Chapter 12

AN: So sorry for the gap in posting! I just got burned out for a while posting a chapter a week and then school happened and yeah… sorry again! This story is far from abandoned! I'm actually going to be posting longer chapters but it might be longer time periods between postings. Hope you enjoy the ending of Book 1!

The great and powerful Dark Lord Voldemort was impetuously frustrated. If he wasn't currently on the back of that idiot Quirrell's head, he would Crucio at least a dozen people just to make himself feel better. Voldemort always had a plan. He wasn't the Dark Lord for nothing. When one plan didn't work, he had a back-up plan and a back-up plan for that. Before getting to Hogwarts, everything had gone smoothly. His plan of taking advantage of the fool Quirrell so he could steal the stone right from under the daft Headmaster's nose had worked. Failing to steal the stone while it was at Gringotts was a regrettable change of plans, a failure Quirrell paid dearly for, but not something he had not foreseen as a possibility. It wasn't until he had gotten to Hogwarts that his plans had started to unravel. First of all, the Potter boy, the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, malleable hero of the Light, had been sorted into Ravenclaw. The diversion in his plans was almost worth it to think about how Dumbledore's little pawn had turned out different than the senile old man had planned.

However, a Ravenclaw Potter was just the beginning of his problems. His plan to steal the stone on Halloween had failed. Voldemort's attempts to get a read on the boy had failed because of Potter's surprising suspiciousness of him. The Ravenclaw in Potter had made him more perceptive than the Dark Lord had anticipated.

While his other plans had failed, the Potter boy seemed to be a perpetual thorn in his side. Voldemort had come to Hogwarts expecting the little Potter brat to be a naïve, impulsive, predictable Gryffindor. Instead, he got an observant, inquisitive, and ultimately unpredictable Ravenclaw. After all, one moment he was an isolated student with his own self-interests at heart, and the next he was running off to save the young Malfoy heir. Harry Potter was an unknown, unforeseeable variable in Voldemort's plans. He had no idea what the boy would do next, and the Dark Lord hated not knowing something.

It was for this reason that Voldemort had taken to doing random legilimency checks on the Potter boy's friends. It was his only way to know if the boy was up to something. For the past few months, nothing eventful had come up. However, one mid-February Defense Against the Dark Arts class revealed that the group of Ravenclaw children knew far too much. They were even going to try and stop him from getting the stone. While it was laughable that a trio of first years had even a sliver of a chance against the Dark Lord, he still knew this would be the perfect opportunity to use them as guinea pigs. If they made it to the stone, he would simply overpower them and take the stone for himself.

With this new foolproof plan in mind, Voldemort used Quirrell to follow the Ravenclaws through the trapdoor. Finally, a plan was working perfectly. It wasn't until he passed through the flames right behind the Potter boy that he knew his plan had gone sideways once more.

The riddle Snape had used had not allowed Quirrell to pass through the flames without drinking the potion. The Potter boy had seen the flames part and said,

"Ah, Professor Quirrell I wasn't expecting you so soon."

Voldemort hurt Quirrell through their link as a punishment for his lax performance. The Dark Lord had never let his plans get so out of hand and he blamed this idiotic, pathetic excuse for a professor.

"Or should I address you properly, Voldemort."

The Dark Lord Voldemort was no longer frustrated. He was furious. Harry Potter was more than just a nuisance; he was becoming too much of a threat for his own good. Quickly calming himself, Voldemort was reassured with the thought that the Potter boy was going to die, painfully, for thwarting his plans once again. However, Voldemort accounted for the boy's unpredictability and had already begun a back-up plan. After all, he wasn't an all-powerful Dark Lord for nothing.

-EOEOEOEO-

Harry waited with baited breath as Quirrell approached him, the flames dancing behind him ominously. A brief flicker of pain crossed the Defense professor's face, but was quickly masked with intense loathing.

"Foolish boy. You think you are quite clever don't you?" Even though this was clearly a rhetorical question, Harry responded,

"I know I am, after all I figured out your little secret didn't I?" Ignoring him, Quirrell continued with a sneer.

"If you had any idea who you were dealing with, you would not be down here in the first place. While I am weak, my master is-"

"Oh, so I'm speaking to Quirrell right now? Sorry just not sure who held the reigns most of the time. He must be a poor Dark Lord indeed to have someone like you speak for him." Quirrell was shocked into silence at Harry's blunt words. Seeing as the professor's mouth did not move, Harry was surprised when a wispy sinister laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

"The boy is right… Let me speak to him… face-to-face."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

Harry watched in fascination as Quirrell unwrapped his turban to reveal a strange looking face with red eyes. Despite the serious situation, Harry could not help but snicker and say,

"I couldn't quite figure out how you did it. Now it makes sense. After all, no one with any amount of fashion sense would voluntarily wear a turban?" The back of Quirrell's head, now known as Voldemort only scowled in response.

"Harry Potter… You amaze me with your cleverness… and your complete lack of understanding of how dangerous a situation you are in… I must say… I have been looking forward to this… after all, unicorn blood can sustain me only for so long… once you get me the stone I will no longer be in this weak… spirit form." Harry blinked.

"Why on earth would I get the stone for you?" Harry hoped to distract Voldemort for a little longer so he could look into the mirror. He had somewhat of an advantage, being closer to the mirror. He already had an idea of what to do in order to get the stone, he only hoped he could get to it before Voldemort did.

"Do you not see what I have become… mere shadow and vapor…" Voldemort continued to drone on in the way that villains tend to do.

Harry didn't listen much since he knew all he needed from the Dark Lord. He turned his head slightly and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection in the mirror. Focusing on his desire to find the stone before Voldemort, he saw his mirror double wink at him and place the stone into his pocket. Harry glanced back at Voldemort and caught the last bit of his villainous speech.

"…I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don't you figure out the riddle." Harry almost sighed in relief. Voldemort hadn't seen him.

"What makes you think I know the answer?" Voldemort laughed in his high whispering voice.

"You are the cleverest wizard in your year… surely you can decipher such a simple task. In fact… you might as well give me the stone… seeing as you have already gotten it out of the mirror." Alright so he had seen him. Thinking quickly, Harry pointed his wand behind his back and whispered,

"Geminio," but said louder for Voldemort to hear, "I don't know what you are talking about. Why don't you figure it out yourself, no need to get your turban in a twist over a little mirror." Knowing he was stalling, Voldemort snarled,

"Stupid boy! Why waste your own life on something that means nothing to you… I thought you were a Ravenclaw, unlike your foolish parents. They died for no reason… I killed your father first… but your mother needn't have died… do not make the same mistake they did… give me the stone." If Voldemort had expected a brash outburst of anger from Harry, he was mistaken. Harry's eyes turned stony even as he laughed humorlessly.

"Don't think I don't see what you are trying to do. Playing on my sentiment to get a foolish reaction that you can take advantage of. Oh, how the mighty Dark Lord has miscalculated. In all your infinite power, you failed to see one thing. You killed Lily and James Potter, but you did not kill my parents. Xenophilius Lovegood is my father. My mother, Pandora died a year ago trying to save me, just as my birth mother did. If you had only seen what was right in front of you, you would have known how I was raised to believe in Nargles, in the power of knowledge, and in the value of people's lives. You have hurt a great many people, Voldemort. So, I may be a Ravenclaw, but I will never give up what my mother taught me and I will never help you. Catch!"

At the end of his speech, Harry threw a red stone at Voldemort, and Quirrell turned to catch it. However, he was not fast enough and the stone fell to the floor. Crying out in anguish, Quirrell bent down to pick up the stone but was shocked when the object burned at the touch and multiplied into five other copies. Quirrell took a step back, nudging another stone causing it to multiply as well. An intense spasm of fear crossed Quirrell's face. He took another step back as the stones continued to increase in number. However, a loud scream interrupted his retreat.

"NO! You fool, he has the stone! SEIZE THE BOY!"

Immediately, Quirrell surged forward, reaching for Harry. Harry scrambled back before the professor could reach him. In his panic, Harry glanced over to the Mirror of Erised and saw his mother reaching out to his reflected self. Her mouth was open, as if she was screaming. While he was distracted, Quirrell was able to reach Harry.

The defense professor tried to grab Harry's arm, in a rough attempt to get the stone. However, as he touched Harry's skin he reeled back as if burned. Quirrell was able to recover from the burning touch, but was wary of approaching again. However, Harry did not recover as quickly. His scar seared in pain at the contact and he fell on his back in an attempt to escape the pain. It was such an excruciating pain that he heard a voice in his head screaming, or maybe it was him, he could not tell. The pain receded slightly when Harry heard,

"KILL HIM, YOU FOOL!"

Harry barely registered through the haze of hurt that his life was now in grave danger. As if he was just now realizing he was a wizard, Quirrell drew his wand. Harry's perception of time seemed to slow as he watched, his most powerful weapon (his brain) incapacitated, helpless to stop what he knew was coming. The screaming in his head was back, but it seemed to be forming words now.

"NOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOT MY SOOOOOON!"

As Quirrell pointed his wand at Harry, he heard a loud crack that came from the center of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry registered the strange fact that the mirror was broken in a spider-web pattern. Quirrell did not notice this fact, or else he would have hesitated in uttering the words,

"Avada Ked-"

A pinpoint of light surged from Harry, moving so fast it made several sounds like a gunshot. Harry had barely enough time to muse that whatever that had moved so fast it broke the sound barrier before an enormous explosion engulfed Quirrell.

His scar still enflamed with pain, Harry idly watched his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor devolve into a crispy mess. With the threat out of the way, he immediately felt exhausted. Harry continued to hear voices as darkness crept into his vision. The words jumbled together until just before he lost consciousness, Harry heard an achingly familiar voice ask,
"Harry?"

-EOEOEOEO-

The first thing that Harry became aware of was that he was surrounded by a thick gray fog. Nothing else was around him and the smoky surroundings seemed to extend into infinity. Despite the dream-like surroundings, it felt too real to be anything but some form of reality. Instead of being alarmed by the strange environment, he decided to just go along with it. Curious, Harry began exploring. He wasn't really aware of the passage of time, but what seemed to be a little while later, Harry wandered upon a series of floating, glowing orbs.

A whimsical smile graced his face as he followed the orb's movements with his eyes. The urge to touch the glowing sphere was overwhelming, so ignoring reason for the moment, Harry reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against the beautiful object. Immediately the orb expanded rapidly until it grew to encompass Harry and all of the smog that had been there before.

Suddenly, Harry found himself in an all too familiar garden. The dirigible plum tree swayed in a breeze Harry could not feel. The grapefruit sized pods on the gnarled stumps of the Snargaluff plant appeared close to extracting, so it had to be near spring time where ever (or whenever Harry mused) he was. Everything looked like the home Harry missed so very much, right down to the mistletoe and the Gurdyroots. However, wisps of fog curled around the garden and everything was tinged in a gray-ish hue. Something else was off, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.

What it was soon became apparent as a little black-haired boy raced past Harry, not even sparing him a glance. Following a hunch, Harry trailed behind the child until he stopped before a woman trimming the leaves of a wormwood plant further into the large garden.

When the woman looked up, Harry gasped in shock at seeing his mother alive and younger than he could remember. She gave the little boy a large smile and wiped the dirt from her hands on her apron. Out of curiosity, Harry walked around to the boy's side and saw what he must have looked like when he was four. From there, Harry quickly reasoned that it only logically made sense that he was in a memory. Conflicting emotions arose at the realization. Thoughts of the unfairness of seeing his mother once again when she was alive and happy warred with thoughts of gratefulness that he was able to see her once more. Finally, he settled on the conclusion that he was watching this memory for a reason, so he had better pay attention to it.

Harry then noticed that his younger self was sniffling. His mother must have noticed it too, since she immediately got up and picked up the young Harry. Concern in her eyes, Pandora asked,

"Oh my darling, what's wrong?" Still wiping his nose, little Harry's answer was muffled.

"I jus… want'd to be like you… Mama… want'd to pick the perty flowers… but they hurt mama!" Harry finished with a sob. Older Harry watched with nostalgia as his beloved mother comforted him. He could now remember when this happened. Harry had wandered too far into the garden and had tried to pick a stinging nettle for his mother. He smiled fondly as the memory continued. His mother looked over little Harry's hands and, seeing they were only an irritated shade of pink, she smiled and said,

"Dear, you'll be fine. It will sting for a little while, but I have something that will help when we get back to the house. We just have to leave the garden first." Pandora made to set young Harry down, but he clung even tighter to his mother's neck. Letting out a breathy laugh, she asked,

"Do you not want to go back?" Harry quickly shook his head. "And why is that?"

Little Harry pressed his face into his mother's shirt and mumbled,

"Don' want to get hurted again." At that Pandora's face grew serious. She slowly set Harry down and stayed bent on her knees so she was at eye level with him.

"Darling, you know how much I love you?" Young Harry nodded his head in response. "You know I would never let you get hurt?" he nodded again. "Then just remember when things get scary or hard or even a bit strange, just remember that I will always protect you."

Older Harry was still standing behind his younger self watching the treasured scene play out. However, his revelry was broken when Pandora went from looking straight at Memory Harry to just past his shoulder. She continued talking, but her eyes locked with Older Harry's and, despite knowing this was a memory, he felt she was speaking to him.

"Are you listening, my little one? I am always going to be there for you… no matter what." Harry took a shocked step back as his mother rose from her crouched position and still maintained eye contact. This should not be possible.

"I asked you a question, my dearest Harry. Aren't you going to answer? You always were so fond of answering questions." Still reeling from the strange turn of events, Harry automatically answered,

"I'm listening." Pandora's face went from serious to serenely happy in a split second at his answer.

"Good. I am so glad you remembered this. It is every bit as true now as it was then."

"Wha- How-wait what? How are you here? You're dead!" Pandora let out a trilling laugh.

"Well, I know that! But really what is death…?" his mother then trailed off in that whimsical manner that he so loved.

"Death is but a journey to another place. Is it so far fetched that I journeyed here, to you?" Harry's brain was full of so many questions he did not even know where to begin. Taking advantage of his silence, she continued,

"Death comes for us all, but the way it comes is different for us all. Even the Dark Lord cannot escape it, despite using the darkest of blood magics to thwart it. Although, I should probably not judge his use of blood magic." Harry marveled at how nonchalantly she delivered such veiled truths. It was almost as though she was talking about the weather. He was about to ask her about what she had just said when a loud voice echoed,

"Is he waking?"

Harry whirled around looking for the source of the voice, but could see no one. Pandora had evidently heard it too as she sighed.

"It seems our time is near an end. Or is it near a beginning? It really is hard to tell with such things." Wanting to say something before he left, Harry asked,

"Are you real? Or are you just something my mind has conjured up?" Pandora smiled placidly and responded,

"I am not in your head, but your heart. I will leave you with this riddle that will hopefully help you understand: My death was not the end, but the beginning of what you see. The Shadow of my love will look after you wherever you may be."

The swirling gray smoke began to overtake the scene until Harry could only see his mother's shining eyes and pale blonde hair. He was tempted to call out or reach out to stop the fog from ending his contact with his mother, but he had a strange feeling this would not be the last time they spoke. After all, she was in his heart not his head. As the smoke grew darker and darker, the echoing voices grew louder and louder.

"Professor, I don't know what to tell you. He is in perfect health."

"Then why is he still maintaining his mental shields as if he was still under attack?"

"That is what I have been trying to explain, Headmaster. He is not in a normal state of sleep. I have tried giving him dreamless sleep potions, but he still continues to be in a state of agitation while being unconscious."

"I know you are doing all you can Poppy, but his shields are up and he is clearly in a state of mental agitation."

While the voices had continued to grow in their clarity, Harry had slowly become aware that the only place he could be was in the Hospital Wing. Harry gradually recalled what had transpired through the trapdoor and his strange dream. He was grateful he could still remember the dream about his mother, but until he had the time to analyze it, Harry could only classify it as a fanciful dream.

"I am sorry, Headmaster, but we will only be able to know what is going on once Harry wakes up."

"And how long could that be?"

Harry decided now was as good a time as any as he whispered in a gravely voice,

"Could be sooner than expected." With great effort, Harry opened his heavy eyes. He immediately squinted at the white walls. Before he could take much else in, Professor Dumbledore's bright grandfatherly smile hit Harry's sensitive eyesight like a ton of bricks. He brought his hand up to rub his weakened eyes, but found that he was sore all over. Pushing past the pain, Harry struggled to sit up in his bed. He would not be looked down upon by the Headmaster. Still smiling despite Harry's obvious discomfort, Dumbledore said,

"Good afternoon, Harry." Repressing a scowl, Harry rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off his growing headache. It only helped marginally, but it allowed him the opportunity to look at his surroundings. The white walls and sheets coupled with the nauseating aroma of potions and bleach made Harry long for his own bed at home where dark blue and green covered every surface and the smell of parchment comforted him like an old friend.

A large pile of colorful candy stood in stark contrast to the rest of the room. These must be tokens from admirers of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. His real friends would know he cared little for chocolate frogs. In fact, Harry then noticed a well-worn chair had been pulled up to his bedside and an old copy of Hogwarts, A History set next to it. Clearly, Hermione had been reading to him while he had been asleep.

Dumbledore followed Harry's gaze and said,

"Ah yes, tokens from your friends and admirers," Harry internally scoffed at that, "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally the whole school knows." Grimacing, Harry interrupted the Headmaster before he could continue.

"How long have I been in here?"

"Nearly two weeks. Your friends Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Granger have only left your side to attend classes. Madam Pomfrey had to all but throw them out when they insisted on sleeping here." Dumbledore chuckled and Harry couldn't help but smile. He never expected to have such loyal friends.

"My boy, there is an important issue that we must address. When we found you next to the mirror, there were hundreds of pieces of broken stone next to you. There was evidence of some sort of explosion and your magical core was depleted to the point that we believe you put yourself in a magically induced coma. I guess what I am trying to ask, my boy, is what happened?" Expecting the question, Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry sir, but when I got the stone out of the mirror, Voldemort demanded I give it to him. That was quite the clever idea only letting someone who wants the stone but not use it be able to retrieve it, by the way. Anyways, I decided to give the stone to him, but in a way he would not be able to get it," Harry replied cryptically. The Headmaster thought for a moment before chuckling.

"You charmed the stone to multiply. That was a tricky bit of spell work, Harry. You shouldn't-"

"I know, I know I shouldn't have done such a complex charm, but it worked didn't it? But you said you only found pieces of stones? I gave the original stone to Voldemort before it multiplied. Was the Sorcerer's Stone there?" Dumbledore frowned as though he had been expecting this.

"Unfortunately, the magical explosion destroyed all of the stones, including the original."

"Oh, I was just hoping to save it for Nicholas Flamel. I guess he could just make another seeing as he is the only one who knows how to. But, then again, he has lived a very long life…" The Headmaster's eyebrows rose.

"Indeed, Harry, he has lived a very long and happy life. They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Harry nodded sadly.

"Well, sir, there are a few things I understand and a few things I do not."

"If you have questions, I might have answers," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Well, I understand Voldemort killed my birth parents and it probably had something to do with some sort of grand destiny. I mean, why else would I be called the 'Boy-Who-Lived' as if I lived for a reason in the future. The wizarding world always did seem to place their hope in me for some odd reason, especially if Voldemort is supposedly gone. Also, if Voldemort is trying to come back he will continue trying until he succeeds. I guess I'll have to be ready for that… Anywho, what I don't understand is why Quirrell couldn't touch me or harm me."

Dumbledore blinked for a moment, trying to process all Harry had just stated.

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He-"

"Wait just a moment. You're saying love caused a huge magical explosion that turned Voldemort into a pile of smithereens? That doesn't even make sense! My original theory makes more sense than that! When Quirrell tried to touch me, he got burned, which is consistent with the results of a protection blood-" Realizing he might have gone too far, Harry stopped.

"Harry, I can only hope you were not about to say what I think you were. Such types of magic are classified as dark." Trying to casually change the subject, Harry scoffed.

"Oh not at all, sir. I was merely speculating, but clearly I was wrong. Wrackspurts must have gotten to me…" Dumbledore did not look entirely convinced, but he moved on nonetheless.

"Indeed, Harry. Now, enough questions. You must rest. Madam Pomfrey will have my head if I exhaust one of her patients." Harry plastered on a placating smile. While he knew Dumbledore was still suspicious, he was relieved he hadn't asked anything else.

When the Headmaster had left the Hospital Wing, Harry quickly reached over and plucked his pack from the table. It had an undetectable expansion charm, but Harry had also added a small side pouch to the pack that could only be unlocked with Harry's magical signature. Worried Madame Pomfrey would be in to check up on him any minute now, Harry quickly pressed his thumb against the lock of the secret side pouch. Peering in, he was relieved to see Dumbledore had not been able to steal anything. He could only imagine how horribly their previous conversation would have gone if he had. Harry flopped back onto his bed in relief. He drifted off into a calmed sleep, reassured that he would still be making a little trip to a certain alchemist this summer.

-EOEOEOEOEO-

If Harry was annoyed by his 'fame' before, he hated it now. Just as Dumbledore had said, everyone knew how Harry had 'saved' a powerful relic from the 'crazy' Professor Quirrell. Harry had been out of the Hospital for a little over three months and people were still freaking out about it. Rumors flew, gossip spread, and Harry gained official hero status. Merlin, Harry despised it. Fortunately, no one really knew what happened, or else they would think he was a freak not a hero.

The only people who really knew what had actually happened were Harry's best friends. Hermione had more questions than Harry had answers. Draco was just glad Harry hadn't gotten himself killed ("Might as well make yourself a bloody Gryffindor, Harry!"). They both were still mad at him for taking so many risks, but luckily they couldn't do much to him while he was still recovering.

Harry was sick of recovering. He had learned from Madame Pomfrey that his magical core had been so depleted they feared he would never get any magic back at all. She insisted that any magic he could manage would be a victory in itself. That, however, did not make Harry feel any better when he couldn't even levitate a stupid cup more than a few centimeters. It was a frustratingly long process, and three months later, he was still only half-way back to normal.

It was, however, a pleasant surprise that when he got frustrated he could almost hear his mother cheering him on. At times, he actually could hear her. He would hear a word or two when he was all alone in the Hospital Wing or feel a general sense of encouragement when he felt discouraged. For some time, Harry feared he was going mad. But then he would remember his father telling him sanity was just controlled madness. However, Harry wasn't so sure he should be comforted by the words of a man who just got out of St. Mungo's after a psychotic breakdown.

Harry couldn't help but feel that this all came from the strange dream he had had about his mother. For months, he had mulled over the riddles and the vague references to strange topics. He was itching to dive into the Restricted Section and puzzle out the meaning of his mother's every little word. However, he knew the Restricted Section was just that- restricted. He also mused that he would probably get more answers rifling through his mother's old books. Harry concluded with resignation that he would have to wait until the end of the year before he could do anything else about it.

However, the end of the school year was rapidly approaching. The Headmaster had tried to excuse Harry from his exams due to his recovery. Feeling like this was unfair, Harry stubbornly refused to sit out of exams. Eventually, they struck up a compromise. Harry could take the written portion of his exams, but he could not demonstrate the practical side.

Exams had finally arrived by the middle of June and Harry felt more than ready. He knew he had gotten top marks on his written exams, but he refused to completely sit out on the demonstration. Harry could do it. He knew he could. His first opportunity to show he could still do magic was for his transfiguration final. When it was Harry's turn, he attempted to change a mouse into a teacup. He tried to transfigure the mouse into the most ornate cup he could imagine, but he nearly passed out from the effort. Professor McGonagall quickly rose to catch him. Easily transfiguring a book on her desk into a chair, she sat Harry down on it.

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter?" Through gritted teeth, he spat out,

"No. I'll be fine." Why was this taking so long? Why couldn't he do anything right?

It will be alright. The calm voice helped even out Harry's breathing as he held his head in his hands.

"Mr. Potter, this will take time. Magical depletion is nothing to scoff at. The fact that you didn't die from it shows great strength." Harry laughed.

"Strength?!"

"Harry. It is not your fault this happened to you. What you do with this is. Your father was one of the bravest and most talented transfiguration students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching. If he could see you now-"

"Yeah, he would be so disappointed his son can't even transfigure a bloody teacup."

"What are talking about, Mr. Potter? Look," she said with a gesture. He removed his hands and glanced up at the demonstration table. There rested a perfectly transfigured porcelain teacup, just as Harry had imagined it to look like. He felt a triumphant smile stretch his face. He caught Professor McGonagall smile slightly before she returned to her examination seat. Professional once again, she wrote a few things on a piece of parchment before her and said,

"You may go." Harry collected his things and was about to excitedly race out of the room when Professor McGonagall said,

"Oh, and Mr. Potter? If your father could see you now, I am sure he would be very proud."

Unbidden, Harry's eyes grew misty and he ducked his head in thanks. He left the classroom feeling lighter than before. Professor McGonagall had helped more than she could possibly know.

-EOEOEOEOEO-

Once exams were over, the end of the year feast was set to commence. Draco and Hermione sat next to each other and bickered over who would get higher exam scores.

"Of course Harry will be the best in our year. Everyone knows it! It simply is ridiculous of you to suggest otherwise," Hermione proclaimed.

"Oh that's ridiculous?! What I think is ridiculous is someone undervaluing themselves just to be argumentative!" Gasping, Hermione exclaimed,

"How dare you! I am not being argumentative." Harry couldn't help but guffaw at that.

"Enough already! Clearly Hermione is going to be best in our year seeing as I couldn't even do half of the exams." Draco frowned at Harry's resigned look.

"Harry, the professors know about your condition. They won't let that affect your grades. Besides, why are we even arguing about this anyways?! If either of you get top of our class, I'll be a very proud friend indeed." Harry and Hermione grinned at Draco's compassion. The mood was ruined when Draco forged a fake sneer and exclaimed,

"By the way, why are we all assuming either of you two will be top of our year? I am, after all, the Pureblood Malfoy heir!" he exclaimed with false grandiose. Unfortunately, Harry had paused to take a drink of pumpkin juice and had sprayed Malfoy with the drink in his repressed mirth. Harry and Hermione immediately roared with laughter and even a few of the surrounding Ravenclaws joined in. Draco did his best to look unimpressed as he cast the scouring charm on his cloak. However, even his well practiced mask could barely hide his mirth.

The rest of the feast was rather uneventful. Ravenclaw won the house cup largely due to Harry and Hermione's exceptional school work and Draco's unmatched potions prowess. Even though Gryffindor lost by a considerable amount (the trophy room incident earlier in the year hadn't helped), Professor McGonagall still sent Harry a smile as the Ravenclaws cheered their victory.

Exam results were in right before it was time to leave Hogwarts for the summer. As expected, Hermione made top of their year, but Harry was surprised when he was right behind her. Even though Draco got above average marks he still seemed upset he hadn't gotten top of the year. When Harry pointed out Draco's grades, he muttered something that sounded like 'trolls' and 'stupid stones'.

Before Harry knew it, trunks were packed away for the trip back on the Hogwarts express. He was so ecstatic to see his family again that he wasn't even upset when the teachers handed out reminders to not use magic over the holiday. However, Draco laughed when he saw the waiver,

"As if the Ministry could detect underage magic within Malfoy Manor's wards. You have to come visit Harry! Our library is massive; you would love it!" That certainly caught Harry's attention. He reassured Draco that he would definitely be visiting.

The rest of the ride on the train was spent in general merriment as they enjoyed their last moments together before they went their separate ways.

When they arrived at King's Cross, Hermione exclaimed,

"We absolutely must meet up at least once this summer. Harry, you send me your schedule first since Draco will probably be on vacation to France or something-"

"Hey!"

"You are though, aren't you?"

"…Yeah." Hermione rolled her eyes and she was about to continue when Harry said,

"Hermione, no need to plan just yet! We'll just exchange owls and see how it goes from there!" Hermione bit her lip as if the idea of not planning physically pained her.

"Fine. But you had better owl me, Harry Potter!"

"Of course I will! I see my family, got to go!" They separated and went to their prospective families. While most children walked, Harry ran up to his family, joy clearly on his face. At seeing his little sister, Harry immediately felt better about his recovering magic, the many unsolved mysteries, and the last school year in general.

All three of the Lovegood family walked away toward the floo exit. However, Harry looked back one last time and caught the calculating look of Lord Malfoy. His steely gray eyes pierced Harry with such malice that Harry physically paused in his steps. Harry could understand the pureblood lord's hatred but there was something else was there in his eyes though. Something calculating. Something deadly. Before Harry could put his finger on it, Lucius Malfoy looked away.

Immediately, Harry was reminded that Voldemort was still out there, he was still in danger, and next school year would be here sooner than he would like. He shook his head to clear his mind of such negative thoughts. It wasn't as if next year could be any worse than last year.

-EOEOEOEO-

Three Months Earlier

The darkness of a moonless night revealed nothing as the pureblood Lord Lucius Malfoy looked out onto his manor's grounds. There was a certain buzz of magic in the air that Lucius could not identify. However, he knew from experience that it could mean something important had happened or something important would happen soon. He scoffed at his fanciful thoughts and turned away from the window of his study. He returned to the large stack of paperwork on his desk and grimaced. It was exhausting keeping the minister as his puppet. He had bills to push through, creature rights act to shut down, and many other agendas to attend to. However much he hated his plethora of paperwork, he loved what it represented. Power. If he was a musician, this was his Stradivarius and all of the wizarding world would hear him play. At that thought, he smirked and continued signing parchment and reading rolls upon rolls of legal jargon.

Lucius' work was interrupted when a particularly powerful breeze opened the window with a loud bang. His surprise quickly hidden behind his perfect mask, Lucius coolly got up and closed the window. Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. There was a malignant presence in the air. It reeked of power and dark magic. Lucius had not felt such a presence since-

"Luuuuuuciusssss." The whisper jarred him enough that he quickly drew his wand.

"Show yourself. I command you." Suddenly, Lucius' trunk started rattling. He tilted his head in confusion. This trunk held his most prized possessions that needed the greatest amount of protection. How could something be inside. He approached slowly with caution as the trunk continued to shake. He wordlessly cast of the multiple protective wards and used his wand to open the trunk from a distance.

A shield charm ready on his lips, he waited for something to happen. Nothing happened. Perplexed, Lucius stomped over to the trunk but reeled back when he saw his most important and most feared object. It was glowing. He watched it until the glow faded and he tentatively drew it out and set it on his desk. Though there was no wind, the pages of the diary flew open to a page somewhere in the middle. Getting as close as he dared, he saw elegant scrawled handwriting that he had not read in eleven years.

Lucius,

Plans have changed. The light is stronger than I had expected. We will need to be more cautious than ever. However, the Potter boy must die. We can accomplish great things, you and I. You must do exactly as I say…