Mother Magic and the Philosopher's stone

Twenty-Six - The End

The first thing Harry notices as he wakes is a bone-deep, horrible ache all over his body. He's lying on a bed, he thinks, and judging by the powerful white light hurting his eyes even when they're closed it must be morning. The smell of antiseptic and lemon permeates the air. He must be in the hospital wing.

"Good morning. My dear boy," a quiet, elderly voice spoke from beside him. Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, slowly opening them and wincing at the bright light. Without his glasses, he could only make out the shape of garish magenta robes, and a tall pointed yellow hat.

"Good morning.... Headmaster." the boy rapsed. Headmaster Dumbledore handed him his glasses, and a tall glass of water. Harry sipped it gratefully, feeling far more refreshed and sharp than he did moments before. "What happened? With Quirrell- and the stone?" The old man, feeling every inch his 110 years, sighed wearily.

"I'm afraid professor Quirrell is dead, my boy. I believe that your late mother's protection, given to you on that Halloween night all those years ago, lashed out against him and Voldemort."

"So," the boy started, contemplating his hands, "I killed him?"

"Quirrell was dead the minute he allowed Voldemort to share his body. He is a cold, cruel man, as soon as young Quirinus outlived his usefulness, I'm afraid his life would have been forfeit." Harry nodded thoughtfully as if taking the headmaster's words to heart. Playing innocent and naive was tiring. He knew what kind of man Voldemort was, he grew up learning about tragedy and prophecy, and he knew what he was going to do to Quirrell- would do again, to Voldemort.

"And the stone? If Quirrell didn't get away then do the Flamels have the stone back?" Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles at the young boy. His gaze was piercing, but he didn't feel a touch of legilimency accompany it.

"I'm afraid that no one knows what happened to the Stone. By the time I had arrived, the mirror of Erised was shattered, the stone either missing or destroyed, and you unconscious from magical exhaustion."

"The Stone was in the mirror, right sir? Quirrell was staring into the mirror when I arrived, he seemed angry that he couldn't get to the Stone. Do you think maybe it was destroyed when the mirror was shattered?"

"It's a possibility my boy, but there's no use wasting life pondering what ifs," The man smiled, and Harry could almost forget that this same man battled dark lords in 1945, "I believe your friends are outside, even Mr. Longbottom." Harry watched the bright robed wizard retreat, before wiping the stupid expression off of his face. Lady Magic was right when she said Voldemort would return eventually, and he had nearly gotten his friends killed to go after a magical artefact that Quirrell would not have been able to get without someone pure of heart.

"Harry!" He was broken out of maudlin thoughts by several bodies slamming into him at once. Padma and Hermione were crowding around him with red-rimmed eyes, clearly, they had been out of sorts with worry. Neville, Draco and Lewis were behind them, smiling, but not willing to give up their masculinity to give their friend a hug.

"Hey guys- I need to breathe!" Harry said, grinning ear to ear, the girls stepped back immediately, with sheepish expressions.

"We're just happy to see that you're alright Harry!" Hermione said, conjuring a vase for the flowers she had bought him. They were all varieties of lilies, and Harry appreciated the gesture.

"Thank you, I'm just glad everyone else is fine as well- how's Weasley been?" Draco made a face.

"Annoying. He's been swanning about like a hero, but I think he's smart enough to not say anything to us, he's even left Neville alone." That was... good, at least. The hubris of the youngest Weasley son would undoubtedly be his undoing, but as long as they could keep him from becoming too unbearable, Harry wouldn't really have to step in. He didn't like it when people were a menace to his friends.