Chapter Text
The light wasn’t brilliant snow white anymore. It was more like a sort of gentle, creamy off white. The nasty smell of burnt flesh and garlic was gone, and the ground felt soft and comfortable. In fact, now that Harry thought about it… it wasn’t the ground that Harry was lying on.
Harry turned his head and saw Padma and Parvati sitting next to his bed. Parvati was reading the newest divination zine and Padma was leafing through the book of poetry that Harry had given to her. Behind them was a table, covered with an assortment of candy and cards.
“Parvati!” Padma gasped, realizing Harry was awake.
“I’ll go tell Madam Pomfrey,” Parvati said, rushing out of the room. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Harry! You’ve got to tell all of us exactly what happened, okay!”
“What- what?” Harry asked, trying to sit up. “Did- did Quirrell get the Stone?”
“Lay back down, Harry,” Padma said. “You don’t want to tire yourself out. Madam Pomfrey will be here soon.”
Madam Pomfrey bustled in, looking hassled. She carried an entire tray of potions in her arms, which she set down on the little bit of room left on the table. “Out! Out!” She said, making shooing motions at Parvati and Padma.
“Please, we just want to talk to Harry,” Parvati tried.
“He needs rest,” Madam Pomfrey said. “And I need to talk to him. Now get out.”
Padma pulled Parvati out of the room.
Madam Pomfrey sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed with a rather stern expression on her face, an action that made him, understandably, quite nervous. Had Quirrell gotten the Stone? Harry wondered anxiously. Or had Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk died? Was Harry going to be expelled for going into the third floor corridor?
“Following your entrance to the hospital wing,” Madam Pomfrey said slowly, “I was obliged to do a diagnostic scan on you, in order to see the full extent of your injuries.”
Harry felt a literal stab of panic in his chest, like he had been skewered with a sword. He stared at Madam Pomfrey, completely still.
“Mr. Potter- Harry...” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was painfully gentle. Harry fixed his gaze on the ceiling, feeling his eyes prickle with tears that he stubbornly bit back. He wasn’t sure if he could lie his way out of this one.
“Harry,” Madam Pomfrey began again, seeming a little bit choked up herself, “you know that you can come to the professors with any issue you might be having, don’t you? I know Severus may seem harsh a times, but he does care about the well being of each and every one of his students.”
Harry just gazed at Madam Pomfrey in confusion, surprised at how upset she seemed to be. And talking about Snape caring about his well being? Ha. Madam Pomfrey must, he thought, be a real bleeding heart to think that the Dursleys' treatment of him was a problem. He was fine. He didn’t need any help.
Madam Pomfrey sighed heavily. “I know starving yourself may... give yourself a sense of... control, but ultimately, you and your body lose,” Madam Pomfrey said awkwardly. “You need that food; the nutrients in your food are immensely important for your growth. If you continue to starve yourself, you may permanently stunt your development.”
Harry stared at Madam Pomfrey in shock. She thought that Harry’s state was intentional? That he wanted to be like this? “I- it’s true that I’ve not been eating much the last few- the last few months,” Harry finally choked out. “But… it’s just because, it’s been really… I’ve been really- stressed. It’s hard to eat. My stomach… I just can’t eat. It’s not that I don’t want to… but when I eat too much, I would… I would sometimes throw it up from… stress, I guess.”
Madam Pomfrey made a thoughtful “hmm” noise. “The diagnostic showed that you have been nutrient deprived for quite some time,” she said at last.
Harry looked at his hands, which were tightly wrapped around each other, and shaking. “I don’t know, Madam Pomfrey,” he finally said, softly. “At- at home, we- we never really eat dinner as a family... and my- my cousin always eats the good food before I get a chance. I’m a really picky eater, too… I know its bratty, but if I don’t like what we have, I just don’t eat. ”
Madam Pomfrey just looked at Harry a long moment, looking slightly skeptical, but finally she nodded, seeming to decide that he was telling the truth. “In that case,” she said slowly, “I will prescribe some stomach-settling and nutrient potions for your remaining stay at Hogwarts. You won’t be able to take potions home to your nonmagic life, but once your aunt and uncle reply to my letter, I can arrange for your muggle doctor to prescribe something for you over the summer. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. Internally, he was worried. When would she realize that Harry had given her false names? What would happen? Would she manage to figure out the Dursleys’ real address? The Dursleys would be so angry to be bugged about Harry… Harry could just imagine the Dursleys complaining about it that summer. “One of those freaks thinks that the boy isn’t getting enough to eat! We feed and clothe the boy, even though he’s ungrateful and unhelpful, and he dares to complain to the freaks about us? I’ll show him what ‘hungry’ means!”
Or maybe it would come out to the rest of the school. Harry felt his stomach churning as he imagined Draco Malfoy’s smug smirk, the way his nose would wrinkle as he began to laugh cruelly. “Even your relatives hate you!” Hermione Granger would make a pitying, slightly condescending face. Ron’s nose would wrinkle and he would say, “Mate, even I have it better than you- I may be poor but at least my parents give a shit about me…” Even Padma and Neville, who were so kind, would think worse of him- they would realize that he was weak and unlovable. They would decide to stop being friends with him, and…
“Harry?” Madam Pomfrey asked.
“Sorry, I was just thinking…” Harry shook his head, then changed the subject to the first thing he could think of. “What happened to my arm? I could have sworn I broke it…”
“I fixed it,” Madam Pomfrey explained with a small smile. “All it required was a simple spell.”
“Wow,” Harry said, poking his arm. “Thank you.”
She gave him a nod. “Aside from your broken arm and low nutrition, you also had first and second degree burns, as well as severe magical exhaustion. I’ll be keeping you here until your magical core replenishes itself, and, until your burns heal, will be changing the bandages for you. Please do not remove or adjust them. If you need anything, you can hit this bell and I will notified.” She indicated a bell on his bedside. “In the meantime, try to rest and relax.”
Harry nodded. He rolled over and started to get sleepy immediately, he was so tired. It was only when he was half asleep that he realized that he still didn’t know what exactly had happened to Professor Quirrell.
Professor Quirrell… Professor Quirrell was staring into him with that intense gaze. The troll. A cauldron in his shaking arms. The noise as his arm broke. The keys were all attacking his face. He was reaching out to touch the mirror, and his mother’s face began to burn at his touch…
There was something gold right up above him. Albus Dumbledore’s glasses. Harry blinked sleepily. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the same chair Parvati had occupied, he saw.
"Good morning, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling down at Harry. Harry stared back up at him sleepily.
“The-the Stone?” He asked finally, around his bone dry stone.
“Quirrell does not have the Stone,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly. He sat, waiting, Harry realized, for more questions, but Harry didn’t feel inclined to ask any. Finally Dumbledore said, “the Stone has been destroyed."
“Did- did I crush it by accident or something?” Harry said. “What about Nicolas Flamel?”
"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding, oddly, delighted. "Don’t worry, the destruction of the stone was entirely intentional… Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best." Harry couldn’t help that note that “had a little chat” sounded like a mobster in a movie’s way of saying 'threatened with a lot of painful things until he agreed'. Not that he thought Dumbledore would do that. Probably.
"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" Harry blurted out in surprise.
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore sighed thoughtfully, though not sadly. "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day.” He began to natter on about the next great adventure, which all sounded like floral, poetic bullshit to Harry.
“I suppose you are wondering how you got here,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Well, as I was in London, when the wards for the third floor corridor went off, and so it was the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, who was notified. She managed to just pull Quirrell off you in time… She feared she may have been too late…”
“I’d prefer not to talk about it,” Harry finally choked out, hands knotted in his sheets.
Professor Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Do you have any more questions, my boy?”
“He’s- he’s going to come back, isn’t he?” Harry blurted suddenly, surprising himself. “Vold- You Know Who is going to come back, even though the Stone is gone.”
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."
"Yessir,” Harry mumbled. “Will… Voldemort come back?”
"Yes,” Dumbledore said, looking older than usual. “He is not truly alive, so therefore, he cannot be killed. Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time- and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."
Harry nodded, but he didn’t like the sound of what Dumbledore said. It sounded to him like Dumbledore was saying that Voldemort would keep coming back, and Harry would have to keep risking his life, over and over again until Voldemort finally succeeded in killing Harry… maybe the phrasing implied it would be someone else, but who else would do it? None of the teachers had realized what was going on with Quirrell… And just letting Voldemort come back, over and over again, and then have Harry fight back to delay him each time, seemed like a terrible game of whack-a-mole, not a real solution.
"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?" Harry asked.
"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love…”
Harry nodded along. His eyes starting getting wet, and Dumbledore politely became immensely interested in something out the window as Harry wiped his wet eyes.
“I’m very tired,” Harry said at last, although in truth he mostly wanted Dumbledore to be gone, so he could cry in peace. He wished he was in his dorm, with Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk to comfort him…
Harry rolled over to sleep. He dreamed he was in the Slytherin Common Room. Quirrell tried to tug the Stone from his hands, but Harry reached up and grabbed his face. Quirrell screamed in heartrending agony, and as he did, the gentle Slytherin greens and blacks and dim lighting of the Slytherin Common Room quickly burnt away to reveal a painfully bright, completely white room. Harry was burning too, now, and snow white tendrils were wrapping over him, choking him slowly as he tried to escape. He managed to take a few steps. Through a white door he saw the living room of Number Four, Privet drive; Aunt Petunia’s harsh, shrill voice called for him.
There was a corner of the room that still looked like the Slytherin common room; he leaped towards it, and when his hand touched it, the room turned back to what it should be. Harry jumped through the window into the lake; the cool, murky water soothed his burns. Hermione sat at the bottom of the lake bed, reading. Her hair was lifted upward by ocean currents; she slowly turned to look at Harry, and her mouth curled up into a faux smile that showed long, pointed mermaid teeth.
“We were never really friends,” She said. Her hair waved slowly. Her teeth glimmered in a beam of light that barely managed to reach the dim, briny depths.
Harry woke up, ate some food (he wanted to eat some of the sweets people had given him, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t allow it) and promptly went back to sleep.
Harry woke to find himself standing before the hole. The beast’s long throat smelled of rotting meat, and it was lined with teeth. As Harry stared down into the throat, he thought he could see a planet impaled on one of the teeth lining its throat. The beast had swallowed entire galaxies, he knew.
Harry dove. The teeth scratched him almost to shreds on the way down. He stood now in the chest of the beast. He could see the beating heart. It was made out of the same stuff as the Stone, scarlet red with golden lines shot through it like ichor-pumping veins.
The mirror was in the corner. Though it much bigger and grander than he remembered it, he knew it was the mirror at once. Harry walked to it and saw his family, all looking oddly stylized, like beautiful paintings. None of them moved.
Lily Evans was dressed in long, flowing white robes. Her curly red hair, filled with lilies, literally defied gravity. Her emerald green eyes glistened with heavenly light.
James Potter had huge, gleaming antlers sprouting out of his head. He carried a crossbow like Hagrid’s over one shoulder. He wore scarlet and gold.
The tea addict had a halo of books floating around him. One book floated just over his fingertips. The pages flipped slowly. He wore a well tailored suit. A dark shadow peered over his shoulder.
The leather jacket man had a storm cloud flickering over his head. Bolts of lightning shot down around him. His ears were studded with piercings. His bare chest was covered in tattoos. A constellation Harry for some reason couldn’t recognize was tattooed in starlight on his throat. He had huge dog ears sprouting up from his head.
Harry looked down at himself and saw he looked shorter, skinnier and dirtier than usual. The dog bite was fresh; blood leaked out of it slowly. Harry could feel blood dripping down his face from his lightning bolt scar.
Harry finally woke up for good. He was still tired and sore, but at least talking for more than twenty minutes didn’t tire him out so much he ended up going right back to sleep afterwards.
Harry wasn’t sure being awake was much better than being asleep. Harry didn’t have much to do. He ended up writing down his dreams- Parvati was always encouraging them to write down weird dreams so she could interpret them, and although Harry wasn’t sure about their friendship, he had gotten into his habit- and trying to doodle what he had seen. Harry discovered he was a very bad artist, and that people were awfully hard to draw.
On the third day since Harry had really woken up, Madam Pomfrey let slip that his friends had been trying to get in to talk to him for a good long while, now. With a carefully calculated mixture of pleading, cajoling, bargaining, persuading and pouting, Harry managed to get Madam Pomfrey to allow his friends in.
"Harry!" Hermione looked ready to hug the living daylights out of him, but she held herself together. "Oh, Harry, we were so, so worried- Dumbledore thought that-"
"The whole school's talking about it," Ron said eagerly. "What really happened?"
“I brought Sss- your snake,” Padma said, rather redundantly as Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk was wrapped pretty obviously around her shoulders. “Madam Pompfrey says Ss- she can’t stay here very long.” She mouthed noiselessly at Harry, “Don’t use Parseltongue, okay?”
Harry nodded, but still eagerly held out his arms for his friend. The feeling of Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk’s cool scales on his skin was amazing. “You ssshould have let me come with you,” Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk hissed as she butted at Harry’s hand, eager for a petting. “I would have protected you…”
Harry laughed and started to give Ssslshchhshkh’lsh’hhk the nice long petting she deserved.
“What happened?” Ron asked again.
Harry pulled in a long, slow breath. “Um… it all started when I went into the Forbidden Forest, for, you know, detention. Something was killing the unicorns… and the centaurs said that it was… that it was… Vol-Voldemort.”
Neville went very pale, and all of Harry’s friends gasped.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Hermione asked, at last.
“I- the other person, who saw it, said she would tell Dumbledore.”
“So- the reason why you were ignoring us was-” Hermione started, then gave a little sob.
Harry nodded, then took in a deep steadying breath, and forced himself to continue. “And then- well, I thought that things were all secure, but I went down to Hagrid’s after exams, and then I realized, things actually weren’t, because Hagrid had told the guy he’d gotten the egg from how to get past Fluffy…”
“Fluffy?” Ron asked.
“Oh, right,” Harry said. “That’s the three headed dog that Hagrid was using to guard the Stone. I discovered it pretty early in the year, but Hagrid swore me to secrecy. Anyway, I got past Fluffy, and then there was this trapdoor… I, um, I went down through it, and… there was this plant that started choking me, and, uh, I couldn’t manage to get out… I-um, that’s when Quirrell showed up… he started, uh, he st-started burning the p-plant…” Harry dug his fingers into his palms really hard, trying to steady himself.
“You don’t have to tell us what happened if you don’t want to,” Neville said.
“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed. “Sorry… I didn’t realize it was…”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were going into the third floor corridor?” Hermione blurted out. It seemed as though she’d been wanting to ask that for a while.
“I-” Harry said, then realized he didn’t know what he was planning to say. He shook his head, staring down at his hands. “I… I guess I just… I didn’t think of it. I was just set on… on getting there as quickly as I could. I…” Harry shrugged stiffly.
“You know you can tell us stuff, right?” Hermione said softly. “You know you can ask us for help, right?”
Harry nodded, even more stiffly and awkwardly.
“There are so many people you can tell, and ask for help from,” Hermione said. “You can tell Professor Flitwick, or Professor McGonagall, or even Professor Snape- I know he’s, um, kind of nasty-”
“-he’s an arsehole-” Ron put in.
“-but he’s legally obligated to make sure all of his students are safe.” Hermione nodded firmly. “And if you don’t want to tell any of them, you can tell us, right guys?”
There was a chorus of agreement.
“Please promise me,” Hermione said, “if something like this happens again- you’ll tell us, right? You’ll ask for help?”
“Okay,” Harry mumbled.
Tonks visited the next day. Her response was similar.
“Harry,” she said slowly, running a hand through her pink curls, “I asked you to be careful. I asked you to come to me if you needed anything, or felt unsafe." She swallowed, then said, her voice cracking ever so slightly, "Why didn’t you ask me for help?”
“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, feeling very small and young. “I’m- I’m sorry. I just didn’t… didn’t think. I didn’t have much time, and…”
Tonks sighed. “I know. But… you really need to be careful. If you had asked me, I would have gone down there with you.”
Harry’s head jolted up, and he stared at her. “Really?”
“Really,” Tonks said. Her mouth got a sort of iron set. “Seriously, Harry. I know it’s hard asking for help, especially when things get dangerous. I know we barely know each other. I won’t be here next year, I’ll be off training to be an Auror, but I can still help you. Promise me, Harry. If you feel unsafe, contact me. If you think you are likely to be physically harmed, or in danger of dying, you have to contact me. No buts, no excuses. You have to contact me. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Harry mumbled. He couldn’t help but give her a slightly doubtful look.
Tonks sighed. “I know. I know, I won’t be there physically to help. But I can give you advice. I can tell you what the best course of action would be. And, if the situation requires it, I promise you that I will find a way to get there to help. I promise.”
Harry nodded and then, embarrassingly, found himself beginning to cry. He sniffled and wiped his eyes and bit his lips and tried to hold it in, but he couldn’t. Tonks pulled him in close to her, and Harry burst into real, full tears. They sat like that for a long time.
Hagrid visited, too. This time, it wasn’t Harry crying, but rather his visitor.
"It's- all- my- ruddy- fault!" he sobbed, huge fat tears rolling down his face and collecting in his beard. “Yeh nearly died, and it’s all my ruddy fault! I told the evil twat how ter put Fluffy ter sleep! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh nearly died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again!”
Harry stared in shock. He’d never had someone cry in front of him, and he didn’t really know what to do, so he just pulled Hagrid into a hug, like Tonks had done to him. His arms didn’t even manage to fit around Hagrid, but it seemed to calm Hagrid down a little bit.
"Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd- he’d have found out even if you hadn't told him,” Harry said at last, trying to be comforting. “Please cheer up, Hagrid, the Stone is gone… have some candy, I’ve got loads more than I can eat…”
Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present.” The present was a beautiful, leather-bound book. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. Harry felt a powerful ache, something like sadness or happiness, or maybe both, or maybe even beyond the words used to describe emotions.