Ey! How dare yeh! Put me down!"
A good amount of laughter followed this command, coming not only from the onlookers, but from Hagrid himself, who had shouted these words in mock-despair after Sarah had latched onto his shoulders and lifted him off the ground. She had only managed to get him several feet into the air before the literal weight of the situation she had put herself in became apparent. She flew in a couple of small circles over the garden of Potter Manor, Penny and Berta flying excitedly around her.
Harry tapped the side of his glasses to get a closer view just in time to see Hagrid's face display sincere concern as Sarah began heading with him towards the lake. Harry could see Hagrid saying something to the dragon, and Harry laughed even more imagining what it might be. Regardless, Sarah banked over the water, Hagrid drawing his legs up to avoid his gigantic feet hitting the surface. The huge but agile dragon glided back down to the grass where Harry stood with Zeely, who had been clutching Harry's leg ever since Sarah had snatched up Hagrid, whom she now dropped gently back in front of them, taking off at once again towards the lake where she, Penny, and Berta engaged in some fishing, pulling their wings in close to their bodies before diving headfirst into the water, each of them emerging seconds later with a snout-full of fish.
"Is you liking flying, Hag-a-grid?" Zeely asked, the idea of anyone enjoying it clearly doubtful from her tone.
"I used to think I would," Hagrid eventually said, bent over with his hands on his knees.
Harry laughed, knowing Hagrid would be back to fawning over the dragons again in no time. They spent the next few minutes watching the dragons fishing. It warmed Harry's heart that Penny had so quickly taken quite a liking to the new dragon, as this was what he had been most worried about with the arrangement of bringing Berta here. He knew that Sarah would latch onto Berta right away, as this was engrained in her maternal nature, but he had worried that Penny might feel some jealousy. As it turned out, nothing could have been further from the truth, as Penny seemed to have found something in Berta that she had not known she was even missing, and they had become almost comically inseparable.
When Harry had arrived with Hagrid and Berta at the beginning of Easter break, there had been a short introductory phase during which Harry had used his communicative skills to reiterate upon all three dragons the idea he'd had about Berta coming to live at Potter Manor—something he had already shared with all of them individually but wanted to impress upon them as a group. Throughout that first encounter, Harry had maintained as strong a connection as he could manage with all three dragons, nervous about any instinctive reactions that might kick in. He had missed quite a bit of conversation with Hagrid during those first minutes, knowing that Hagrid was attempting to engage him in conversation about the moment, but unwilling to allocate any of his mental focus beyond the three dragons. Thankfully, the positive reaction he had anticipated from all of them was reflected back at him even stronger than predicted. When he finally disengaged from his connection with the dragons, who had taken to flapping their wings at each other and producing variant puffs of colorful smoke and fire, Harry had begun crying.
"What's a matter?" Hagrid had said at once, laying a heavy hand on a doubled-over Harry's back.
"Nothing," Harry had been eventually able to respond, looking up into Hagrid's eyes. "They're all just so happy."
Eventually, Hagrid agreed, seemingly despite himself. Harry knew that there had been a small part of Hagrid that had almost wished that Berta would not fit in at the manor, leaving Hagrid to try and find a way to keep her with him at Hogwarts. By the end of the week, though, it became clear to even Hagrid that this arrangement was to the benefit of everyone involved.
"I didn't think I would ever say this, but I really am glad to see her move along," Hagrid said the Thursday before term was set to resume, which was the day Hagrid had decided he would return to Hogwarts. He wiped at his eyes, looking out over the grounds of Potter Manor, Sarah curled into a ball near the maze, the younger dragons unseen, somewhere off on their own adventures.
"Please don't hesitate to come visit, any time," Harry reminded him.
Hagrid nodded. "I won'." It was all he could manage for a while, becoming choked-up. He picked up his bag, taking a couple of deep breaths and looking appreciatively over the grounds. Zeely walked over to Hagrid and took his hand.
"Yer parents would o' been really proud o' yeh, Harry," Hagrid was eventually able to say.
Harry was not able to formulate a response before Zeely snapped her fingers and Apparated Hagrid back to Hogwarts. Alone, Harry lay down on the grass and looked into the sky, appreciating the puffy clouds against the brilliant blue, just willing himself to forget about anything else for a while.
By the time Harry was set to return to Hogwarts, he had learned something new about himself — he liked being with other people. So much of his life had been alone. Until he had started at grade school, he had spent most of his days relegated to the cupboard under the stairs, where he had spent his time creating imaginary scenarios involving whatever little action figures he could snatch from Dudley, or create out of whatever he found lying about. He had once made a fantasy King of England he named King Nedry the Gluttonous out of discarded twisty-ties Aunt Petunia had thrown into the rubbish.
After he started school, Harry had made friends quickly, despite his cousin's initial attempts to dissuade others from befriending him. Still, he would say goodbye to them at the end of each school day and only see them occasionally in the neighborhood at other times. At Hogwarts, he was immersed in a social scene by default. He almost always enjoyed it. Even if he himself was not openly socializing, he could sit and observe, getting to know others' personalities and perspectives in the only way really possible — by being around them. Any time he felt like he needed the solitude, it was easy for him to sneak out at night either in animal form or under his cloak, or just pop down into one of the larger sections of his trunk for the ultimate peace and quiet.
So it was that Harry found himself in what he considered his portable library, lying on a comfortable sofa whilst reading a book he had started a while back that he had decided to save for later: Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks. While laid out in similar fashion to a textbook, Harry found it an amusing read, something of a tongue-in-cheek instructional book for troublemakers. Still, he was only able to get through a few dozen pages before he began to feel restless from all of the relaxation, and headed back to the dorm to get ready to meet with Professor Flitwick for dueling lessons.
Harry fought the urge to change to his Snidget form and fly down to Flitwick's office. He knew he would have plenty of opportunity tonight to spread his wings and let off his energy, which he had been doing a lot lately. In a way, Harry blamed Dumbledore.
During their previous meeting, Dumbledore had said something that Harry was still trying to figure out. The headmaster had so carefully built towards an idea during a lengthy conversation that it had taken Harry over an hour after the meeting to see just how much effort Dumbledore had put into his eventual suggestion that Harry use his Holly wand in any combat situations — sparring included. The idea came after previous points which made this proposal seem perfectly reasonable… except for the fact that Harry had never told Dumbledore about his other wand.
"How do you know about that wand?" Harry had asked him outright, not seeing a reason to try and hide the truth.
"I make it my business to know more than anyone about that which occurs inside this castle," Dumbledore had said.
Harry had almost cracked a smile at Dumbledore's statement, until the realization that it might actually be true crossed his mind, which would mean that Dumbledore would know much more about Harry besides him having two wands.
This had made Harry pause his nighttime wanderings for a few days, eventually giving in to the urge and throwing caution to the wind, exploring the castle either concealed under his cloak, or in one of his smaller Animagus forms. While usually at least relaxing, his trips were sometimes interesting. He had found three new secret passages in the past few weeks, all of them quite accidentally discovered; a room full of toilets he had never seen before but most desperately needed at the time, and which had vanished by the next time Harry passed that section of corridor; several instances of Filch acting harried over any potential hint of curfew-breaking; quite a few hints of curfew-breaking; a teacher Harry knew to be the Divinations Professor but whom he had not seen until now passed out drunk on a staircase between the fifth and sixth floors (After confirming with a spell that this was all that was wrong with her, Harry had flown in circles for a long time trying to decide if he should do anything before finally levitating her to a shadowy alcove to sleep it off); small animals that had no business being about scurrying around the castle (leaving Harry to begin to get very suspicious that he was perhaps not the only unregistered Animagus at Hogwarts); and one very clear moment which confirmed the rumor about certain staff members enjoying each other's… company—an image Harry was working to banish from his memory.
Wondering what he might find tonight, Harry entered Flitwick's office, the door of which was already open as usual, and which Harry closed behind him as usual. Turning back around, Harry knew he was going to be a fraction of a moment too late before he even knew why, but the burst of sensation was undeniable. He had barely even begun to reach for his wand, watching Professor Flitwick sitting at his desk quite unperturbed, no visual hint of danger present in the room, before it was too late.
"Incarcerous!" a voice yelled, and Harry caught the telltale signs of an Invisibility Cloak being moved before a hand appeared out of nowhere from the middle of the room, its wand producing thick, hard coils of rope which wrapped themselves around Harry, who toppled over with the force of it all.
On his way down, Harry flicked the Holly wand out of his fingers so that it landed under where his body did seconds later. He reasoned that the ropes would block access to his pocket watch where his other wand was, and wanted to keep anyone from taking the wand he had. Grunting as if the fall was painful, Harry writhed around so he knew he was covering the wand, and could keep track of where it was.
The person who had cast the spell now fully removed the Invisibility Cloak and began stepping towards Harry, who saw that Flitwick had stood on his chair to look at Harry, but was making no move to intervene. Why?
"Ah, now—that's bad form, even for me. I expected some kind of resistance after what the two of you said. Now I've just gone and attacked a little kid!" The man shook his head as he continued walking towards Harry. "You've got to have constant vigilance. The moment you let your guard down…"
Harry did not know who this was or what he was talking about, but he did not like the trapped feeling of the ropes, lying here helpless while this man continued to walk towards him. He felt his heartbeat rise, panic starting to creep in. He kicked his feet back, feeling the wand move with him as she pushed himself along the floor until his head encountered the wall, which he began to press himself up against, now in a sitting position as the wizard came even closer.
He looked down at Harry and said something, but Harry didn't hear it. It felt like his heart was pushing an ocean of blood through his body, and it was all Harry could hear. He had not felt this much anxiety since… since…
The air was rented with the piercing sound of the ropes tearing in a flash from bottom to top, Harry's left hand completing the magic in an upward arc through the ropes just as his right hand reached out for his wand, which snapped into his hand. Now fully standing, Harry did not wait for his opponent's next move, using the surprise of his escape to his advantage, running at the wizard just as the man was already bringing his wand back to sight on Harry.
He was fast, Harry realized. Really fast, and Harry caught a look of fierceness in his eyes just before Harry kicked at his wrist, not holding anything back. There was a snap, and almost a scream, but the wizard recovered quickly, even as his wand went flying across the room.
Momentarily distracted by the sight of Albus Dumbledore materializing from thin air to catch the wand, Harry ducked just in time to avoid the table which had now been thrown at him, using his momentum to roll forward and then spring up, grabbing around the man's neck with his hands and arms before swinging himself around him, and then wrench them both onto the floor, Harry atop him. Scanning quickly for any hint at weapons and finding none, Harry locked the man in what he knew was a painful arm grip. Now the wizard did scream, and Harry couldn't blame him. Dudley had once locked Harry in this grip over a disagreement about socks, of all things. It was only through a burst of accidental magic that Harry had been able to break out of it.
The wizard Harry was holding onto seemed equally unhappy, and Harry felt a surge of magic from him. He adjusted his grip and made to move his wand to the man's face when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right, Harry. He's a friend."
It was not Dumbledore's words that were able to break through Harry's instincts, but the power behind them. Through the fingers Dumbledore had laid upon Harry's shoulder—which were not physically exerting much force—Harry could feel the force of Dumbledore's magic, and it distracted him just long enough to note the other cues to signal that things were not as they seemed. Most telling of all was Flitwick jumping from his desk to the floor to help the wizard up, muttering apologies mixed with different versions of "I told you so" and eventual laughter as Harry allowed Dumbledore to help him up.
"Let's perhaps try a different introductory style, shall we?" the headmaster said.
Professor Flitwick nodded then barely even touched his wand, seemingly just picking it up and putting it back down onto his desk, causing the furniture in the room to rearrange into a perfect meeting space for four people around the fireplace. As Harry warily followed everyone else to a chair, he could not keep from marveling again at Flitwick's efficient wand movements, something Harry had determined early on was a real strength of the Charms professor and dueling champion.
"Harry, I'm very sorry for all of this," he said now. "This is my office, and I should have put my foot down!" Flitwick stomped his foot, which did not reach the floor, not that he let that deter him.
"Harry, this is my good friend Alastor Moody, who also happens to be an—" Dumbledore stopped as Harry gaped at Moody, his head whipping around.
Well of course he is, Harry realized now. It was difficult to not recognize Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, an Auror of some renown, especially for his service during the war with Voldemort, and who just so happened to have a distinctive vibrant-blue, magical eye, which Harry saw was now looking back and forth between him and Dumbledore.
"But perhaps his reputation precedes him?" Dumbledore asked, Harry taking a second to notice that he was talking to him.
"Oh! Yes, sorry sir," Harry said, trying to get himself fully focused back on the moment. "No, yeah I've read all about you, Mr. Moody. Wow."
Harry thought of about six other things he could have said to make himself sound less ridiculous, but the opportunity was gone.
"Erm, sorry about earlier," Harry said instead, gesturing towards the spot on the floor at which he had essentially been torturing Mad-Eye Moody. "I don't like… feeling… trapped…"
Moody's scarred face shifted from an unreadable mask to a wry smile.
"Apparently not," he said, nodding at Harry and then turning to Dumbledore. "I thought you were exaggerating, Albus, as you are wont to do, but…" Moody dropped and shook his head, and Harry eventually saw that he was quietly laughing. "This kid's a fucking savage!"
"Alastor!" Dumbledore rumbled, but Moody was already holding up a placated hand.
"All right, all right. Sorry, Headmaster. Need to calibrate from Auror language to professor language, I suppose." He jerked his head towards Harry. "Wanted to see how you handled something like that from someone like me. Where'd you learn to fight like that, Potter?"
His focus now completely back, Harry considered his responses.
"You're familiar with Muggle martial arts?" He framed it as half-question, half-statement, not wanting to insult Moody's intelligence. Moody nodded curtly. "I've been learning it for a few years now—"
"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Mad-Eye said somewhat dangerously.
"That's quite enough of that, Mr. Moody," Dumbledore said, and again Harry felt the weight of his words beyond the apparent.
Moody blinked his regular eye, and his magical eye spun with abandon until he smacked the side of his face. "All right. At ease, Albus," he said with another headshake, this one less pronounced.
Professor Flitwick wiggled his wand and little plates of various snacks produced themselves on the table between the gentlemen, including tea, which Harry hastily thought to take it upon himself to serve once he got over the fact that he had not noticed Flitwick retrieving his wand from the desk.
"Use your wand," Flitwick nearly hissed at Harry through a grin of teeth, who had begun to spring from his chair to pour tea.
Sitting back down, feeling more out of place than his first day of classes at Hogwarts when he had discovered how far ahead of everyone else he was, Harry fell back into his chair and raised his wand.
"Wingardium… you know what, forget it." Harry pointed his wand at the tea set, casting the necessary charms non-verbally to serve everyone their tea. They had already seen him do purposeful, wandless magic, so there was no point in hiding his non-verbal skills.
Mad-Eye Moody began laughing so hard he eventually started to cough, to the point where Professor Flitwick cast a Relaxation Charm on him to ease things back down. Despite its name and effect, it was a complicated piece of magic to perform, and Harry watched Flitwick's wand movements carefully in order to review them later. They went on to discuss the sneak attack Moody had sprung on Harry and what they felt had been good and questionable choices made in response.
"And how is Nymphadora doing?" Dumbledore Moody asked once their assessment was complete, their suggestions spinning through Harry's mind.
"I am… guardedly optimistic about that one," Moody replied, as Harry thought about the name and wondered who it was. "Her natural talent is—obviously—quite a boon to the position, but her agility…"
"Yes," Dumbledore and Flitwick said simultaneously, each of them shaking their heads a bit while also showing a small smile. Harry made a mental note to find out who this Nymphadora was.
The conversation went on to delve deeper and deeper into the three other wizards' history together, most of which Harry could not exactly follow, being without the necessary background information to appreciate it, but enjoyed listening to nonetheless.
"Albus, Filius—until next time," Moody eventually said without warning, putting down his teacup and throwing a handful of Floo powder into the flames of Professor Flitwick's fireplace. "See you around, Potter," he said with a salute before jumping into the green flames, calling out a location which was too garbled for Harry to recognize.
"An eccentric man, but one of the best" Flitwick said to Harry, jumping off of his chair and leading him to the office door.
"Erm," was all Harry managed to say before Flitwick had pushed him through the doorway. Their meeting was over, apparently. Just before the door closed, Harry turned to see Dumbledore carelessly sipping at his tea.
Harry had almost noticed it too late. He was in his Snidget form, taking a breather on a rafting in the library late at night, realizing that this was the first time he had flown up here. Hedwig had joined him, as she had sometimes done in situations where he was mostly unconcerned about stealth, and tonight was one of those nights. He was not out to uncover any secrets or follow anyone through the castle—it was just another mission of exploration and relaxation. As he and Hedwig sat above the library, however, Harry could not help but to analyze the distribution of shelves and consider how things could be rearranged to increase ease of browsing. It was perhaps this that had Harry distracted. It took Hedwig ruffling her feathers and making a clicking sound for him to look at what she had already seen.
From a rafter above them and forward of their position, a bat hung. At first, Harry almost paid it no mind, until something about Hedwig's feelings towards it told him to give it more scrutiny. As soon as the bat rotated its head to look directly at Harry, he knew. He did not waste any time, leaping backwards and buzzing his wings away, Hedwig close behind him. He led her up the main staircase, where he took a few random turns before doubling back to the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor, behind which he had hidden his Invisibility Cloak tonight for just such an occasion.
After changing to his eagle form to watch and listen for any hint of pursuit, Harry changed back to normal and threw the cloak over himself, casting Hedwig a look just before his face disappeared that communicated that she should fly straight back to the owlery for now, and he would check on her later. She obliged, but Harry got the impression that she would be checking in on him, not the other way around.
Smiling at that, Harry walked silently from around the statue. He did not have any intention of going back to the library, but wanted to cut short any trail he might leave in animal form. As he walked back to Gryffindor Tower, he thought about the bat he has seen that he had realized was definitely an Animagus.
Before leaving for Hogwarts, Harry had gone to the Ministry and requested to see the official registry of Animagi in the U.K. Although almost entirely certain that there had been no bats listed on the registry that matched the description of the one he had seen, Harry still reviewed the list quickly in his head now. As he had thought, that bat was not on it, which meant that Harry was indeed not the only unregistered Animagus at Hogwarts.
He ran through the most logical possibilities in his mind: an older student with the same skills and determination as Harry's father and friends; a professor, or even Dumbledore himself who was putting the ability to move through the castle undetected above their concern for breaking the law by being unregistered; a random witch or wizard who had flown to Hogwarts just to be back in their old stomping grounds; or someone with a more sinister motive — maybe it was Quirrell, monitoring something about the library which he felt would help get him to the Stone.
By the time Harry got out of bed the next morning, his mind had only added to the list of choices to explain the bat, and so he decided to do some investigating. Rather than more late-night ventures into the castle, however, he planned to do it during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. One thing Harry hadrealized while contemplating the issue was that the only possible explanation about the bat that really concerned him was if it ended up being Quirrell. Harry had barely seen the man at night anymore. He had hoped that it was because Quirrell was giving up, but if he was an Animagus, that changed Harry's outlook about the whole situation.
It was usually difficult to gauge much about Quirrell's state of mind during classes, as he seemed to have reached a peak in odd behavior that was not getting any better or worse. Harry suspected that much of it was an act, which Quirrell continued to play each day in order to maintain his character. Harry wanted to do something today to try and throw off the status quo so that Quirrell might drop his guard.
The inspiration came when Quirrell announced that he was going to pass around various photographs of Hags, which were a subject of importance for Quirrell, who had apparently run into a bit of trouble with one such creature over the summer. Harry let three photographs pass him by before he did it, casting the magic silently and wandlessly to avoid any suspicion.
The two Hufflepuffs sitting next to Harry paid the next photograph Harry handed to them no mind, having already become bored enough to pass it along to the next set of seats without even looking at it. Hearing Malfoy snigger was the first indication to Harry that his plan was working. He used Hermione's slow, studious examination of each photograph before Harry could take it from her to his advantage, summoning towards himself the small pile which had built up at her elbow, flipping through them quickly under his desk and hanging onto them once he was done changing them, waiting every few photographs before sliding one under the current selection to pass along.
The laughter throughout the room eventually grew to sufficient volume to catch even Hermione's attention and — just has Harry had hoped — pull Quirrell away from his façade, his face angling into one of suspicion around the classroom.
Harry heard Hermione scoff, and looked down, planning to do so anyway to avoid Quirrell's gaze.
"Really. How immature," Hermione admonished, looking at the photograph in front of them, labeled, "Warina Welschbeck: a suspected Hag whose whereabouts are still unknown." In the photo, someone (Harry) had clearly added a word bubble issuing from Warina, so that she now said, "No no, I'm just super old."
"I dunno," Harry said dryly, picking the photograph up and examining it. "She might have a point, though."
Across the room, Quirrell snatched one of the photographs up, and Harry could see from the light coming through it from the window that it was the perfect one for him to have looked at. The Hag in the photograph was in the process of being apprehended by Magic Law Enforcement, but had managed to jump onto the back of one of the wizards attempting to take her in. Her arms and legs wrapped around him from behind in a forced piggyback ride, Harry's word bubble had her saying, "Get me off of here! His head smells like garlic!"
Quirrell's hand shot to his turban (which was known throughout the castle for its rancid odor), but flew back away from it as though he had been slapped. Harry looked about in confusion to the rest of the class, pretending not to know what was going on while paying close attention to Quirrell in his peripheral vision.
"A-Accio!" Quirrell yelled tremulously, and the photographs soared away from everyone's desks and into Quirrell's chest, where he just barely managed to catch the lot of them. He turned and placed them onto his desk before turning back towards the class. "I…" Quirrell opened and closed his mouth a few times, his head swiveling jerkily around at them. "I-I'm taking ten points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw if I don't find out right now who did this!"
He gestured at the photographs behind him, but the students from those three Houses were already in a bit of an uproar about the unfairness of such a thing. He shouted over them to be heard, and Harry gripped tightly the wand now in his hand.
"There was laughter before the photos even got to the Slytherin students, which means it was one of you who did this!"
Quirrell was breathing heavily, looking out over them all, pointing. The class was dead silent, having taken clear note of the change in Quirrell's demeanor. The professor appeared at first to revel in the effect he had caused, until something—or someone—in his head seemed to recognize how out of character it had been. Quirrell made a visible shift into the stature he normally exhibited, and spoke again in his usual way, which Harry found to be the worst acting he had seen from him yet.
"F-f-fine. Those who laughed are j-j-just as guilty as the perpetrator, so you all have extra homework tonight: two feet on how to tell the difference between a Hag and a very old woman."
Despite years of mental training, Harry had to look down and literally bite his tongue. It had been strengthened by the ritual along with the rest of his body, but it was the most sensitive area he could get to in order to try to cause enough pain to stifle his laughter as he pictured Quirrell going through the photographs later and coming across the one about the old woman.
By the time dinner arrived, the first-years were still laughing and talking about today's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Older students were asking questions, having heard bits and pieces during the day, and everyone was swapping stories about Quirrell's mood since, which did not sound great.
"He dropped a tray of Grindylow nails he was trying to show us, and I thought he was maybe gonna pass out," Cormack McLaggen said. He did not seem to find any humor in it, but it earned some laughs regardless.
"I swear I heard him mutter something about you, Harry," Lee Jordan said, pointing with a fork tipped with chicken.
This earned some noisy and playful goading aimed at Harry, who barely registered it, distracted by Snape, who had just come in hastily from the door next to the High table, and was now running along the other seated professors behind it, towards Dumbledore. Snape bent down and whispered something urgently into Dumbledore's ear. The next several moments happened in a confusing, quick jumble.
Harry made to stand up, the Elder wand flying from his pocket watch into his hand, but before he did, he saw a dire look of concern flash onto Snape and Dumbledore's faces. At the same time, pain burst from Harry's scar, which he had to work to ignore and instead deal with the nearly equal pain he felt at his neck. He grabbed instinctively at it, coming into contact with two hands which were squeezing against Harry's windpipe with remarkable strength considering the effect they were having on his heightened physique. Simultaneously, there was a blinding flash of white lightning in Harry's field of vision, and a loud clang from behind him.
The fingers around Harry's neck seemed to lose both their strength and their structure and Harry prised them away from him. He spun in a whirl and cast a Blasting Curse as hard he could at who he now saw was Quirrell. No matter how many times Harry reviewed this moment later in his exceptional memory, he could not work out what exactly had happened.
In a blur of action, Ron had jumped up and swung a platter at Quirrell's head as he attacked Harry, while at the same time Dumbledore had Apparated directly next to Harry, who had thrown off Quirrell's hands and cast his Blasting Curse all at almost the same exact time. The result was the slow and clearly painful death of Professor Quirrell, who dissolved before the entire Great Hall into an evaporating cloud of ash.
There were only a couple of seconds of silence at this before pandemonium broke out. Through it all, Harry could feel Quirrell dying. He gripped his wand tightly, reaching out with all of his senses until… there. In the aftermath of all of it, Harry could feel Voldemort's spirit, which had before now avoided succumbing to the protective wards around Hogwarts by possessing Quirrell's body, being cast out with such force that it was only a fraction of a second until Harry could sense that it had been driven far, far away.
Dumbledore stood in front of Harry looking utterly bewildered, but then Harry saw the same recognition he had reached—that Voldemort, no longer protected through his possession of Quirrell, had been cast out, Dumbledore actually smiled despite the chaos occurring around him, then looked at Harry, who saw the headmaster recognize that Harry had sensed the same thing. Dumbledore then thrust his wand towards the enchanted ceiling, and at once everyone in the hall grew silent and still.
"Prefects, please escort your House to your Common Room, where the feast will be delivered for your enjoyment," he said in a friendly tone. Harry marveled at how he was able to pull that off in the face of one of his professors having clearly just been killed in front of the entire student body, but the prefects seemed to have no such reservations, ordering the students around immediately until it was just Harry, Ron, and the teaching staff remaining in the Great Hall.
"Hey, thanks," Harry told Ron, thinking it likely that he might be dead right now if not for Ron's actions.
"Did I… did I kill him?" Ron asked.
"No," Dumbledore answered quietly, but then doubled-down at the look on Ron's face. "No, Mr. Weasley. You did not. You certainly assisted Mr. Potter in staying alive, but it was not you who caused Professor Quirrell's untimely demise. Nor was it you, Harry," he said, looking towards him now. "Professor Quirrell was the victim of very Dark magic, and no blame shall be placed on you for the young man's death."
These were nice words, and clearly made Ron feel better. At that point, Professor McGonagall insisted that Harry and Ron return to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of their House. Harry felt he saw a new look of concern on Dumbledore's face, and tried to figure out why. As he moved with Ron to head to Gryffindor common room, the understanding came to him.
"You didn't notice when I left," Harry told Ron, grabbing him hard around the arm. "You only noticed when you got to the common room that I was missing."
Ron sighed. "All right, Harry. But be careful."
"No worries," Harry said, changing to his Snidget form as Ron continued walking on, knowing he would not turn around in time to see. He flew to an abandoned hallway and called at once for Toory and Zeely.
"Master?" they both asked worriedly upon Apparating in front of him.
"It's fine—I'm okay," Harry said, wanting to quell their concern. "But I need you to bring me the Stone at once—now!"
It was rare that Harry ordered the pair of them as forcefully as he was now, and the effect was palpable. Both of them vanished with a sharp crack, reappearing a second later, incongruently out of breath for the amount of time they had been gone. It was Toory who held the little package towards Harry, which he knew to contain the Philosopher's Stone.
"Good work, the both of you," Harry told them, seeing the disgust in Zeely's eyes that she had not snatched the Stone before Toory could. "Now get out of here."
They disappeared in a crack at once, unable to ignore Harry's command. He would not normally have expelled them so bluntly, but he needed to be quick. In a whirl, he transformed into his eagle form and snatched the Stone with his talons. Fighting the urge to head to his destination first, Harry instead headed to Gryffindor Tower, where he scurried in human form to his dorm and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak. Avoiding the throngs of students waiting to get a plate of food, Harry ducked out of the common room and made his way to the third floor corridor, taking three steps at a time.
Running without abandon, Harry arrived down the hallway from the entrance to Fluffy's room moments before what he knew to be Dumbledore's approaching footsteps did the same. He pulled the cloak up and leaned down to flick the renowned Philosopher's Stone across the floor until it smacked into the door concealing Fluffy and skidded to a halt. Professor Dumbledore came to a stop almost as quickly as the Stone, gazing down at it. Harry waited long enough for Dumbledore to pick it up before casting aside any curiosity about what might happen next, and booking it back to his common room.
By the next morning, the entire castle was debating whether it was Ron, Harry, or Dumbledore who had killed Professor Quirrell. When Hedwig delivered Harry's copy of The Daily Prophet, he was met with something of a scandalous headline.
"HOGWARTS TEACHER DEAD! MINISTRY OF MAGIC INVESTIGATES."
Harry could hear so many conversations about the night before that he needed to dial-down his hearing to pick up on only those seated near him.
"Yeah, but how, Ron?" George was asking, leaning across the table towards Ron, sitting next to Harry.
"How did you know that Quirrell was up to no good?" Fred elaborated, mirroring his brother's posture.
Ron cast Harry only the briefest of sideways glances before responding.
"I could just feel it—you know? Quirrell always meant to kill Harry."
It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that even Fred and George could offer no jovial response to Ron's statement. Harry had been impressed by Ron's quick thinking last night. Who knew what might have transpired if Ron had not acted on instinct in the moment? Granted, Dumbledore had appeared at once in a heightened state of magic Harry had never before witnessed, but it was Ron who had whacked Voldemort in the face with a brass platter, which had previously been holding some rather delicious-looking buns.
Still, the rest of the wizarding world seemed to be as confused as Harry was as to what had in fact ended Quirrell's life. As Harry read the rest of the Daily Prophet article, he found that it offered no evidenced based in what Harry knew to be the reality of the situation. Thankfully, the authors had found several shady aspects of Quirrell's actions over the past few years to paint him as the bad guy in this situation, but even as they labeled him a supporter of the Dark Arts, they did not even hint at the truth Harry knew. Regardless, life at Hogwarts continued, the students getting a three-day break from classes following the death of Quirrell, which few could find unreasonable, though some really tried.
"How are we expected to sit exams in a few weeks' time when the very Professors of Hogwarts refuse to review the relevant material with us?" Hermione shouted one day, precisely at the time at which the first-years' Transfiguration class was supposed to have started, subverting the mainstream opinion about classes being cancelled and earning Hermione a round of boos from the Gryffindors relaxing in the common room that morning.
"Hermione," Ron started, running his fingers through his ginger hair. Before he could go on, he laughed, seemingly in spite of himself. "No—never mind. It was just so Hermione of you to say that, that I can't think of an argument against it."
Ironically, this put an end to Hermione's complaints, who just looked at Ron for a few seconds before huffing and re-burying herself in a textbook, Harry and Neville looking at one another in identical looks of bewildered amusement.
When classes did resume, it was with fierce appreciation from the student body, as Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to fill in as professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the remainder of the year. There was not a single student in any House who could say a negative word about the class now, so enthralled were they by what Dumbledore had to teach them. Indeed, Harry had heard several seventh-year students utterly besides themselves talking about the amount they had learned from Dumbledore in Defense during just the past few weeks compared to their previous seven years of schooling.
Harry had one private meeting with Dumbledore remaining in the year, which turned out to be more cerebral than instructive, to Harry's chagrin. He had noticed the change in demeanor from the moment he had entered, when Dumbledore had already been seated behind his desk and had gestured for Harry to sit across from him.
"Harry. I think it is time the two of us discussed what transpired with Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said.
"All right," Harry offered, flipping through his mind the things he knew Dumbledore to know, the things he suspected Dumbledore of knowing, and the things he felt might be possible that Dumbledore knew.
"I have reason to believe that Professor Quirrell may have been under the control of Lord Voldemort, possibly as early as the summer before term started," Dumbledore said.
Harry felt that his face then presented a passable expression of shock and bewilderment at that statement, despite the opposite honest emotional reaction from him of non-response at the declaration of the blatantly obvious.
Dumbledore nodded heavily, seemingly buying-in to Harry's ruse. "Indeed. He had raised my suspicions at the start of the year, as I could sense a change in him from last we had met, but I will admit that I never considered that the situation would have been as serious as it was. I wonder, Harry, if you are aware of something called the Philosopher's Stone…"
Dumbledore went on to explain to Harry things which he mostly already knew. Harry worked to try to keep his reactions seeming genuine, carefully segregating in his mind the things he knew because of his research, and the things he knew from visions, feigning ignorance only for the latter. The headmaster confirmed what Harry had not known, but had suspected—that it was Dumbledore who had given him his father's Invisibility Cloak for Christmas. The writing on the package matched the notes from Dumbledore Harry had gotten about their meetings this year.
"Your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore told him. "Useful things . . . your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here. I have no doubt it will serve just as well, or better… all things considered."
"Sir?" Harry asked, wanting to know exactly what he meant by that.
"Harry, Lord Voldemort tried to kill you—again!" Dumbledore said emphatically, leaning forward on his desk. He threw his hands up the slightest amount in apparent frustration. "This knowledge does not seem to have had as large and impact on you as it would for most first year students, let alone grown wizards."
Harry hesitated for only the shortest of moments before shrugging.
"It all happened so quickly, when Quirrell attacked me, I mean. There was a lot to try to make sense of. But there was a moment—I think you noticed the same thing?" He waited for Dumbledore to respond, receiving only a politely silent look, confirming to Harry that he had indeed sensed it but was waiting to see what Harry would say.
"I could sense Voldemort getting kind of… pushed out of the castle after he left Quirrell's body," Harry admitted. "I didn't say anything because I thought I might have been imagining things."
"You weren't," Dumbledore said almost dismissively. "I sensed the same thing, but as headmaster, I am linked to the castle in a variety of ways, and have had vast experience with any number of angry spirits and with Lord Voldemort himself…"
Harry nodded, thinking he understood the implied question. "It's this, I think," he said, pointing at his scar. "It hurt — a lot — when Quirrell grabbed onto me, and then I could just sort of sense the… anger coming from Voldemort, knowing specifically that it was him, somehow. When I think back on other times this year when my scar kind of bothered me, they were all when Quirrell was nearby."
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, looking for a long while at Harry, who began to wonder if he was perhaps about to feel the full force of the headmaster's Legilimency. Harry would not have blamed him, considering he had just revealed that he had a connection to Voldemort's mind.
Instead, Dumbledore shrugged in similar fashion to what Harry had done earlier when he had tried to act coy — almost obviously so, which left Harry feeling genuinely bewildered now, wondering if Dumbledore had somehow caught on to Harry's deception.
"It would be a good idea for you to let me know the next time your scar bothers you," Dumbledore said. "In addition to that piece of advice, I also think it would be wise to carry with you as often as possible your Invisibility Cloak."
Harry raised an eyebrow at that before realizing how disrespectful it might seem.
"Why, sir?" he asked quickly.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and swiveled a bit, looking to the ceiling. "I don't mean to cause you any alarm, and I think we can assume that Voldemort was at Hogwarts for the Stone, and finding you here was just a lucky happenstance on his part. But, it would just seem wise to me, now that we know he is active again, for you to have a quick and easy method of escape handy—just in case."
Exams came and went, and Harry enjoyed the atmosphere that followed. The rest of the students were now as carefree as Harry usually was, and he was soaking up their companionship.
"We need to work out when to get together over the summer," Harry said one afternoon as he and a large group of first-years lounged by the lake.
"I vote for your house, Harry," Susan Bones said from the grass, where she was lying face-up in the sun, not bothering to open her eyes.
"My gran said something about having you all over sometime as well," Neville said from against the tree under which he sat, looking as if the idea terrified him.
"If you invite me, I'll likely come wherever," Lavender said, picking at some grass where she was lying next to Susan. "I mean, eventually. Give us a minute to see our families, you know?"
Most of them grunted in various levels of agreement. Harry shared a quick look with Neville, feeling something of a bond at their shared lack of much family to see. As the conversation moved on to more casual topics, Harry wondered if there was any reason to visit the Dursleys this summer. It was rare that he even thought of them, and never thought of them as his family, but now he wondered if seeing them once a year might be all right, if for no other reason than perhaps his mother would have wanted him to do as much.
Gryffindor easily won the House Cup, with Harry downplaying as emphatically as possible the idea that he was to thank for it whenever someone said it. He realized they were likely right, but did not want anyone thinking him arrogant. This was somewhat difficult to do after the Gryffindor Quidditch team had beaten Ravenclaw in what Harry felt had at first been the most competitive match of the season. Towards the end of the match, Harry had pulled off a feint that managed to purposefully lead the Ravenclaw Seeker at blazing speed straight into their Keeper, the pair of them crunching into one another and spiraling down to the pitch. Because it was technically a same-team collision, it did not qualify for a stoppage of action by Madam Hooch, and since Ravenclaw had already used all of their time-outs, Gryffindor was able to rack up the score against an unguarded set of hoops before Harry was able to find the Snitch for real and end the blowout.
When the day finally came to leave school, Harry made no attempt to circumvent the Hogwarts Express home this time, even though it meant getting farther away from Potter Manor to travel to London. He wanted the experience of riding on the train with everyone else; talking and laughing as the countryside changed scenes moving past them; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; changing into Muggle attire; and eventually pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.
This time, Harry got to officially meet Ron's family, spending some time chatting with them and accepting their invitation to visit The Burrow over the summer. Ron's little sister Ginny moved through various stages of staring at Harry, hiding her eyes embarrassedly, and then staring at Harry again.
After seeing them off and saying goodbye to Hermione and a few others, Harry shrank his trunk and put it in his pocket. Hedwig had wanted to fly to the manor rather than sit on the train all day, and would already be home by now. Once Harry crossed the barrier back to the Muggle side of the platform, he decided to just take a walk. It was nice to be out and about with no restrictions on where he could go. He spent a long time watching people mill about, did some window shopping, did some actual shopping, and then finally gave in to the growing urge to get home and see everyone, realizing that while it was unconventional, he did indeed have a family that he was very eager to spend time with