Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 33

Chapter 33: The Golden Gamble

May had gone by in a blur. It had come and gone mostly unnoticed by me, as not much had happened. I mean, sure, there was stuff I’d had to do. Tests to prepare for. A business to set-up and run. But nothing that made me sit up and say ‘Holy crap!’

Which was nice. It was peaceful and, while not completely relaxing, made for a good change of pace.

But now, things were different. Things were starting to gain traction. Finals were coming up, and once that was over, I’d be free from the hell of compulsory education. Then, I’d be getting ready to head off to higher education.

I brief wondered why I was torturing myself with this, and considered not pursuing a college or university degree, but shelved the idea after a bit. It was a pain in the buttocks, but it was, sadly, necessary. And I didn’t want to waste the hard work my friends and family had gone through to get me those recommendations.

Then, there was the Potion business. With all the important legal documents wrapped up, I could increase production and hit the market running. Sure, I was tied to several larger companies now, but my plans to deal with that were in the making.

I’d decided to hold off on opening up my first storefront until I got back from France in late July, aiming for an early August grand-opening. Everything regarding the buildings I was going to use was already squared away, with the paperwork filled out and filed along with the initial deposits already made. The interior restructuring was going well, and it would be finished by mid-July. Then, I could get ready for business!

Of course, I was still making products and selling them, even without a store. My idea to sell through the internet hadn’t taken off yet, but a few ads placed into several choice women’s fashion magazines had ensured I had a steady stream of revenue from that angle. Not to mention word-of-mouth was still helpful. Even more so when one of Sam’s father’s co-workers had tried my hair growth cream and saw results almost immediately. Add in a couple of free samples here and there, and I had a strong customer base.

I was far off from being a household name like I planned on being in the future, but I’d set the foundations for it.

But right now, I was focused on something else other than potions or schoolwork.

It was the early evening of the 11th of June, and I watched the TV in Sam’s living room like a hawk. I wasn’t usually invested in sports like the Parsons, but today was an exception. After all, today was the England-Denmark match of the European Football Cup.

Nobody expected Denmark to make it to the Football Cup this year in Europe. They only made it in because of chaos in Yugoslavia that got the country disqualified. Because it was a last-minute addition to the line-up, the Danes had only two weeks to prepare against the former USSR, England, France, Germany, Holland, Scotland, and the host of the event, Sweden.

They were basically the longshot, which meant the odds were against them winning in the betting pool. 20 to 1 odds, to be precise.

‘If my memory is correct, and I hope to God it is, then the first match they play is against England, and they draw against them at a score of 0-0,’ I thought to myself as I nervously shifted in my seat.

‘If that happens again in this timeline, then that means the possibility of events playing out the same as they did in my world are high, and I could earn a large amount of money through a few well-placed bets,’ I thought eagerly.

It was a risk. So far, this world was fairly accurate to what I remembered of my old world’s history. For instance, in the Harry Potter books, the Prime Minister was never given a name, but just as it had been back in my original life, the Prime Minister here was Sir John Major, and he had been since his election in 1990.

However, there was one important detail in the books that made things different between my old life and my current one. The Prime Minister before John Major in my old world was Margaret Thatcher. A woman. And in the books, when Minister Fudge first met the unnamed Prime Minister, the previous Prime Minister had tried to throw Fudge out the window.

Notably, Fudge claimed they were a man. And say what you want about Margaret Thatcher, but she was very clearly a woman.

Why did this matter? Margaret Thatcher was not the previous Prime Minister. She had existed, but hadn’t served the same amount of time she did in my world, being ousted in 1988 to be replaced by a man named Sir Simon Garland, who only served until 1990, and being replaced by John Major.

I’d always known there was a chance what I knew about this world’s future could change, or have changes I’d not yet noticed. After all, my very presence should have caused ridiculous numbers of butterflies to occur. Assuming time worked liked that. This was a magical world, who knew how multiverse shenanigans actually worked!

But I didn’t think my actions here, right now, in England would influence the outcome of a foreign country’s match that would take place in Sweden. How far would the ripples actually go, though? I just didn’t know.

In the end, after thinking over everything, I decided to take the plunge, and had bet all of the money my mother had given me for my birthday on Denmark tying with England in their first match of the European Football Cup. If I lost? Well, that would suck, and hurt a tiny bit, but a thousand galleons, or five thousand pounds, wasn’t actually all that much in the grand scheme of things. I was making more in a month or two from sales with my potion creams. But if I won the gamble? Well, I would be rich.

‘In the event things play out as I knew them, and Denmark draws with England zero to zero, then I will put my winnings from that bet onto Denmark winning the whole shebang,’ I decided, watching with bated breath as the game played out on the screen.

“Man, I’ve never seen you so excited for a game before,” Sam chuckled as he sat down next to me, a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

“Let’s just say I’ve got skin in the game,” I replied evasively, and my best friend squinted at me in response. Then, he glanced about, making sure his parents and sister (or any of the neighbors who’d come over to watch the game on the biggest screen on the block) weren’t paying attention.

“Did you put money on this?” he asked in an incredulous whisper, making me smirk.

“Perhaps,” I demurred softly.

“Aren’t you always complaining about people who bet irresponsibly and have gambling debts?” Sam inquired suspiciously.

“True, but consider this less a gamble, and more… an experiment,” I replied. Sam blinked at me, then his eyes widened.

“You… you used Divination to predict the outcome didn’t you?” he guessed, and I grinned.

“Guilty,” I confirmed. While this was mostly related to my future knowledge, I did use the rune bones to double-check and try to confirm my story. And while the answers were vague, they seemed hopeful at the very least.

“Whoa, that’s… dumb. Or brilliant? I dunno which,” Sam grunted.

“Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it? We’ll just have to see if it pays off,” I chuckled, before turning serious again. “Now, however, there’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Now? I need to grab some of your dad’s BBQ grilled chicken before it’s all gone!” I declared, causing Sam to snort.

“Good luck with that,” he said, waving me off. “Bring me back a drink, oh great conqueror.”

“Sure. Water or soda?”

“Fruit punch,” he replied, and it was my turn to snort.

“You mean Mr. Pond’s very clearly spiked punch?” I asked.

“Obviously,” Sam nodded.

“Alright. One ‘fruit punch’ coming up,” I told him, getting off the couch. It was a slow stretch of the match, anyways. Things would be interesting closer to the end. Right now, though, I needed food.

“Oh, hey, Kate,” I hummed as I found Sam’s sister standing by the platter of grilled meats. Burgers, hot dogs, and chicken lay in a glorious pile on a table that had a lot of other snack foods available. She was looking over the food with an intense look, and she jerked in surprise, not having noticed me.

“Oh! Ed! Hi!” she said.

“Mind if I grab some chicken?” I asked, and she nodded before stepping aside, letting me take a few legs. “Awesome. I have no idea how your dad manages to make chicken so juicy and flavorful, but I am always super jealous of it.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” she nodded. “I mean, he has to be good at something in the kitchen, right?”

I laughed in agreement. Mr. Parson wasn’t a terrible cook, but he did fit the stereotypical husband who couldn’t make food to save his life in a kitchen, but when it came time to man a grill, he was a pro.

“So, how are things?” I asked Kate as I stocked up on chips and dip (No matter how long I’d been British for, I could never bring myself to calling chips ‘crisps.’ Thank God for Occlumency to keep me from looking too American).

“Um, I’m doing fine. School’s going okay,” Kate replied, fidgeting a bit.

“Ugh, yeah, school. Do you need any more tutoring help?” I offered.

“No, no, I’m good,” she denied with a rapid shake of her head. I shrugged and accepted her answer. I’d make the offer to her later if she needed it. Or maybe to Mrs. Parson.

“Great. I know how much it sucks, but it’s important, unfortunately,” I said. “Any idea what you want to do in the future?”

“No, not like you and Sam do,” Kate sighed. “I just… I’m not sure.”

“Well, that’s alright, not everyone knows right off the bat. And I had to think things over long and hard before coming to my current decisions,” I told her.

She snorted a ‘yeah, right,’ under her breath, which I politely ignored.

“So, uh, Ed, I heard you have a girlfriend?” she asked tentatively, and I resisted the urge to wince.

“That’s right,” I replied. “Err. Well, maybe. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Kate asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah, I know Delilah because she’s a… let’s call her a work buddy. I helped her out at a party, and then again after it, and we hit it off. And in return she’s been helping me meet people that can help with my business. Are we dating, though? I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think we’ve had any actual dates, now that I look back on it.”

“Is that so?” Kate asked, suddenly turning eager.

“The thing is, we’re both attracted to each other,” I continued, trying to let Sam’s sister down gently. “We’ve kissed and all that, but never gone further, or really talked about it. I think that’s because her dad is… kinda an asshole who’d disapprove of us dating. Pretty sure he’s not thrilled about us hanging out or working together, either.”

“Oh. I see,” Kate muttered despondently.

“Sorry,” I said weakly. She glanced at me, suspicious.

“Wait you knew…?”

“That you had a crush on me? Yes,” I replied, and she frowned, before a spark of realization flickered in her eyes.

“Damn it, Sam,” she muttered under her breath.

“Don’t beat him up too badly for it, please?” I requested, quietly letting Sam take all the blame for this. Sure, I was throwing him under the bus, but what else are best friends for, if not for taking the brunt of an angry girl’s wrath?

Plate loaded up with food, I left Kate to her thoughts, returning to the couch. Sadly, my spot had been swiped while I’d been gone, but I didn’t mind too much. I leaned against the wall, watching and waiting and shoveling food into my hungry maw, my eyes locked onto the TV screen.

And then, it happened.

A few hours later, and the match was coming to a close. Things had been heated, and both sides had failed to score a single point against the other. It was a tie at zero. And there were only a couple minutes left.

I was on the edge of my seat (somebody else had gotten up and I’d swiped their seat so I could watch the game up close) and I gripped the arms of the recliner tightly as I stared intently at the screen.

It took all of my willpower and Occlumency training not to burst into cheers or even crack a smile at the sight on the scoreboard when the timer ran out and the end of the match was called. Celebrating the draw would look weird to the people surrounding me.

Still, I couldn’t help a faint, hysterical giggle escaping my lips. Why? Because I’d just won a hundred and fifty thousand pounds! The bookie I’d used to place my initial bet had been giving odds of thirty to one on Denmark tying against England in the match today, and I’d scored big time!

‘By the end of this, I’m going to be three million pounds richer!’ I thought giddily.

This changed things. It proved my future knowledge was still reliable for now, and it gave me plenty of funds with which to play with.

‘I wonder how Harry is doing?’ I couldn’t help but wonder as a lightning bolt shaped ad for a sports shoe flickered across the screen and reminded me of him. Hogwarts finals were coming up soon. Or had they already happened? I didn’t know for sure. All I could do was pray he would stay safe, and that things worked out like they had in the book.

&&&&&

Harry POV

Harry frowned. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but today felt off for some reason. Dinner was over, and he was relaxing in an armchair in the corner of the common room, digesting his meal with a good book. Ron and Neville were playing chess on the floor with Dean and Seamus, and Hermione was talking with the other First Year girls about magical makeup.

At first he’d been surprised, as he’d never seen the bushy-haired witch as one for that sort of topic, but apparently Hermione had been more interesting in the magical aspect behind it, as well as learning about the sort of cultural norms magical women grew up with.

Everything seemed nice and normal… except for the niggling sensation in his head that was telling him otherwise. He’d been feeling it all day, but it had grown significantly in the last couple of hours.

‘Did I eat something weird? No, I don’t think that’s it. Have Hermione’s study sessions finally driven me mad?’ Harry wondered to himself. ‘…No, that’s not it, either.’

He glanced around the Gryffindor common room, which was filled with a lot of other students chatting, studying, or relaxing. Nothing seemed out of place to him. In fact, it all felt unusually calm and collected. Well, calm for the House of the Brave, at least. He was pretty sure this would have been the equivalent of a shouting match in Slytherin or Ravenclaw.

The mood was upbeat, and his friends were doing well. Ron especially was still flying high several days after the final Quidditch match of the year. In fact, everyone in Gryffindor was cheerful. No wonder there, they’d won after all.

Harry wasn’t sure it would be enough to beat Slytherin for the House Cup, but they’d won the Quidditch Cup, so at least there was that to celebrate.

But the celebratory mood wasn’t what had made Harry feel unnerved, either. Was it nerves? Next week were the finals after all, and then followed a week-long period to relax before they were sent back to their homes.

Yet Harry wasn’t sure that was the case, either. Hermione’s long study sessions throughout May made him fairly certain their study group would be the top scorers. Even Ron and Neville would likely be in the upper percentage all things considered.

‘And if they didn’t get decent grades, I bet their parents – or grandmother in Neville’s case – would give them a tongue lashing as soon as they got home,’ Harry thought with a brief moment of amusement, before a feeling of depression hit him.

Home. That word… that damned word. The thought of the Dursleys and calling that cookie-cutter misery-shed they called a house his ‘home’ physically made Harry ill. They hated him, and the feeling was mutual. He was not looking forward to doing chores again, acting like a slave for the Dursleys. Two months with them was going to be torturous.

As he sunk into the Occlumency training Edward had taught him to calm down he wondered if the older boy would let him hang out at his apartment. ‘I know he has plans to open a business as well as prepare for University, but I hope he and Sam still have time for me.’

While he cooled his metaphorical heels with a meditation technique, curiosity had Harry try and focus on the feeling of unease within him. Could he try and find out what the source of his disquiet was?

It was worth a shot, so Harry let his consciousness spread outwards. He checked his memories and tried to see if it was perhaps a school assignment he’d forgotten to do, but nope, that wasn’t it. Neither was it any sort of forgotten birthday or important date.

It was only when Harry focused on his body did he realize that it was a pain in his scar which had been making him antsy, and he frowned heavily. The feeling was a minor throb, like an itch instead of the pervasive migraine-like sensations he’d used to get. But now, he hadn’t felt like that in weeks.

‘In fact, when was the last time my scar actually hurt?’ Harry wondered with a frown. After some time to think, the answer came to him.

‘Halloween! The last time my scar hurt, it was during Halloween!’ he realized. And when a troll had showed up during that time, he’d completely forgotten about it, as he’d been focused on other things. Namely, the troll.

‘Okay, so, my scar really hurt around the time the troll showed up on Halloween. Is my scar some sort of threat sensor? Can it detect when I’m in danger?’ Harry wondered curiously. If so, that was a surprisingly useful ability to have. Though the fact it’d gone off twice so far while at the supposedly ‘safest school in Europe’ didn’t fill the Boy Who Lived with much confidence or joy.

‘Think, Harry! Think! When my scar hurt last time, a troll was invading the castle. So, does that mean there’s another troll? Or is something bad in general about to happen?’ he wondered to himself.

A thought occurred to him, and Harry rose from his seat, muttering a hasty, “Gotta use the bathroom!” to his friends before bolting out of the common room.

“Sweepy!” Harry called out after running into the boy’s bathroom near the first-year dorms. A second later the House Elf he’d spoken to before appeared with a popping sound.

“Yes Mister Harry Potty?” Sweepy asked, and Harry grimaced a bit at the name. He shoved the distaste down due to it reminding him of some of Dudley’s name-calling, and instead addressed the House Elf.

“Sweepy, remember when I asked you to look after the 3rdfloor corridor? The one with the big dog in it?” Harry asked quickly, and Sweepy nodded.

“Yes! We play with the puppy and give him lots of treats, as you asked!” Sweepy said proudly, and Harry grinned a bit at that before turning serious.

“Good. I need to know if there’s something wrong with Fluffy and the corridor. I have… a bad feeling,” Harry said. Sweepy tilted his head at that but nodded, and vanished in a pop.

A few seconds later the House Elf returned, looking frazzled. “Sweepy doesn’t understand! Someone has put a nasty curse on the hallways!”

“Ah,” Harry muttered. “Can you remove it?”

“Nasty curse made Hogwarts angry,” Sweepy said solemnly. “But Hogwarts couldn’t touch it until Mister Harry told Sweepy to look for it. House Elves will take care of it! Sweepy will also get rid of noisy thing from Fluffy’s room.”

“Noisy thing?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling nervous, and his scar throbbed seemingly in tune with his own concern.

“A magic harp that goes plinky-plink all on its own,” Sweepy complained.

“Uh-oh,” Harry muttered. Somebody – Snape perhaps? – had put some kind of enchanted instrument in Fluffy’s room and had likely already snuck past him. And that curse… it sounded like it was to delay anyone to come after him.

There was also the revelation that Hogwarts was somehow alive, or something? And it didn’t like the fact somebody had cursed a part of it. It also seemed like the castle, as aware as it was, couldn’t do anything about the curse, though.

‘Ugh, details for later!’ he thought to himself with a shake of his head. Instead, he asked, “Sweepy! Is Dumbledore here right now?”

“Headmaster Dumblydore was called aways after dinner to the Ministry,” Sweepy replied, which made Harry’s heart sink.

“Oh, crap!” he swore. “Sweepy, get Hedwig for me, please! And something to write with!”

Sweepy nodded, and disappeared, only to reappear a few seconds later with Hedwig blinking in confusion and a quill with some parchment in hand.

Harry gratefully took it and quickly scrawled out a hasty message to Dumbledore. He didn’t know if Hedwig could get to the Ministry or the headmaster in time, but it was worth a shot. He gave his beautiful bird the letter, and she let out an annoyed “Prek!”

“Sorry, girl, but it’s important!” Harry apologized to her. “Can you take that to Dumbledore?”

Hedwig made a grumpy sound but nodded. Harry grinned in relief before turning back to Sweepy.

“Can you warn Professor McGonagall about this?” he asked the House Elf.

“Sweepy shall!” the magical helper declared, before vanishing one last time with Hedwig.

That done, he hurried back down to the common room.

“Ron, Neville, Hermione!” he hissed at them, causing his trio of friends to look up, as well as get the attention of the other first years. “We need to talk!”

“What about?” Hermione asked, and Harry shook his head.

“No time! Come on!” he said, urging her and the other two up to the boy’s dorms. He then closed the door behind them once inside the first-year bedroom, and looked at them in turn.

“Somebody got to Fluffy,” he told them, eyes narrowed. Hermione gasped, Ron blinked in surprise, and Neville shivered.

“What do you mean?” the portly boy asked.

“Somebody put an enchanted musical instrument in Fluffy’s room to lull him to sleep,” Harry explained, and the trio nodded as they instantly realized what was happening.

“Snape’s going after the Stone!” Ron gasped.

“We have to stop him!” Neville said in agreement.

“Absolutely! We’ll use my cloak to get there without being noticed,” Harry nodded.

“How do you know this?” Hermione asked, which was fair.

“I got a bad feeling all of a sudden, and asked Sweepy to check,” Harry explained.

“The House Elf?” Neville asked.

“Right,” Harry nodded.

“What stone are you talking about?”

“What do you mean, what stone? The Philosopher’s Stone, duh!” Ron said, before pausing. In fact, all four Gryffindor’s went dead silent before turning around to face the door. Which was ajar, and had Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Padma, Sally-Anne, and Kellah peering through it.

The eavesdroppers were glaring at Seamus, who looked sheepish at having called out the question Ron had answered, the tips of his ears glowing red. Literally. It was a neat bit of accidental magic that Harry had no time to appreciate.

“So, uh, you heard that, did you?” Neville asked nervously as he looked at his fellow classmates.

Having a new target to direct their ire to, all of the other first years glared at him and the rest of Harry’s group.

“The Philosopher’s Stone is in Hogwarts?” Padma demanded incredulously.

“Is that why the 3rd floor hallway was off-limits?” Sally-Anne asked.

“So this is what you guys have been up to all year!” Dean exclaimed.

“Crap in a basket,” Harry muttered, and Hermione nodded mutely in agreement.

“So, uh, any chance you could forget you heard all of that?” Harry asked hopefully, to which he earned a bunch of head shakes. “Ah. Well, um, I’d love to stick around and explain, but I gotta go.”

“Not until you give us some answers, mister!” Sally-Anne declared. “What’s going on?”

“Ugh, fine!” Ron groaned. “We found out Snape is trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, which Dumbledore hid in the school. There! Happy?”

“Very,” Lavender said, grinning widely at the juicy gossip potential.

“Seriously, though? The real, honest to Merlin Philosopher’s Stone is here in Hogwarts?” Padma demanded.

“Yes?” Harry replied nervously.

“Whoa,” Seamus muttered. “Gold whenever you want it… or eternal life! No wonder that git Snape wants to steal it!”

“Yeah, seems like it,” Neville nodded.

“And what exactly were you going to do just now?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at Harry and his three friends.

“I bet they were gonna go and try and stop him themselves,” Kellah guessed.

“How’d you know?” Ron gasped, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“We’re Gryffindor’s too, ya know. It wasn’t hard to think that that was your plan.”

“Fine, fine, it’s all true!” Harry said impatiently. “Somebody is trying to steal the stone right now, though! So we have to hurry!”

“Why us?” Lavender asked, bringing the Boy Who Lived up short. “Why not warn the teachers or something?”

“I sent Hedwig with a letter to the headmaster, but he’s out of the castle right now at the ministry,” Harry replied. “And the teachers…”

He then paused. Why hadn’t he tried to tell the teachers? He knew what his kneejerk answer would be; they wouldn’t do anything. That had always been his experience with teachers and other adults back when he’d lived with the Dursleys. But he wasn’t with them anymore. And he was around people who’d believe him. Hopefully, at least.

Harry knew deep down that that was just an excuse on his behalf for not wanting to bring his concerns to the teachers.

So, it was with a deep breath to calm down (and a bit of Occlumency to sort himself out) that he gave a nod at Lavender.

“You’re right, Lav. I should have gone to a teacher.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, yes, of course I was right!” Lavender said, surprised that he’d actually agreed with her.

“Come on, let’s go find Professor McGonagall. She’ll know what to do,” Harry said.

All of his fellow classmates nodded, and together the ten of them poured out of the dorm and the Gryffindor Tower, and surged towards their head of house’s office. Which was also the Transfiguration classroom.

Rather, it was a room attached to the classroom which the First-Years stormed, startling the older woman as they barged in without knocking.

“Professor!” they shouted, before devolving into a babble of words.

“Stop!” she demanded, trying to shout over them, but when that didn’t work, she whipped out her wand and uttered, “Muffilato!”

The ten students kept talking, but no words came out of their mouths, and after a moment they realized this and settled down.

“Alright, one at a time, now,” Professor McGonagall uttered in a deadpan tone, before flicking her wand, muttered, “Finite,” and undid the Muffling Charm that’d kept them silent.

None of them spoke, and she nodded, pleased. “Very good. Ms. Granger, would you care to tell me what is the matter?”

“Well, Professor, we think Sna- somebody is going to try and steal the Philosopher’s Stone,” Hermione said nervously.

McGonagall blinked in surprise. “Beg pardon?” she inquired. That was not at all what she’d expected. Her eyes then narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

“Um, Hagrid isn’t the best at keeping secrets,” Hermione admitted. Before hastily adding, “But he never told us directly what it was! We just wondered what Fluffy was guarding, and he told us that it was between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, and we got curious and looked into who Mr. Flamel was, and-!”

“That’s enough, thank you,” McGonagall requested, holding up a hand to stall the rush of words Hermione was building up to. The bushy-haired girl nodded meekly, and the professor could feel a headache coming on.

“Ms. Granger… why do you know about Fluffy?” the Transfiguration teacher inquired, wondering if she’d have to have a ‘talk’ with the Groundskeeper about keeping quiet.

“We found him when we were hiding from Filch,” Hermione admitted, causing Ron to gawk at her, Neville to wince in shame, and Harry to slap his forehead in exasperation. She just looked at the boys in confusion. “What? She wanted to know!”

“Leaving aside ‘why’ you were out late enough to feel the need to hide from Mr. Filch, I think I’m starting to get a better picture of what has happened,” Professor McGonagall said with a pinched expression.

She then looked out over the ten First-Years in her house. “And you all found this out?”

“Well, no, just me, Harry, Ron, and Neville,” Hermione replied. “The rest only found out when the eavesdropped on us talking about somebody leaving behind a magical instrument in Fluffy’s room to put him to sleep.”

This time it was the rest of the First-Years’ turn to look betrayed at Hermione for ratting them out. She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at them, which had Ron burst into laughter at the deed.

His laughter died immediately as their Head of House leveled a stern, unimpressed frown his way, and the red-head instantly shut up.

“A magical instrument, you say?” she asked, and this time Harry was the one to speak up.

“I got a bad feeling, and asked Sweepy – he’s one of the House Elves – to check on the corridor for me. He found the enchanted object, and a curse.”

“A curse?” McGonagall demanded, sitting upright.

“Yes. Sweepy said, uh, that Hogwarts wasn’t happy with it, but couldn’t do anything about it until I’d pointed it out to the House Elves,” Harry admitted, which earned some odd looks from the rest, but eventually McGonagall decided to put that aside for the moment and focus on the bigger problem. Namely, the curse.

“And you think someone is trying to steal the stone right now?”

“Yes,” Harry said with firm nod. “I sent the headmaster a letter via owl, but I don’t know if he’ll get it in time.”

He then paused before adding, “Ah, it was Lavender’s idea to come tell you, by the way. So, uh, please don’t punish us for entering your office without knocking?”

McGonagall nodded absentmindedly, too busy pulling out her wand to check the wards. As Deputy Headmistress, it was her duty to protect the school while the headmaster was away, and she had the authority to check the castle’s wards to do so.

Whatever she saw as she stared off into space while looking at things none of the First-Years could see did not make her happy, and her scowl deepened.

“Bloody hell,” she swore, before shouting, “EMERGENCY! ALL PROFESSORS, TO THE GREAT HALL! ALL STUDENTS, RETURN TO YOUR DORMS! NOW! THE CASTLE HAS BEEN BREACHED! I REPEAT! THE CASTLE HAS BEEN BREACHED!”

Her voice boomed through the office, and was magically carried throughout the castle to the other rooms and hallways, and it made the First-Years jump in shock to hear it. McGonagall didn’t notice their discomfort as she then turned to them with an urgent look in her eyes.

“Students, please return to the Gryffindor tower, and do not leave it! I will be activating lockdown measures to seal the castle, so get back there now!”

“Yes, Professor!” they all chorused as one, and together they took off running out of her office.

However, halfway there, Harry froze as his scar began to tingle and burn, and he let out a confused cry of pain, much to the surprise of his companions who all stopped and looked at him in worry.

“Harry?” Padma asked nervously.

“Something… something’s coming!” Harry cried out as he clutched at his head, trying to get the squeezing pain to leave him.

And then, a moment later, they heard it. The sound of footsteps running down the corridor towards them.

Looking up, Harry let out a strangled gasp, and he saw a figure in a tattered robe barreling down the hall towards them.

As he got closer, it was clear to see that it was Professor Quirrell running towards them, except something was deathly wrong, and Harry’s scar was burning with pain in response as the man came to an abrupt halt in front of them, as surprised as they were to see him.

It wasn’t just the fact that Quirrell had what could only be the Mirror of Erised floating beside him, nor was it the fact that a stench of rot emanated from him. Or rather, from his turban, that made Harry’s skin crawl.

No, what caused the pain and sense of wrongness were the red, glowing eyes full of madness and hate. That was what truly terrified Harry and sent a cold shiver down his spine.

To the man’s credit, Professor Quirrell only stood there and stared at the ten First-Years in bewilderment for a couple seconds before his eyes alighted on Harry, and a sickening cross between a leer and a scowl smeared itself across the man’s face.

“You’re coming with me,” the Defense professor snarled, glaring at the terrified children as he tried to reach out and grab Harry’s wrist.

“You caused me to delay my plans by a whole week thanks to your meddling and those damned House Elves keeping an eye on everything,” Quirrell growled in annoyance. “And then you went and somehow found out what I was doing despite the curse I used to blind the gaze of Hogwarts itself?! I need a hostage to make my escape, and who better than the Boy Who Lived?!”

Harry leapt away, or tried to, at least. A tugging sensation on his robes dragged him forward, causing him to stumble towards Quirrell, who lashed out and grabbed him by the scruff of his uniform.

“Let go of him!” Neville shouted, leaping at the demented professor, but was knocked aside with a snarl and flash of magical energy.

However, Neville had gotten close enough to grab ahold of a loose piece of Quirrell’s turban, and the whole thing unraveled as he was sent flying.

Gasps and screams rang out as the First-Years all beheld what was underneath the garlic scented wrappings. Harry gagged a bit as well as the smell hit him, and wondered what it was his friends were seeing that was causing them to shriek like that.

Instead of wondering, however, he reached out and grabbed onto Quirrell’s hands and tried to pry the teacher off of him. Only for Quirrell’s flesh to explode into white-hot flames at Harry’s touch.

Screaming in pain, the teacher dropped both the mirror and Harry, and staggered back. For some reason, Harry could have sworn he heard two voices crying out from Quirrell, but that was ridiculous… right?

‘And why did I see myself in the mirror holding a red stone that I slipped into my pocket?’ Harry couldn’t help but wonder. It had been a mere glance, but it had happened when he caught sight of the mirror when it fell from Quirrell's spell.

“You- what have you done to me?!” Quirrell screeched, before drawing his wand and casting a cutting curse onto his own limb to stop the fire from spreading. It worked. Sort of. The mystical flames didn’t go any further as the arm dropped to the ground, and even those soon sputtered and died out, leaving a burnt-out husk on the floor.

Quirrell turned his wand onto Harry, a snarl on his lips, but the Boy Who Lived had reacted just as fast, and already gotten his wand out as soon as he’d been released from his clutches.

“LUMOS!” Harry shouted, blasting an overpowered Light charm right in his professor’s face.

Blinded, the man screeched in agony and clawed at his eyes, only for a voice to shout out, “Turn around, idiot!”

Quirrell obeyed, and turned his back to Harry, revealing the twisted, ugly face melted onto the back of the professor’s head. Black tar-like goo dribbled from the anger-filled eyes and fang-filled mouth, and the nose was just a pair of slits, while the ears were tiny little holes in the side of his head.

“Oh,” Harry muttered, feeling ill. No wonder his friends had screamed when they’d seen it. Shakily, he raised his wand, feverishly trying to think of a spell to do something – ANYTHING! – to save himself from this abomination.

“Harry Potter,” the face hissed out.

“Voldemort,” Harry replied, realizing just who he was looking at.

‘And now the pain in my scar makes sense,’ he thought weakly.

“Your Mudblood mother isn’t here to save you now,” the remnant hissed out.

In response, Harry spat at him. To everyone’s shock, the glob of spit sizzled and melted Voldemort’s flesh as if it were acid.

“Kill the boy! KILL HIM!” the face on the back of Quirrell’s head howled furiously, and his host obeyed, starting to turn around, but Harry had a crazy idea.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, and the Mirror of Erised jerked and rose off the ground. Then it came flying towards the freaky fusion of professor and Dark Lord.

Quirrell raised his wand to try and zap it with a spell, but whatever it was he’d tried to use on it bounced off, hitting a suit of armor nearby instead.

Then the mirror slammed into the professor, which sent him flying into Harry, whose hands accidentally brushed up against the sides of the professor's neck.

Quirrell and Voldemort screamed once more in unison as the flames consumed him hungrily, and in Harry’s opinion, vindictively.

On a mad whim, Harry decided to help the flames along, and grabbed onto the sides of his professor’s head. Or, heads, rather.

Harry stared into Voldemort’s red eyes. No words needed to be said. Every drop of hate and loathing he felt towards the man who’d murdered parents was poured into him through their locked gaze, and the Dark Lord sneered as if amused.

And then Voldemort’s eyes exploded as cleansing white fire burst from his sockets and devoured them, the rest of his face melting away under the heat.

A moment later there was a banshee-like shriek, and a cloud of black smoke in the form of a deformed skull erupted out of Quirrell’s mouth before shooting off down the corridor away from the group.

All that was left behind was a charred pile of ash in Quirrell’s robes, and after staring at it for a few seconds in disbelief, Harry slowly pushed it aside and stood back up, unable to tear his gaze away from the remains of the possessed professor.

Something had to be said. Something needed to be done to reassure his friends who were staring at him and the pile of ash with mixed emotions. Mostly shock. But there was a lot of awe and fear as well, the latter directed at what was left of Voldemort’s host.

After thinking it over, Harry knew what he had to say.

“I’ve heard of having eyes in the back of one’s head, but this is just ridiculous,” Harry muttered, causing a groan to come from his friends at the one liner.

“Really, Harry?” Ron uttered.

Before anything else could be said, more footsteps rang out, and Dumbledore appeared down one end of the corridor while McGonagall and the rest of the faculty were at the other, all of them stopping short as they saw the ashen remnants of Quirrell in front of Harry.

“Can someone please explain what is going on, and what happened here?” Dumbledore asked after a moment of scanning the area.

Harry shrugged and brushed a bit of Voldemort off of his robes. “Magic,” he replied blithely.

The fact that Neville broke out into gasps of laughter which were soon echoed by the rest of the First-Years had the old man blink in befuddlement.

“I see,” he said slowly, before shaking his head. He must be getting old. He just didn’t understand the humor of children these days.

After everyone was done laughing hysterically, Dumbledore ushered the group of children away from the hallway (and Quirrell’s mortal remains) to the nurse’s office to have the students checked over and then questioned over the events in the corridor. Extra attention was given to Harry as he informed the teachers what had happened, while Madam Pomfrey checked him and his fellow First Years for injuries.

“…and for some reason, my touch seemed to hurt Professor Quirrell. It caused his flesh to burst into literal flames,” Harry said, wrapping up his tale. “So, I used the Levitation Charm to send the mirror flying towards Quirrell. Voldemort. Whoever it was.”

Harry then rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, I think I may have overpowered it like I did the Lumos, and it smacked into Quirrellmort and sent him flying back into me. And then, well, I accidentally touched his skin against mine, and he exploded. Again, literally.”

Harry decided not to bring up the fact he had held onto Voldemort’s face intentionally in order to inflict as much pain as he could. He wasn’t sure he liked what that said about him, and thinking back on it, it scared the young boy.

“Brilliant use of simple spells to control the battlefield, Mister Potter!” Professor Flitwick praised, distracting Harry slightly from his morbid thoughts. “Forty Points to Gryffindor!”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said with a slight nod. “When I did that, a weird skull-shaped ball of smoke flew out of Quirrell’s mouth, and then it flew away. That’s when you found us.”

“Tell ‘em about the one liner!” Dean urged from the side, and Harry flushed red with embarrassment.

“Nope,” he said, refusing to ever speak of it again.

“It seems you’ve had something of an adventure tonight,” Dumbledore said slowly, eyes twinkling proudly as he looked over the students.

“Yes, we did,” Harry said, before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “I don’t like the fact it happened at all, but I suppose something like it was to be expected, what with the Philosopher’s Stone being hidden here.”

“How do you know about the stone?!” Madam Sprout gasped, and the teachers all tensed up, save Dumbledore, who simply watched the group of children curiously.

“Was it supposed to be a secret? Because it really wasn’t, if you knew where to look and who to ask,” Harry said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the teachers.

“Nobody but the faculty was told that it was in our possession,” Snape said, his oily voice oozing with suspicion.

“Yeah, and Hagrid is faculty. He’s a good bloke, but can’t keep a secret,” Harry explained.

“We saw a newspaper clipping in his cabin that said a vault at Gringotts had been broken into, and then he got all upset and told us it wasn’t our business,” Ron added. “He then said something about the matter being between the headmaster and Nicholas Flamel.”

“We looked up the name, and discovered who he was, and what he was famous for,” Hermione piped up.

“By logical deduction, the only thing Fluffy could be guarding related to the famous alchemist would be the legendary Philosopher’s Stone,” Neville finished.

“Fluffy?” Flitwick asked, confused.

“That’s what Hagrid called the three-headed dog guarding the room on the Third Floor,” Harry explained. “Who else would?”

The professors all shared uneasy looks with each other as they realized just how easily the secret had been discovered.

“I knew we should have protested this plan of yours harder, Dumbledore,” MacGonagall muttered under her breath, though she could help but let a bit of pride seep into her voice.

“Or at the very least made sure a smaller group of people knew of it,” Flitwick added. “No offense to Hagrid, of course. He’s a kind soul, but, uh, not the best with secrets, apparently.”

“Agreed. Fellow can handle an ornery thestral or redcap like no one’s business, but he doesn’t know when to shut his mouth,” an elderly professor with three limbs replaced by prosthetics grumbled. “Also, I’m not happy with your choice of room placement for the Cerberus either, Dumbledore. A dog like that needs space to roam!”

“It was the best place for the guardian of the stone to be,” Dumbledore said with an air of finality. The maimed professor looked like he wanted to protest some more, but a hand on his shoulder from the Astronomy teacher caused him to mumbled but leave it be. For now.

“Alright, that’s enough, everyone but the children out,” Madam Pomfrey declared, ushering the adults away from Harry’s bed.

“There are still things that need to be discussed…” Dumbledore protested, but a sharp look from the matron caused him to clam up. You don’t mess with an angry medi-witch, and Madam Pomfrey had the look of someone ready to start hexing if she wasn’t obeyed.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers hastily departed, leaving the healer alone with the children.

She turned a softer gaze to the First-Years, but there was a stern glint in her eyes. “Now, why don’t you lot wait here. I have some potions to give you to calm down, if you want. I also have some potions that’ll give you a good’s night sleep.”

Murmured assents from the students rang out, and the nurse walked off to fetch them, leaving the First Years alone for the moment.

Harry looked at his classmates and friends. They looked back. Various expressions lingered on their faces, but he wasn’t able to read them properly. There was fear, though. He knew that one all too well. As well as disgust and anger, but thankfully neither of those emotions were on display.

“So… crazy night, huh?” Dean said weakly, trying to break the silence. Hermione shot him a scathing look, causing the red-head to flinch back.

“Not the time,” Seamus whispered to him, Sally-Anne nodding her head in agreement.

“Are you guys doing alright?” Harry asked softly, looking at the group in concern. “Neville, you didn’t get too badly hurt when he threw you into the wall?”

“Just a cracked rib or two. But Nurse Pomfrey already gave me some Skelegrow. I’ll be right as rain by morning,” Neville assured him, unable to hide the grimace as the portly boy recalled the foul taste of the bone restoring potion.

Harry nodded, relieved, but noticed that Hermione’s eyes were watering and her lip was quivering.

“Hermione? Are you okay?” he inquired softly.

“I’m so sorry, Harry!” Hermione suddenly blubbered, lunging forward to crush him in a hug all while crying into his shoulder. Harry blinked in confusion at the display of emotions.

“Um, why?” he asked slowly.

“What? Mate, we, we froze up,” Ron replied. “When Quirrell… when Volde- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, attacked you, we should have helped! But Neville was the only one who managed to do anything!”

“That’s not your fault, he caught us all by surprise,” Harry said.

“We didn’t even have our wands with us!” Lavender exclaimed tearfully.

“And those of us who did, we didn’t even think to try and use them,” Dean added somberly, earning a nod from Sally-Anne.

“But that’s not your fault, either! You were scared!” Harry protested.

“But we should have done something to help!” Seamus stated. “And that’s why we’re all upset.”

“We’re Gryffindors. We’re supposed to be prepared for stuff like this,” Kellah said morosely.

“We won’t let it happen again,” Padma declared firmly, earning nods from everyone else.

“Well, okay, then,” Harry said, feeling warm and fuzzy inside at so many people showing concern for him. But not only that, they also wanted to improve for his sake. To do something about their weakness instead of uttering platitudes.

“Alright now, children, settle down, settle down,” Madam Pomfrey requested, walking over to the group. “I have potions for sleepless dreams for all of you, if you wish.”

“I could use one,” Dean admitted, Lavender nodding in agreement.

“Very well. Once you’ve drunk them, you will. Except you two, Mr. Potter and Longbottom. You will be staying here overnight.”

“But, we’re fine,” Harry protested, only to have the nurse place a hand on his head. He winced at the coolness of her palm against his scar, and she tutted.

“You’re rather feverish, Mr. Potter. That much magical energy coursing through your body, and the fact it was caused by an unknown magical reaction… well, better to be safe than sorry. And Mr. Longbottom will be staying here so I can make sure his ribs heal up properly.” She then swept her gaze over the rest of the First Years. “Understood?”

“We’ll come back tomorrow morning,” Hermione assured them. Harry and Neville both nodded

&&&&&

“Harry! Neville!” Susan shouted as she rushed into the infirmary the next morning, Hannah hot on her heels.

“Sue?” Harry mumbled sleepily, stirring a bit as her voice pierce the fuzzy peacefulness of sleep and woke him up.

“Why didn’t you come get us?” she demanded when she got to his bed, Hannah nodding in agreement. Nearby, Neville groaned a bit as he started to wake up. Harry sleepily grabbed his glasses and put them on, blinking slowly as he looked at his visitor.

There were tears in Susan's eyes as she stood at his bedside, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt upon seeing that.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a wince. “We would have gone to get you two, but Professor McGonagall told us to return to the dorms. Voldemort caught us by surprise.”

“Dummy,” the Hufflepuff grumbled, shivering at his mention of the Dark Lord.

“What in Helga’s name happened last night?” Hannah asked. “We all heard McGonagall’s announcement, but after that, nothing. And also: Beg pardon?! You’re saying You-Know-Who was in the castle?!”

“It started off with a bad feeling in my gut. And a sharp pain in my skull. Well, I told the others, but the rest of the First Years overheard us, and so we had to tell them what happened. Then, we went down to Professor McGonagall’s office to tell her what’d happened. It was Professor Quirrell. He’d gotten past Fluffy, but the announcement spooked him and he ran out of there. He had this magical mirror with him…” Harry began, but was cut off.

“You could tell it was magical?” Susan interrupted, surprised.

“Um, yes? I mean, why else would he have been carting it around? It was obviously important, and since the only magic mirror I know of is that Mirror of Erised you found, I just put one and two together,” Harry replied. “Anyways, he had it, and I smacked him with it after he ran into us. Worked better than I thought.”

He looked down at his hands. “Voldemort was possessing Quirrell’s body, and when I touched them… they burned. And when I hit him with the mirror, he fell onto me. And I… I burned him, Susan. I burned him until he was dead.”

He looked up at her, and although he knew Hannah and Neville were watching and listening, he didn’t care. The only person in his eyes was Susan.

“Susan… I don’t feel bad about doing that. I wanted him to die. Does that… am I a bad person?”

“Harry…” the brunette mumbled. She then leaned in and hugged him. Neither said anything for a long time, until she finally released him.

“Harry, you are not a bad person,” she assured him. “You may have hurt somebody, but he… I hate to say it, but he deserved it. And nobody can blame you for not knowing your very touch would scorch the professor or You-Know-Who.”

“My parents were killed by the Dark Lord,” Susan told Harry. “Maybe not personally, but it was his minions who did the deed at his orders. If I had the same chance to hurt the person who’d harmed my family… I would have done the same.”

“Really?”

“Harry, doing something bad doesn’t make you a bad person. Do you regret it?”

“No,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “He was… Voldemort is evil.”

“Right. Now, are you going to go around and hurt somebody else when you get out of the infirmary? Are you going to start slapping people and setting them on fire?”

“What? No!” Harry protested.

“Then don’t worry about being a bad person. Because you’re not,” Susan told him firmly. “And maybe… maybe the guilt will hit you hard later. You’re… I don’t claim to be a medi-witch, but you could still be in shock. Perhaps it just doesn’t seem real to you. But whatever happens, know that I’m on your side.”

“We’re all on your side, Harry,” Neville interjected, and Harry looked over at him. The other boy was blinking the sleep out of his eyes, but there was a steely determination in them.

“I agree with Susan. Vold- You-Know-Who was a monster. A bad man. And honestly, he wasn’t really alive at all, so you couldn’t have killed him in the first place. I mean, living people don't just literally attach themselves to others in order to survive. As for Professor Quirrell… well, was he even who he was supposed to be after having the Dark Lord latch onto him? And since You-Know-Who was after the Philosopher’s Stone, he must have been the one who was hunting unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, trying to prolong his miserable existence. So you could consider those flames you made a result of the unicorns’ cursed blood finally taking its toll.”

Harry nodded slowly. That made sense to him. Why had his touch triggered such a bad reaction in the first place? As Neville said, it was entirely plausible this was just a result of the unicorns’ curse.

But Harry had the feeling there had to be more to strange phenomena. Some sort of deeper explanation for why Harry’s touch alone had done so much harm to the possessed Defense professor. He’d seen other students accidentally brush up against the man’s hands in class when he handed back homework, and they didn’t illicit such a volatile reaction.

Curiously, a hand wandered up to his scar. It no longer burned or ached. But thinking back on it, the scar had throbbed the closer he was to Voldemort during the fight in the corridor. And it’d done so even more painfully after the turban was removed.

‘There’s a connection between my scar and Voldemort,’ Harry realized. Edward had said something like that, hadn’t he? The only mark on him after being hit by the unavoidable, unblockable, unstoppable, Killing Curse being this lightning bolt shaped scar.

Seeing Harry’s fingers brush against his scar caused Susan to feel a pang of regret and sympathy for him, but also empathy. He was just like her, after all. An orphan. But unlike him, she loved her aunt. Harry? He never mentioned his family if he could help it.

At first she’d thought Edward was related to the Boy-Who-Lived given how much Harry spoke of him, but no, apparently he’d been a Squib who’d grown up near the Weasleys according to Ron, and he’d moved off to London to live as a Muggle. That he and Harry had bumped into each other was a completely coincidence. Regardless, Susan was glad he had somebody to care for him when he left school for the summer.

“Well, at least you won’t miss the end of year feast,” Hannah said, interrupting both Susan and Harry’s thoughts. “Can’t wait to see the expression the Slytherins make when they loose the House Cup to us Puffs! They already lost the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor, and despite Snape’s best efforts, we’ve been getting points left and right!”

“I dunno, Flitwick gave us forty points last night,” Neville said smugly, causing Hannah to gasp.

“No! That takes you out of third place and firmly in first!” the blonde Hufflepuff groaned, clutching her head. Then, she got a determined look on her face. “No choice, we have to go do something good in front of a teacher to get some last-minute points! Come on, Susan!”

Hannah grabbed her friend by the arm and dragged her out, Susan offering a quick apology and a “See you later!” before being hustled out.

Neville laughed in amusement at their departure, before a loud rumble rang out through the infirmary. He looked around, confused and startled by the loud noise, before turning towards Harry, who blushed and looked down at his bedsheets as his stomach roared in hunger.

Madam Pomfrey had heard Harry as well, and quickly bustled over. “Ah, you’re awake. Good. No complications for either of you.”

“Can we go get some breakfast?” Neville asked hopefully, and the matron nodded.

“Yes. Please don’t go fight any more Dark wizards, though.”

“No promises,” Harry said. A faint snort escaped the nurse before she could help herself.

“Just like your father,” she muttered, before glancing at Neville. “Do try to be more like yours, Mr. Longbottom.”

“What do you mean?” Neville asked, and Harry listened eagerly as well.

“Mr. Potter, your father was something of a rascal, not unlike the Weasley Twins, though with a larger group of friends,” Madam Pomfrey explained, taking pity on the boys upon seeing their expressions. “And as for Mr. Longbottom, your father was well-known for constantly trying to curb the Marauders’ antics during his time as a Prefect.”

“He was a Prefect?” Neville inquired.

“The Marauders?” Harry asked at the same time.

“Yes to your question, Mr. Longbottom. And the Marauders were what your father called his group of troublemakers, Mr. Potter,” Madam informed them. “Now, you’re both healed, and breakfast should still be being served in the Great Hall. Run along!”

She ushered the boys out of the infirmary, and let them leave, though both boys shared a disappointed look. They so rarely got to hear about their parents that it was always a treat to learn even a little bit about them.

“You know, I bet Professor McGonagall knows a bunch of stories about our parents when they were our age,” Harry said slowly, and Neville perked up at that.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right! I’m sure if we asked, she’d tell us a few stories!” Neville said excitedly.

This time however, it was Neville’s stomach which growled loudly in demand of sustenance, and Harry chuckled at the embarrassment that crossed his face.

“I think Madam Pomfrey had a good idea about food. And maybe we’ll run into our House mates while we’re there. Come on, Nev,” Harry said, and the two hurried off down the halls.

As he went down the hallway, he thought back on the events of yesterday and earlier in the morning. Harry felt he’d gotten closer to his friends, but he also had a sneaking suspicion that had not been the last time Voldemort would show himself, or that Harry would get involved with the Dark Lord.

‘I’ll be ready next time,’ he vowed. ‘I won’t flail around helplessly! I’ll be able to fight! And I will protect everyone!’

Voldemort wouldn’t know what’d hit him!

‘Although, where did this red rock in my pocket come from?’ Harry couldn’t help but wonder in bewilderment, as he pulled it out of his robe’s left pocket, before shaking his head and putting it back into the pocket and out of his mind, completely forgetting for the moment that he’d already seen the stone before in the mirror Voldemort had been carrying.

And so, the Philosopher’s Stone was ignored and forgotten in the hubbub surrounding Voldemort’s return, and only Dumbledore would wonder where it had gone when he went to inspect the mirror and Quirrell’s remains.