him for that.”
Harry frowned.
The logic made no sense.
“Can you at least tell me why he hates me?” “I am sure you exaggerate. Professor Snape may not favour you, but he certainly does not hate you.”
Harry
“Yes, well… I believe I should be going. It was good to—”
“Wait. One more thing.” Dumbledore inclined his head.
“Voldemort said he came that night only for me—that he offered my mother the chance to step aside. Why was he after a baby? Why did he care?”
A flicker of something—unease, perhaps—crossed the old man’s face before he smoothed it away.
“Alas, my boy, I cannot answer that yet. You are far too young, far too innocent. I know you dislike hearing it, but when you are older I will tell you what he meant.”
Harry scowled.
“I’ve lived with the Dursleys for ten years, Professor. I haven’t been innocent since I was five.”
Dumbledore only gave him a patronising smile and that damnable twinkle.
“Be that as it may, I will not burden you with it now. Have a pleasant day, Harry.”
As the Headmaster left, Harry snorted and dropped back against the pillows.
“Typical adult,” he muttered, then raised his voice slightly.
“You can stop pretending now, Hermione.”
A second later a bushy-haired blur launched itself at him, arms locking around his chest so tightly he could barely breathe.
“I—was—so—scared!” she sobbed into his shirt.
“You—were—screaming—and—you’v e—been—out—for—two—days!” “Shh.” Harry patted her hair and gently eased her back enough to meet her eyes.
“I’m fine now. See?” She nodded slowly.
“Did you and Neville meet Shiva and Dumbledore on the way out?”
“No.” Hermione wiped her eyes, finally steadying enough to speak clearly.
“We waited in the potion room, hoping the vial would refill so one of us could follow you. After a few minutes Professor Babbling burst in with Dumbledore right behind her. When she saw us she started cursing—mostly cursing you—then cast a Flame-Freezing Charm on the far doorway and ran through. We followed. That’s when we found you… you had collapsed…” Another sob escaped before she drew a deep breath.
“They brought you straight here. Neville and the twins have visited, and most of the Quidditch team. A few others from the tower stopped by as well. I think Lavender left the hair-charms book… I might borrow it if you don’t mind.” This story is hosted at novelping . com.
Harry chuckled.
At least she was babbling instead of crying.
“I don’t think you need it, but go ahead. Your hair is part of what makes you you.” Hermione’s eyes widened; Harry rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.
“So—what are the odds the Flamels turn up again in a few decades once this whole mess is forgotten?”
Hermione snorted.
“I don’t know whether Professor Dumbledore truly believes he destroyed the Stone or merely wants us to believe it, but I would never take that bet. You don’t survive six centuries without a few contingencies and the occasional thief to deal with.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Hermione sat back, suddenly hesitant.
“Harry… about what you said concerning your family…”
“My relatives,” he corrected tonelessly.
“The Dursleys are my relatives. Not my family.”
“Yes… your relatives…”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. Please.” His voice softened into a plea.
“Just… let it go for now?”
Hermione frowned, then gave a short, reluctant nod.
“All right. But we are going to have to talk about it someday.”
.
.
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