Rosabella Black|Daughter of Sirius Black| (Book 1)

End Of The Year

Harry's Point of View:

I woke up in the hospital wing.
  
"Good afternoon, Harry." Dumbledore said.

I hadn't even realised Dumbledore was there. I stared at him. Then I remembered.
  
"Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick -" I said frantically.
  
"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times. Quirrell does not have the Stone." Dumbledore said.
  
"Then who does? Sir, I -" I started to say.
  
"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out." Dumbledore said calmingly.

I swallowed and looked around him.
My eyes widened when I saw Rosabella in the bed next to me. Her left shoulder was heavily bandaged and she was fast asleep. She was so still it made me feel uneasy.
   
"Is she going to be okay?" I asked Dumbledore.
   
"Yes. There will be no lasting injury. She should wake up soon. The injury itself was easy to heal but the nerve damage was a bit tricker. All the same, nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't handle." Dumbledore reassured.
   
"Good." I sighed and the relief I felt could not be described.

I then noticed that on the table next to Rosabella there was a pile of mainly chocolate and some sweets. There was an identical pile next to my bed except I had more sweets then chocolate.
   
"Tokens from your friends and admirers. What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley along with Jason and Jacob Black were responsible for trying to send you both toilet seats. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it." Dumbledore said beaming.
  
"How long have I been in here?" I asked.
  
"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have at least come round, they have been extremely worried." Dumbledore said.
  
"But sir, the Stone -" I started to ask again.
  
"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say." Dumbledore said.
   
"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?" I asked.
   
"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you." Dumbledore told me.
  
"It was you." I said astonished.
  
"I feared I might be too late." Dumbledore said gravely.
  
"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer -" I said.
  
"Not the Stone, boy, you - the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed." Dumbledore said.
  
"Destroyed? But your friend - Nicolas Flamel -" I said blankly.
  
"Oh, you know about Nicolas? You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best." Dumbledore said delighted.
  
"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" I said.
  
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore said calmly.

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on my face.
  
"To one as young as you I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well - organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Dumbledore said wisely.

I lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.
  
"Sir? I've been thinking . . . sir - even if the Stone's gone, Vol -, I mean, You - Know - Who- " I said.
  
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." Dumbledore said.
  
"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?" I asked.
  
"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die. He shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power." Dumbledore answered.