Love Saved Me {Year 1}

Chapter 19

«Harry»
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Something gold was glimmering just above me. The Snitch! I must be playing Quidditch. I reached my arm out and tried to catch it, but my arms were too heavy, feeling as though they were made of lead.

I blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. I blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore slowly came into view above me. "Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. I stared at him, bewildered. Then I remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick --" I tried to jump out of bed and rush to find Quirrel, but I as held down by Dumbledore. He gently laid me back on the bed. "Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," he said softly, as though he was talking to a wounded animal. "Quirrell does not have the Stone." I was shocked. "Then who does? Sir, I --" I started to get up again. "Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out. I swallowed, realizing quickly how dry and scratchy my throat was and looked around. I realized I was in the hospital wing. I was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to me was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop. "Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. When he said admirers, he winked, making my cheeks get warm. He knew he knew all about Solaira. "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 were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it." Dumbledore smiled, as though he was trying to hold back a laugh. I put my hand to my forehead, realizing suddenly how dizzy I suddenly felt. "How long have I been in here?" "Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Granger, and Miss Lovegood will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried. Miss Lovegood especially. She didn't go to dinner so she could sit with you." I felt myself begin to smile. She really does care.

"But sit, the Stone-" Dumbledore chuckled. "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." I was shocked. "You got there? You got Hermione's owl?" He shook his head. "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." I suddenly felt relief wash over me. "It was you." Dumbledore patted my knee reassuringly. "I feared I might be too late." I bit my lip. "You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --" He held up his index finger. "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." My heart sank. "Destroyed?" I asked blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --" "Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "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." My heart felt heavy. "But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" "They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore smiled at me. "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." I just lay there, at a lost for words. This all seemed too sudden. A lot had happened since I'd been asleep. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling. "Sir?" I said quietly, my voice coming out weaker than I thought.. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --" "Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself," Dumbledore stated. He was right. "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 played with the blanket, moving my fingers over its soft surface. "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." I nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made a shooting pain go through my head.